She almost went to him. It would have been easier and far more pleasurable. "Do you feel trapped?" she asked point-blank.
A muscle jumped beneath eyes gone wild. He closed the distance, framed her face with his big hands. "Why are you doing this?"
Not an answer. "I have a right to know."
"I committed myself to you, didn't I?"
"Yes, but only because it was the sole way you could sleep with me."
The muscle beneath his eye jumped even faster. "And you can't be happy with what I'm offering?"
"What are you offering, Beck? You've never said. Marriage sometime in the future?"
His lips pursed, and his hands fell away from her. "I'm offering here, now. And tomorrow. Which, by the way, is more than I've ever offered anyone."
"But what about the day after tomorrow?"
He rubbed at his chest. "I don't know."
The flames of hope were dying, one after the other. "You're telling me we're doing this on a trial basis? That's the detail you wanted me to know, isn't it?"
Almost defiantly he snapped, "Every relationship operates on a trial basis, Harlow. No one ever knows if theirs will be forever, especially in the beginning."
"But they know what they're willing to give and what they'll continue to withhold." She drew in a breath. "Does it make you happy to think about a future with me?" she asked again.
"Enough. Let's--"
"Does it?"
"You don't want me to answer that, baby."
"I do. I really, really do."
"Very well." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "When I envision the future, I see doom and gloom. That's it. That's all I've ever seen."
Confirmation of her worst fear--it was worse than taking a bullet to the heart.
Her choice was simple: lose him now or lose him later. Rip the bandage off or let the wound underneath fester.
Can't break down. Not here, not now. "I want you with every fiber of my being, but I won't stay with a man who feels like I've trapped him, who sees only doom and gloom with me. You'll come to resent me."
"Don't do this," he said, and in that moment, there was something scary about him. As if the shutters were coming down, blocking her out. "You know what?" He laughed with bitterness rather than humor. "Part of me expected this. You had me, and now you don't want me anymore."
"Part of you expected this? Is that why you felt comfortable enough to 'commit' to me?" she sneered, using air quotes. Her own fears and pain were making her ugly right now, but she didn't care. "Because you were so sure I'd leave you and you wouldn't have to be with me for long?"
"Stop. Just stop." His tone was dark, dangerous. "Let's close our mouths before one of us says something we'll never be able to take back. We'll go to work and cool off."
She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere until you answer my other question. Do. You. Feel. Trapped?"
"Harlow."
"Do you?" she screeched.
"Yes," he snarled, glaring at her. "Are you happy now? I'm in a cage, and you put me there. But I don't want you with another man, and I will do anything to ensure you're mine. Even this."
Even this. He's destroying me, piece by piece. "Well." Head up, blink back tears. "I wish that were enough for me, but it's not."
He flinched as if she'd hit him. "You mean I'm not enough for you."
"No, that's not what I mean."
He stormed over, latched on to her upper arms and shook her. "You aren't leaving me, Harlow. I won't let you."
"I...am," she said, fighting sobs. They brewed in her chest, frantic to escape. Have to get out of here. Now. She lurched from his grip.
Glaring at her, he swiped up her dress, her shoes and held on to them, as if they were the only reasons she hadn't run yet. "Don't you dare do this."
"I have to. Don't you see? I'm not going to trap you. I'm not going to doom you. I'd rather you hate me while free than resent me while caged."
He took a step toward her, his nostrils flaring as he breathed, his chest heaving. "If you walk out that door, we're done. You can pack your things and get the hell out of the RV, off my land."
A stream of tears burned her cheeks. "I don't want to do this."
"Then don't. Stay here."
"But I have to," she finished, and walked out of the room.
*
HARLOW HOPED BECK would realize she was worth any risk, that she offered happiness rather than gloom, but he was a man, and that particular species could be as dumb as a box of rocks. So, of course he never came came to the RV, and by the evening, she was forced to pack her meager belongings.
She prayed he needed more time, even daydreamed about him showing up after she secured a room at the Strawberry Inn--for double the usual rate, since the owner hated her and apparently had a "bitch" fee--but he never did that, either.
In the ensuing days, she left her room only to apply for jobs. Style Me Tender and Swat Team 8 weren't bringing in enough revenue to justify a new hire, and Two Farms and Strawberries and More grocery--both of which had advertised for help--had turned her down flat.
As the days continued to pass, her savings began to dwindle. She realized she had a choice to make. Stay another week at the inn, without food, before finding a new place to set up camp, or find a new place to set up camp now and eat for a few more weeks. She opted for the latter and finally found a place on Dane Michaelson's two-hundred-and-fifty-acre ranch.
She had to spend precious money buying a new tent, which sucked because sleeping on the hard nylon floor after basking in the decadence of the RV for so long truly drove home the depths to which she'd fallen from grace. Once again she had to boil pond water to drink and wash with an outdoor hose.
But really, the times she would spot Beck in town with a beautiful woman on his arm, and he would look right through her, those were the times that hurt most. He'd written her out of his life completely. Just. Like. That.
If he could dismiss her so easily, she was better off without him... And yet still she cried herself to sleep every night. And when a cold front blustered in, her tears actually froze on her cheeks. She ended up spending the rest of her earnings on a sleeping bag, a wool coat and flannel socks.
If she wanted to eat again, she'd have to set traps or find a job, and fast, but only one other place was hiring. The inn she'd vacated needed another maid. Would Carol Mathis, the owner, be willing to give her a chance?
Harlow made the hour-long walk to Main Street, noting multiple Happy Halloween signs and posters for the upcoming Berryween Fall Festival. Soon the entire city would be transformed into a spook-lovers' paradise. Booths would be erected, each one decorated with some type of haunted theme. Games would be played, food would be sold and devoured. She wondered if Beck would bring a date, maybe even win the stupid woman a stupid stuffed teddy bear.
Tears filled Harlow's eyes.
And, oh, crap! There were Brook Lynn and Jessie Kay, out delivering breakfast sandwiches to the locals. Her stomach performed eager, hungry flips, paining her. She darted into a shadowed alley. The girls had asked Virgil and Mr. Rodriguez about her--she'd heard them--but she wasn't ready to talk to them. Maybe they'd curse her, maybe they'd support her. Either way, she was still too raw to deal.
She wished she could pour her emotions into her art, but she'd left her paints behind.
A waft of smoke billowed in her direction and tickled her throat. Coughing, she turned and met the gaze of Daniel Porter, who was in the process of stubbing out his cigarette.
"Harlow Glass," he said with a nod.
"Daniel. Uh, hi." The last time she'd seen him, she'd been a drunken mess. "You're looking well."
He didn't offer the requisite "You, too," even though it would have been polite. And she wasn't hurt by that. Not anymore. Because of Beck, she'd been introduced to true pain. A snub like this? Not even a blip.
Though Daniel had been in town for several weeks, he'd continued to cut his dark hair military-short, and even in the shadows his
features appeared chiseled from stone. His shoulders were broad, his chest ripped underneath the tightness of his shirt, and he had several tattoos peeking out from the sleeves.
"Look, I'm glad I ran into you," she said. "I'd like to apologize for my behavior as a kid. You were--are--a beautiful human being, and I had no right to say otherwise." He'd had a problem with acne, but who hadn't back then? "It's not like I'm perfect or have any right to judge. You should see my chest. I have so many scars I make Frankenstein look pretty."
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sure. I'll take a look at your chest."
She sputtered, and a smile teased the corners of his mouth.
"You finally score that Beck guy or what?"
"Yeah, I did, but it didn't do me any good." Did Daniel actually care or was he asking because he'd heard about Jessie Kay's night with Beck? "I didn't steal him from Jessie Kay, if that's what you're implying. They were already over when I met him."
He went still. "What do you mean? Did she date him?"
Oh, crap. No one had told him? "I'm, uh, not going to comment. Jessie Kay is my friend, she's said so a couple of times now, and--" Crap, crap, crap. His expression was only growing darker.
"You'll have to excuse me." He stormed away.
What have I done?
She wanted so badly to call Jessie Kay, but she'd left her phone in the RV, knowing she wouldn't be able to afford the monthly payments. A quick peek revealed the Dillon sisters were gone. Dang it! She raced to the inn.
Carol, an attractive woman with salt-and-pepper hair, hazel eyes and the lined skin of someone who'd lived a happy life, manned the counter, the landline at her ear.
She noticed Harlow and scowled, saying into the phone, "Let me call you back after I've taken care of a sudden cockroach problem." She slammed the phone into the receiver. "I thought we'd gotten rid of you."
"I need to borrow your phone. Please."
"Sorry, but it's out of order."
"You were just using it."
"And it just broke."
Harlow shifted from one sandaled foot to the other, frantic, looking for help. But the only other person in sight was Carol's youngest daughter, Holly, a gum-smacking Goth who hadn't stopped flipping the pages of her magazine.
While the youngish Holly hadn't been a victim of Harlow the Bully, her older sister, Dottie, had. Carol had clearly not forgotten all the times Dottie had come home sobbing because of something Harlow had said.
Guilt stabbed at her. But dang it, she had paid for her crimes a thousand times over in the past two weeks alone.
"Fine," Harlow said. "If you won't let me use the phone, will you give me a job?"
"A job? For you?"
"I'll work hard and never cause any trouble."
Carol snorted.
"I'll work for less money than anyone else."
Finally. Interest. Smiling with glee, Carol abandoned the counter to walk a circle around Harlow. "Well, well. Look at you, desperate enough to scrub my toilets. Even though you once called this inn, my home, a dump of the lowest order."
Harlow could feel herself caving in, her shoulders slumping, her head bowing. "I was wrong." The place rocked, reminding her of home. Overhead was a chandelier made entirely from deer antlers. Strawberry-themed paper decorated the walls. Gray stone surrounded the fireplace, and there were scuffs on the wood floors.
"Well, before I agree to sign you on, you're gonna have to show me you've got what it takes to work here." Delight colored her tone, sending a cold chill down Harlow's spine.
She took heart, however. This was the furthest she'd come in the "interview" process.
"Come on. There are thirty rooms," Carol said, leading her through multiple hallways, portraits of strawberries hanging in every direction. They came to an open door, a cleaning cart in front of it. "If I decide to give you a chance, you'll be responsible for every single room, every day. Guest or no guest."
"Momma?" The voice drifted past the door frame.
Harlow tensed as Dottie entered her line of sight. A bit on the short side and a little plump, she looked like a child's doll with her dark corkscrew curls and freckled skin. She'd registered on Harlow's radar when she'd aced a test Harlow had failed.
For that, I called her hateful names and ensured everyone in school treated her like a pariah.
Dottie's gaze landed on Harlow and narrowed. "How dare you show up here. Get out!"
"I'm sorry," she said, a lump growing in her throat. "I'm sorry for everything I did to you when we were teenagers."
"Watch me as I don't believe you. The day you were born, the devil crapped his pants, knowing he'd finally met his greatest competition." Dottie focused on her mother. "Why is she here?"
"Harlow came begging for a job," Carol said, her glee escalating. "You, of course, will be her boss, and if she doesn't meet your high standards, you can kick her out."
Dottie opened her mouth, closed it with a snap. "Fine."
The two weren't going to give her a chance, were they? No matter how good a job Harlow did, she would be found lacking. Well, no matter. She would suck it up. Maybe she'd earn a few bucks in the process.
"Have fun, you two. Or not." Carol left them to their duties.
"I need to make a call. I'll be quick." Harlow rushed to the phone on the desk.
"Slacking already," Dottie said, her anger only intensifying.
Voice mail picked up. "Jessie Kay, it's Harlow. I ran into Daniel and I'm so, so sorry, but I mentioned you'd once dated Beck and he acted like he didn't know, and I'm sorry."
Dottie snatched the phone and slammed it into the reciever. "One more infraction like that and you're toast."
"You're right," she said. "Put me to work. I'll do whatever you say."
"Oh, I'll put you to work, all right."
And she did. The girl directed Harlow like a plow horse, harsh words her whip.
Is that all you've got?
You should be better at cleaning up shit. You've slung enough of it over the years.
I could do better with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.
By the end of the day, Harlow's pride stung--nothing new there--and her body ached, muscles she hadn't even known she possessed now heavy and shaky.
"You did okay today," Dottie said, folding towels and stacking them on the cart for tomorrow. They were in the laundry room, the air pungent with the scent of cleaners and disinfectants. "I'm not going to fire you."
Shock swept through Harlow, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Really?"
"Is this the part where you ask for preferential treatment?"
"No. Of course not! But...does the job happen to come with free room and board?"
Dottie snorted, and Harlow took that as a no way in hell. "We start at six a.m. Don't be late."
"I won't." Harlow hesitated in the doorway. "I meant what I said. I really am sorry for everything I--"
"Don't," Dottie snapped. "Save your apologies for someone who cares. We were kids. I'm over it."
No. No, she wasn't even close to over it.
Harlow sighed, wondering what kind of life Dottie had led. If she was married with kids, involved or single. The gossip train so rarely mentioned her. But now wasn't the time to ask. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Harlow spent the rest of the evening moving her camping gear to a piece of land owned by Strawberry Valley Community Church, as close to the center of town as possible so she could make her early-morning shifts while still maintaining the cover of trees offered by the surrounding forest. She did her best not to think about Beck--what he was doing... Who he was doing it with.
In the middle of the night, however, while the locusts sang and the crickets chirped, serenading her as she shivered from cold, she couldn't help but crave his arms around her.
Fought a war, lost--and in turn lost the most important part of my life.
This was her new reality. Working, camping. Wishing Beck were with her, missing him with every fiber of her
being, wanting to hate him, wanting to rant and rail at him for not realizing relationships could be a blessing, a gift, then wanting to scream at him for letting her go.
*
THE NEXT MORNING, Harlow made it to the inn with fifteen minutes to spare. Her eyes burned; they were dry, probably swollen from her tears and definitely gritty with fatigue. Her hair was a mess, her clothes dirty.
Dottie was already in the storeroom. She took one look at Harlow and tossed her a pair of scrubs. "Your uniform."
Good morning to you, too. "Is there a place I can shower first?"
Dottie pointed to the right. "The employee bathroom has a stall. And we'll be sure to deduct the hot water from your check."
Of course.
By the time Harlow showered, changed and appointed herself a locker, Dottie had the first room halfway cleaned. They worked alongside each other for one hour--two--not a single word spoken.
Finally, as Harlow stuffed a pillow inside a new case, she said, "Are you married?"
"Why? Are you hoping to steal my husband?"
Okay. No small talk. Noted.
Another hour passed. Dottie broke for lunch. Harlow hadn't brought any food and had no extra cash to buy anything so she just kept working. Her stomach growled, remembering the sandwiches, pies and peppers Brook Lynn had once made her.
I miss that girl so bad. Even now, Harlow could hear Brook Lynn's musical laugh. Wait. Hear? She peeked her head out of the room to see the petite blonde striding down the hallway, carrying what looked to be a casserole dish, Carol keeping pace beside her.
Pride urged her to hide--Can't let her see me like this. But pride was nothing more than a fear of being found lacking, and if her time with Beck had taught her anything, it was the pitfalls of succumbing to fear.
She was done hiding. She had a life to live, and she was going to live it. Brook Lynn spotted her and smiled--a genuine smile--and Harlow released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
"Thank you for walking me to my room, Carol," Brook Lynn said.
"It's just one of the many services I offer here at the Strawberry Inn." Smug, Carol added, "Speaking of services, we now offer a new one. Our most elite customers will be allowed to watch Miss Glass clean their room."
Well, well. Even better.
"What an amazing reward package," Brook Lynn said. "I'm absolutely going to take you up on it, so, if you'll excuse us." She entered the room and shut the door in Carol's face.