Brown eyes. Wide and terrified and ringed with the kind of bruising that doesn't come from a fall. Split lip, swollen and crusted with dried blood. A handprint, Jesus Christ, a clear handprint wrapped around her throat.
Ten years of combat medicine kicks in whether I want it to or not. I'm cataloging injuries before I can stop myself. The way she's holding her ribs says at least one is cracked, maybe two. Her left wrist is swollen, possible fracture. Dehydration evident in her chapped lips and sunken eyes. She's been out here a while.
"Please." Her voice comes out barely above a whisper, raw and ruined. "Please don't. I'll go. I didn't know this was someone's property. I'll go."
She tries to push herself up and can't. Her legs just shake and give out, and she lands hard on her hip with a sound that's half sob, half resignation.
Bear whines and looks at me. Luna's already crawling on her belly toward the woman, making herself small and unthreatening the way she does with scared things.
"You're not going anywhere." I crouch down, making myself smaller, less threatening. "My name's Cade. I have a cabin about a hundred yards that direction. You're safe here."
She doesn't believe me. I can see it in every rigid line of her body, in the way her hands curl into fists against the pine needles. In the way she's tracking my movements like I'm a predator and she's calculating her escape.
Someone made her this afraid. Someone who should have protected her did this to her instead.
I've seen it before. Too many times. In villages overseas where men thought they owned their wives. In base hospitals where soldiers had to report domestic abuse from partners back home. The patterns are always the same.
The violence is always the same.
"I'm a medic," I say, keeping my voice low and even. "Former Army. I can help with those injuries if you'll let me. No pressure. Your call."
Her gaze drops to Luna, who's now close enough to rest her chin on the woman's uninjured ankle. Something in her expression cracks. Just a little. Just enough.
"I don't..." She swallows hard. "I don't have anywhere to go."
"You do now."
The words come out fiercer than I intended. She flinches again, and I force myself to dial it back. Slow. Steady. Non threatening.
"Sorry. What I mean is, you can stay at my cabin until you figure out your next move. No strings. No expectations. Just a roof and some medical attention."
"Why?" The suspicion in her voice is knife sharp. "You don't know me."
"Don't have to know you to see you need help." I gesture at the dogs. "These three are all rescues. Found them in situations not too different from yours. Seemed wrong to walk away from them. Seems wrong to walk away from you."
She stares at me for a long moment. Then her gaze moves to Luna, still pressed trustingly against her leg, and her expression softens.
"Okay." It's barely audible. "Okay."
I nod and rise slowly to my feet. "Can you walk?"
She tries again. Gets about halfway up before her legs buckle.
"Right." I move closer, telegraphing every motion. "I'm going to pick you up now. That okay?"
A beat. Two. Then a tiny nod.
I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her as gently as I know how. She weighs nothing. Feels like holding air and bird bones. When was the last time she ate?
She makes a small, pained sound when I settle her against my chest, and I adjust my grip to take pressure off her ribs.
"Sorry."
"It's fine." She's stiff as a board in my arms, every muscle locked tight. "I'm fine."
She's not fine. She's about as far from fine as a person can get. But I don't argue, just start walking back toward the cabin with three dogs trailing behind us.
She doesn't speak again until we're almost at the tree line. Then, so quiet I almost miss it: "Natalie."
