Luna picks up her mug and opens the back door. “Shall we harvest some kale?”
We take our time getting started, slowly finishing our coffee as we check out the octagonal dome first, then walk through the crop areas making a plan for the day.
Three hours later, we’ve picked through theentire crop. It’s hard on the fingers, but the rhythm of gathering the outer leaves is kind of nice. Luna has planted oregano and thyme in with the kale in the high tunnel, and a kaleidoscope of different mum varieties edge the greenhouse—both pest deterrents, she explains, but it has the side effect of everything smelling a lot nicer than Derek’s shitty version of the same setup. Plus she’s built her beds up more, with gravel underfoot, so it’s less muddy.
“You learn fast,” Luna observes when we’re back in the house making lunch. “Or maybe you have more gardening experience than I thought?”
“My ex wanted me to be a gardener. And a homeschooler, and a home maker. Full on trad wife fantasy,” I say with more bitter honesty than I should admit to a stranger.
“That sounds really challenging." She turns to face me fully, and there's something like concerned understanding in her expression, and it makes me want to share more.
“He didn’t have this much land on his homestead, and everything was always wet. He had a polytunnel, but it was a nightmare. It stank like rodents and it was hard to grow anything without it being a feast for mice.” I press my lips together to stop from saying anything else.
The less she knows about Derek, the better.
But since she doesn’t understand why, she misreads my silence. "Hope, I want you to know... you can talk to me. About anything. I know we just met, but sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger. Especially a stranger who's been through her own hell."
My throat tightens. "I don't?—"
"You don't have to." She holds up a hand. "I'm just saying, if you ever want to... I'm here. Andnothing you tell me leaves this kitchen unless you want it to."
I stare down at my half-constructed sandwich. Part of me wants to spill everything—the compound, the cameras, Derek's escalating control, the fear that wakes me in the night convinced he's found us.
But the words stick in my throat.
"I just want to work,” I finally manage. I need to work. To feel like I'm earning this kindness, this safety, however temporary it might be.
Just until my car is fixed and we can keep running.
Chapter 9
Zane
I want to give them as much space as they need, but even from afar, I’m constantly aware of where Hope and Bellamy are on the ranch.
They spend the morning picking kale, and then in the afternoon, Luna piles them into the utility vehicle and gives them a tour of the property. I saddle up my horse and follow at a distance.
Bellamy’s frog is an ever-present flash of green fur, but there’s something else I can’t quite place…
When they stop at the creek and Hope rolls up her leggings, I realize what it is. They're both wearing the same clothes from yesterday.
Because they don't have anything else.
The car that overheated wasn't just a temporary setback—it was everything she owned in the world.
Her sandals are fine for working in the greenhouse and high tunnel, but if she’s going to stay here for more than a day or two, she needs boots.
I dig out my phone and text my mother.
Zane
Find out what size boots Hope and Bellamy wear
I’m going to put in a supply order, might as well outfit our new hire properly
And then I force myself to turn my horse and head anywhere other than where they are.
Chapter 10
