"Okay." I sit back on my heels. "No hospital. I've got enough supplies here to handle most things. But if you start having trouble breathing or you develop any new symptoms, you have to tell me. Deal?"
"Deal."
I clean her wounds while she sits motionless, barely even wincing when the antiseptic hits her split lip. She's had practice at this. At staying quiet while someone touches her injuries. At making herself small and still so she doesn't provoke anything worse.
The thought makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
"Where have you been staying?" I ask as I wrap her wrist in an ace bandage. "Before you ended up on my property."
"Motels. Different one each night." Her voice is flat. Empty. "I have some cash. Enough for a few more weeks if I'm careful. Then..." She trails off. Shrugs with her uninjured shoulder.
Then nothing. That's what she's not saying. Then she's out of options.
"How long have you been running?"
"Three months."
Three months of motel rooms and looking over her shoulder and sleeping with one eye open. Three months of those bruises being fresh, which means they've been refreshed somewhere along the line. He caught up to her. Recently.
"The new injuries." I keep my voice neutral. "How long ago?"
She doesn't answer for a long moment. Then: "Four days. I got away. Stole his car and drove until I couldn't anymore, then just started walking." A ghost of something like dark humor crosses her face. "The car's probably in a ditch about thirty miles from here. I'm not a great mountain driver."
Four days. Walking through these mountains with cracked ribs and a sprained wrist and no food. It's a miracle she's still breathing.
"You're tough," I say.
She blinks at me like no one's ever said that to her before. "I'm terrified."
"Those two things aren't mutually exclusive."
I finish with her wrist and start packing up the supplies. Luna's claimed the spot next to Natalie on the couch, pressed against her hip, and I notice Natalie's good hand has found its way to the dog's fur.
"You should eat something. Then sleep." I stand, putting some distance between us. "Guest room's at the end of the hall. Lock works from the inside."
"You have a guest room?"
"Came with the cabin. Never used it till now."
She looks at me. Really looks, like she's searching for something in my face. I don't know what she finds, but after a moment, she nods.
"Thank you." It sounds like it costs her something to say. "For everything. I know you didn't have to."
"Yeah, well." I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of her gratitude. "Try to get some rest. We can figure out next steps tomorrow."
I escape to the kitchen to heat up soup, my hands only shaking a little as I pull ingredients from the cupboard.
Natalie Pierce. Battered, bruised, and running from a man who put his hands around her throat.
Every instinct I've spent three years trying to bury is roaring back to life. The part of me that protects. The part that fixes. The part that couldn't stand by while someone was hurting.
I thought I'd retired that man. Thought I'd locked him away in a box marked "too many losses" and thrown away the key.
Looks like I was wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
NATALIE
