Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(6)

“I run a women’s shelter.” Loretta shrugged, as if it was obvious how she knew about a mysterious group of deadly men. “Rex contacted me a few years ago and asked if I had room for a woman they’d rescued from an abusive situation. I didn’t, but after hearing her awful story, I made room. Over the years, I’ve learned more and more about the Mountain Mercenaries. And after meeting all the men—except for Rex, who even the guys haven’t met—I can honestly say they are some of the most moral and upstanding men I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

Harlow knew that was high praise coming from Loretta. She had never been married and didn’t have any children. When she was in her twenties, she’d joined a cult, though she hadn’t known it was a cult at the time. The leader had been abusive and controlling, and ever since she’d escaped, Loretta had kept men at arm’s length. For her to praise this Rex character, his organization, and the men who worked for him . . . it was pretty huge.

“It’s true I knew Lowell in high school,” Harlow agreed. “I mean, we weren’t close. And I knew he’d joined the Navy after he graduated.”

Loretta nodded. “Navy SEAL, I’d bet,” she said. “Anyway, thank you for calling him, child. I should’ve called Rex, but I thought this would blow over and those boys would get bored.”

“I thought so too,” Harlow said.

“Anyway, I’m happy to share with Black what I can. He knows there are some things I can’t disclose because of privacy laws.”

“How will he be able to help us if he doesn’t have all the details?” Harlow asked.

Loretta smiled but didn’t answer.

“What?” Harlow asked.

“Rex and his team have their ways of finding out everything,” Loretta told her. “I’ll let him know what’s been going on around here, and I’d bet everything I have they’ll be able to find out more about the exes than I’d ever be able to tell them. Faster too.”

Harlow shivered. She wasn’t so sure about this anymore.

As if she could read her mind, Loretta reached over and patted Harlow’s hand. “Don’t stress,” she ordered. “Your Lowell is one of the good guys. He’d never pry into your background without a good reason.”

It wasn’t as if Harlow was worried about what Lowell might find on her. She was as boring as a thirty-four-year-old woman could be. She got along with her parents. Had gone to community college for a year or two before transferring to a culinary school, got good grades, and never been in trouble with the law, aside from a few parking tickets on her record.

But knowing that Lowell could find out everything about her if he wanted to was a little daunting. It reminded her of a man she’d gone on a date with who’d pulled out a sheath of papers and presented them to her, explaining he’d gone ahead and done an extensive background check on her to make sure she was good enough to marry.

It was creepy and invasive as hell—and that had been the end of that date.

“I hope he won’t,” Harlow said.

Loretta simply smiled again. “Better finish those biscuits before Black gets here and distracts you.” And with that, the older woman turned around and left the kitchen.

Harlow checked the time and realized that she had only about twenty minutes before Lowell would be arriving. She quickly stuffed the cookie sheet into the preheated oven. They should be finished about the time Lowell got there.

Wiping her forehead on her sleeve, Harlow had the brief thought that she wished she had a change of clothes, but then mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Lowell wasn’t coming over to pick her up for a date or anything, so she shouldn’t be worried about what she was wearing. She had on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. The apron she always wore in the kitchen covered most of what she was wearing anyway.

She knew her hair was probably a disaster, as usual. She had it pulled back out of her face into a messy bun on the back of her head so it wouldn’t get into the food she was cooking. She wore no jewelry, and her nails weren’t painted. Most of the time, she felt like a failure when it came to the “girly arts”—and that thought was further reinforced by her many failed dates.

Harlow truly believed that the dates failed not necessarily because of her, but because she seemed to attract men who definitely weren’t right for her. Like the time she’d agreed to go out with a guy who was an admitted outdoorsman. She’d thought that sounded great; she liked to be outside too.

Well, he’d picked her up and taken her to the lake. He’d brought two chairs, thank God, but only one fishing rod. He’d then proceeded to drink beer and fish for two hours. He hadn’t even realized she was bored, because he was a self-absorbed asshat. She wouldn’t have minded so much if he’d actually talked to her while he’d fished, but the one time she’d tried to start a conversation, he’d shushed her and said she was scaring the fish.

Finally, she’d told him she was calling an Uber and leaving. He hadn’t been ready to go and told her he’d call her later. She hadn’t been surprised or disappointed when he hadn’t.

Suffice to say, Harlow was gun-shy when it came to dating. She wasn’t opposed to being in a relationship, but in order to have a relationship, you had to actually spend time with someone. And in her world, that never ended well.