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Sheepskin rugs on the floor. A bed layered with soft wool blankets. A big fireplace and a stack of firewood. A camping stove, a camping lantern, a big tin of kerosene—and three shelves filled with cans and cartons of food.

Annie clapped her hands with delight. “What more could we ask for?”

“An outhouse,” Declan said. “A well. A lean-to for the horse complete with a couple of sacks of feed and a watering trough. And guess what? We have all that right out back.”

She gave an elaborate sigh. “Me first for the outhouse.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with that? I checked. There’s nothing living inside it, but it’s not exactly paradise.”

“I bet you think I’ve never used an outhouse before.”

He looked up from the gear he was unpacking. “A buck says I’m right.”

“Okay. I owe you a dollar—but an outhouse has to be better than squatting in the grass.”

Declan tried not to laugh. “You are,” he said solemnly, “what my old man would call a straight-talking woman.”

“And you are,” Annie said, just as solemnly, “what mine would have called a hero.”

Dec’s smile faded. “I’m no hero, honey. I’m just a soldier.”

She went up to him, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek.

“A soldier would have put me on that helicopter. You didn’t, even though you’re probably going to face hell for that decision.” She looked into his eyes. “I owe you some answers, Declan, and I’m going to give them to you.”

Dec took her hands in his and brought them to his chest.

“First things first,” he said quietly. “A hot meal. A hot drink. Maybe we’ll even clean up a little.” He touched his hand to her cheek and smiled. “Although I have to admit, I’m getting kind of fond of one or two of these dirt streaks.”

She smiled back at him. She knew what he was doing—giving her time to get herself together, to work up to what he sensed was going to be a story as hard for her to tell as for him to hear.

“There are salons in Paris that would charge a fortune to paint streaks like these on my face. But you’re right. We’ll clean up, then open a couple of cans and boxes of whatever this stuff is.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m about to discover the charms of outdoor plumbing.”

* * *

It seemed that Declan was wrong.

There was something living in the outhouse—a spider that should have been wearing a collar and leash—but Annie figured as long as it kept to its side of an invisible line and she kept to hers, they could co-exist.

Just having the bare trappings of civilization energized her.

A little while ago, she’d been too tired to think.

Now, she felt renewed. Restored. Humming softly, she washed her hands at the well. Then she went back to the shepherd’s hut and shut the door behind her.

Declan had a fire going on the hearth, a huge bucket of water heating on the grate, and a big oval basin drawn up before it. He was crouched before the fire, tending it.

He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only his camos.

The firelight played over him, illuminating his wide shoulders and muscled back.

There was a long scar low on his spine.

Annie felt a sudden sweet ache low in her belly.

She wanted to go to him and kiss the scar, kiss every part of him.

“Declan?” she said softly.