Page 154 of True North

“Oh, Harry...”

He gives me a wink. “Get used to sayin’ that phrase.”

What is he talkin’ about?

We roll into the ranch, the barns flanking the driveway to the left, the homeste?—

“Oh my god...” The words leave on puffy breaths.

A smile the size of Montana grows over his face as he pulls up and kills the engine. A sweet white fence runs right ’round the house, the old trees—my favorite part of the homestead—encircled by it. The front yard is a large rectangle. It looks magnificent.

“Ain’t even the best part,” Harry rumbles softly beside me. Now his face is lit up and staring down at me at my open door. I didn’t see him get out of the truck, let alone round it and open my door. Awe has me in its thrilling grip as I slip out of the truck, my hand in his. Harry leans inside and reappears with Hudson cradled safely in his arms.

“Welcome home, Lou.”

I glance up at him and wander toward the small white gate. Its ornate iron top is the sweetest thing. I swing it open. Wide stone pavers are dotted along a curved path to the front porch, lining up perfectly with our front door.

“Harry... what did yo—When did you do all this?”

“I had a few days to get a couple things fixed up.”

He leans around me and places his hand on the front doorknob. “Now, I realize you like your cookin’ space a particular way, but I thought an upgrade was overdue for the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

“Wha—” I flick my gaze to his face.

He swings the front door open, and I return my attention to inside the house.

To our home.

I cross the threshold and halt one step in.

The old ranch kitchen, with its sagging cabinet doors and tiny stove, is nowhere to be found. Instead, a beautiful and massive kitchen sits in its place. I drift toward the wonder. My fingertips sweep over the new counter. The cabinets are gorgeous. The hardware...

My eyes burn.

A wide stove sits on the back wall, a long faucet hovering over it. A wide fridge, and is that . . . ?

“A wine fridge?” I gasp.

“You never know, with this family of ours growing, we’re probably gonna take up drinkin’.”

His grin is wide but falls when the sentiment hits home.

The memories of the little allotment outside Lewistown and the dim days Rosie and him lived there must have snagged in his mind.

I move into his space and push up on my tiptoes, planting a kiss on his lips. Hoping to remind him of what Harry, whiskey, and me have between us. Wanting to coax back every beautiful memory we have of whiskey kisses, and all the love we’ve made. “We will be just fine. A little whiskey never hurt a man.”

Being careful not to disturb Hudson, I cup Harry’s face and whisper my mouth over his. This hunger between us will never die. Of that, I’m sure now.

“Or a little fencin’,” he rasps.

He caught on quick. Spinning back ’round, I take in all he’s done for me, and emotion claims me. An arm slides around my waist, his stubbled cheek pressing against mine. “A captain needs a decent helm. Think this’ll do, darlin’?”

It’s all I can do to turn a little to the side and close my eyes, nestling my face into his neck. Hudson stirs in his arms, so I make my next words a whisper.

But their meaning is everything.

“It faces north. It’s perfect, Harry.”

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