"The military," Claire says eventually. "Why did you join?"
"Partly because I wanted to see the world. Mostly I wanted to make Frank proud. I wanted to prove I could be something more than just a foster kid who got lucky. I did three tours, worked my way up to sergeant. And then..." I touch my shoulder unconsciously, feeling the burn scar through my shirt. "There was an explosion. IED. I was supposed to be somewhere else, but I switched positions with a friend at the last second. The explosion went off where I should've been standing."
"But you survived."
"I survived. My friend didn't. Three other guys in my unit didn't. I got burns, shrapnel wounds, permanent hearing damage, and a front-row seat to watching people I cared about die in pieces." The buzzing in my ear picks up right on cue, as if my body wants to remind me I'm broken. "Came home with PTSD, nightmares, the whole package. Couldn't function for months, drinking myself stupid trying to forget what I'd seen."
Claire's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through my fingers. It's the first time we've touched beyond that brief knee contact at dinner.
"Eventually I came back here," I continue. "Frank didn't ask questions. Just put me to work. The ranch saved me, honestly. Gave me something to focus on besides the nightmares. The other guys understood because Mason had been through similar shit. We didn't have to talk about it. We just... existed together until existing got easier."
"And now Frank's gone, but you have the ranch. And your brothers."
"Yeah. It's enough, most days. But watching them all find love, watching them be happy..." I look at her, at this woman who's somehow become my last desperate attempt at not being alone. "It made me realize I wanted that too. Even if I don't deserve it. Even if I'm too fucked up for it to work."
"You're not too fucked up," Claire says firmly. "You're just human. We're all carrying damage, Rhett. That doesn't make us unworthy of love."
"You really believe that?"
"I'm trying to." She squeezes my hand. "My father used to say that the best stories come from the most unconventional places. That the couples who fought hardest for each other always had the strongest love. I don't know if that's true, but... maybe we could find out?"
I look at her. This brave, broken woman who got on a bus to meet a stranger because she was tired of being alone. Who sat through dinner with my entire family and lied for me because we're in this together now, for better or worse.
"I want to try," I say. "Really try. Not just go through the motions but actually build something real. Even if it takes time. Even if it's messy."
"Messy is fine," Claire says. "I'm good with messy. As long as we're honest with each other, even when we can't be honest with everyone else."
"Deal."
She smiles, and it transforms her face. Makes her beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with her curves or her pretty blueeyes and everything to do with the hope shining through her exhaustion.
"I should let you sleep," I say, even though I don't want to leave. "It's late, and you've had a hell of a day."
"Yeah. I'm pretty much dead on my feet at this point." She hesitates, looking down at our joined hands before meeting my eyes again. "Actually, would you... this is going to sound weird, but would you maybe want to sleep on the couch? Here, I mean. In this cottage."
I blink, not sure I heard her right. "On your couch?"
"I know it's not as comfortable as your bed," she says quickly, the words tumbling out. "And I know this is a safe place, that nothing's going to happen. But it's my first night here, and I'm in a strange place, and I just... I'd feel better knowing you were right there. If something happened. Not that anything will happen, but—"
"Claire," I interrupt gently. "You don't have to explain. I'll stay."
Her shoulders sag with relief. "Really? You don't think it's weird?"
"I think you've been incredibly brave today, and if sleeping on your couch makes you feel safer, then that's where I'll be."
"Thank you. I'll get you a blanket and pillow."
She disappears into the bedroom and returns with bedding, helping me set up the couch. It's not long enough for my frame, and I'll probably wake up with my legs cramped, but I don't care. Because for the first time since Claire stepped off that bus, I feel like I'm actually doing something right.
I feel like her protector.
Not in some macho, possessive way. But in the way Frank used to make me feel safe when I first came to the ranch, like someone actually gave a damn whether I was okay. Like someone was watching out for me. Claire deserves that. Deserves to feel protected after losing everything and taking this insane leap of faith.
"I'm going to change," she says, gesturing to the bedroom. "I'll leave the door cracked. Just... if you need anything, or if you change your mind and want to go back to your place, it's okay."
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, meaning it.
She smiles again, smaller this time but no less genuine, and disappears into the bedroom. I hear the rustle of clothes, the sound of her moving around, and then the creak of the bed as she settles in.
