Page 55 of Harper

“You know better’n that,” says Mrs. Stewart to her grandson. She turns her blue eyes to me. “Guess we have a family squatting nearby.”

And all three of us know that if one dumb tourist gets between a mother bear and one of her cubs, that tourist has seconds left to live. Definitely not good for business.

“I’ll get the Game Commissioner out here—see if they can tranq ’em and get ’em relocated.” I finish my coffee and stand up. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Stewart.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” she says. “You know that, Joe.”

“Hey, Joe,” says Hunter, “me and Sawyer are taking Tanner out for drinks tonight. He’s been a moody son of a bitch this week. You’re welcome to join us.”

Sawyer’s back tonight? My heart thumps wildly—that means Harper will be back, too.

“Great!” I say, maybe a little too eager. I try to calm down, to keep my voice nonchalant and even. “I mean, sure. Why not? Where you guys headed?”

“Too soon to call. Not the Parsnip, though. That’s for sure.”

“Trouble in paradise?” I ask Hunter as he walks me out to the car.

“When a Stewart’s involved?” he asks, giving me a knowing look. “Always.”

Don’t I know it.

***

There’s no guarantee that Harper will be joining her brothers in town tonight, but I can’t help feeling excited that she might. And she can’t get mad at me. I’m definitely not breaking our deal—meeting her brothers for drinks doesn’t constitute “running into her on purpose.” First of all, I was invited. And second, I have no idea if she’ll be there, too.

That said, I make sure I’m done with my nightly jog in time for a long shower. I wash my hair, dry it, and braid it back. I consider a shave, but decide to leave a little stubble because I know Harper likes it. I find a clean, white button-down shirt in my closet, pair it with some jeans and tug on my cowboy boots.

Casual, I think, rolling up my sleeves as I check myself out in the mirror, but good.

In my reflection, my bed is unmade and messy behind me, pretty much the same way it looked the morning Harper left.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and for the very first time since she left, I allow myself to think about last Saturday.

It’s taken a shitload of self-control not to wallow in it, going over every touch, every word, every breathless moan, and strangled cry, but it would have driven me insane to linger on those precious memories too much this week. She was very clear about it being a one-off thing. I don’t know for sure that she’ll ever be in my bed again, which seems impossible after everything we shared.

The truth is that she abandoned herself to me that night.

And I abandoned myself to her.

After ten years of self-recrimination, confusion, and longing, after a decade of fruitless wishing and useless grief, the woman I loved was in my arms again, in my bed again, her breath in my mouth, her skin flush against mine. And everything about it felt right.

The long years apart had starved me. At first, I was ravenous for her, and only after I’d taken her twice could I slow down a little. The last two times, we made love in my bed, under the covers, slow and smooth, so full of raw, unfiltered love, it makes me want to sob even thinking about it. (It can’t be the last time. It can’t.) I didn’t hold back—not a motion, not a word. I told her I loved her more times than I can count. I showed her I loved her with every stroke and slide of my body. I worshipped at the shrine of Harper and was grateful for the privilege.

And then she left.

Just like she said she would.

And I haven’t heard from her since.

One night together for a lifetime apart.

My breath catches. A lump threatens to take over my throat.

Despite everything we shared, maybe it really is over for now.

But with the sort of heat that Harper and I still share? I have to believe that it’s not over forever. I have to believe that if I stay the course—if my love for her stays true, stays patient—I’ll win the girl back again. She keeps alluding to something she’s done that she believes is unforgivable, but I know better. There’s nothing Harper could do that I couldn’t forgive.

This story ends with Harper Stewart in my arms again.

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