Chapter Eleven
The training facility smelled like sawdust and oil and fresh paint—proof of work getting done.
Crew stood just inside the open bay doors, hands on his hips, surveying the space with a critical eye. New training mats lined one wall. Equipment had been moved and reorganized. It wasn’t finished yet, but it was close.
“Things are really coming together here,” he said to Upchurch, nodding toward the indoor practice area.
Upchurch followed his gaze and grunted. “Yeah. We appreciate you pitching in.”
Crew shrugged, tugging the brim of his Stetson down against the glare pouring in from outside. “Feels good to get away from the smell of manure.”
They shared a laugh and then walked together along the concrete floor, boots echoing softly. Outside, the mountains loomed. Imposing to some people, but a comfort to Crew and many of those who lived at the Black Heart.
He paused to drink in the view, which might even be better than the one from the therapy lodge.
“I haven’t seen more than a couple people here all day. This place is like a ghost town. You’re not fully staffed?”
Upchurch huffed a quiet laugh. “Not yet. The facility’s government funded, but you know how they operate. Everything takes twice as long as it should.”
Crew did know. Too well.
“As soon as the funds come through,” Upchurch continued, “Gray, Theo, and Denver have the all-clear to begin hiring.”
He cast Crew a sideways look. “How much time you have left in the program?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
Crew’s stride slowed, his jaw tightening before he could stop it.
People didn’t usually ask—didn’t talk openly about the vets being in the program.
Not because there was a stigma, exactly.
But there was a vulnerability that came with it.
A quiet humiliation some guys never shook, the sense that needing help meant they’d failed somewhere along the way.
He reached up and tugged the brim of his hat lower, trying to balance his own feelings on the subject of leaving. “Not sure,” he said after a beat. “But it’s getting close.”
Upchurch bobbed his head. “Well, when it comes…think you might throw your hat in the ring for a position?”
Crew glanced across the field toward the helicopter. It sat there like a big judgmental bug that was annoyed it had been set down in the wrong spot.
“That depends on what that position is,” he said evenly. He lifted his jaw at the aircraft. “You put the cart before the horse there.”
Upchurch chuckled. “Yeah. Government works backward at times. Or maybe they think, bring it and a pilot will fly it.”
Crew felt it then. The pull. The itch in his palms.
His fingers flexed instinctively before he shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing the urge down. He’d been wrong in the past. Muscle memory was a dangerous thing.
So was wanting something he wasn’t sure he should want anymore.
Upchurch studied him for a second, then changed tack. “Your lady friend okay? After what happened?”
“Yeah,” Crew said immediately. “She’s holding up.”
Fern was stronger than she looked. Life had made her shield herself in armor, but she didn’t need it—she possessed a core of steel few people did.
Crew shifted his weight. “Well, I best get going. I have someplace to be.”
And someone to see.
That someplace was a tent erected at the garden site.
And the someone was Fern.
Upchurch smiled knowingly. “Figured.”
Crew drove the few miles back to the ranch and strolled directly to the community garden.
He spotted her before she saw him, standing beneath the canopy someone put up to provide protection from the rain that had been predicted but hadn’t yet begun to fall. A few tables were set up, along with chairs for those vets who weren’t up to standing.
Crew’s breath punched from his lungs. Christ, she was stunning. Her soft auburn hair was tucked behind one adorable ear. She had a clipboard stuck under her arm while directing the activity like she’d been doing it her whole life.
Boxes of seed packets were stacked neatly on a folding table. Bags of soil waited nearby. Around her, veterans hovered—some eager, some hesitant, but all paying attention.
There was a lot going into the garden. Work on the infrastructure had begun.
Gravel had been tamped down to form the base for the pathways.
On top of that was a layer of sand. The pavers would go on top, which would be delivered soon.
Lumber for the raised beds had arrived that morning, stacked in clean lines off to one side.
It wasn’t just a garden—it was hope.
Fern’s voice carried easily as she explained what the plan was for the day.
Every guy there was watching her. Listening. Enjoying the new project.
Fern put down her clipboard and stood at the head of one table where everyone could see her. “We’re going to plant seeds in these small starter pots. We have green beans, cucumbers and pumpkin seeds. It’s a bit late for corn, but we’ll try it next year. It’s still fun to get our hands dirty.”
She glanced around the group—and her stare landed on Crew.
Without shifting his stare from her, he drifted to the closest table and positioned himself in front of some starter pots she’d scattered among the group.
“Now choose your packet of seeds. On the back it will tell you how deep to plant it in the dirt, and how many seeds to place in each. Some of them are really small. Here’s what I do.
” She dumped a few seeds into her palm and took a pinch.
Everyone watched as she poked her finger in the dirt, creating a small hole, dropped the seeds in and covered them with dirt.
“See? As easy as that.” She smiled at them all, but when she locked gazes with Crew once more, that pretty flush that got him every time coated her cheeks.
She moved among them, answering questions, encouraging, never making anyone feel foolish for asking.
One of the guys frowned down at his tray. “How deep is this supposed to go? Three-eighths of an inch, right?”
“How do we know how deep three-eighths of an inch is?” another guy called out. “Does anyone have a tape measure?”
Fern laughed softly. “Okay, listen. Let me tell you a story.”
She told them about camping with her family when she was young. About roughing it. About there being no outhouse.
She blushed as she said they had a designated spot for that, and the entire group leaned in, enthralled.
“We ate a lot of hamburgers with tomato slices on top. The next year,” she went on, “tomatoes were growing out there. Just…growing. And no way were we eating them knowing where they came from. But it proves something.”
She spread her hands. “Seeds will sprout anywhere.”
Laughter rolled through the tent, easy and genuine. The tension melted away from some of them, and the vets went back to work.
Crew’s chest tightened.
God, he was proud of her and of what she’d built here on her own. She’d fled in the night from a bad relationship, yet she managed not only to find ways to heal but to help others do the same.
When things wrapped up, he caught her eye. She drifted over with a tiny sway in her sexy hips.
“Dinner.”
She blinked. “You can eat after that story I told about the tomatoes?”
He grinned. “Everything is better with you.”
The vets drifted off, and Crew helped Fern clean up. Afterward, they climbed into his truck, dust still clinging to their clothes and on their skin.
“Should I go home and change clothes before we eat?”
He looked her over, gaze snagging on her hips, her waist, her breasts. “Can if you want. But you look good to me.”
Her freckles stood out more under her blush.
“If you don’t mind, I need to stop by the post office.” The thick bundle of letters he and Gray had written that week were stowed in the console, addressed and stamped.
“No problem.” She settled back in the seat, a soft smile teasing the corners of her lips.
He flicked through radio stations with deliberate care until he found one he knew she’d love.
Sure enough, Fern’s face lit up. Their gazes locked for a beat, and she launched into the chorus.
He joined her without hesitation, unable to hit the high notes without being off-key and completely unashamed that he was.
Again, Crew was surprised by how light he felt. He didn’t feel the gray cloud of past storms hovering over him. It seemed to have blown away, leaving him feeling…genuinely happy.
And somewhere between the music and her laughter and the way her hand rested on his thigh, the truth settled in his chest.
There was no questioning it anymore.
There was no denying it.
He was in love.
And for now—for tonight—that was enough.
Because with Fern beside him, he only saw the long, open road stretching ahead, with no end in sight.
* * * * *
Fern had learned to recognize the moment before something went wrong.
The hitch in her breath.
The tightening in her gut.
The sense that she should already be running.
It never came.
Life was different here.
Crew slowed the truck in front of the post office, tires humming on pavement. He parked and reached into the console to pull out a thick packet of letters.
Leaning close to her, he fixed her in his solemn stare.
“Lock the doors.”
With a little gasp at the intensity in his eyes, she nodded.
“The parking lot looks empty. I shouldn’t be long.”
She issued a laugh. “Are you kidding? Cathy loves to talk.”
His eyes creased with amusement. Then he jumped out of the truck and closed the door. For a moment, he stood at the window, waiting for her to lock the doors.
She did. The familiar click echoed louder than it should have, but she was distracted by Crew’s hot swagger, shoulders shifting with every stride, until he disappeared inside.
Then she scanned the street, gaze moving from storefronts to parked cars, to the stretch of road disappearing at the edge of town.
Nothing.
No unfamiliar truck idling too long. No person watching her or making her chest seize.
The street was quiet, the way Willowbrook always was at this hour.