But maybe this man is right. Maybe a start is all I need.
"Okay." I let out a shaky breath. "Okay. A start."
Cade nods like we've just sealed an agreement. "Good. Now finish your coffee and take it easy today. Your body needs rest."
"What are you going to do?"
"Got some work in the greenhouse. You're welcome to join me if you want, or you can stay here and sleep. Whatever you need."
Whatever I need. Like it's that simple. Like he's not putting his entire life on hold to help a stranger.
"Maybe later." I wrap my hands around my refilled mug. "The greenhouse, I mean. I could help."
His smile returns, small but warm. "I'd like that."
He heads for the door, and I watch him go, this giant gentle man who treats me like I matter.
I don't know what I did to deserve landing on his doorstep.
But maybe, just this once, the universe decided I'd had enough bad luck.
Maybe it's time for something good.
CHAPTER THREE
CADE
THREE DAYS.
That's how long it takes for Natalie to stop flinching every time I enter a room.
I notice because noticing is what I do. Ten years as a combat medic trained me to read bodies, to see the small signs that tell you when someone's in pain even if they won't admit it. The way she holds her shoulders. The tension in her jaw. The micro expressions that flicker across her face before she can hide them.
Day one, she was a raw nerve. Wound so tight I could practically hear her vibrating. Day two, she started breathing normally when I walked past. Day three, she looked up from the book she was reading and actually smiled at me.
Progress.
Now it's day four, and she's standing at the edge of my greenhouse, watching me transplant echinacea seedlings with an expression I can't quite read.
"You can come in." I gesture to the open door. "Won't bite."
She steps inside, and I watch her take it all in. The rows of medicinal herbs, the grow lights, the careful organization thatkeeps me sane. This place is my sanctuary within a sanctuary, the one spot where my hands do only good.
"It's incredible." She moves between the tables, trailing her fingers over lavender and chamomile and lemon balm. "You grow all of this yourself?"
"Most of it. Some I forage from the mountain. There's a creek about half a mile east with wild mint growing along the banks. Yarrow in the meadow past the tree line."
She stops at a table full of seedlings, leaning down to examine them more closely. Her hair falls forward, catching the light through the greenhouse panels, and I have to force my attention back to the plant in my hands.
"What are these?"
"Calendula. Good for skin healing, inflammation. I make a salve that Doc Morrison uses at the clinic in town."
"You supply a clinic?"
"Volunteer there once a month. Started as a way to keep my skills sharp without..." I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
Without holding another dying soldier in my arms. Without feeling someone's life slip away under my hands.
