“What the fuck do we do?” Marc stared at Amy’s cottage, his heart a sledgehammer in his chest. “We can’t leave her.”
“I don’t think we have a choice at the moment, mate.”
He glared at Keith, angry. Furious, in fact. Not an emotion he normally experienced. “So we’re heading off? What if Big Mac comes back?”
Keith shook his head, the sinking sun casting his face in dark shadows. “He won’t.”
Marc narrowed his eyes. “Do you think…” His fists balled. “Would McNamara really have…” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking. The idea was sickening. Ronnie McNamara was a tosser, but he wasn’t a rapist.
Was he?
Keith let out a choppy sigh. “I dunno, mate. Hughsie mentioned yesterday he’s been hitting the grog hard these last few days and he’s pissed off about Hazel putting him in his place on Saturday. I suspect he was hoping to have a shot at Harper himself before we came along and messed up his plans. That would explain him telling her we were gay.”
A scowl twisted Marc’s lip. “Harper and Big Mac? She’s got better taste than that.”
“She’s also scared out of her fucking mind right now.” Keith’s jaw bunched. “And that doesn’t sit well with me.”
Marc scrubbed his hands over his face. “Hell, you almost killed a guy in front of her with your bare hands. She’s bound to be scared. You reckon she needs some space from us?” A dull chill settled in his stomach at the thought. “She said Big Mac didn’t touch her. You reckon this, what we’ve been doing, is all…too much too soon?”
Another ragged breath left Keith. He swiped his hat from his head, worrying his hair with his other hand. “I dunno,” he muttered.
Marc let out a low growl. “I’m going after Big Mac before he gets to Hunter. Make the bastard tell us what he did.”
Keith returned his hat to his head, disgust and rage simmering in his eyes. “As much as I want to deal with McNamara my way, we need to play this straight. We need to make sure he’s gone to Hunter and that the cops are notified.”
Marc frowned. “Y’know the cops are going to question you too, mate. Probably even arrest you. It’s not the first time you’ve dealt with a fuckwit before.”
Keith’s way of dealing with men who sexually harassed women he cared for was very simple and bloody. The last time Keith “dealt” with someone, that someone—a dickhead in Cobar who tried to follow Amy into the loo at the rodeo—ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw, fractured cheekbone and shattered nose. It hadn’t helped the wanker’s cause that he was the same man who’d been sending Amy drunken text photos of his crotch. Nor that he was the same idiot who’d declared loudly and to anyone caring to listen that Keith’s retired cop father was corrupt after Keith beat him for the Cobar rodeo title.
Keith had “dealt” with that bastard swiftly, spent the night in lockup after his father’s replacement reluctantly arrested him, and then he’d had to endure Dylan and Hunter’s wrath the next day.
Marc didn’t doubt Big Mac deserved everything Keith gave him, but the last thing he wanted to see was his mate in the cop shop, charged with assault. The problem was, neither Marc nor Keith knew what Big Mac had done, and Harper wasn’t talking. If they both beat the shit out of Ronnie for just being a tosser, even one who’d planned to do something utterly repugnant and vile, they’d be in trouble.
Not only with the cops in Cobar, but with the Sullivans. Most likely they’d both be sacked. On the spot.
Hissing out a harsh breath, Marc slumped against the nose of Keith’s ute and shook his head. “I know you’re right, mate,” he said, studying the cottage. “But I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.” Keith’s answer was a flat growl. “I don’t either, but it’s the way it’s going to be. Until we talk to Hunter and let him know Big Mac’s being a dick, potentially a dangerous one, let him know what happened and what we think would have happened, we’ve got to keep our emotions in check. Got it?”
Marc scowled. “Got it.”
“Good. Go check the door first.”
Marc levered himself upright. “What for?”
Keith’s expression grew bleak. “I need to know it’s locked.”
With a nod, Marc jogged the ten or so meters between the ute and the front porch, his chest tight. Climbing the two stairs, he winced at the protesting creak of wooden floorboards beneath his feet. With slow movements, he reached out and wrapped one hand around the doorknob, giving it a gentle turn to the right.
Locked.
Harper had locked it after they’d left.
His old home, locked against the world…and him.
A shard of sharp pain shot through his chest. He’d spent his childhood in the cottage. Had never felt safer than when he was within its familiar walls. It had never been locked when he was growing up, and when Amy had moved in she’d never felt the need to lock it either. Locks weren’t needed on Farpoint Creek.
Until tonight, it seemed.
The sound of movement on the other side of the door jerked his hand from the knob. “It’s just me, love,” he said, raising his voice enough for Harper to hear him through the old wood. “I’m not coming in. Just wanted to check the door still worked.”
A long moment of silence followed. Silence except for the thumping of his heart in his ears. And then Harper’s soft voice answered, “It does. Thank you.”
He stood motionless, aching for her to open the door. To ask them to make it better. To tell them what had happened.
She didn’t.
What felt like a lifetime passed before he turned away from the door and walked back to Keith.
“Did she say anything?”
Marc shook his head.
Keith’s jaw bunched. “Okay, let’s go.”
Long, tense minutes later, neither uttering a word, Keith pulled the ute to a halt outside the main homestead.
For a split second, the potent urge to tell Keith to drive away, to convince him they should take care of Ronald themselves, surged through Marc. He opened his mouth, his pulse racing. And closed it again at the thought of Keith in jail.
Keith would not stop at a few punches. The fear in Harper’s eyes, the terror in her body when they’d stormed into her home, would haunt him. Marc had no doubt. Hell, Marc couldn’t shake it himself. If Keith and Marc caught up with Big Mac, the man would end up in the hospital, if not a coffin. Simple as that.
With a sharp sigh, he squeezed Keith’s shoulder. “C’mon, Blue. Let’s do the smart thing, even if it bloody well feels like the wrong thing.”
With a muttered curse, Keith swung open his door and climbed from the ute.
Marc’s gut dropped when Hazel answered their knock.
“Mr. Thompson.” She smiled at him, her softly seamed face warm and friendly despite the fact it was past six o’clock in the evening and she was being disturbed by two of her employees. “Mr. Munroe. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Is there something wrong? Is young Mr. Hill okay?” A frown pulled at her forehead, making Marc’s gut sink further. He hated distressing Hazel Sullivan. She was the closest thing to a grandmother he had, even if she was his boss. How would she handle being told about Big Mac and Harper?
“Everything’s all right, Mrs. Sullivan.” Keith’s relaxed answer made Marc stiffen. He hid his surprised expression by readjusting his hat. “Just needed a quick word with Hunter if that’s okay? Wondering if Big Mac’s been to see him ’bout…’bout the south mob’s drenching tomorrow? We weren’t sure the Bayticol was in date and we wanted to check if there was another batch somewhere in the main shed. Just in case.”
Steady light-blue eyes held firm on Keith’s face. Marc shifted his feet, glad he wasn’t under such intense scrutiny. Hazel Sullivan may be sixty-four years old, but her mind was still as sharp as a tack.
“The drench is in date, Keith. You were driving the ute when we both went into Cobar last month to collect it, remember?”
Keith swiped his hat from his head, giving her a chagrined smile. Marc noticed for the first time he’d cleaned the blood from his knuckles at some point. “Shit, that’s right. Sorry. Is Hunter about? Has Ronald come to see him? I know it’s late but—”
“I haven’t seen Mr. McNamara all day and Hunter and Annie have gone into Cobar for the night. Dinner with the mayor.” Hazel pulled a face. “I don’t think either were fussed about going, but they’ve been putting if off for so long I think the poor man’s sense of pride couldn’t take another rescheduling. I told them to check in to the Town and Country Motor Inn, stay the night. Dylan and Monet are due back in a week and I suspect Hunter’s getting an itch between his shoulders. I caught him surfing a website today called ‘World’s Best Honeymoon Locations’.” Her eyes sparkled, and Marc was overcome with relief that Keith had kept from her their reason for calling so late.
He didn’t want to destroy Hazel’s joy at the idea of another family wedding with the possibility one of her hands was being a dick.
Shooting Keith a sideways glance, he knew his best mate was thinking the same thing.
What the hell did they do next? Big Mac hadn’t come to the main house, which meant he could be anywhere now.
Marc’s heart thumped hard and fast in his throat.
Anywhere.
He was about to say his farewells for the evening when Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “How is Ms. Shaw this evening? I thought you two boys were taking her into Cobar tonight?”
“She’s got a killer headache,” Keith answered, his expression regretful. “We were heading ’round to see her when we finished up here.”
“Poor lass.” Hazel waved her hand at them both. “Hurry on then. Shoo. Tell her she is more than welcome to spend the night here in the main house if she wants.”
“Will do, ma’am,” Marc nodded, already retreating.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen Big Mac tonight, Hazel? There hasn’t been a knock at the door?”
Marc stiffened at Keith’s question.
Hazel shook her head. “No, no knock. I must admit, I think Mr. McNamara is trying to stay clear of Hunter, going by the way Hunter was muttering about him under his breath this afternoon.”
Marc’s pulse thumped. He watched Keith tip his hat to their boss before saying goodnight.
“Remember to tell Ms. Shaw to let me know if she needs anything,” Hazel called as they crossed back to the ute.
Gut knotting, Marc yanked open the passenger side and dropped into his seat. “Fuck,” he whispered, keeping the unease from his face until Hazel closed the homestead door.
“All right then.” Keith slid into the driver’s seat and reached for the key in the ignition. “So we do it this way. Drop me off at Harper’s and go see if you can find McNamara around the traps. See if he’s taken off in his truck or the communal ute. See if any of the other blokes know where he is. I’ll camp out under that old ghost gum opposite the cottage and keep an eye on it, just to be sure he isn’t a complete fuckwit and goes back there.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Marc buckled his seat belt. “And if I do find him?”
Keith’s expression turned deadly as he started the ute. “Don’t let him go.”
* * * *
Being outside at night in the Outback had always been a special time for Keith. The sky was hypnotic, its never-ending black expanse the backdrop to a spectacular display of the heavens. Stars no city folk ever saw with the naked eye twinkled above, as if sharing the secret of their beauty with but a few. A privileged few who knew life away from the hustle of the big smoke was so much more enriching.
Keith had spent many nights on Farpoint Creek lying on his back, gazing up at the stars, picking out the Southern Cross, the Saucepan, the celestial shadow known as the Emu. Wondering how those denied the stars by the ubiquitous lights of the city could ever find peace at night.
Yet now, sitting with his back pressed against the ancient ghost gum tree opposite Amy’s cottage, the thinnest sliver of a new moon hanging high in the midnight sky above him, peace was far from his mind or soul.
Rage simmered through his blood. Rage and worry.
Marc had dropped him off at the head of the track leading to Amy’s a few hours ago. He’d told the younger man not to do anything stupid if he found McNamara. He knew Marc was just as angry with the wanker, but Marc was less volatile than Keith. If Marc found Big Mac, there’d be little bloodshed. If Keith found him…
He flexed and coiled his right fist, keeping his stare on the front left window of the cottage. His right hand had never truly recovered from the beating he’d given the bloke hassling Amy years ago. Torn tendons and five hairline fractures in the metacarpal bones meant his right hand was weaker than it should be. Weak enough for him to lose his grip every time he rode a rodeo bull. Weak enough for it to ache on cold, wet nights.
Not weak enough to beat the shit out of Big Mac, however. Keith would suffer the pain gladly if the man had hurt Harper.
He watched the faint shadow of the American woman he was rapidly falling in love with move around the living area. The gauzy curtains Amy had hung on the windows prevented him from seeing her clearly, but that was okay. All he wanted to do was make sure she was alone. Safe.
Marc had checked in with him once in the time he’d been on guard, letting him know McNamara’s truck and the communal ute were still in the hired hands’ shed. That meant Big Mac was likely somewhere on Farpoint, and that meant Keith wasn’t going anywhere.
Not until McNamara made an appearance.
He didn’t think the bloke would come back to Harper, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Not with Harper’s safety. Not with her happiness.
Letting out a slow, silent breath, he adjusted his hat and massaged his right hand.
He’d never felt so bloody helpless. He knew she was scared and upset, but he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. He was just a stockman. He could round up a hundred-head mob of cattle alone, without any help from anyone apart from his dog, but when it came to something like this, he was running blind. The primitive instincts in him called for blood and pain, but that wouldn’t help take away Harper’s fear. He had seen it in her eyes, before she’d refused to look at either him or Marc after Big Mac fled the cottage. That fear was deep-seated and absolute. The best he could offer her was his arms and his strength, and Harper had refused both.
Around him, noises of the night played softly on the air. Crickets, distant dingo calls, birds unsettled by nocturnal predators, most likely wild boar or abandoned house cats gone feral.
The familiar soundtrack of his nighttime study.
It didn’t calm him.
He doubted he’d feel calm for a long time. Even if Big Mac turned up in the next minute, there was still the issue of what would happen when Harper went back to the States. There was no denying it. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted—
The sound of a sob jolted him to his feet. His heart beat fast, his stare locked on the cottage but a few yards away.
Was that Harper crying?
He frowned, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Sound traveled differently at night, the clean emptiness of the air magnifying the faintest noise. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks with—
Another sob, this one louder.
Without a thought, he destroyed the space between the tree and the front door.
His hand had just wrapped around the doorknob when he heard Harper say, “Marc and Keith are wonderful. But I screwed things up with them. And then Ronnie…”
Her voice faded away. Keith froze, his throat thick, his breath trapped in his constricting chest.
Who was she talking to? Her brother? Would she tell him what McNamara had done?
Should he be invading her privacy this way?
“How’s Andrew?”
The question was asked on a voice cut with forced calm. Keith didn’t need to open the door to know Harper was chewing her bottom lip. But fuck, he wanted to open the door. Open it, go to her, hold her.
There was a pause, probably Harper listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. Then, “I miss him.”
Another pause followed Harper’s barely audible words. Keith swallowed, every muscle in his body tense.
“No!” she suddenly burst out. “No, please don’t tell him I called or that I’m crying. He’ll flip out. I don’t want to cause him any more worry. I’ve hurt him enough.”
The pain and anguish in her statement cut through Keith like a razor. He ground his teeth. He should step off the porch. Go back to the tree. He had no right listening to this.
He released the doorknob.
And froze again when he heard Harper say, “I don’t want to come home.”
His heart slammed into overdrive. Joy shot through him, selfish and overwhelming, despite the rage and contempt he still felt. She wanted to stay on Farpoint.
That’s not what she said. She just doesn’t want to go back to Chicago. Very big difference, mate.
His gut knotted. He bunched his fist, staring at the doorknob.
A scoff sounded through the door, choked with grief. “I thought I’d kicked the demons of my past to the curb.” Harper’s voice was more strained than ever. More broken. It tore at Keith’s heart. “These past few days have been perfect, some of the best of my life. I got blindsided today and now I’m struggling to find my way back.”
Another pause, long enough for Keith to replay Harper’s words. Demons? What demons of her past?
“One day,” Harper continued, and once again the urge to open the door and take her in his arms surged through him. She sounded so lost, so sad. “I’ll tell you about why I came to live with Andrew and my dad when I was a kid. For now, let’s just leave it at my stepdad wasn’t a very nice person.”
Stepdad.
The utter torment in Harper’s voice at the word “stepdad” cut Keith to the bone.
Cold fury squeezed his chest. Images filled his mind, nightmarish in their suggestion. A faceless man towering over a small girl, a petrified child…
Keith killed the images before they could take root. Before they turned his anger against Ronald McNamara to a murderous rage. He took a step away from the door, and another, blood roaring in his ears.
It wasn’t just Big Mac he wanted to beat to a bloody pulp now, but a man he’d never met. A man he knew little about except he wasn’t a “nice person”.
More words came from inside, indistinct. Muffled. He heard “…to tell you. I need to…” and then they were gone, the sound of creaking floorboards telling Keith that Harper had walked away, possibly to the bedroom.
He swallowed, his stare fixed on the door. The wood around the lock was splintered, more of the bolt visible than should be.
If he kicked the door in again, if he stormed into the room—if only to take Harper in his arms so he could tell her she was safe, that he’d never let anyone hurt her again, no matter who they were—would she scream?
She would. And rightly so. Go back to the tree, Munroe. Let her be for the night. Tomorrow, when the sun is high and you know where Big Mac is, then you can hold her. Then you can tell her how much you’re beginning to care for her. Do it now, when she’s scared, when she’s vulnerable, and you’re a selfish prick.
Letting out a choppy breath, he moved back to the tree. Dawn was but five hours away.
He could wait that long. For Harper, he was beginning to suspect he could wait forever.
An hour later, Marc joined him. “Big Mac’s in Cobar,” he said as he settled his elbows on his bent knees, his voice almost a murmur. “Just got a call from Esmee, the barkeeper at the Great Western. Said he came in a couple of hours ago, sweaty, covered in dust with blood still oozing from his nose. She said it looked like he ran all the way there after picking a fight with a semitrailer. He’s apparently pissed as a fart already.” Marc grunted. “At least we know where he is now. What are the odds of him coming back tonight?”
Keith scowled. “Pretty slim. Reckon he’ll crash out in Mulga Place Park. It won’t be the first time.”
“So, we heading home? Or staying put until sunup?”
The chuckle that left Keith was humorless. “Staying put.”
Marc’s answering laugh was equally dry. “Yeah, figured so.”
Silence stretched between them. Keith chewed on everything he’d overheard Harper say, his mind trying to fill in the blanks.
It was impossible. Just as impractical as it was to remove the haunting, terrible images of a man he didn’t know standing over a little girl whose face was distorted in pain and fear.
He didn’t tell Marc what he’d heard. His best mate would have acted on it straightaway, wanting to ease Harper’s pain. Marc Thompson may appear to the world a laid-back joker, but Keith knew how deep his emotions ran. When it came to heartache and loss, Thomo was a seasoned survivor. The senseless killing of his father had made him feel other people’s pain on a level Keith himself couldn’t. If Marc knew what Harper had shared with the unknown person on the phone, he would be by her side now whether she wanted him to be or not.
Dawn broke the darkness a few hours later. Keith blinked at the blinding sliver of sun peaking above the eastern horizon, his eyes grainy and hot. A night without sleep wasn’t new to him or Marc. Both had done their share of watching over a cow experiencing difficulties delivering during birthing season.
The difference was, this time there was no moment of joy, no moment of new life to end the dark hours.
Just more confusion, more uncertainty.
“Reckon we should be gone when Harper comes out?”
Keith nodded at Marc’s muttered question. “Yeah. She may already know we’ve been here, but I’d rather not freak her out if she didn’t.”
Pushing himself to his feet, he winced at the pain in his stiff knees and back. And then jumped when the rarely used mobile in his pocket shrilled into life.
“Fuck,” he muttered, digging the thing out with desperate speed.
Ramming the mobile to his ear, he rounded the trunk of the tree, putting it between himself and the cottage. “Munroe.”
“Need you and Marc up at the homestead straightaway, Keith,” Hunter said, his tone allowing no argument.
The click in Keith’s ear told him the boss had disconnected without waiting for a response. Added to the fact the man had used his and Marc’s names, not Thomo and Blue, and Keith knew the shit had hit the fan.
Which shit, he didn’t know.
“Who was that?”
He shoved the phone into his pocket and gave Marc a steady look. “Hunter. He wants us at the main house now. Where’s the ute?”
Marc threw a nod to the right. “At the gate at the start of the road. Didn’t want to wake Harper last night when I came back.”
Keith nodded. “All right, let’s get going.”
They began walking away, the rising sun casting the land around them in a golden glow. A heavy itch in the middle of Keith’s back made him want to turn around, to see if Harper was watching them go.
He didn’t. If he did, and she was there, on the porch or even looking at them through the parted curtains, he’d never make it. He’d run back to her.
When he pulled the ute to a halt outside the homestead, a jarring sense of déjà vu washed over him. “Feels like we were here only a few hours ago.”
Hunter striding toward the ute stopped Marc from responding.
The boss did not look happy.
“Ah fuck, here we go,” Marc muttered, opening his door.
“Care to tell me what’s going on, Keith?” Hunter stopped a few feet away, forcing Keith and Marc to close the distance between them. He stood motionless, his arms crossed, shoulders square, eyes flat. And angry.
“You mean Big Mac?”
Hunter dipped his head in a single nod. “I do. I got a call at five this morning from Sergeant Freeman, who found him passed out in Mulga Place park. I went to the cop shop and found him still damn near drunk, blood all over his face and shirt. Told me you tried to kill him.” He paused. “Among other things.”
Keith’s chest constricted. “What other things?”
“Something about you and Marc and Harper Shaw that’s none of my business. Sound right?”
Keith swallowed. “It does.” Beside him, he heard Marc suck in a swift breath.
Hunter’s expression didn’t change. “And did you hit him? Because he found out?”
“I did.” Keith bunched his fists, refusing to blink. “And I will again if he goes near Harper. But not because he found out about us. Did he tell you he went around to the cottage yesterday?”
“He told me you barged in and started beating him.”
Keith ground his teeth. “Did he tell you he’d locked himself in there with her? That he had her trapped against the sofa, pinned with his body? I saw it through the window before kicking the door down. Where is he now?”
Nothing showed on Hunter’s face. “He’s currently making his way back from Cobar on foot with a broken nose, five stitches in his lip and what may possibly be a fractured jaw.”
Keith lifted his chin. “Good. Maybe I can finish the job when he gets here.”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really what you want to do?”
“Fucking oath is it. And if you’re going to sack me then sack me. But if he goes near Harper again I will break his jaw.”
With a ragged sigh, the tension left Hunter’s body. “I’m not going to sack you, Blue. Fuck, you’re the best stockman on Farpoint next to my brother, and who the hell knows when he’s getting back.”
“What about Big Mac?” Marc asked. “Do you believe us?”
Hunter scowled. “I told Ronald at the cop shop I’m letting him go. Bullshit behavior isn’t accepted at Farpoint, and getting drunk in town and telling everyone in the pub he’s going to fuck the American teacher just to piss you two off is bullshit behavior. The pub owner called me; told me all about it. As did a few other people who were there last night. If I’d had my phone turned on during dinner, I would have gone over to the pub and shut him up myself. The fact he apparently called Ms. Shaw a slut numerous times didn’t help his cause either.”
“You’re sacking him?” Keith couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“I am. He’s got until midday to get his stuff and be off Farpoint for good. In my opinion, he’d be smart to get off earlier. I can’t imagine anyone’s going to come to his rescue if you come face-to-face with him.”
Keith’s pulse thumped like a sledgehammer in his throat. “If I do come face-to-face with—”
Hunter shook his head. “Ronald’s a fuckwit, Keith. You’re not. Use your head, okay? No one would blame you, but that’s not going to stop the cops arresting you if you kill him.”
Keith gave his boss a quick nod. He shot Marc a sideways glance. “What about…” He stopped, unable to ask the question.
“Your sexual situation?” Hunter finished for him.
Keith nodded again.
“It’s not my business, nor anyone else’s for that matter. Don’t think Dylan will give a shit, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work. Mum might be a bit…disapproving, but don’t worry ’bout her. I’ll deal with it.”
“Fuck,” Marc burst out, the shock in his voice echoing the surprise Keith felt. “We didn’t think that you’d…y’know…”
The side of Hunter’s mouth lifted. “Understand?” He snorted. “I may be your boss, Thomo, but I’m not an idiot. I know you can’t control who you fall in love with. And I’ve seen the way Harper looks at you both. Now get back to work, the pair of you. Oh, and Thomo? See that you keep Blue here away from the hands’ quarters until after midday, all right? For everyone’s sake.”
“Sure, Boss.” Marc flicked Keith a smirk.
Keith however, stood his ground. “What about McNamara? What he did to Harper yesterday?”
Hunter’s expression grew serious. “Keith, you know you can’t take it upon yourself to deal with it. Do you know what he did before you kicked in the door?”
Biting back a growl, Keith shook his head. “Not all of it. Only what I saw. And the fear in Harper’s eyes.”
“Then I suggest you let Ronald leave Farpoint. If Harper wants to press charges against him, I’ll drive her into town myself. Perhaps the pair of you should go see her, actually, instead of getting to work. Take her somewhere quiet so she can make up her mind about what she wants to do. I’ll let Mum and Annie know they’re babysitting the class today. I know Annie will love the idea of looking after a roomful of children.”
Keith couldn’t tell if Hunter was being sarcastic about Annie’s reaction or honest. He didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to Harper. Being with her. Taking away her fear, her pain. If she would let them.
Worshipping her with their bodies, their love. For as long as possible.
Before their days together ran out.