The horses were patient with my slow, clumsy efforts. A big chestnut mare—Duchess, Lark called her—nuzzled my hand when I fumbled with her feed bucket, her soft nose warm against my palm. The trust in her dark eyes made my throat constrict. A gray gelding stood quietly while I struggled to hang his hay net, not protesting when I had to adjust it three times.
“You’re doing great,” Lark said, and I almost laughed at the absurdity. I was barely functional. But she said it like she meant it, and I didn’t have the energy to argue.
We finished the horses and moved outside. The light had shifted from gold to pink, the sun sinking toward the mountains. The air was cool against my face, sharp with the promise of a cold night.
And there, in a paddock off to the left, stood the alpaca.
He was exactly as Coop had described—all attitude and fluffy superiority, watching me with dark eyes that judged everything about my current state. His wool was cream-colored, almostwhite in the fading light, and he held his head at an angle that conveyed both curiosity and contempt.
“Al Pacacino,” I whispered.
The name caught in my throat. Coop’s voice echoed in my memory, warm with amusement as he’d told me about this ridiculous animal.This alpaca struts around like he owns the place. Beckett says he’s got more attitude than any guard dog they’ve trained.
I’d laughed at the stupid pun. Coop had looked at me like my laughter was a gift, and for just a moment, the nightmare had felt survivable.
“Coop told me about him,” I said, the words rough. “And about Chaos. Beckett’s kitten.”
Lark came to stand beside me, both of us watching Al Pacacino preen. “Sounds like Coop talked about us quite a bit.”
“He wanted me to meet everyone.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the blanket. “He talked about Garnet Bend like it was…”
I couldn’t finish.Like it was home. Like it was the place he’d finally found peace. Like it was somewhere he wanted to share with me.
“Al Pacacino used to live at the Resting Warrior Ranch,” Lark said, her voice easy and conversational. “That’s where Warrior Security started—a place for veterans dealing with PTSD to find peace. We brought Al over here so more people would have access to him as a therapy animal. He’s surprisingly good at?—”
I didn’t hear the rest.
The wordstherapy animalhit something inside me, some dam I’d been holding together through sheer force of will, and suddenly I was on my knees in the grass with no memory of falling.
Sobs tore out of me—ugly, wrenching things that felt like they were being ripped from somewhere deep in my chest. My handsfisted in the cool grass, dirt pushing under my fingernails, and I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe.
It was everything. All the days of being afraid I’d die. That hunt and the unbearable feeling of being chased with no way to protect myself. But mostly…
“I left him.” The words came out broken, barely intelligible. “I left him there. He told me to run, and I ran, and Ilefthim?—”
I was gasping now, hyperventilating. “He could be dead.” I couldn’t catch my breath. “Oliver could have killed him the moment we drove away. I saw them fighting through the window, and I just let Beckett drive?—”
Lark lowered herself to the ground beside me. Close enough that I could feel her warmth, but not touching. She didn’t offer false comfort. Didn’t tell me everything was going to be fine.
She just waited.
“I’ve known Coop for a few years now,” she said when my sobs had quieted to shuddering breaths. “He came to Garnet Bend broken in ways most people couldn’t see. PTSD from his military service. Guilt over things that happened overseas. The kinds of wounds that don’t show on the surface but eat you alive from the inside.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool grass, listening.
“But he’s a warrior, Mia. Not just because of his training—because of who he is. If anyone can survive whatever he’s facing right now, it’s Coop.” She paused. “And I know he would have wanted you out of there. No matter what it cost him. No matter the consequences.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to let her words ease the guilt crushing my chest.
“He made a choice to help you escape,” Lark continued quietly. “You made a choice to survive. Neither of those choices was wrong.”
I stayed there for a long moment, face pressed to the earth, breathing in the smell of grass and dirt and something that might have been hope. Then I pushed myself up, wiping my face with shaking hands.
Before I could speak, Lark pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Come on,” she said, already dialing. “We’re going to Travis’s place.”
“What?” I stumbled after her, my bandaged feet protesting. “Why?”
