“Probably all the bodies you guys have hidden in the crawl space,” Sully said, putting his arm around Kennedy.
“Only three or four.” Hudson rolled the dice and groaned. “I cannot escape the rule of the overlord.” He moved his wheelbarrow over to Atlantic Avenue and started counting out what he owed.
Jericho only half listened to their banter, his attention caught by the way Harley’s fingers whitened on the chair’s arm as she tried to sit up straighter. She was running on empty, pushing herself too hard.
He sighed. Some things never changed.
“And ... bankruptcy for me too.” Hudson tossed his last dollar onto the board. “I’m done. Finished. Ruined.”
“So much drama.” Kennedy gathered the scattered money. “I can’t believe you handle the resort finances.”
“Hey, I take our real money very seriously.” Hudson stretched out on the hearth rug. “Although for some reason we’re way over budget on building supplies at the Eagle’s Nest. I’m starting to think maybe I need to finish the project on my own.”
“What’s left?” Harley asked.
“The boiler,” Hudson said. “We had to install a whole new system, and for some reason it’s not working.” He ran his hands over his face. “So much fun.”
Harley started to rise, and this time the tremor in her muscles was visible. Jericho got up and crossed the room in three strides, not caring if his brothers noticed his rush.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice betrayed her.
“I know.” He kept his tone light. “But maybe we should getyou upstairs before you face-plant into Hudson’s property graveyard.” He held out his hand.
She ignored it and pushed herself up. “I can walk.” Except she took one step and swayed.
And he didn’t think, just swept her into his arms.
The sense of her, close, her body tucked to his chest, shuddered through him—her slight weight, the subtle vanilla-and-lavender scent that was purely Harley, the warmth of her body. Everything inside him lit, and suddenly he was eighteen again, her head on his shoulder, her body next to his in the back of his truck, watching the half-lit night sky turn mottled over the mountains.
“Jericho—”
“Stop talking.” He started up the stairs. “You took a shot to the chest today. You’re allowed to need help.”
She didn’t answer, but rested her head against his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck. Heat rolled through him, dangerous and familiar.
The guest room door stood open, warm lamplight spilling into the hallway. Kennedy had worked her magic in here—a candle on the bedside table, a stack of books, a quilted throw in shades of blue and gray.
He set Harley down on the bed, and for a second, her fingers caught in his shirt.
He stilled and met her gaze. They were close enough to share breath, and the gold flecks in her brown eyes swept words away.
His gaze fell to her lips.
No.It was just panic, and the lingering image, back in his brain, of her lying on the ground.
He stepped back before he did something stupid.
“Thank you,” she said softly, leaning into the pillows.
Orlando settled on the floor next to her. Okay, he’d let the dog stay, at least until he checked on her.
“Get some rest.” He retreated to the door, pulse hammering.“Yell if you need anything. And I’ll be back in two hours to wake you up, so don’t hit me.”
She smiled. “You’re no fun.”
“No fun, all night long. Brace yourself,baby.”
She gave a soft grin, and he closed the door before the temptation overtook him to stay and curl up on the Queen Anne wingback chair and watch her sleep.