Finally. The well service truck rumbled into the Matheson yard to diagnose and hopefully repair the ailing water well.
Harlow, accompanied by everyone else in her family, greeted the two-man team, anxious for the verdict and for a healthy well.
Her head was muzzy and her neck ached from lack of sleep. Most of the night, she’d stared into the darkness, reliving the ugly scene with Nash.
The early morning sun nearly blinded her dry, aching eyes.
The TV meteorologist had promised a weather warm-up after the weeks of cold rain. Spring would eventually arrive and she, like all ranchers, was more than ready.
Except spring would most likely mean Nash had to report back to his team. As upset as she was about his ridiculous proposal, she couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing him again. Now that he knew about Davis, there was no reason to avoid him.
She wanted him nearby, to see him every day.
She was still hurt by his proposal. But not hurt enough to want him to leave again.
What was she going to do about Nash Corbin?
Shoving her hands deep in her hoodie pouch, she sighed. She was hopeless, a romantic fool who couldn’t let go of a dead dream.
Last night’s confrontation had drained her. She’d come home exhausted and cranky. Storming into Monroe’s bedroom, she’d spilled the entire, infuriating episode with the only person she could tell.
“So, marry him,” Monroe had said with a nonchalant shrug.
Harlow rolled her eyes. “You don’t even like him.”
“But you do.” Her sister, working at something on her computer, patted the bed next to her. “Harlow, you’ve loved that oversize galoot forever. You had his baby. So, marry him already.”
Harlow plopped onto the quilt, a Navajo design in turquoise and brown. Monroe had a thing for Native American designs.
“I love him, Monroe. I want him to love me too, not marry me out of responsibility.”
Her sister closed the laptop and set it to one side. She angled her body toward Harlow. “Is there any hope that he might eventually fall in love with you?”
“When he could have any woman he wanted? And probably does have a woman in Florida he would have to break up with to marry the mother of his son.” Harlow shook her head. “No. He’s not likely to fall for someone he hasn’t even thought about in years. And that is not a marriage I want.”
“Then, consider this.” A sneaky grin slid over her sister’s face, puckering the scars along the left side. “Marry him. Make him pay. Spend his money. Bleed him dry of every cent he and that agent robbed from us. Then, kick him to the curb.” She tossed her hands into the air. “Win-win.”
Harlow knew Monroe was joking. Sort of. “You’re not helping.”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t give me that stink eye. Let’s figure this out. You want him to have access to Davis, right?”
“A relationship. Yes. For Davis’s sake.”
“What else do you want?” Monroe waved off the question. “Beside the love thing. Which, honey, is way overrated. Trust me.”
“You’re too cynical.”
“Truth. My objectivity went up in flames. Literally.”
Harlow winced. As harsh as the statement sounded, the fire had done more than damage to Monroe’s face and send her fiancé scurrying. It had scarred her soul.
A revved engine and clank of metal jerked Harlow’s thoughts away from last night and back to the water well.
Situated in the backyard, the small, brick well house didn’t contain space for everyone. With the door open so they could see inside, the Mathesons waited outside while the servicemen investigated the problem.
A new water well would cost them tens of thousands of dollars.
Please, Lord, she prayed silently. Please let it be a simple fix that doesn’t cost the earth. Not a new well. I can’t afford that. The money from Mama’s rings wasn’t enough for a whole new well.
“Low pressure,” she heard one worker say.
Monroe and Harlow exchanged glances. Monroe rolled her eyes, her mouth twisting.
“Detective Sherlock says we have low pressure,” Monroe muttered, dripping sarcasm. “Wonder why we buffoons didn’t notice that our faucets barely squirt enough water to fill a glass?”
Harlow elbowed her and shook her head. Her temples throbbed.
Monroe’s bitterness sometimes seeped over onto anyone in her path.
Gus gave her the look and stuck his head inside the building to say, “Sure thank you boys for coming out today. Hope you didn’t have any trouble on these muddy roads. Slicker than greased hog slop.”
“No trouble.” One of the workers, in thick brown coveralls and holding a pipe wrench, came to the door. “Saw a bunch of cars coming out this way though, making ruts everywhere. That’ll be a mess until the road grader comes through again.”
The comment flew past her. Cars drove down the road. The dirt road was muddy. No big deal.
But later, Harlow recalled the statement and understood its importance.
She was in the barn, finishing the chores she’d left this morning during the well service. The repair was more than expected but doable with the money from her mother’s rings. Funds would be tighter than usual for a while, but with the small amount of Monroe’s VA pension, the family wouldn’t go without necessities. They’d get by.
Regardless of Monroe’s advice, she’d never ask Nash for a dime.
Last night had rattled her to the core. She’d wanted him to know about Davis and was relieved he wasn’t angry, but his ill-conceived proposal gutted her. Didn’t he realize how humiliating that was?
Now that she was calmer, she’d meet with him today and find out what he wanted in the way of visitation. But she would never agree to a loveless marriage.
She still hadn’t told Poppy that Nash was Davis’s father, didn’t know how she could. Another worry.
No wonder her head pounded until she felt queasy.
“Are you in here?”
Harlow jumped at the sound of Nash’s voice.
Okay. Good. The mountain had come to her. No time like the present to figure things out.
Stepping out of the feed room, she went to meet him, resolved to keep a clearer head today no matter how tired she was.
The moment she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks. This did not appear to be a promising start.
Dappled by sun-lit dust motes, Nash stood in the barn breezeway, hands on his hips.
Harlow skidded to a stop. The scent of dust and dried manure swirled into her nostrils.
Dark eyebrows yanked low, brow furrowed and body fairly quivering with fury, Nash looked like a supercell thunderstorm about to break. A tornadic outbreak that would leave destruction in its path.
He must be formidable on the football field. A random thought but there it was.
“Nash?” She tilted her head and inadvertently sloshed her throbbing brain.
Last night, he hadn’t been angry at all. He certainly was now.
“What’s going on?”
Jaw tight, he demanded, “We need to talk. Now. Alone.”
“Okay.” She held gloved hands out to each side. “We’re as alone as it gets around here. What’s wrong? Besides the obvious.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I think you know.”
She didn’t. Her pulse banged against her temple, increasing the headache. And the anxiety.
Had he suddenly awakened this morning and decided to be mad because she hadn’t told him about Davis?
“If this concerns Davis, I planned to meet with you today.”
He slashed the air, cutting her off. “No.”
“Then, clue me in. I don’t know what you’re talking about, if not Davis.”
Nash scoffed in disbelief. His tan skin darkened with anger. “Don’t tell me you had nothing to do with what happened at my house this morning.”
Refusing to be intimidated by the big, furious athlete, Harlow parked a fist on either hip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nash. I’ve been here all morning with the well repair service guys.”
“You didn’t need to be at my place to cause the problem.” He stabbed the air with a finger. “All you needed was an internet connection.”
Harlow blinked, trying to make sense of his words. Was she too tired to think? Or had Nash lost his senses this morning?
What did an internet connection have to do with their son?
“Your revenge worked.” Through a jaw tight enough to crack, he went on. “At the break of dawn this morning, I was overrun with media. A camera stuck in my face, photographer snapping shots of the ranch, invading my barn, my privacy, asking questions I don’t want to answer. Can you really stand there and pretend you had nothing to do with that?”
Harlow’s mouth dropped open. She splayed a hand across her chest. “Me? Why would you think I had anything to do with it?”
“Isn’t the reason obvious?”
“No. Nash, no. I didn’t tell anyone.”
His hard expression didn’t change. He clearly did not believe a word she spoke.
“Maybe you didn’t say the words. But, according to several sources toting cameras and microphones, social media lit up last night with my whereabouts. So, maybe, after our chat, you logged in to your favorite platforms and mentioned to the whole world about lights on at the old Corbin Ranch, owned by none other than Nash Corbin, the NFL’s missing player. Is that how you got the word out?”
“Nash, listen to me.” Marching right up to him, Harlow gripped both his bulging biceps and gave them a shake. They were rock hard and trembling. “I did not alert anyone to your presence. Not by words or deed. I haven’t had time to log on to social media in days. And, unlike some people, I keep my promises.”
The last shot was intentional. But it was also hateful. She wished the words back but it was too late.
He jerked away from her, stacked his hands on his hips and stared at the window lining the left side of the barn alley. His massive chest rose and fell in agitation, his breathing loud in the quiet barn.
“I needed this privacy, Harlow. My ranch was the only place on earth I could come without being bothered. Now everyone in the sports world knows its location.”
Before she could check her thoughts, they tumbled out. “You signed up to be bothered when you pursued a career in pro athletics.”
His gaze snapped back to her. His eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? That I’m all about the attention?”
“Isn’t it?” She was getting mad too. He had no business accusing her. Her voice rose. “Why else leave Florida without your phone and disappear without telling anywhere where you are? Why play Mr. Mysterious?”
She stopped, tossed both hands in the air. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t need this. Your business is yours. It has nothing to do with me.”
He leaned in closer, voice low and threatening. “It has everything to do with you. And my son. This is your idea of payback, plain and simple. Revenge.”
She stuck her nose close to his. “You’re not making any sense. Why would I want revenge?”
Nash pushed closer. She refused to budge. He would never hurt her, not physically anyway.
“You kept my son away from me for years. His entire life. When all you had to do was call. I was a phone call and a plane ride away. And now? I’ve been back for weeks and nothing. Not a word from you about my child. You kept silent until I forced the issue, Harlow. You, the control freak, wanted that boy all to yourself. I took away your control last night by demanding my rights, so you contacted the media. Did you tell them about Davis, too? That I’m the father of a little boy in Oklahoma? What’s next? Selling your story to a TV reality show?”
Harlow gasped, wounded. Did he really think she’d stoop that low? That she’d hurt him or Davis that way?
She pressed a hand to either side of her head. Any minute now, her brain would blow up. “Stop. Just stop it. Let’s be rational. We can discuss this like adults. In fact, I planned to come over later and discuss everything with you. But not while you’re so upset.”
“Upset doesn’t begin to address my feelings right now. Not after this media invasion.” He shoved a finger in her face. “But let me make this much clear. No matter what revenge you take, that boy is half mine. I’m going to be a part of his life, whether you like it or not. You can throw all the obstacles at me you want. All your devious efforts will get you is a summons to court.”
Harlow sucked in half the musty air in the barn. The ugly threat ticked like a time bomb between them.
With deadly quiet, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean custody. You want to fight?” He poked his own chest and enunciated every cruel word with precision. “I’m your opponent. And I play to win. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
He spun around and stomped out of the barn, leaving Harlow shaking in her muddy boots. She reached for the wall to keep from falling.
Custody. He wanted to take Davis away from her? Because he thought she’d alerted the media?
Did he realize how little sense that made?
Or was his threat a culmination of things? She’d kept Davis a secret. She’d refused to satisfy Nash’s wish to soothe his conscience and make amends with a loveless marriage. Now, the media had converged on him like a swarm of locusts.
And he blamed her.
So many reasons for him to despise and distrust her, even if he was wrong about one of them.
The shaking grew worse. She slid down the wall and dropped her face against upraised knees.
Nash was rich, powerful, famous. She was a penniless nobody with a failing ranch and a family to support. If he took her to court, he’d win.
She could lose Davis.
Raising her head, she stiffened her trembling shoulders.
She could not allow him to take her son away. No matter what she had to do.