Later, as Nash marinated the steaks and prepared to impress Harlow with his grill mastery, he relived the day, feeling accomplished. Time with Gus, the sweetness of Harlow’s little boy over a board game, but most of all, the rope swing with Harlow, and later Davis, had given him the best day he’d had in a long time. Since the Super Bowl win. Since before he’d discovered the discrepancies in his financials.
Harlow’s tears, though, had about wrecked him. She’d sold her mother’s treasured wedding rings. If her tears had wrecked him, her sacrifice shamed him. Every cell in his body wanted to give her all the money she needed. Six months ago, he could have.
He couldn’t give her money, but he could make her laugh. He could grill steaks and reminisce about their childhoods and build a tire swing for her son.
He couldn’t remember when he’d had silly, freewheeling fun like the hour on the tire swing. Listening to Harlow’s giggles and squeals thrilled him. Like old times. Good old times that he’d let slip from his memories during his climb toward the top of the sports world.
Eventually, Davis had wandered outside, fresh from his nap. The boy expressed even more delight in the new toy than his mother had.
Davis.
Some of Nash’s joy seeped out like air from a leaky tire.
Tonight, he’d tackle the question that would either change his life or ruin a friendship with Harlow. Maybe both.
But he had to ask.
After seasoning the steaks with plenty of garlic, salt and pepper, he set them aside to finish marinating while he lit the grill and put the foil-wrapped potatoes on to bake.
The weather was cool, but not frigid. Spring was sneaking up on them, slowly but surely. The weather was perfect for a cookout on the back porch. He wished he’d thought to have her buy s’mores ingredients. Harlow liked chocolate anything.
Nash never again wanted to see Harlow cry.
Feeling a combination of eagerness to see her and dread because of his multiple reasons for inviting her, Nash hit the shower, shaved, dabbed on a generous splash of cologne. Dressing in clean jeans and a black tee under a warm, maroon button-down, he checked out his image in the mirror.
“Not bad.” He no longer looked as gray and lifeless as leftover gravy.
He gently rotated his shoulder. “Better there too.”
Not healed but not as painfully useless as before.
As much as he dreaded it, he needed to get back to Florida with the trainers and nutritionists. More than that, he had to find an attorney he could trust. Sooner rather than later.
Unless he was Davis’s father. Then everything changed.
A knock sounded at the door followed by the familiar, “Hey, it’s me.”
His pulse jumped. Harlow was here.
Nash hustled into the living room where Harlow wiped her feet on an old rug he’d placed beside the door. She’d spruced up a little too. Almost as if this was a date, which, in a way, he supposed it was.
Emotions buzzed around in his chest like honeybees.
A bright blue sweater, New York Giants’ blue, set Harlow’s gorgeous hair aflame and highlighted her peachy skin. He tried not to look her up and down, but his eyes wouldn’t obey.
She’d always been cute. Maturity made her beautiful.
“I brought dessert.” She lifted a white box. “Cherry pie from the bakery.”
“Sweet. Literally.” He made a face at his pathetic joke and confiscated the box. Had she remembered his love for pie? Or was the dessert a mere coincidence? He liked believing she’d remembered. “Come on in. Are you hungry? The steaks are ready to go on the grill.”
“Whenever.”
Harlow knew this house as well as her own and joined him in the kitchen. They worked side by side, intentionally bumping each other, teasing, complaining that the other took up too much room. In his case, that was true. Which meant he jokingly blamed her.
Harlow tossed the bagged salad into a bowl and added the packaged extras. He set two plates on the small, round table next to the window.
It was a good feeling. He and Harlow, together again. Tonight, she wasn’t the prickly, unpredictable woman he’d dealt with during the weeks since he’d come home.
She was Harlow, his old pal. Except she was different, too, and he liked those differences.
Earlier in the barn, she’d needed his comfort and he’d felt ten feet tall to be able to give it. He’d been sorely tempted to kiss her. He’d settled for holding her, listening to her soft breathing, absorbing her tears and praying he could find a way to make her life better.
She’d responded sweetly, without the prickly attitude.
Apparently, he had broken through whatever wall she’d erected between them. He hoped things stayed that way.
Had she been guarded because of Davis? Was he the reason she’d run hot and cold whenever Nash came around? Was she afraid he would discover the truth and be angry that she hadn’t told him?
He couldn’t seem to get the boy off his mind and wouldn’t until he’d asked.
But not yet. He wanted to enjoy Harlow’s company again in case he ruined their friendship forever by prying into her private business.
But if it was his business too...
All this hashing and rehashing was making him a little crazy. He refocused on a search for paper napkins, which he didn’t seem to have. No paper towels either.
“Wade Trudeau and his cousin, Bowie, are coming over tomorrow to move the tractor.” Harlow pulled open a drawer and dug around until she found two steak knives.
He shot her a quick glance. “You didn’t tell him about me—”
Holding the knives in one hand, she pointed them at him. “Don’t worry. Your privacy has not been breached. You are safe from your hordes of adoring, ravaging fans.”
The tension eased from him. He grinned, a little embarrassed that she thought that about him. “Sorry. My head is a weird place right now.”
An expression he didn’t understand crossed Harlow’s face. She spun away, taking the knives to the table. “I know exactly what you mean.”
She couldn’t know what he meant. Which made him wander what she was thinking. Was it about Davis? His nerves jittered. And there he went again, fretting over the conversation ahead.
When the food was prepared, they sat at the small dining table next to a curtained window overlooking the yard.
“This looks great, Nash,” she said. “Mind if I say grace?”
“Please. Go ahead.”
He closed his eyes, silently praying for the evening ahead as she said a simple prayer of thanksgiving for the food.
“Amen,” he said when she finished. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes recently and that’s one of them.”
She unfolded the tea towel he’d put out in place of the napkins he didn’t have. “Letting your faith slide?”
“I found my old Bible in a box in the closet, been reading it.”
“That’s good, Nash. I’m glad. Having a relationship with Jesus has helped me a lot. I don’t feel so alone anymore.”
“Alone? You have a family under foot all the time.” Her house filled with people was one of its draws when he was a boy. He’d loved the noise and movement and constant companionship with kids his age that was missing in his home. Being an only child stunk even if Mom and Dad claimed he was an answer to many heartfelt prayers.
He shook out his tea towel, identical to Harlow’s, and placed it on his lap.
“It’s not the same,” Harlow responded. “You know how I am. I’ve always felt responsible for everything, as if I had to take care of the whole world.”
“You were that way as a kid.”
“Yes, I was. Still am to a certain extent, though I can’t understand why. My sisters are grown. The ranch belongs to all of us, not just me, but it seems I’m the one to handle everything.”
“You’re in a tough spot right now. It’ll get better when Monroe and Gus are back on their feet.”
“I know. You’re right. Poppy tells me to cast my cares on Jesus, like the Bible says, but I have a hard time doing that. I’m getting better though.” She sliced into the juicy steak and he waited for her hum of approval. “It’s a relief to know that Someone all-knowing and powerful is at my side to help out when I don’t know what to do.”
“It sure is.” He filled his plate and offered her the salad. Times like this he needed God more than he’d ever imagined. With his life in such a mess, his head spun. Only God could see the big picture. He sure couldn’t.
One thing for certain, he didn’t want to mishandle tonight and ruin things forever between him and Harlow.
They ate in silence for a while except for occasional comments on the tender club steaks. She claimed they were delicious but not as tender as the Matheson grass-fed beef.
“Why aren’t we eating your steaks, then?” How had he forgotten that most ranchers raised and processed their own meat? Had he become that much of a city boy in four years?
“Our freezer’s nearly empty.” She glanced up, eyebrows lifted in mischief. “And you were buying.”
“Why’s the freezer empty? Don’t you usually keep a steer ready to go?”
She took a drink of water before replying, as if she needed to think before responding.
“We sold all our steers last fall.”
The Matheson financial struggles must be bad, really bad. Worse even than he’d thought. Not that he was surprised. It was often a way of life for small-time ranchers. Except he didn’t like thinking they might be in need and there was nothing he could do to help.
At least not at present.
He shoved in a bite of savory steak and let go of the topic. They had a more serious discussion ahead. No use stirring the waters over cattle prices.
As their hunger abated and the cherry pie was served, Nash intentionally guided the conversation toward casual subjects.
He told her funny locker room stories and described his friends and teammates. She updated him on people they both knew. They talked about her baby sister, Taylor, now a young woman with an apparent lust for travel and adventure that kept Harlow on edge.
“You’re a control freak.” He aimed a forkful of cherry pie in her direction.
As long as he’d known Harlow, she’d needed to overprotect her sisters, her grandpa, her whole world. Sometimes even him. Because of her parents’ deaths, which she hadn’t been able to stop, perhaps she’d developed a need to keep everything and everyone around her safe and in order.
Her younger sister apparently had rebelled.
“I am not a control freak! Taylor’s fragile. Flitting from one place to another with strangers is not safe.”
“Strangers to you, Harlow, not to Taylor. She’s a grown woman.”
She stabbed a bite of piecrust with particular viciousness. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Guess not.” He quickly dropped the touchy subject. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was to put Harlow on the defensive. Things threatened to get heated enough later when he asked about Davis.
As the conversation bounced from one thing to another, she asked to see his Super Bowl ring. He retrieved it from the glove box of his car, still hidden in the detached garage.
As she admired the ridiculously bejeweled ring, Nash realized, as much as he disliked the idea of selling, like Harlow, his valuable ring was one more thing he could sell to generate cash. If he had to.
Please, God, help me resolve his mess I’m in. Finances. Injury. Harlow. Davis.
He could hardly think straight for the pile of worries that kept growing higher.
Harlow waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey there, mister, where did you go?”
“Nowhere, just...admiring your pretty hair.”
She touched a hand to the long strand lying across one shoulder. “Thank you. Remember when you called me fire stick and said I looked like a lit match?”
He tilted his head back and grinned at the popcorn ceiling. “We were ten.”
“Eleven. Your mom overheard and made you apologize.”
“She didn’t know you called me Godzilla first after I stepped on your foot.”
Harlow giggled. “Nearly broke my toe.”
They exchanged smiles and the moment held, time suspended as if four years hadn’t passed, remembering while also enjoying the moment. Being with Harlow felt right, comfortable in a way no other woman ever had. With her, he was completely himself.
“I’m stuffed.” She pushed the remaining bites of cherry pie his direction. “Want this?”
Another habit of times past. Petite Harlow fed her leftovers to him, an ever-hungry, fast-growing teenager.
Nash finished off both pieces of pie and sat back. “That was good.”
“Thanks for inviting me. I was reluctant at first, but I’m glad I came.”
“Why? I mean, why reluctant?”
She hopped up from the table and began clearing their few dishes. Grilling meant easy cleanup. Plates clattered as she placed them in the stainless-steel sink.
He followed, anxious to talk to her about Davis but dreading it too. When she began rinsing the plates, he reached over and turned off the faucet.
“Leave these. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He handed her a clean tea towel. She dried her hands and carefully draped it over the oven handle.
“What?”
He took her hand, warm from the water, and tugged. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
She pulled back, expression cautious. “This sounds serious.”
He recaptured the hand, enveloping the small, soft fingers in his giant paw. “It is.”
Her gaze widened. She looked to one side and then around the room as if in search of escape. “We’ve been having such a nice time. I don’t want to be serious.”
“Please.” He kept his tone quiet and cajoling. “It’s important.”
With a sigh of surrender, she dipped her head and followed him into the living room.
Harlow’s pulse jacked to Mach speed as Nash tugged her down beside him on the old brown couch and took both her hands in his.
He looked as serious as a cracked skull.
A lump, thick as an apple, tightened her throat. She swallowed against it.
Whatever this was about, she had a feeling she wouldn’t like it.
It couldn’t be about Davis, could it? There was no way Nash could have guessed. Was there?
“What is it, Nash? You’re making me nervous.”
He drew in a breath, blew it out. “I don’t know how to say this.”
Warning jitters danced up her back. “Just say it.”
“I don’t want to upset you, and if I’m off base, I apologize in advance, but before I left for the NFL, we, uh, made a big mistake. At the time you said there were no, uh, repercussions.”
She tensed. Here it came, the thing she’d dreaded since he’d passed out in her pasture.
What if he was angry? What if he hated her? What if he wanted to take Davis away?
Her insides began to shake.
“That was four years ago, Nash. We’ve moved on.”
“Have we?” He speared her with intense eyes. “I need you tell me directly to my face. Is Davis my son?”
There it was.
Heat rushed up her neck and over her face. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might come out of her chest.
She should have told him days, weeks, months, maybe years ago. But she’d been angry and disappointed in him. For years, she’d thought he neither wanted nor deserved Davis.
She still thought that might be true.
But, her conscience said, she still should have told him.
He had a right to know.
With barely a whisper, her mouth dry as cotton, she braced for his fury. “Yes.”
He tilted backward, groaned and then dropped his head into his hands. “I am sorry. So very sorry. This is my fault. I was such a reckless, insensitive fool. None of this should have ever happened.”
Harlow stiffened. “I will never regret having Davis.”
Nash lifted stricken eyes to her face. “No. No. Never. He’s a great kid. But my careless behavior that night has cost you so much. I should have been here for you. I should have followed up. You went through this alone.”
His reaction was not what she’d expected.
Nash was beside himself with regret. Blaming himself, instead of her? It didn’t make sense.
She had the oddest feeling that she should console him. After all he’d done to hurt her, she still loved him that much. Still wished he had been there when Davis was born, that he had loved her and their son.
“Nash, it’s done. Can’t be undone.”
He rose from the couch and paced to the end of the room and back again, stopping in front of her. She lifted her chin and looked at him.
“This is on me, Harlow. My mistake. My selfish actions. I’ve wronged you and that little boy immeasurably. I have to change that. Let me make amends. We’ll get married.”
She blinked. Blinked again. Her mouth fell open. Had he just said what she thought she’d heard?
“Married?”
“I care about you. Always have. I think you feel the same. Right?” His hopeful expression baffled her. What on earth did he have to be hopeful for other than assuaging a guilty conscience?
Since she was fifteen, she’d dreamed of Nash’s marriage proposal and yet, he’d tossed the offer out like an afterthought. Which it was. A spur-of-the-moment, let-me-fix-this afterthought.
No romance, no declaration of love.
None of the things she’d dreamed of.
That’s because Nash didn’t love her, never had. Love had nothing to do with this conversation. Not one thing.
He no more wanted to marry her than he wanted to live on this ranch and raise cattle.
Stunned into humiliated silence, her brain tried to make sense of his reaction.
The man actually thought he was doing the right thing.
Cushions gave way as Nash sat down again and patted her limp, lifeless hands. She felt too empty and shaken to move away.
He was sorry. He’d made a mistake. He regretted the “wrong” he’d done.
“It’s the best we can do for now.” He plowed ahead as if she’d agreed to his outlandish proposal. “We’ll get married right away. Before I head back to Florida to...deal with some problems there.”
Problems in Florida.
Probably a woman who’d be as heartbroken as she was.
The admission yanked Harlow to attention.
Nash was about to leave again, but he wanted to clean up the mess he’d left behind the first time.
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or furious.
So, she was both.
The inner shaking worked its way to the outside. Shock and numbness gave way to anger. Blood surged with a roar into her temples, pounding there like a war drum.
“No.” The denial exploded from her, a volcanic eruption.
Nash’s words played over and over in her head. Mistake. Wrong. Regret.
His apology stabbed her through the heart. She didn’t want an apology.
She wanted Nash’s love, not his remorse.
Davis was a gift, not a mistake to regret.
Nash could save his self-reproach for the fact that he’d ruined her family financially.
The urge to throw that in his face rose up like a stomach virus. She fought it down, silenced by her promise to Poppy.
“Why not?” Nash’s eyebrows dipped, his expression bewildered. “Marriage is the best solution. We’re both single. Davis needs a dad. He’s my son.”
He had no idea that every loveless, insulting word ripped her to shreds.
“He’s my son,” she said through gritted teeth. “We were doing fine until you came along, and we’ll do fine after you leave. I will not marry you.”
“I don’t understand. You’re not making sense.”
She jerked her hands free and stood up, looming over him the way he’d unwittingly done to her. “Of course, you don’t understand. Because you are so special and important, rich and famous, why would any woman refuse your offer of marriage?”
She was starting to get worked up. Really worked up. Anger was better than the sheer devastation tearing through her.
“He’s my son, Harlow. I want to know him. I’m sorry for—” he waved one hand as if to erase what he saw as a problem “—everything.”
His calm voice added fuel to her fury. “You’ve apologized enough. Stop it. Just stop it.”
He held up both hands in surrender, placating now.
“Okay. Okay. Please. Let’s both calm down and talk sensibly. I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on in that head of yours, but think about Davis. I’m not a terrible man, am I? A flawed one, I’ll admit, but not terrible.”
“No, of course not. I never said that.” Maybe she’d thought it, though, after the investment debacle. But lately? No.
More’s the pity. Falling in love with him all over again was about the most lamebrained thing she’d ever done.
“Don’t you want him to know me? Shouldn’t he have that? A day will come when he’ll ask, you know. Won’t he be angry that I wanted to be part of his life and you refused? That you kept him from me?”
Harlow twisted her hands together, trying to clear her thoughts. His proposal had blindsided her. Since his arrival, she’d planned to tell him about Davis. In her own way. At some point. Before he left again.
The trouble was, tonight she’d come over for a simple dinner between friends. He’d sprung this on her out of the blue.
Drawing in a cleansing breath, she nodded, forced her tight shoulders to relax. “You’re right. However, do not mention marriage again. I won’t keep you from Davis. In fact, I want you to be part of his life, but if I ever marry, it will be for love, not obligation. I deserve that and so do you.”
There she’d said it. She’d put love on the table, her nonnegotiable.
“All right. I understand. I think.” He shook his head again, his expression sad. “I really am sorry, Harlow.”
She stabbed a finger at the air. It trembled.
“Don’t apologize again. Ever.” She whipped around and fumbled for the doorknob. “Keep the rest of the pie. I’m going home now.” She shot one final glance over her shoulder. “Thank you for the dinner.”
He dipped his chin and started to say something, but she didn’t wait around to hear.