"A picnic. Right here on Gabriel's ranch. We can pack some lunch, explore a little, find the perfect spot to sit and really feel Montana."
The idea takes hold, feeling more right by the second. "What do you say, Shortie? Feel up for a little adventure?"
"You want to have a picnic?"
"I want to be the one who shows you what it feels like to be still somewhere beautiful again." I let my voice go soft, honest, because she deserves that much.
"Besides, Tyson here could use some exercise, and you need to get your hands in Montana dirt if you really want to feel this place."
I watch her consider it, see the exact moment she decides to trust me with this piece of her heart. "Okay. Let's have a picnic."
Her smile could power the entire fucking state.
We spend the next hour putting together lunch. Thick sandwiches with Gabriel's homemade bread, crisp apples,coffee in a thermos. Working beside her feels easy, natural, like we've been doing this dance for years instead of weeks.
Gabriel's property is stunning in the midday sun. Rolling pasture gives way to small groves of aspen and pine, and everywhere there are signs of his careful attention. The man knows how to take care of what's his.
Tyson bounds ahead of us, clearly in his element, while I walk beside Lucy, matching my pace to hers, ready to steady her if she needs it without making her feel fragile.
"There," I say when I spot it. "What do you think?"
The old oak sits in a small meadow, providing dappled shade, with the ground sloping gently down toward a fence line where three horses graze in the afternoon sun.
"This is absolutely perfect," Lucy breathes, and I feel ridiculously proud that I picked well.
We spread out the blanket, and Lucy settles carefully onto it. Tyson immediately claims his spot beside her, resting his massive head on her leg with a contented sigh.
"Thank you for suggesting this," she says, looking out over the view with something like wonder.
"Thank you for saying yes." I settle beside her, close enough to catch her scent when the breeze shifts, close enough to hear the soft intake of her breath. "Wasn't sure you would."
"Why not?"
I unwrap my sandwich, considering how much truth I'm willing to give her. "You keep everyone at arm's length, Lucy. Even when you're being friendly, part of you stays hidden. Like you're always ready to bolt."
She goes very still beside me, and I can feel her weighing her words like they might explode if she's not careful. "It's easier to stay ahead of complications," she says finally, the words practiced and careful.
"Complications like what?"
I don't push when she doesn't answer immediately, just wait. Patience has never been my strong suit, I'm more of a kick-down-the-door type, but with Lucy, I find I've got all the time in the world.
"Everything. Everyone," she finally admits, the words coming out small. "It's easier than letting people get close enough to hurt you."
"Someone hurt you."
It's not a question, and she doesn't treat it like one.
"Haven't we all been hurt before?" She deflects, but I'm not buying the casual act.
Something about the way she says it, the practiced lightness, reminds me of myself when I was drowning in whiskey and rage.
I'm quiet for a long moment, watching the horses move across the pasture like they've got all the time in the world. "Yeah," I say finally. "But some people get better at hiding it than others."
She glances at me, and something in my voice must give me away because her expression softens.
"Some hurts cut deeper than others," I continue quietly, staring out at the horses because it's easier than looking at her. "Especially when they come from people who should have had your back. When someone you love decides you're not worth fighting for."
"Emma mentioned..." she starts carefully, then stops. "She said you and Beau and…"
