She rubbed his hair off his forehead again.
“It worked. Everyone assumed I had died in the shootout—I was reported on the news as a victim—and the hospital confirmed they had ordered cremation of all bodies at that time.”
She sighed, lying back farther. “That was six years ago. I’ve been running and hiding ever since. Scared of everything. Haven’t even painted. I let him steal so much from me, Ren. Notonly the three years I was married to him, but the six years since. Nearly a decade of my life.
“It wasn’t until I met you that I realized it was time to stop. Not stop hiding. I’m never going to be able to stop hiding. But stop being his puppet. Stop letting him dictate and control my every move.”
She reached over and kissed his forehead, pulling him closer. “You taught me that, Ren. And I love you for it.”
* * *
ITWASTHIRTYhours before Ren finally woke up. Natalie had bathed him with cool washcloths when he got too hot, held him when he got too cold, fed him as much broth as she could get him to take.
And talked to him through the whole thing.
She realized talking about her life with Damien had been more for her than it had been for Ren, especially since Ren wasn’t going to remember any of it anyway. There was so much she’d pushed aside. Feelings of anger, inadequacy, helplessness, pain.
Maybe she was never going to ever truly stop running from Damien physically. But she could stop running every other way.
She was done letting him pull all her strings. Done being a puppet.
Looking at Ren now, watching his body wake up—his temperature back to normal, the sickly pallor gone, even his shoulder wound looking much better—was like a physical caress.
Natalie knew she hadn’t known him long enough to call what was pressing inside her chest legitimate. Knew they were brought on by the dangerous and adrenaline-inducing circumstances that they’d found themselves in. But she didn’t care.
She hadn’t known she was starving until she’d tasted him.
She wasn’t a fool; she knew things would always be complicated at best. But maybe a relationship with him could possibly work. He lived in Montana on a farm, for crying out loud.
A farm that sounded like everything she’d ever wanted in the world.
Why would Damien ever look for her on a farm in Montana? He wouldn’t. She could explain everything to Ren, and then stay off the grid there. Take shelter in him. Inthem.
Give in to these feelings that had been wrapping themselves around her heart since the first moment she saw him on the train. And hope he felt the same way.
His green eyes blinked open right then. She saw confusion light his eyes, then knowledge as he remembered where they were.
Then heat—so much heat—as he focused in on her.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered. “From the beginning it has hurt me to look at you.”
She felt her face—and other parts of her body—begin to burn.
“I think that might be some residual fever talking there, soldier. You’ve been pretty sick for a while.”
In a heartbeat his face changed, a cool focus washing out the passion that had just crackled between them.
“I’ve been unconscious?” he asked briskly, already starting to sit up. “How long?”
She moved to help him, but he’d already made it himself. “A few hours.”
He pinned her with his eyes, moving his shoulder, testing it. “How many hours? Twelve? Eighteen?”
“Probably closer to thirty. It was sunset two days ago when you fell in. You woke up and helped me stitch you the next morning, and then you were out all day yesterday and a lot of today. It’s midafternoon now.”
She wasn’t expecting the muttered curse that fell from his lips.
She laughed nervously. “Got a big date that you’re missing?”
