Page 84 of Harper

Even though Harper had told me that she almost died giving birth to our daughter, hearing Dr. Kim read excerpts from the ten-year-old surgical report made it clear how much Harper suffered. It hurt to imagine how frightened Harper must have been and how very alone, with only her aunt for support. I wish she’d allowed me to be there for her, but Harper has always been so stubbornly self-sufficient, I’m not totally surprised she wanted to handle things on her own. That part of her makes me crazy sometimes.

No matter how angry or hurt I am, I have promised myself that this time around, she won’t be alone. Whether she likes it or not, I plan to stand by her side every step of the way, and I will use any measures at my disposal to keep her, and our baby, safe.

For instance, getting to Anchorage from Skagway is not easy. It’s either a seventeen-hour drive or four hours via two commercial flights, connecting through Juneau. But because I’m the sheriff of Skagway, I can easily order a medevac air ambulance from Skagway to Anchorage, and get her there in under ninety minutes. I could even round up one of the many pilots I know to fly us up there in a pinch. I’m not letting Harper put her life—or our child’s—in jeopardy this time. Absolutely not.

Other than that, Dr. Kim ordered various labs, ultrasounds in Skagway every four weeks, and a big appointment in Anchorage at twenty weeks for the “anatomy scan.” At any sign of a problem or complication, Harper will be hospitalized in Anchorage. She doesn’t know this, but if that happens, I plan to take time off from my job to be there with her.

As I bounce along the old Dyea Road, I tell myself that these promises I’m making to myself are solely for the baby, but my heart thrums like mad when I think of Harper carrying my child. Of all the things her gran said, Don’t kid yourselves that it’s suddenly gone because you’re angry with each other. It’s still there…circles round and round in my head uninvited. My anger makes it hard to feel the love I’ve always carried for Harper, but deep down inside, it’s still there. Whether I like it or not…which mostly, I don’t.

But over the last few weeks, I’ve also come to accept that loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean it’s possible to build a future with them. Though I always believed differently, I’m starting to understand that sometimes love isn’t enough. I thinkit’s possible that trust is more important than love, and I don’t trust Harper very much at all.

I park in front of her cabin, hop up the steps to her one-chair deck, and knock on her door. She appears with bare feet, gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting, baby-blue sweater. It’s fuzzy and soft, hanging off one shoulder in a way that’s so innocent and so sexy, it makes blood surge to my groin. I flick my eyes to her face and find no cold shower there. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing the glasses she only wears at the end of the day when she’s tired. Jesus, you’re beautiful, Harp.

“Hey.” She’s holding a mug in both hands, so she opens the screen door with her hip. “Come on in.”

I haven’t been in one of the Stewart cabins in years, but this one has been customized as a home for Harper and Parker, so it feels more like a tiny apartment than a hotel room.

“I’m having tea,” she says. “Want some?”

“No.” I glance at her living room, trying to decide where to sit. There’s a loveseat for two or a rocking chair. She makes things easier for me by sitting in the rocker. I face her from the couch.

“How’re you feeling?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says, placing her mug on the side table beside her. “The nausea is pretty bad some days. And I’m tired all the time. I almost nodded off on a tour bus yesterday. Thankfully, none of the guests noticed.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be working.”

“Plenty of women work throughout their pregnancies,” she says. “It’ll pass.”

“Don’t take dumb risks, Harp.”

Her eyebrows furrow. She bites her bottom lip then lets it go.

“I’m just saying.” I try for a gentler tone. “Be careful.”

“Please don’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re pregnant with my baby.”

“Right. I’m pregnant. Not you.”

“You’re so goddamn stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?!” she cries, narrowing her eyes at me. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah. I am. You could’ve had so much support last time, but you—”

“Support like this? Like how you’re supporting me by yelling at me and bossing me around and hating my guts so much I can barely stand it?”

I stare at her, knowing in the depths of my soul that as angry as I am, I could never hate her. And it’s time she hears it from me.

“I don’t hate you,” I say softly, my words an echo of hers from the Fourth of July. How the hell was that only six weeks ago?

“Well, you’re doing a great impression of it.”

“I’m angry at you. I’m frustrated that I didn’t know about Moriah Raven until now. I’m furious that you made those decisions without me.”

“Joe, do me a favor…go back in time in your mind and think. Think carefully. Think about where we were and who we were. If we’d kept her, who would’ve raised her?”

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