"You sit right there and wait for me," Arran bosses me around after I've sat on a piece of plastic that we've put in the truck's front passenger seat. "I'll finish looking over both Tabitha and Grace. Then we'll head to your house so you can shower and change clothes." He starts to walk away, twisting towards me after a few steps. "Are you sure you're okay? We can leave now if we need to. I can come back later to check on the cows."
I'm relieved he didn't say "other cows", cause not only am I starting to resemble one, I feel like one. But he wouldn't do that. Despite his excessive tattoos and his extravagant beard, Arran is a good guy. I'm not sure what I would do without him these days, and he's only been with me for a few weeks.
"Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally, I'm bruised." I wave him off, willing him to pretend this interlude had never happened.
Whistling for the dogs, he directs Shortbread to stay by my side as he takes Piper with him.
"Be careful of her arthritis!" I call to him, and he waves his hand at me as if telling me not to worry, but I worry nonetheless. Why hadn't he taken the younger dog? As usual, though, my emotional support dog knows just what I need. Jumping into my lap, she snuggles close, her snout resting on my arm.
"I just don't know, girl. This pregnancy thing is turning out to be more of a pain in the arse than I thought it would be. My body isn't my own anymore. There's a human incubating in there, and it is more demanding than Mrs. Ferguson, a.k.a. Rainbow's pet mama. Harry's leaving tomorrow night, and he'll be gone for an eternity." Shortbread whimpers, and I fist my hand into her fur. "Don't you start. I think it's fair to say I'll miss him more than you will." She snorts, and I laugh. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"
As she picks up her head to stare at me, I roll my eyes. "Okay, fine. You can miss him more if it's that important to you."
The truth is that I've gotten used to having him around – Harry, I mean – despite his jealous tendencies towards Arran. The presence of another handsome man in my life has actually made Harry even more attentive, and he was already vigilant before the intern joined us in our home. What will life be without Harry around for the next week?
I ponder my reality for the next several minutes until Arran reappears.
"Anna?" Startled, I look at him. "Been calling for you for the last two minutes. Lots on your mind, I suspect."
Indeed. When I nod, my intern smiles. "I'm just relieved I can be here to help." On the way home, he regales me with his adventures with Grace who seems to be feeling her power now that she's knocked me on my arse. We talk through some of the possible diagnoses, and I praise Arran for his thought processes regarding the situation.
"Sounds like you've collected the best samples to narrow down your diagnosis," I compliment him, and he beams. Well, sort of. It's hard to tell with all of his facial hair, but I catch the twinkle in his eyes and chalk it up to pride.
Forty-five minutes later when we arrive back at the house, Arran turns off the engine and swiftly jogs around to the passenger side of the truck before I can open the door. The dogs whimper in the back, anxious to get inside and see their favourite human – as if they hadn't belonged to me prior to Harry's arrival.
Some fans peek around the corner, and I wave to them from the truck. "He's not out here!" I call, and they retreat, although one or two examine Arran carefully as though he either (a) is Harry in disguise or (b) might be a worthy replacement for Harry. Neither of which is true.
"I can walk by myself," I signal for Arran to back away, but when I move my left leg to turn to the side and hop from the truck, a pain in my hip twinges, and I suck in air at the velocity of a rocket breaking through the atmosphere. Arran's hand on my elbow keeps me upright, and I walk a few steps, wincing the whole time. Even then I'm not certain I can climb the two steps to my kitchen door.
"Let me get Harry," my assistant says, backing away from me as I hold onto the truck, and the dogs wait impatiently at the kitchen door.
"No! Please don't..." I call, grabbing Arran's hand as he starts to walk away from me. It's the only part of him I can grasp as he's in motion. Naturally, in the worst possible scenario, Harry appears in the doorway at that moment exactly.
My boyfriend's face hardens as his eyes zero in on our conjoined hands. Instantly, I drop Arran's hand as though he's wearing one of those electric prank buzzers.
Arran pauses, his gaze flitting between me and Harry. The tough, hunky, competent veterinarian withers under Harry's gaze. It would be comical if it weren't slightly frightening. The storm on Harry's face is the stuff of legends. His eyebrows angle towards his nose, and his dimple completely disappears as he grinds his teeth. That muscle in his jaw ticks and then solidifies in a rigid line. His eyes are colder than a morgue. No one would think he's contemplating anything other than murder.
Worse, I can't tell if the intended victim is Arran or me.
My assistant has no such question in his mind as he throws me under the bus in order to save himself.
"Harry, she fell pretty hard at the dairy, and now she's struggling to walk."
The bampot.
"Arran!" I scold. "I thought we agreed..." My words come out in a quiet hiss, and Arran twists to me, a look of anguish on his face.
"No. You agreed. I prefer to live another day." His next words are directed at Harry. "In the field. Slipped on some shit."
By this time, Harry has raced down the steps and around to my side. He plants one hand on my waist and with the other, he grasps my fingers. "Anna! Are you alright? What were you thinking? Is the baby okay? Should I call Blair?" His anger hasn't dissipated. Rather, it's transformed into something else. Something I can't quite name.
Every step I take, I grimace. My tailbone really took the brunt of the fall, and I feel sore now. It doesn't help that I've been sitting still so long, allowing my muscles to stiffen. After two steps, Harry shakes his head and picks me up, literally throwing me over his shoulder so that his hands are on my dried-mud arse and the back of my thighs.
"Harry!"
The only response I get is a growl. "Arran!" He bellows. "Take care of the dogs!" That's the last thing he says until he's carried me all the way upstairs and into our bedroom where he kicks the door closed before lowering me to the floor. "What in the bloody fucking hell were you thinking, Anna?" He mumbles as he unzips my jeans and unceremoniously yanks them down my legs so I can step out of them. "You're not only taking care of yourself, you know? We have a baby to worry about now." Stripping off my shirt, he manhandles me to turn me around so he can unhook my bra, leaving me naked in front of him but for my panties.
"Bloody fucking hell. No more, Anna." He grinds his teeth and shakes his finger at me. "You will stop going to farms with Arran. You will stay at the clinic until the baby is born."
Stripped bare of most of my clothing but not my dignity, I gather my anger and fear around me like Darth Vader's cloak as I seethe at his commandments.
"You will not tell me what to do, Harry Styles. I am not giving up my clinic and all I've worked for just because you say so. This is the life I've built for myself. Arran is good, but he's not yet what he could be, and even if he were, I would not just turn over my practice to him. Fuck that! And fuck you for suggesting it." I'm breathing heavily, my arms crossed protectively over my bare chest. If I could, I would stomp my way into the bathroom to lick my wounds. Unfortunately, I am not even remotely secure about my ability to continue to stand on my own two legs for more than another couple of minutes, much less stomp anywhere.
"This isn't just about you anymore, Anna! If you weren't pregnant with my child and you wanted to wander the countryside with arrogant Arran, I wouldn't say a word, but you are carrying my child." His volume has risen to a level that I briefly worry my intern can hear, and that the fans outside are possibly gleefully hearing too.
"I'm carrying YOUR child, Harry? As if I had nothing to do with it? It's my baby too!" My anger curls in my stomach as a twin to our child, and I move my arms to cross over my belly, leaving my breasts exposed.
"Not that you're acting like it!" He bellows. "You seem to think you can continue behaving as though you are the only human in the world."
I reel back as though he's slapped me. "What? You think I'm —" But I can't finish the sentence. He's thrown out an insult that doesn't match my perception of myself, and I pause. Is that how I'm acting? Truly? Or is that his flawed interpretation of reality?
His words have seemingly shocked himself too, as he stands before me, his chest heaving – and not at all in a sexy way. Finally he takes a deep breath.
"Did you call Blair?" His voice is more controlled, but no less enraged.
I nod, swallowing down the emotional bile from our ongoing fight. "She actually came out to the Hamiltons'."
He freezes, and I can see the worry march across his face at the thought that I'd fallen hard enough for the doctor to come to the dairy. "What did Blair say? When can we go in for an ultrasound? Hopefully today. Or tomorrow morning. Stay here." Stomping into the bathroom, he turns on the hot water in the shower before he returns and divests himself of his clothing. "For you to think that keeping this from me was the best idea really sucks. I have a right to know about these things." Unceremoniously, he removes my knickers. "Can you walk to the shower? Do I need to carry you?"
When he actually pauses and awaits my answer, the anger mixed with fear clouding his face, I burst into tears. It's not long before the snot is escaping from my nose as the sobs overtake me, and I shake all over with the intensity of my own distress.
"I - I - I - I'm sorry, Haa- Haaaaar — Harry." Each word is interrupted by a sob. "I was just doing my job, and before I knew it, I was on my arse in a pile of shit and mud." Just as I'm calming, I spy his face, and the combination of emotions there plus the tears streaming down his cheeks sends me off again into a crying jag that makes my shoulders, breasts, and hips shake. "I didn't want to — to scare you too, so I — I asked Arran –" A new round of crying sweeps through me, and I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand, coming away with my fingers covered in mucus. And when I try to stumble to the bedside table for a tissue, my hip protests, and I nearly fall onto the bed.
As usual, Harry catches me. Reaching for a tissue, he hands it to me before taking one for himself. Gathering my composure, I bundle up the tissue and signal that I'd like another. Harry complies, and I manage to clear the tears from my face.
"I didn't want to scare you too, Harry. So I asked Arran and the Hamiltons and Blair to keep it quiet. I didn't see a reason to freak you out."
Both of us are naked, physically and emotionally. He reaches out and tucks his fingers under my chin, raising my face until my eyes meet his.
"Listen to me right now, Dr. Anna McInroy. I don't care how minor you think it is or whether I'm here or not or whether I have the capacity to deal with it at the moment, I always want you to tell me everything. Always." His eyes bore into mine. "Always, Anna. Whatever it is. I want to know. Please don't try to keep it to yourself out of some noble idiocy of wanting to protect me. Or because you don't want me to get upset. I want to know. Do you understand?"
Biting my lip to keep it from quivering, watching his green eyes fade from a dark emerald to a lighter seafoam colour, I nod.
"Good. Now let's get you cleaned off. I'll ask again. Can you walk, babe?"
I nod. "My hip and my arse are bruised, I think. If you help me, I can make it."
He complies, steadying me in more ways than just physically. We make it to the shower, and he steps inside, holding my arms as I follow suit.
"Don't move," he instructs, and it's not the first time today I've been told to stay still by someone. This time, I don't argue. Using soap and a flannel, Harry washes my entire body from head to toe. His movements are efficient and effective without a trace of sexual desire. Other than his obvious arousal by the time he shifts to washing himself, I'd never know that he was affected by the act of bathing me.
There's one moment when he swipes the cloth over my belly, then leans down to press his lips there. I can't tell if he's crying or if it's just the water from the shower tracing paths down his cheeks. Either way, the moment is emotional for me. Of all the men who might have impregnated me, I get this one who wears his tattooed heart on his sleeve.
Shutting off the water, he grabs a towel and expeditiously dries us both. Grasping my forearm and wrapping an arm around my waist, he gingerly guides me to the bed, again commanding me to "stay" as though I'm one of the golden retrievers. I choose to behave and follow his directions. Nimbly, he hops to the dresser, withdrawing pyjamas for me.
"Harry, it's only like three o'clock," I protest, but when he simply stares me down, I acquiesce, allowing him to dress me in the nighttime clothing. Standing next to me, naked, he draws back the bedcovers, nodding at the bed, and I sigh. Guess I'm getting into bed.
After I slide underneath the duvet, he covers me gently before locating and putting on joggers and a hoodie, sans underwear. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
"I'm going to get you a cup of chamomile tea, and then we can talk. In the meantime, I'll send Shortbread upstairs to you." With those words, my man leaves the room, and I can't help the tears that stream from my eyes and into my hair. When Shortbread jumps onto the bed next to me, licking me, I bury my face into her fur as I cry more.