Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Stephanie Rowe
dining table even had china on it. China? His little sister had china?
Harlan looked down at himself. His jeans were stained and torn, his boots still caked with mud. His tee shirt had mud on it, and his hands were still dirty. What the hell was he doing, bringing that shit into his sister's life? She'd made it out of the hell that their mother had started them in. She'd gotten what she wanted and deserved. She was all set.
She didn't need Harlan's protection anymore, which meant his job with her was done. There was no need for him to bug her, or to inject himself into her life. He realized he'd been a fool to come back here. He didn't belong in this world. He belonged in a world where a man died alone on the bank of a river, with nothing but angels and demons around him, warring for his soul.
He was just starting to turn away when he heard a shout from the back of the room. He looked sharply as he saw Eppie Orlowe emerge from what looked like the kitchen, carrying a flaming dessert of some sort. She shot a grin at the back corner.
Harlan followed her gaze, and then he saw her. Emma Larson. His breath caught at the sight of her, hungrily drinking her in. Her face was drawn and haunted, her cheeks too hollow. Protectiveness surged through him and he gripped the window frame. What was wrong with her? Her hair, that gorgeous blond hair, was curling around her neck, softening her face, but the shadows were still in her eyes.
Two years ago, he'd been there the first day she'd walked into Wright's General Store after being away for half a decade. Everyone in the store had leapt up, welcoming her back to town, but he'd seen the depth of suffering in those green eyes, and he'd seen the effort it had taken for her to graciously accept all the attention. But gracious she'd been, reaching out with warmth to all, despite the weight in her soul. She had been haunted by something, and even now she still carried it with her. Harlan saw her grief, he felt her struggle. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that someone understood, but she'd never looked in his direction.
Of course she wouldn't. Emma Larson was purity at its best. Her smile was always kind. She was always there with a hug for anyone who needed it. She had a softness, a vulnerability to her spirit that called to Harlan, that made him want to get down on his knees and beg her to share it with him, to show him what it was like to have one minute, one second, of that kind of beauty in his life.
Not that he'd ever do it. He would never contaminate Emma with who he was. Ever.
Then a man, a tall, big man walked over to her, carrying a glass of champagne. Emma started with obvious nervousness, and Harlan fisted his hands, moving closer to the window. Who was he? What was he doing with Emma? The man was too strong, too dangerous for Emma. He'd crush her. What the hell? Why wasn't anyone in there looking out for her?
Harlan glanced around the room. Astrid was still engaged with Jason and the kid. Clare was talking to Eppie. No one was watching out for Emma. Shit. It was up to Harlan to go in there and run interference for her—
He looked back at her, but she was gone.
Harlan stopped, his hand halfway to the doorknob. Emma was no longer in the living room. The behemoth who'd been bugging her was still there, now being cornered by Eppie. Where was Emma?
Harlan dropped his hand from the doorknob, a sudden sense of loss assaulting him at the disappearance of Emma. Shit. What had he been thinking, rushing in there like some ass to save a damsel in distress, who clearly was capable of extricating herself from a situation she didn't like?
He had no role here. He was done. It was time to go back to his life.
***
Emma hurried down the back steps of Astrid's house, desperate to get away from the party. She could barely breathe, and her chest hurt. She just needed a minute to regroup, to find her space. Ditching her sandals by the pot of pink geraniums at the foot of the deck
Harlan looked down at himself. His jeans were stained and torn, his boots still caked with mud. His tee shirt had mud on it, and his hands were still dirty. What the hell was he doing, bringing that shit into his sister's life? She'd made it out of the hell that their mother had started them in. She'd gotten what she wanted and deserved. She was all set.
She didn't need Harlan's protection anymore, which meant his job with her was done. There was no need for him to bug her, or to inject himself into her life. He realized he'd been a fool to come back here. He didn't belong in this world. He belonged in a world where a man died alone on the bank of a river, with nothing but angels and demons around him, warring for his soul.
He was just starting to turn away when he heard a shout from the back of the room. He looked sharply as he saw Eppie Orlowe emerge from what looked like the kitchen, carrying a flaming dessert of some sort. She shot a grin at the back corner.
Harlan followed her gaze, and then he saw her. Emma Larson. His breath caught at the sight of her, hungrily drinking her in. Her face was drawn and haunted, her cheeks too hollow. Protectiveness surged through him and he gripped the window frame. What was wrong with her? Her hair, that gorgeous blond hair, was curling around her neck, softening her face, but the shadows were still in her eyes.
Two years ago, he'd been there the first day she'd walked into Wright's General Store after being away for half a decade. Everyone in the store had leapt up, welcoming her back to town, but he'd seen the depth of suffering in those green eyes, and he'd seen the effort it had taken for her to graciously accept all the attention. But gracious she'd been, reaching out with warmth to all, despite the weight in her soul. She had been haunted by something, and even now she still carried it with her. Harlan saw her grief, he felt her struggle. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that someone understood, but she'd never looked in his direction.
Of course she wouldn't. Emma Larson was purity at its best. Her smile was always kind. She was always there with a hug for anyone who needed it. She had a softness, a vulnerability to her spirit that called to Harlan, that made him want to get down on his knees and beg her to share it with him, to show him what it was like to have one minute, one second, of that kind of beauty in his life.
Not that he'd ever do it. He would never contaminate Emma with who he was. Ever.
Then a man, a tall, big man walked over to her, carrying a glass of champagne. Emma started with obvious nervousness, and Harlan fisted his hands, moving closer to the window. Who was he? What was he doing with Emma? The man was too strong, too dangerous for Emma. He'd crush her. What the hell? Why wasn't anyone in there looking out for her?
Harlan glanced around the room. Astrid was still engaged with Jason and the kid. Clare was talking to Eppie. No one was watching out for Emma. Shit. It was up to Harlan to go in there and run interference for her—
He looked back at her, but she was gone.
Harlan stopped, his hand halfway to the doorknob. Emma was no longer in the living room. The behemoth who'd been bugging her was still there, now being cornered by Eppie. Where was Emma?
Harlan dropped his hand from the doorknob, a sudden sense of loss assaulting him at the disappearance of Emma. Shit. What had he been thinking, rushing in there like some ass to save a damsel in distress, who clearly was capable of extricating herself from a situation she didn't like?
He had no role here. He was done. It was time to go back to his life.
***
Emma hurried down the back steps of Astrid's house, desperate to get away from the party. She could barely breathe, and her chest hurt. She just needed a minute to regroup, to find her space. Ditching her sandals by the pot of pink geraniums at the foot of the deck
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