Family Grief

In his dark suit, Wyck blended in with the shadows of the trees that lined the small cemetery. He'd felt the need to be there, to see her, but didn't want to intrude on the family. Not today.

Generations of Carringtons were buried here. For a bit of privacy, he and Harper used to come out here and simply sit on a blanket and look out over the valley, sipping at a proffered bottle of wine from Jonah's wine fridge or some apple pie moonshine he'd bought off a friend. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of Harper's first taste of the homemade brew.

"Oh my God!" She'd sputtered and coughed as the clear liquid ran down her throat. "How does anyone drink this stuff?" She rubbed a hand against her chest no doubt trying to quell the burning.

"You're supposed to sip it, not take a giant gulp," Wyck had said, rubbing her back and trying not to laugh.

"Now you tell me!" She narrowed her beautiful eyes at him and gave him a little punch to the arm.

He'd scooted closer to her and pulled her into his side. "Sorry," he said, taking the mason jar from her hand and setting it on the blanket in front of them. "Forget that and just look at that sunset."

The Carrington ancestors had some of the best views in the county. He'd believed that if Jonah had thought he could get away with it, he'd move everyone to a less prime spot and put a million-dollar spec house on the land. Apparently, though, Jonah recognized that even he had limits.

Dragging his attention back to the present, Wyck watched as the family made their way up the hill to the cemetery where a hunter green canopy had been erected over the gravesite to protect the loved ones from the weather. Though it had been over fifteen years since he'd seen them, they were easy to recognize. Mitzi, looking like a beautiful porcelain doll even in her grief, sat on a green folding chair in front of the elaborate golden casket. She crossed her legs decorously at her ankles, her hands laying perfectly still in her lap, and seemed to be staring at the extravagant arrangement of lilies and roses that draped her husband's final resting place. He had loved Mitzi like a second mother, and his heart hurt to know what she must think of him now.

Harper's middle sister, Elizabeth with her incongruous white-blonde hair was no longer a gangly teenager with braces but had grown into a tall woman with long, graceful limbs and a severe beauty. She'd always been the most striking of the bunch but now her face seemed to be all sharp angles, her expression grim and foreboding. She was the sister that would be the most likely to want to do him physical harm. Though she was the middle sister, she had always been the most protective of them all. The only one who would, on the rarest of occasions, stand up to their father. He'd always admired her for that.

Elizabeth was holding tightly to the elbow of another young woman that Wyck knew had to be Brenna. Brenna, who he'd watched grow from a chubby toddler trying to keep up with her older sisters, to a fun-loving free spirit of a girl who ran at life headlong. She had an ethereal beauty with the alabaster skin of her mother but her father's strawberry blonde hair that had always been long and mostly a tangled mess as she'd fought her mother's attempt to tame it. She looked fragile to him somehow now, unlike the playful, fairy of a girl he remembered. Wyck supposed it was to be expected. She had loved her daddy with her whole heart, no matter what he did.

And then, there was Harper. More beautiful than he had even remembered in his fantasies. She had always been a tall girl, an athlete, playing volleyball and softball for the high school team. Today, she cut a striking figure in red against the white snow. Her dark blonde hair was pulled into a tight twist at the back of her head with highlights glinting in the random sunbeams that were trying to break through the clouds.

The tailored, red wool coat she wore couldn't hide the lush curves that she had always hated, and he had always loved. Her face was tight, though he saw her force a smile for the tall, blond man next to her. Wyck's mouth spread into a grim line as he saw the man lean and whisper something in her ear as they sat. When they sat, he held her hand in his lap as the minister started to speak.

Wyck couldn't focus on anything but the man's manicured hand rubbing back and forth against Harper's red leather glove. It was like a matador's cape to a bull. His chest got tighter and tighter with each swipe. As the minister's voice droned on in the background, Wyck had to tell himself over and over to control himself and not go stomping down to the service to remove the man's hand from Harper's. He blew out a shuddering breath watching a cloud form in front of his face in the cold, trying to tamp down the jealousy that he had no right to.

Harper likely wouldn't even recognize him at this point. He wasn't the boy she'd known, and he didn't want to make Mitzi and the girls uncomfortable. And, he reminded himself, he didn't have any right to start anything with this guy. Probably. Could he be Harper's husband? How had it not even occurred to him that she might be married? In fact, wouldn't it be more likely than not that she was after fifteen years? Hell, she might have kids home with a babysitter for all he knew. He should have googled her before he came tearing across the state like a demented teenager. What had he been thinking? That she would take one look at him and throw herself into his arms? He was a damn fool.

A soft, unified 'Amen' brought him back to attention. Mitzi was up and shaking hands with Pastor Evans who was no doubt saying comforting things. The blond stranger was now hugging Brenna tightly as tears ran down her cheeks while Harper and Elizabeth stood somewhat awkwardly together and spoke in hushed tones. No, he wouldn't barge into this family gathering. Let them have a few minutes alone. He'd meet Harper at the house with the rest of the neighbors and friends that were gathering there.

 

***

 

 

After the graveside service, Harper spent the rest of the day like an automaton, accepting condolences, answering questions about what she was doing now, making sure the food and drink flowed. Harper knew she should be upset about her father's sudden death, and she was on some level, but she couldn’t seem to feel it. Once past the initial shock caused by her sister's call, she'd ceased to feel anything at all. It was like she’d been packed in cotton wool.

Cam had been her rock. He’d been there right by her side, fending off visitors with his innate charm, managing the deliveries of the tsunami of flowers and the ubiquitous casseroles that followed in the wake of a death in the South. No one had tasked him to do anything, but he took it all upon himself as a matter of course.

“I really don’t know what we’re going to do with it all,” Harper sighed, looking at the dishes piling up on the expansive, marble kitchen counters.

“A lot of it has been packed into the extra freezers,” Cam told her. “A lady by the name of Mrs., um, hmmm, what was it? Holt?”

"Bolt," Harper corrected.

"Yes, exactly! Mrs. Bolt has been supremely helpful with wrapping up things appropriately," Cam replied.

"I'm sure Mama will want to take a good bit of it to the weekly dinner at the church," Harper surmised. "I'll have to see where she wants to store those things."

"Mrs. Bolt said the same," Cam agreed. "She's already got a list started for Mitzi to decide what she wants to keep and what to take to the church."

Harper wrapped her arms around his biceps and squeezed, resting her head on his shoulder. "You’ve been a godsend, Cam. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

He pulled her close to his chest and hugged her tight. “Don’t worry about it, love, you'll never have to find out. Whatever I can do. I love you, you know.”

Harper nodded into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. "Love you back more. I don't even want to think of what this trip would have been like without you."

They stood in a companionable embrace for several long moments, Harper soaking up his warmth and the feelings of security he gave her. No matter how crazy she got, Cam was there to reassure her and pick her up. She did the same for him. He had almost weekly boyfriend dramas, but she never minded. They just got each other and now she couldn't do without him. He was her person, and she was his. A small smile grew on her lips as he rocked her a little.

Neither of them noticed the figure in the kitchen doorway watching them in the waning winter light.