He got behind the wheel and started the truck, cranking up the heat.
She didn't look at him.
He didn't have to decide right this second. Maybe if they could get her truck fixed, he could take her somewhere else safe.
He turned the truck toward home.
She was silent the entire twenty-minute ride to the ranch, staring out her window.
Once, he saw her raise one hand to wipe her cheek.
She wasn't outright crying, and maybe that was something to worry about. Was keeping everything inside the wrong thing to do?
He itched to ask her what had happened, who she was running from.
But there was a big part of him that didn't want to know. If he didn't know, he didn't have to be involved.
Except a tiny voice in the back of his head kept telling him he was already involved. Already in over his head.
