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“Me too. She’s... great. And I love everything so far. It reminds me a lot of my last job, which I loved. She seems happy too.”

He chuckled. “Lena is a force of nature. When we opened the ranch a couple of years ago, there was some resistance in the community since we’re not exactly a traditional operation. She was immediately on our side and fought with everything she had to get the town to accept us. We owe her a lot.”

“Why wouldn’t they accept you?”

He shrugged. “People around here can be pretty traditional. And sometimes that means they’re resistant to change. But they’re good people, and they came around once they saw that what we were doing actually helped the community.”

“What do you do? You never really told me.” I had an inkling, given that he’d told me that they worked with therapists, but I hadn’t looked into it further.

Lucas looked over at me and smiled. “We help people who need it. Mostly through training service animals or opening our property up for people who need to get away for a while—a chance to rest like the ranch name says. All of us who live or work here, we’ve been through things, and we know what it’s like to not have anywhere to go. Especially if you’re... running from something.”

I swallowed and said nothing. But I didn’t look away either.

“But in some ways, it’s easier to show you. Next time you’re around in the afternoon, I’ll give you a tour. All official and everything.”

“I’d like that. Can we see the alpacas too?”

He grinned at me. “No tour of the Resting Warrior Ranch would be complete without showing the alpacas.”

I found myself smiling. It was easy to smile around him. Probably too easy, but it felt too good to stop. Lucas was the first man I’d said more than a couple of sentences to in years. The first one I’d voluntarily been this close to.

“How’s the house working for you?” he asked.

It was great. A godsend. I’d stayed in far worse places during my first weeks in a new town. “It’s wonderful. Really. Thank you for letting me use it. I’ll be out of there as soon as I can find a place in town.”

Lucas smiled. “Take as much time as you need.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not. Like I told you. We help people.”

Still, the feeling of imbalance swam uneasily in my gut. They helped people...

For a fraction of a second, I entertained the thought that they could help me. And I shut it down like I was slamming a door in place. They couldn’t help me. Even if they wanted to, I didn’t want to put them in Nathan’s path.

A cool breeze floated across the roof, carrying the scent of fresh air and mountains. There was a certain sweetness that permeated the air here sometimes, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. It came out of nowhere, no consistent plants or flowers when it was near. So I’d come to the conclusion that it was simply... Montana.

Lucas’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Are you comfortable talking about them?”

“About what?”

“Your scars.”

My whole body went stiff. I’d gotten so comfortable with him that I’d completely forgotten my arms were exposed. He could see the constellations of scars that ran down my arms, small dots and larger circles. Lines. The drawings of a madman on my body.

There were more scars under my clothes, but he didn’t need to know that.

I forced a smile. “Oh. Those. It was a long time ago. An accident. It doesn’t matter.”

He said nothing, and when I dared to look over at him, he was staring back. In the pale light of the stars, his eyes were pure darkness, and he was looking right through me. I don’t think he bought my excuse any more than I did. It didn’t sound real out loud. But I wasn’t ready for that.

What would Lucas think of me if he knew?

Terror gripped me along with a memory. In my third hiding place, a couple of coworkers had seen my scars by accident. I’d spilled something in the break room and pushed up my sleeves to clean it up. I’d done it without thinking, and then I’d heard the gasp from behind me.

I’d decided to take a risk and tell them the truth. I would never forget the looks on their faces. Their first reaction hadn’t been sympathy or pity—it had been disgust. Why had I stayed with someone who had done that to me? Why hadn’t I left? Why hadn’t I seen that he was a fucking psychopath earlier?

They were all questions that I had asked myself thousands of times. But that wasn’t what broke me. It was the pity and disbelief in their eyes. The certainty that what had happened to me would never happen to them, because surely, they would see it coming.