Page 35 of True North

My shirt is tucked into the back of my jeans, my boots covered in sawdust. I’m filthy.

The screen door pops open, and Ma’s gaze finds me. Her brows lower. “Harrison Rawlins, you’re beyond dirty.”

“Workin’ has that effect.”

“Goodness me, put a shirt on.” She turns to leave but spins back around. “No, actually, clean up first, then I need you to move the big old table in the dining room.”

“Give me a sec to tidy up this lot.”

I turn back to my pile and bend over, stacking the wood and kindling. We haven’t eaten in the dining room since I was a boy. What’s gotten into her today? The door pops open again. “I’ll be up in a minute, Ma. Hold ya horses.”

A light, amused huff filters through the back door.

I spin back to find Louisa at the top of the steps. The morning sun lights up her blonde hair. Her glittering green eyes rove over me before she meets my eyes. “Need a hand to clean up?”

I push my shoulders back and toss the log still in my hand onto the pile. “Nope, was about to head inside.”

“Right.” She descends the stairs like I invited her to.

I turn back to the pile and finish stacking the wood. The tap at the hose whines and I stand in time to find water rushing toward me. Planting my boots into the ground, I brace myself as she hoses my face, my neck, and my shoulders. The water trickles down my chest and stomach and soaks my jeans. The cool water is heaven on my burning arm muscles.

Not letting on either way, I follow her gaze as she steps closer, hosing off my chest. The stream sinks lower, water splashing over my hard stomach. Louisa’s hand loosens around the end of the hose as she opens her mouth to say something.

Nothing comes out. Her arm drops as her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip and her eyes lift to mine. Fire inches its way across my heart, filling my thundering veins with something close to lava.

Footsteps track toward the back door inside. Ma.

“Har—”

I shake my head like a dog. Louisa drops the hose with a squeal and flings her arms up, her hands protecting her face as she puts space between us. I can’t help the smile splitting my face as she cowers away from the water droplets hurtling from my hair.

I chuckle. It’s hearty and warms my heart, something I haven’t felt in years. When she’s far enough away to be out of my range, she stands up and crosses her arms with a shaky laugh. Her eyes are stuck on me when Ma pushes through the back door.

“Harry? The table.”

“Yeah, Ma, comin’.”

She looks between us and then to the hose still pouring water over the ground. “Clean up before you come inside. I don’t want mud gettin’ trudged through my house, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Louisa shudders a breath, as if coming back to reality, and turns back, turning off the tap. She hovers for a moment. Her shoulders heave, her face carrying something I haven’t seen for over ten years.

Need.

“I should...” She flies up the stairs, and the back door slams behind her. I stare at the ground where she stood. The sliver of hope, of happiness we had fades. The vision of her getting out of Brad’s car the other night, trying to hide from me as I drove past, floods my mind. The memory burns.

It’s like the thing hanging between us is so raw, so real, she’s afraid of it.

Or embarrassed by it.

I, for one, am sick of trying to figure out which. She’s right, we should talk about this. I want to know either way. Pined ten years for this woman. And if the look on her face right now is anything to go on, she isn’t exactly indifferent to me either.

I hose off the rest of the sawdust and tug my boots off. Rolling up my jeans, I pad up the back stairs and make a beeline for my room. The rusted, old metal single bed I’ve had since I was a little kid sits in the middle of the room. A wooden dresser and a chair I built are the only other items in my room. It’s all I need.

I close the door almost shut and peel the wet jeans from my body, hanging them over the varnished chair. The small window in my room in the back corner of our little weatherboard house faces the barn. I pull the second drawer open, tugging out clean jeans and a work shirt.

Dressed, I run a hand through my still damp hair. I pluck fresh socks from the top drawer and wander to the kitchen. Louisa and Ma sit at the table, sharing the heavenly baking my mother spent over an hour making early this morning.

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