If she wanted different results, she had to do something different. The most obvious choice was simple. Finally make the heart-wrenching move to the city.
Panic and heartache instantly converged. No. Not that. Not yet. This was her home, and the man of her dreams lived here. He had to live here. They would fall in love and raise their kids here.
But who would want her? As a military man, Daniel Porter was used to dealing with hostile people and situations. Could he forgive the past?
A few years ago, Jeffery James had moved to town. He’d heard rumors about her, sure, but he had no personal experience with her. Of course, she wasn’t attracted to him, but what did that matter? Love could grow from support, affection and stability.
There was that word again. Stability. The mother ship. The holy grail.
Who could give her something so precious? Lincoln West, maybe. Handsome, sweet and, like Jeffery, she had no real personal experience with him. Plus, he lived in her ancestral home. If they happened to fall in love, she could move back in. And promptly kick Beck out, she thought with a smile.
What she knew about West: he hadn’t dated anyone in town...which was kinda odd, now that she considered it. He wasn’t just handsome, he was handsome, and he had as many admirers as Beck. He just didn’t jump their bones at every opportunity. He was over six foot, leanly muscled and he was nice. He had a smile for everyone he came across, and he worked like a fiend, creating different kinds of computer programs.
She knew about his business only because she’d visited his office in town the day after it opened. His assistant from the city had been there, and Harlow had asked questions, submitted a résumé. And it had been a doozy. Past jobs: zero. Experience: none. Strengths: still searching. She’d hoped to decorate their walls with murals or, barring that, become their receptionist. Surprisingly enough—har har—she was never called in for an interview; she’d listed the number to the only pay phone in town and camped by it for days.
But maybe she didn’t need a job from West...maybe she just needed him.
What kind of women did he prefer?
If the answer was sometimes mousy, sometimes feisty homeless girls, she had this in the bag. If not, well, she would just have to earn his interest another way.
Which shouldn’t be a problem. Thanks to Beck, she was now equipped with an instruction manual.
For the first time in months, she was hopeful as she drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t West’s face she saw in her dreams...
* * *
WEST AND JASE tried to speak with Beck as he stalked through the house.
“Sorry, guys, but I can’t,” he said. “Not now.”
They asked no questions, and for that he was grateful. He locked himself in his bedroom and plopped onto the end of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his upraised hands, just trying to breathe, align his thoughts, maybe shake off the worst of his emotions. What he’d just witnessed...
He’d followed Harlow, hoping to unearth a few of her secrets. Maybe he shouldn’t have invaded her privacy like that, but he’d wanted answers and she’d been unwilling to give them, and though he’d tried, he’d realized he wasn’t going to get them any other way.
He’d done what was necessary.
Of course, he’d almost veered off track when a brute of a guy purposely bumped into her. In some of the foster homes Beck had stayed in, he’d seen girls and women abused mentally, emotionally and even physically, and it had always infuriated him.
Not on my watch.
Only the thought of going after the guy at a later date allowed him to continue following Harlow.
She lived on his land in abject poverty. People treated her like trash, and she took it, every bit of it, as if she had to do penance. And yet, tired and hungry, she still found the strength to help those who now hurt her.
He wondered how she cleaned her clothes, how she showered, because he knew she somehow managed to do both.
He wondered what she ate, when she ate. He’d spent hours trailing her, and she hadn’t consumed a single bite of food. The only water she’d had was what she’d boiled. He wondered what she planned to do during the upcoming winter months, if she would allow herself to freeze to death before she came to him for aid.
He wondered—and he got pissed. The little girl from the pictures shouldn’t be living that way. The woman she’d become shouldn’t be living that way. He had a home with plenty of rooms. He had a refrigerator filled with food. He had unlimited access to fresh water. He had stacks of blankets, a closet full of coats. Hell, he had everything the girl could ever need or want. And yet she suffered out there?
Her stupid pride, he thought, jaw aching as his molars gnashed together. If he went to her now, she would spurn him. No doubt about it. Time to plan.
He’d hated leaving her out there, almost hadn’t managed it, but he’d consoled himself with the thought that this would be her last night in that tent, her last night exposed to the elements and wild animals. Coyotes, snakes and scorpions lived out there, and the fool woman would make a mighty tasty meal.
So what that she’d survived this long. Tomorrow her life was going to change drastically. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
BRIGHT MORNING SUNLIGHT streaked through the tears in Harlow’s tent, waking her before she was ready to rise. She pried open tired, gritty eyes, caught sight of puffy white clouds and a flock of blackbirds twirling overhead. A cheery sight mixed with an ominous one. Yay.
She struggled to sit up, her body as sore as she’d predicted. Actually more so.
Plan for the day: read about gardening for an hour, apply what she learned to Beck’s roses, find and flirt with West.
Foolproof.
She gathered her basket of meager supplies—toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and a dwindling roll of toilet paper—and crawled from the tent.
A high-pitched scream split her lips. Intruder!
Beck, only Beck, she realized a moment later, flattening a hand over her racing heart. He sat on the boulder she’d managed to roll next to the fire pit when she’d first moved out here, staring at her through narrowed eyes. The blaze she’d started last night had long since died, and there was no hint of smoke in the air to shield her view. She saw every inch of the man who had tormented her dreams, from his harsh, intractable expression to his big, strong body. Gone was the charming facade he usually displayed so readily. Now, iron-hard determination pulled his skin taut around his eyes and his mouth.
The change was startling and beautiful. He was a work of art, and he made her yearn for the impossible—or a few hours in his bed, no matter the cost. His hair stuck out in spikes, the strands seemingly a thousand different shades of gold and brown, from the palest flax to the darkest sable. His eyes were sensuously tilted, his cheekbones sharp and his jaw squared with resolve. His wide shoulders looked as if they could carry any burden, and she wished he were the kind of man who would hold her with one arm while protecting her with the other.
But he’s not, so he’s not for me.
“I’m