She smiled, and damn, if the sight didn’t punch him straight in the chest. The kind of smile she only gave him when they weren’t in the middle of a murder investigation or tangled up in half-truths and bitter memories. It was warm, real, something like peace. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“Good.”
They were on the same page at least when it came to that. Which was something, considering how much of their lives felt like one wrong turn after another, all roads leading back to Abigail’s troubles and Laurel’s too-sharp focus. For some reason, everything bad that touched Abigail seemed to come for Laurel as well. Like their shared blood marked them for some kind of twisted fate neither of them had asked for.
Not this time.
Huck was going to find the bastard who wanted Abigail dead. Not just because it was his job, but because he couldn’t stomach the idea of Laurel in danger again. She had too many scars already. He’d lock this case down, track every lead, interview every suspect until he got the truth. And if it meant ruffling feathers or kicking down doors, then fine. He’d do it with a damn smile on his face.
Because whatever storm was building, Huck wasn’t about to let it take Laurel down. Not now.
Not ever.
Chapter 12
More spring weather arrived in the morning asLaurel hopped out of Huck’s truck, a light rain drizzling the earth and releasing the fresh, sharp scent of pine and damp soil. The snow in town had finally melted, although the jagged peaks surrounding them remained dusted with white. Higher in the mountains, winter clung stubbornly, refusing to relinquish its hold. Maybe it never would. And that was fine by her. She liked the view. Something about the distant frost made the world feel clean, untouched by the messes she spent most of her days sorting out.
Huck shut his door and crossed around to meet her in front of Staggers Ice Creamery, his steps sure despite the slick ground.
They’d had a quiet night together, and she’d slept well. “Thanks for inviting me to stay last night,” she said, meaning it.
He looked down at her, his gaze steady, expression softening. Today, he appeared strong and broad, wrapped in a flannel shirt that stretched over shoulders built for endurance and hard work. The gray mist hanging in the air framed him, making the bourbon color of his eyes appear calm and mellow. His facial muscles were relaxed, and his thick, dark hair had grown out a little longer than usual. She wondered how often he remembered to get it cut, if at all.
He’d shaved the sharp, rugged line of his jaw, but she knew from experience that by midafternoon he’d have a five o’clock shadow, stubborn stubble determined to reassert itself by three o’clock. The thought amused her.
“What do you think about moving in with me?” he asked, his voice gruff as he opened the door for them.
She blinked, caught off guard by the question, her brain still groggy from the warmth of his bed and the rare luxury of sleep uninterrupted by nightmares or phone calls.
She’d been moving forward on her plans to build the barndominium on her mother’s property. The blueprints were rough but coming together—something small but solid, efficient and functional. She enjoyed living with Deidre, even if her mother’s brand of nosiness tended to veer into interrogation territory. Still, her own space sounded nice. A place that was hers, maybe theirs, but that was a different sort of commitment.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, because honesty was easier than trying to wrap the answer up in polite evasion.
Huck swallowed. “We were making plans to move in together just a month ago.”
“Yes, but I was pregnant with your child. We both decided that was the best path for the baby.”
He looked away, a flicker passing through his eyes before he met hers again. “I understand that. But I think we should still make plans to move forward. With the two of us.”
She held his gaze, thinking through every scenario. It wasn’t stubbornness; it was survival. She’d never lived with a man before. Not really. Her last boyfriend had been, as Kate would put it, a jackass. The sort of man who couldn’t understand her dedication to her job.
But Huck was different. He understood the long hours, the unpredictability. He wasn’t threatened by her work because he had his own life, his own duties, his own frustrations to wrestle with. But he wanted something solid with her. That much was clear.
Often, their cases did cross paths, which could create a sort of conflict. More logistical than personal, though it could still scrape raw if left unchecked. But that had paled in comparison to what was best for the baby and the family they had been trying to form.
Now, there was no baby and no family. Just two people trying to pick up the pieces of what they’d been building.
She saw the hope in his eyes, a quiet determination that refused to be brushed aside. Huck didn’t do halfway. Not with his work, not with his feelings. And not with her.
The realization tightened her chest, but she forced herself to breathe through it. Focus. Process. Evaluate. The same methodical approach she applied to everything else, even when her emotions wanted to claw their way into the equation.
She’d made her life about duty and loyalty. To her job, her family, her principles. But Huck was asking her for something more. And maybe it was time she started figuring out what she really wanted.
“Just think about it. All right?” Huck’s voice remained steady.
“Of course I will.” Thinking about everything was what she did best. Weighing probabilities, considering angles, analyzing risk. But it was different when the subject of examination was her own life.
She left him in the vestibule, scanned her ID against the plate with a quick swipe, the small beep confirming access. As Huck disappeared into his office, probably planning to pore over the stacks of files he kept like an unintentional barricade against the rest of the world, the outside door swung open behind her.
