Page 86 of True North

Harry draws a shaky, long inhale. I lean back, untangling myself from around him. When those deep blues finally hit home, I see torment and grief warring each other.

“You loved her well, Harry, you did so good by her,” I whisper the words, thumbing his cheeks in a fruitless effort to dry away the constant stream running down them.

He simply swallows.

He’s too still.

Shock is setting in.

I tilt my head, forcing the sob that wants out of my throat all the way back down. I promised to take care of him, and it’s exactly what I am going to do.

“I’ll put on the kettle,” I say softly, rising from his lap.

His body jostles a little as I leave, but his stare stays pinned straight ahead. My heart cracks clean in two for the only man I will ever love.

Huh.

The realization is like a slap to the face.

I grip the edge of the counter and take in a much-needed lungful of air. Shaking out the haze threatening to pull me under, I pluck up the old kettle and fill it at the sink. Turning the center burner on, I set it down and leave it to boil.

Down the hall, I take out a blanket for Rosie. Harry still hasn’t moved when I return. I cover her up, folding her hands over her chest and making sure her eyes are closed. I run my fingers over her dark hair, letting the tears fall silently for a moment.

The kettle squeals, and I spin back to make the tea. As I’m pulling mugs from the cupboard, the faint oscillation of a siren fades in.

Too late.

Minutes later, a knock rattles the door. I pad to it and let them in, giving them a brief rundown of what happened. One of the men simply nods. The other walks outside to use his radio.

I cross the living room to where Harry sits and kneel by his side. “Harry? The ambulance is here. Let them see to her?”

Dark eyes snap to mine. A groan falls from him as he staggers to his feet. Without a word, he stalks for the back door.

It slams behind him.

The two halves of my broken heart shatter to smithereens.

ChapterTwenty-Two

HARRY

The wire burns my palms. I can tell by the blisters and the dank stench of seared flesh. My hands are numb. My mind has my heart all cut up. Every second, new and agonizing thoughts fill my head. Some arewhat-ifs. Some are the dreams and hopes that, after yesterday, died along with my mother.

The moon is my only light, the soft sounds of lowing cattle in the field behind the homestead letting me know I’m not dreaming. This is the brutal reality that found me less than twenty-four hours ago. The grief sears through me.

“Harry?”

The lilt of her voice tangles through my dulled senses.

I tug at the wire. It flings from its hold. Another strand cut and loose. I haul on it with my body weight as if it’s responsible for every rotten thing in my life.

“Harrison Rawlins, you are gonna hurt yourself...” The voice is soft and carries on the night’s tempered breeze. Grass crunches behind me. Something soft and warm lands on my shoulder.

The wire falls from my hands.

An elegant shape wraps around me from behind.

Louisa.

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