Harlow nodded, his expression solemn. "I know what I want," he said simply.
The certainty in his voice strengthened my own resolve. Harlow McKenzie was worth fighting for—worth facing down protective mothers and small-town gossips and whatever other obstacles lay ahead. I'd never backed down from a fight in my life, and I wasn't about to start now, especially not when the stakes were this high.
We climbed the porch steps together, our footfalls creating a synchronized rhythm on the weathered wood. As we reached the door, I shifted the picnic basket to my left hand, freeing my right to rest briefly against the small of Harlow's back—a gesture tooquick for anyone inside to notice, but long enough for him to feel my support.
His lips curved in a small, private smile meant only for me, and then he pushed open the screen door, holding it so I could pass through first.
I stepped over the threshold, moving from the bright morning sunlight into the dimmer interior of the McKenzie farmhouse. Hetty was waiting for us in the kitchen, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded in front of her with deliberate calm.
As Harlow entered behind me, letting the screen door close with a soft thud, I could feel the weight of history and expectation settling over all of us. This house had stood for generations, weathering storms both literal and figurative. It would weather this one too.
And so would we.
Chapter Eleven
~ Harlow ~
Ma's eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at our joined hands, Dan's fingers laced through mine like they belonged there. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air too thick to breathe proper. I'd faced down angry bulls and spooked horses without flinching, but the look on Ma's face made my stomach drop to my boots. This was the moment I'd been dreading since I first realized what I felt for Deputy Dan wasn't just friendship.
"This stops now." Ma's voice cut through the kitchen like a blade, sharp enough to make me flinch. She'd used that same tone when I was little and got into the cookie jar before supper. But I wasn't little anymore, even if she sometimes forgot that fact.
"Harlow doesn't understand what he's getting into," she continued, her eyes shifting from our hands to Dan's face. "He's special. He needs protection. From people who might... take advantage."
The words stung worse than the time I fell into a nettle patch down by the creek. Special. That word that followed me everywhere like a shadow I couldn't shake. Special meant different. Special meant less than. Special meant I needed watching over like one of the new spring lambs.
Dan's jaw tightened beside me, but his voice stayed steady when he spoke. "Mrs. McKenzie, with all respect, I think you underestimate your son."
Ma's knuckles went white as she gripped the back of a kitchen chair, her hands trembling slightly. "You've known him for what—a few weeks? I've raised him for twenty-nine years. I think I understand my own son better than you ever could."
"I'm not claiming to know everything about Harlow," Dan replied, his thumb moving in small circles against my palm in away that sent warmth up my arm. "But I do know he's a grown man capable of making his own choices."
Ma shook her head, that familiar look of worry and fear crossing her face. "You don't understand. After the horse kicked him when he was seven... the doctors said he might never..." Her voice caught on the words like cloth snagging on a nail. "They said his brain wouldn't develop like other children's. That he might always need help with certain things."
Something hot and uncomfortable rose in my chest, pushing past the fear that had kept me silent for so long. I couldn't stand it anymore—the way she talked about me like I wasn't standing right there, like I was a problem to solve instead of a person with feelings.
"I'm right here, Ma," I said, my voice coming out stronger than I expected. "Please don't talk about me like I'm not."
Ma's mouth snapped shut, her eyes going wide with surprise. I'd rarely interrupted her before, had always been the good son who listened and nodded and did as I was told. But standing there with Dan's warm hand in mine, I found courage I didn't know I had.
My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free. Dan squeezed my hand gently, and that simple touch gave me strength to keep going.
"I know I'm different," I continued, the words rushing out now like water through a broken dam. "I know I don't understand some things the way other people do, but I understand how I feel about Dan."
I took a deep breath, trying to slow down and find the right words—the ones that would make Ma understand.
"When I'm with him, my heart beats faster, like when I run up the big hill behind the barn. I think about him all the time—when I'm feeding the animals or working in the garden or lying in bed at night. I want to cook him breakfast and show him myfavorite spots down by the river. I want to listen to him talk about his day and help him when he's tired."
Dan's breath caught beside me, but I kept my eyes on Ma. I needed her to hear this, all of it.
"When he touches me—" I felt heat climbing up my neck into my face but pushed on, "—it feels right. Like pieces fitting together that are supposed to go together."
Ma opened her mouth to speak, but I wasn't finished.
"I might not understand complicated things, but I understand this," I said, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. "I understand how Dan makes me feel. And it's not confused. It's the clearest thing I've ever felt."
Ma's face crumpled slightly, tears gathering in her eyes. She looked smaller somehow, standing there with her hands clutching the chair like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"Oh, Harlow," she said, her voice gone soft and sad. "These kinds of feelings... they're not for someone like you. They're too complex, too fraught with complications you can't possibly understand."
