Unintentionally Mine

by Stephanie Rowe

  Her eyes flickered open, hopeless pits of weariness. Her eyes were pale green, almost the same color as Emma's, making his stomach clench. "Too late," she said quietly. "It's too late."

  "It's not too late." He held her closer to his chest, using his body to protect her from the driving rain. "We're on our way out. All you have to do is hang on for a few more minutes."

  "No." Her eyes fluttered closed. "He's gone. I have to go with him."

  "Who's gone?"

  "Ricardo. My husband. They took him. They killed him." Her body went limp. "There's no point."

  Shit. She was giving up. He could feel her despair, like a thick coat of anguish on his flesh. "Come on," he urged. "You can't give up. Ricardo wouldn't have wanted you to." But even as he said it, it felt like a lie. Who the hell knew what Ricardo would have wanted her to do?

  "I got another one!" Blue shouted, tearing across the clearing with a man tossed over his shoulder. "But I can hear their trucks returning. We gotta go!"

  Harlan lurched to his feet, holding the woman in his arms. "Don't give up," he ordered her. "There's a lot to live for." She didn't answer, her breath becoming even shallower. "Shit!"

  Blue caught up to him. "Let's go—"

  "Maria?" A raspy hoarse voice seemed to grind out of the chest of the man Blue was carrying. His thin hand reached for the woman in Harlan's arms as Blue raced past.

  Harlan swore. "Blue! Stop!"

  "We don't have time—"

  "Stop!"

  Blue whirled around, his face streaked with dirt and mud, his eyes hollow from their three-day stakeout without enough food or sleep "What?"

  Harlan sprinted over to Blue and positioned the woman so she could see the man on Blue's shoulder. Tears filled the man's bloodshot eyes, and he rested a hand on hers. "Maria," he croaked.

  Her eyes fluttered open. She saw him through half-mast eyes. "Ricardo?"

  "You're alive," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. "They told me you were dead, but I knew you weren't. I stayed alive because I knew you needed me. I'm here, Maria. I'm here for you." He grabbed her hand, and Maria's thin hand clutched his.

  "They said you died," she whispered. "I thought you were dead."

  "No, no, no," Ricardo said. "I would never die on you." His body was bruised and bleeding. He was so thin that the bones on his wrists seemed to strain his skin, but his voice was fierce. "I never gave up."

  "Ricardo," Maria whispered, a single tear sliding down her parched cheek.

  "We gotta go," Blue said. "Now!"

  Harlan directed his command to the two people holding hands. "We're going to get you both out of here. Do you understand?"

  This time, the woman in his arms nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Ricardo. "Hurry," she whispered.

  Hurry. The woman who had been surrendering to death was now ordering him to hurry? Shit, yeah. Harlan broke into a dead sprint for their truck, hidden almost a hundred yards away, keeping pace with Blue.

  They reached it quickly. Harlan grabbed the wheel, and Blue took care of the victims, as was their tradition. A split second later, they were on the road, hauling ass to the helicopter waiting for them. Harlan had just pulled off the road beside it when he heard the howl of agony explode from the backseat.

  Blue swore as Harlan slammed the truck to a stop beside their ride. He shoved the door open and leapt out, shouting for the medic. But when he opened the rear door to extract the victims, he froze. Ricardo was holding his wife, but her head was lolled back, her eyes closed. The man was sobbing, his face pressed to his wife's chest, his arms holding her so tightly.

  Blue looked at him grimly. "She didn't make it."

  "No!" Harlan tore Maria out of Ricardo's grasp. "We have a medic on board. Come on!" He sprinted across the grass and almost threw her into the medic's arms, shouting at him to help her. The next few minutes were a frenzied whirlwind of agonizing sobs from Ricardo, quick and desperate action by their medic, and the roar of the helicopter as they got airborne.

  But when Harlan saw the medic shake his head, he knew it was too late. Ricardo let out a keening wail of agony, pulling his wife into his arms as he broke down. All the dirt, all the bruises, all the hell he had suffered…had all been for naught. He'd survived for his wife, and she had not survived for him. The depth of loss wracking his body was devastating.

  Son of a bitch. They'd failed. They'd been too late.

  Blue looked at Harlan, his face grim and exhausted, then turned away, staring out at the treetops.

  But Harlan couldn't look away as he watched Ricardo rock back and forth, holding his wife in his arms, howling with grief for the woman he loved. The woman who had loved him enough to try to come back from the edge of death for him, but couldn't, because she had given up too soon.

  Son of a bitch.

  He'd never hated his job before, until now. Until it hurt.

  Chapter 17

  Harlan sprinted up the stairs to his hotel room, his boots thudding on the cracked cement stairs. He was still filthy, covered in mud and Maria's blood. He couldn't get the sound of Ricardo's grief out of his mind, couldn't stop seeing the image of him holding his wife as if he could somehow bring her back to life by the sheer strength of his love.

  He shoved open the door to his hotel room and grabbed his phone. His hands still filthy and grimy, he wasted no time. He just hit send on his favorites. The phone went right into Emma's voice mail, and Harlan tightened his grip as he listened to her voice. Ricardo would never hear his wife's voice again. Never. They had been too late.

  He sat down heavily on the lumpy bed, resting his head on his palm as he waited for the message to end. He didn't even know what to say. He just had to say something. The recording ended. "Emma," he started, but his phone beeped.

  He quickly took the phone away from his ear to look at who was calling, hoping it was Emma. It wasn't. It was Renée. Shit. She would want to know about the mission. Swearing, he switched over. "Hey—"

  It was a recording that she had forwarded a voicemail to him. He ground his jaw and let the forwarded message play, but for the first time in his life, he didn't really give a shit about work. He didn't want to know about the next person in crisis. He just wanted to talk to Emma.

  Then Emma's voice came on the line, and he froze, gripping the phone tighter. "This is Emma Larson, Harlan Shea's wife." Harlan's chest tightened. His wife. There was a pause, a sound almost as if she was breathing heavily.

  His adrenaline spiked, and he shot to his feet. Was she okay?

  "Tell him that we failed the home study because of his complete failure to appear, and—" Son of a bitch. He closed his eyes as he heard another intake of breath, and this time, it was clearer. She was crying. Crying. He'd made her cry. "Mattie's going to South Carolina," she said, her voice broken with pain. "Tell him I will no longer cry for him. I take back my promise, just like he took back his." Then she hung up.

  Stunned, Harlan sank back onto the bed. Jesus. What had he done? The ring hadn't been enough? His text hadn't worked? Complete failure to appear? He'd explained. That wasn't enough? He couldn't even remember what he'd written in his text. Something about how he'd been called away to an emergency. He'd made it sound good enough for Dottie, hadn't he? He opened his text messages, and then froze when he saw the message sitting there...unsent. Jesus. He hadn't sent it.

  Numb, he stared at his phone, a rising sense of failure consuming him. Maria's death. Ricardo's grief. And now Mattie. Mattie. He quickly dialed Emma again, pacing across the room as it rang. A thousand words raced through his mind of what message he was going to leave for her—

  "Hello?"

  He froze, going utterly still at the sound of her voice. "Emma?"

  Silence, then... "Harlan?"

  "Shit, Emma, I'm so sorry. I wrote a text but it didn't send—"

  "A text. You wrote a text? Really? That's all you have to say? You wrote a text, but forgot to send it?"

  "I swear I did—"

  "
I don't care if you did," she interrupted, tears thickening her voice. "It's not enough. I don't want what you have to offer anymore."

  He gripped the phone. "I never lied to you—"

  "No, I lied to myself. I was too scared of marriage to admit that I wanted it, so I took your offer and tried to pretend it was perfect for me. But you know what? I don't want that. I'm tired of falling in love with people who can't even understand love, let alone return it. I'm tired of hiding from life. Go do your job, Harlan. I'll take care of the divorce, and I'm going to go live my life."

  His mind was spinning. "You fell in love with me?" He hadn't heard anything past that statement. The words were hammering in his mind, and he felt numb.

  "You don't deserve the answer to that question."

  "I know, but I don't care. Answer it anyway."

  She said nothing for a minute, then she said, "Harlan, I can't play this game anymore. Good-bye." Then she hung up.

  Harlan swore and immediately called her back.

  This time, she didn't answer, but he was prepared to leave a message. "Emma, a woman died in my arms today. I didn't get there in time, and she died. But all I could think of was you dying, and what it would be like if I wasn't there, if I hadn't told you how I felt." He gripped the phone tighter. "Dammit, Emma, I don't know how to love anybody. I don't know how to be a part of anyone's life. But today all I could think of was you. I'm—" He leaned the phone against his forehead. What was he doing? Begging her to take him back? She was the one who was right. A fucking text? That was what he was capable of? Shit. He didn't belong in her world, but suddenly he didn't feel like he belonged in his world either. He was completely fucking lost. "Never mind." Then he hung up.

  He knew that she would check the message right away, and he waited, a part of him desperately hoping that she would call him back, that there would be one more time when she said that she believed in him.

  He sat by his phone for two hours, and she never called back. Then, he did something he hadn't done. Ever. He called his sister.

  Astrid answered on the first ring, and he gave her no time to speak. "It's Harlan. I fucked up. How do I make it right?"

  There was a long silence. "You can't make it right, Harlan. You cost Emma the only thing that mattered to her: a family. You, Mattie, and her. She opened her heart to you, and you took everything away from her. You can't make it right."

  Sweat began to bead on his brow. "I have to."

  "Well, it's too late."

  "Is Mattie already in South Carolina?" In his business, too late meant dead. Unless someone was dead, it was never too late.

  "No, they're waiting on her brother first. They want to give him more time."

  "Her brother?" Harlan frowned, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. "She has a brother?"

  "Yes, he's gone missing in California." Astrid quickly filled him in on what little she knew of Mattie's brother, and Harlan went cold when he heard that the teen had been stabbed in a fight and was now missing. Suddenly, he was brutally hurtled into his own past, to his own little sister, who had been torn from him when they were both young, forcing them to grow up as strangers. Now there was another little girl living in hell while the brother who was supposed to protect her got his ass kicked out in the world? No more. No more. This had to fucking stop now. "What's his name?"

  Astrid paused. "Why?"

  His adrenaline kicked in, that same razor sharp focus he always got when he was at work. "What's his name?"

  "Robbie. Robbie Williams. Why?" She repeated the question with more force.

  "I'll explain later." He hung up and then made two more phone calls. Then he packed a small bag, strode out into the hall and pounded on the door of his partner. "Blue," he yelled. "We gotta go."

  * * *

  Emma sat in her car outside Mattie's foster home, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel. "I don't think I can do this," she whispered.

  It was the day that had been arranged for her to pick up Mattie for a visit to the fair, a day that had seemed so triumphant and exciting when it had first been arranged a month ago, but now it seemed like broken promises and fresh pain. She could still hear Harlan's message, his voice hammering at her mind as she recalled every word he'd spoken. A text he'd forgotten to send. Even now, as she thought of that moment, both grief and hope plunged through her. Hope that he'd meant it. Grief that even if he had, it wasn't enough. She deserved more than to be grateful for a text from a man who walked out on her.

  But how many times had she held her phone in trembling fingers, desperate to call him back, to give him one more chance. But she hadn't, and he hadn't called again. The nights had loomed dark and lonely. No Harlan. No Mattie. No future with either of them.

  And yet, she hadn't filed for divorce yet. His ring still sat on her dresser for her to look at every day. Damn him for making her unable to let him go or condemn him. It had been a week since his phone call. A week since he'd no-showed for the home study. A week since all her hopes had crashed down around her.

  Spending the day with Mattie, pretending that everything was all right, felt like too much. How could she fake it, when every minute just made her think of all that had slipped through her fingers? Not calling him back was the right choice. Despite his belief to the contrary, he was a good man, but she simply needed and deserved more than he could give her. As long as she clung to the half-life he offered, she could never be free to move forward and claim the life she deserved.

  But it was so hard. She simply couldn't stop thinking about him. Did that make her weak? Pathetic? Or simply a woman who had finally opened her heart? Because she knew that he cared. Their connection was real, deep, and beautiful. She would never forget their last night together, their conversations, their lovemaking. Harlan might have walked out, but she knew he cared. Deeply. How could that not be enough? But it wasn't. She sighed, feeling depleted and weak as sadness and grief washed over her—

  Then the front door opened, and Mattie appeared, wearing her favorite pink sneakers, a pair of white leggings, and a hot pink short-sleeved shirt. A dozen braids sprang out from her head in all directions as a huge smile lit up her face. "Emma!" She waved frantically and raced down the walkway, shouting excitedly.

  Tears filled Emma's eyes as she jumped out of the car. She met Mattie halfway, and swung her up into her arms, hugging the little girl fiercely. She hadn't seen Mattie for weeks, because the art class was over for the summer, and it felt so good to hug her. "How's my girl?"

  Mattie beamed at her. "We're going to the fair, right?"

  "We are."

  "Can I stay overnight at your house?"

  Emma hesitated. "I'm sorry, hon, but the rules say I have to bring you back tonight."

  Mattie's face fell. "But I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you."

  Emma hugged her tighter. "I know, sweetie. I want you to stay with me, too." She managed a smile that seemed to eat away at her very soul. "Your grandparents want you, too, you know. It's important to let family love you."

  Mattie squirmed out of Emma's arms. "I don't want to talk about them." She ran over to the car and climbed into the back. She immediately shrieked with excitement when she saw the new princess booster seat that Emma had bought for her to ride in.

  Emma bit her lip, her heart bleeding at the sight of Mattie's excitement. Grief filled her, and tears welled in her eyes. How had she messed this up so badly? How had she screwed up the one thing that mattered? How had she lost her chance for Mattie to live with her? Hands shaking, she got into the car, barely managing a smile as she handed Mattie a small plastic bag. "For you."

  "Me?" Mattie took the bag and opened it. It was a book, The Littlest Christmas Tree, which Emma had stumbled across one day when trying to find an activity for her art class. It made her cry every time she read it. "It's for you. Your very own book."

  "Wow." Mattie's gaze was reverent as she traced her hand over the glossy cover. "It's beautiful."

  "I
even put your name in it," Emma said, pointing to the note she'd written on the inside cover. "And I signed my name, so you'll always remember who gave it to you."

  Mattie opened the book. "Let's read it right now."

  Emma glanced at the clock on the dash. "The pony rides start in an hour. Don't you want to make it in time for those?"

  "No." Mattie climbed into the front seat and perched on the console next to Emma. "Read it to me." She tucked herself onto Emma's lap, and opened the book on the steering wheel, nestling her head under Emma's chin.

  Tears filled Emma's eyes, and she kissed Mattie's tight braids. "Okay." She turned to the first page and began to read the story of the tiny Christmas tree that had only one Christmas wish: to find a family who would love it. Emma's throat tightened as Christmas grew closer and closer, and every family rejected the tiny tree, until Christmas Eve came, and the owner of the stand took it home for his little boy. And when the little tree stood so proudly at the end of the story, decorated with homemade ornaments while it presided over a tiny pile of presents, there was no way to stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks.

  Mattie looked up at her, and then she brushed her finger over Emma's face. "Why are you crying?"

  "Because it makes me happy to see that the tree found its family." She managed a smile. "Whenever you read this book, Mattie, I want you to remember that if you believe and don't give up, your wishes can come true as well, even if you're the littlest tree that no one wants."

  Mattie's brow furrowed. "I'm not a tree."

  Emma laughed and hugged her. "I know, sweetie, but someday, you might feel like one."

  "I'm a butterfly," Mattie said seriously.

  "Are you now?" Emma wiped her cheek with her sleeve.

  "I am. Then, when I'm in South Carolina, I'll fly north with the other butterflies in the spring, and I will go to Birch Crossing and find you." Mattie eyed her. "Did you know butterflies migrate?"