On the kitchen counter, I find another note.
Coffee's in the pot. Eggs and bread in the fridge. Help yourself to anything. I'm in the greenhouse if you need me.
I trace my fingers over his handwriting. Neat and precise, like everything else about him.
The coffee is still warm. I pour myself a cup and cradle it in my hands, breathing in the steam while I try to make sense of where I've landed.
Three months of running. Three months of cheap motels and gas station food and jumping at every shadow. Three months of waiting for Kevin to find me again, knowing that when he did, it would be worse than before.
And then he did find me. In Elko. He must have tracked my debit card when I got careless and used it for gas. Stupid. So stupid. Six years of marriage should have taught me never to underestimate him.
I touch my throat without meaning to. The bruises there are the freshest, four days old, still vivid enough to show exactly where his fingers pressed.
"You think you can leave me?" He'd said it so calmly. So reasonably. Like we were discussing the weather instead of his hands around my windpipe. "You're mine, Natalie. You'll always be mine. Death do us part, remember?"
I got away because he wanted to savor the moment. Because he set me down on that motel bed and went to get a drink fromthe minibar, so confident that I was too broken to run. And I grabbed his keys and I ran anyway.
The car died somewhere in these mountains. I just kept walking. Kept moving until my body gave out and I couldn't take another step.
And then Cade found me.
I finish my coffee and wash the mug. Dry it and put it away. The small act of normalcy steadies me more than I expected.
Through the kitchen window, I can see the greenhouse clearly now. Can see Cade inside it, moving between tables full of plants, his concentration absolute. The two bigger dogs are with him, lounging in patches of sunlight while he works.
I should go thank him properly or at least figure out what happens next. Instead, I explore the cabin like the coward I apparently am.
The living room yields more personal details. Photos on the mantle show Cade with a group of men, all of them big and dangerous looking, standing in front of a building with a sign that reads Guardian Peak Security. In another, he's in military fatigues, younger, with a medic patch on his sleeve and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
There's a photo of him with a young soldier, both of them dirty and exhausted, arms slung around each other's shoulders. The soldier looks barely old enough to shave. Something about Cade's expression in that picture makes my chest hurt.
I move on before I can examine why.
The bathroom is clean and well stocked, with a first aid kit the size of a small suitcase under the sink. Of course. He's a medic. Probably has enough supplies here to run a field hospital.
Back in the main room, I'm drawn to the bookshelves. Most of the titles are practical: wilderness survival, medicinal herbs, military history. But there's a whole shelf of fiction too, wellworn paperbacks with cracked spines. Westerns, mostly, and some thrillers.
I'm running my fingers along the spines when the front door opens.
My whole body goes rigid. The book I was touching falls to the floor with a thud that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet cabin.
"Sorry." Cade stops just inside the doorway, hands up in that non threatening gesture he used yesterday. "Didn't mean to startle you."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my damaged ribs. I make myself breathe. Make myself remember where I am and who I'm with.
"No, I'm sorry." I bend to pick up the book, using the moment to compose myself. "I'm not usually this jumpy."
He doesn't call me out on the obvious lie. Just shuts the door gently behind him and moves toward the kitchen, giving me plenty of space.
"You eat yet?"
"Just coffee."
"That's not food." He opens the fridge and starts pulling out ingredients. "Eggs okay? I've got some fresh herbs that would make a good omelet."
He’s done enough. I know he’s done enough already, but my stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly enough for both of us to hear. Cade's mouth curves into a small smile. It transforms his face, softens all those hard edges, and for a second I forget to breathe for an entirely different reason.
"Eggs it is." He cracks four into a bowl without waiting for my response. "Sit down before you fall down. You look like a strong wind would knock you over."
