His police academy certificate hung framed on the wall, alongside his deputy sheriff commendation and a shadow box containing his first badge. Each item had been recovered from his apartment, meticulously cleaned by Ma and the women from her church group to remove any trace of the invasion that had tainted them.
"How did you..." Dan began, moving toward the desk where a leather-bound notebook lay beside a pen set I knew had belonged to his grandfather. "These are my things. From my apartment."
"Sheriff helped us get in after the crime scene was cleared," I explained, fingers tapping nervously against my thigh as I watched him discover each item. "A lot was ruined, but we salvaged what we could. Cleaned everything. Ma and her church friends helped with the books and papers."
Dan turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail of the space—the desk positioned exactly how he'd had it in his apartment, the leather chair I'd special-ordered to replace his ruined one, the small table by the window where he could have his morning coffee while overlooking the valley.
"What do you think?" I asked, my voice cracking with anxiety. "If you don't like it—"
"What is all this, Harlow?" Dan interrupted, turning to face me with an expression of wonder that stole my breath.
The question was simple, but the answer was everything. My heart hammered against my ribs as I forced the words past the tightness in my throat.
"Home," I said, the single word carrying the weight of all my hopes. "If you want it. Our home." The rest came tumbling out in a rush, words I'd rehearsed for weeks, but that still felt inadequate. "I want us to build a life together. Here. Where we can have privacy, but still be close to family. Where you can have your own space, but we can be together. I know it's not much, but—"
Dan crossed the space between us in three quick strides, cutting me off with a kiss that spoke more clearly than words ever could. His hands came up to frame my face, his body pressing against mine with an urgency that left no doubt about his feelings.
When he pulled back, there were tears shining in his eyes, catching the last light of the setting sun through the loft windows. "It's perfect," he whispered, his thumbs gently stroking my cheekbones. "Absolutely perfect."
Relief crashed through me like a wave, washing away weeks of anxiety and uncertainty. Dan liked it. Dan wanted it. Dan wanted us.
He moved away to explore more of the loft, touching each recovered item with reverent fingers, exclaiming over details I'd worried he wouldn't notice—the specific arrangement of his books, the way I'd positioned his desk to catch the morning light, the small safe built into the wall for his service weapon.
"Is this really ours?" he asked, turning back to me with an expression of disbelief and joy. "All of it? You and me?"
I nodded, trying to swallow past the emotion clogging my throat. "Everything from your apartment is here," I confirmed."Cleaned up. Fixed if it needed fixing." I hesitated, needing him to know he had options. "If you want to stay here alone, you can. I understand if you need space or time or—"
Dan was back at my side in an instant, his hands coming up to take my face between them, his expression fiercely determined. "No! I want to build a life here with you, Harlow McKenzie. You and me, together. That's what I want."
It was everything I needed to hear, everything I'd been afraid to hope for. My arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him against me as relief and joy replaced the fear that had been my constant companion these past weeks. Dan wanted this. Dan wanted us. Dan wanted me.
In that moment, with the last rays of sunset painting the loft in gold and the promise of our future stretching out before us, I finally allowed myself to believe that Collins hadn't managed to take the most important thing from us after all. Despite everything—the fire, the bullets, the fear—we'd found our way home. Together.
Chapter Twenty
~ Harlow ~
I scooped Dan into my arms before he could argue, ignoring his surprised laugh as I carried him up the narrow staircase to our bedroom. His weight felt right against my chest, like he belonged there.
I'd spent weeks imagining this moment—bringing him home, showing him that I could take care of him, be what he needed. Now that it was actually happening, my heart hammered so hard I was surprised he couldn't hear it.
"Harlow!" Dan protested weakly, his arms automatically wrapping around my neck for balance. "Your back—the burns—"
"All healed," I assured him, tightening my grip as I navigated the last few steps. The burns had been painful, sure, but they were nothing compared to what Dan had suffered. Besides, I'd been hauling lumber for the new barn within a month of the fire.
Carrying Dan was a pleasure, not a burden.
The bedroom door stood partially open, revealing the king-sized bed with Ma's quilt waiting for us. I nudged it wider with my foot and carried Dan across the threshold like I'd seen in movies. It felt right, somehow. Important.
When I reached the foot of the bed, I let Dan slide down the front of my body until his feet touched the floor, his chest and stomach dragging against mine in a way that sent heat racing through me. His hands gripped my biceps to steady himself, and even that simple touch made my skin feel too tight, too sensitive.
"So," Dan said, a little breathless from the journey. "This is our bedroom."
The way he said "our" made something warm unfurl in my chest. I nodded, suddenly tongue-tied now that we were actually here, alone, with the bed looming large behind us.
I'd built this room with my own hands, measured the space for the bed frame to ensure it would be big enough for my large frame and still leave plenty of room for Dan. I'd positioned the windows so morning light would hit the pillows just right. I'd installed the ceiling fan myself because I knew Dan liked to sleep cool.
But I'd done more than just build the room.
