In the sky above were stars. The dots of a constellation, the lines connected into the shape of a bear.
He pinched the bridge of his nose hard at the sting of emotion.
The bear was watching over the wolf…from above.
Swallowing the hard knot in his throat, he studied the rest of the composition. A mountain and pines were represented in the background. And in the foreground…ferns.
Tiny, delicate fronds that also seemed to be swaying lightly in the breeze—an image that brought to mind the beautiful woman who’d been in his arms.
He didn’t recall giving the artist direction to add ferns, but looking up the text chain, he saw he had.
They couldn’t be more perfect. A mindless slip maybe, but an important one.
BecauseFernwas important to him.
He quickly darted a text to the artist, who responded that she had an opening in an hour if he could make it.
Excitement settled in his stomach, and he got the itch to feel the needles in his skin. This was the step he needed. It might not get posted on the wall of success stories, but it felt big to him. A step out of the shadows and toward the sunlight.
Within an hour, he was in the tattoo chair, the drone of the needles an odd comfort. He let his mind wander over all the things in his day, from the letters he’d written to the military families before dawn broke the sky…to working with the Black Heart Security team on Fern’s case.
And it landed solidly on Fern.
He didn’t know where he stood with her. Didn’t even know where he was heading after he left the program. But every day he felt stronger. More and more, he was leaving the ranch, striking out on his own to garden centers and tattoo shops. He found it easier to talk to things besides horses.
Even though he wasn’t ready—and might never be—to be in control of an aircraft, talking to Grant Upchurch at the training facility had come with another sense of familiarity, like an echo of the brotherhood he once belonged to. It made him want to go up there and talk to him again.
The artist lifted the needles from his arm and wiped the line she just pulled through his skin. He looked down and his chest welled with emotion. The outline was finished.
“I’m going to switch needles and begin shading. I’m pleased with how it’s turning out.”
“Me too.” His voice came out thick.
His phone vibrated—not with a text. With an incoming call from Fern.
“Excuse me,” he told the artist as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Oh, thank god. Crew!” Her voice was wrong, strained. Edgy.
He shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“I know I agreed to let you drive me to any jobs, but Honor stopped in at the greenhouse, and she told me you’d left for the afternoon. I really want this business to take off, so I can’t afford to turn down clients when I get them, but no one else could come.”
“Okay, slow down, honey. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think. But also no.”
His stomach churned. “Talk to me, Fern.”
“I did everything Theo told me to do. I sent Willow the address. Gave Theo the name and he cleared me to go to the site.I planned to be quick and get right back to the greenhouse for my shift afterward. But I never made it there.”
Fuck.He took off toward the exit without looking back at the artist.
“Where are you, Fern? What happened?”
“My car broke down. It just stopped in the middle of the road.”
“Dammit. Are you in a safe place?”
