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But he didn’t.

“This isn’t war here. It’s just life. Which means if I express a concern, even angrily, don’t assume I’m out to burn it all down. I will try harder not to let my inability to keep my son Bubble-Wrapped from every horrible thing turn into anger against someone else.”

Her hand just rested there on his sleeve, warm and capable, a light pressure of some kind of earnest truth he didn’t want to accept.

“That more shrink talk?”

She didn’t take her hand away from his arm. She didn’t look away. She didn’t even scowl.

“No, Gabe, that’speopletalk.” She lifted her hand, patted his arm twice, then headed for the door.

Gabe stood where he was, very afraid those words would haunt him for a very long time.

This isn’t war here. It’s just life.

* * *

Monica was so irritated with herself. She’d acted like an idiot. And she hadzerogood reasons for acting like a silly schoolgirl.

She’d heard herself. How breathless and high-pitched she’d sounded. The horrible stuttering, and he’d justgrinnedat her as if he were in charge and the center of every female fantasy.

Well, she’d turned things around. She’d definitely caught him off guard there at the end. As much as she knew that wasn’t going to convince him therapy was a good idea, it felt like a personal triumph.

She should chastise herself for valuing a personal triumph over reaching out to help someone, except when was the last time she’d had any kind ofpersonaltriumph? Her life was Colin and being a therapist. If there’d ever been a strictly personal Monica aspect of her life, it had died with Dex.

And, wow, that was sad. Maybe when Colin went to stay with her parents for that week, she’d focus on herself. On finding some piece of the world that could be for her as a person, not as a mom or a therapist.

Like what?

Broad shoulders came to mind, and she firmly pushed that idea away as she stepped into the stables. Becca was already there.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries. Colin said you were talking to Gabe.” Becca slid her a glance that had Monica affecting her best no-nonsense, let’s-get-to-work expression.

“Yes, I had some things to discuss with him.”

“Ah. Some things.”

“Yes, a few…things. Nothing important.”

Becca made a considering noise, but she went to Pal’s stall and began to lead the pretty horse into the center of the stables. This past summer, they’d worked on Becca’s riding hours to get her certified to lead therapeutic horsemanship, and they were close. She’d be applying for certification by January, when they brought on their first two men.

In the winter weather, they practiced the other aspect of therapeutic horsemanship in the stables—taking care of the horses, which was good for the men, cathartic.

It was good for her, Monica could admit.

On top of that, working with someone like Becca, who needed none of Monica’s actual therapy help, was a new experience. Truth be told, Monica had a bad feeling she’d lost sight of how to interact with anyone without a therapist or mom bent.

“Do you think I talk down to you?” she asked Becca.

Becca stopped what she was doing with Pal. “Huh?”

“Do I always try to make it about being a therapist or tell you what to do like I’m your mother?”

“No one tells me what to do like my mother,” Becca replied wryly. “What brought this question on?”

“Nothing.” Monica felt stupid for even bringing it up, but bottling up worries never did them any good. “I’m just wondering if I’ve forgotten how to be a human being in the past ten years of being a mom and a therapist.”