“You’re a vegetarian? Shit. I have potatoes in the cellar. Canned green beans. I can try—”
“No. I love bacon.” Wincing, she holds out her hands, and our fingers brush as I pass her the plate.
Her warm brown eyes water as she takes her first bite. After a little moan, she digs into the eggs. Watching her eat…it’s like she hasn’t enjoyed a simple breakfast in years. The food’s gone in less than five minutes, and she hunches her shoulders and peers up at me like I’m going to be angry with her when I accept the plate from her trembling hand.
“Impressive. Want more?”
“I’m fine.” With that flat tone to her voice, she’s very not fine. And she’s white knuckling the blanket like it’s some sort of Kevlar vest.
“Hardly.” My snort makes her flinch, but she needs to eat. Striding back into the kitchen, I retrieve my plate from the oven where I’d been keeping it warm and carry it back to the bedroom. “Hope? Are you still hungry?” Her gaze is glued to the six strips of bacon, and I arch my brows. “Answer me.” As the words escape my lips, I realize my mistake, because her eyes fill with tears until she squeezes them shut. I should apologize. But I can’t. My obstinance and her fear are locked in a standoff.
My inner voice orders me to back off, but I don’t listen.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Then this is yours.”
Murphy whines and sits up, like he knows if Hope asked, I’d probably give her the last two slices I saved for him too. “Outside. Do your business. Then food,” I say.
He’s out the door like a bolt of lightning, and I pass Hope the plate.
The second serving disappears just as quickly as the first, but she doesn’t say a single word the whole time. Won’t even look up at me until I take the plate from her. Then it’s just a whispered, “Thank you.”
“You won’t go hungry here,” I say, the words harsher than I intend before I return to the kitchen. Murphy pads back inside, sits, and raises one paw. “Good boy.”
He stares up at me like I’m his whole world, and regret slams a sledgehammer against my chest.
She’s injured. And afraid. She doesn’t need you to be a complete asshole every time you talk to her.
The look on Murphy’s face after I drop two slices of bacon into his bowl is nothing short of pure, canine joy, and I start the electric kettle. Clearing a path around the house this afternoon is going to take hours—and a couple of thermoses of instant coffee. Maybe if I bring Hope a cup, she’ll forgive me. Or won’t hate me quite so much.
Her color is almost normal when I return to the bedroom. Seeing her in my bed, looking like she belongs there, makes my dick twitch in my jeans. Another reason I need to spend the rest of the day outside.
Once I know she’s taken care of.
“You want to try to get up? I haven’t washed your clothes yet. Too cold to hang them in the cellar. But I got a robe that’ll do well enough. The main room’s warmer, and the couch is comfortable.”
She blinks up at me, like she can’t figure out why I care that she’s warm. “Okay.”
Back to one-word answers, almost devoid of personality, of emotion. If I weren’t so sure she’d been abused—badly—for quite some time before ending up in my bed, I’d be tempted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Anything to get a rise out of her. Or see a fraction of the enthusiasm she showed for breakfast. But like a wounded animal, she needs tending. Care. Gentleness. All things I’m shit at.
Snagging my robe from the back of the door, I hold it out to her, but she shies away from me.
Assess. Adapt. She won’t believe it if you tell her she’s safe. Show her.
I drop the robe next to her and back away. “I won’t touch you unless you ask me to, Hope. And I sure as shit won’t hurt you.” With my hands shoved into my pockets, I wait for her to pull the thick, flannel-lined cotton to her chest.
“I don’t know you,” she whispers. Her eyes give her away. She wants to trust me. She just can’t.
“You probably don’t remember much from last night, but I spent more than a decade as a Navy SEAL. Retired a little under four years ago. Moved up to the mountains six months later.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Hope tries to shove her left arm into the sleeve, but the pain must be too much for her, because she drops the robe and barely manages to stifle her whimper.
“Well, yeah,” I say, keeping my voice as gentle as possible. “We have a code.”
Now it’s her turn to snort. Or huff. The sound tugs at the corners of my lips. Until she meets my gaze. “Just because you’re a soldier doesn’t mean you’re a good guy.”
Bristling, I run my hand over the short beard I let grow out once I moved up here. “First of all, the only soldiers in the United States armed forces are in the Army. I’m a SEAL. Second, if I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have done it any time in the past eighteen hours. Or left you in that SUV rather than risking my life to get you out. And third? Do I look like I’m a monster?”
