Chapter 4
Four Years Later
Isabelle
The glowing red numbers in the dark had become just another part of Isabelle’s messed-up life. Three in the morning. Three-o-six to be exact. She scowled at those numbers. There was no point in going to sleep now if her body hadn’t gotten the memo yet.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The nightmares were getting worse. How was that possible? Wasn’t she supposed to be past this by now? So much worse could have happened. She could have been kidnapped. She could have died.
No one could have come to save her from that deplorable act her date had attempted to enact.
The unease in her stomach tightened again and Isabelle closed her eyes. Sleeping only happened when her body was so drained of energy that she passed out. And that usually only occurred once every couple of days, sometimes in the middle of the day.
And this morning was not one of them.
She might as well toss the covers aside, get up, and ease the tension that hadn’t left her body since that fateful morning in the hospital.
Five years.
Five years and she was still just as broken.
Five years and there was no end in sight for her suffering.
A dull ache settled in her upper arms, where she’d been gripped hard.
That happened occasionally when her brain wasn’t willing to make sense of her memories of the night in question and the injuries she woke up with. They were phantom pains. At least that was what she chose to call them.
Phantom because if she hadn’t seen the bruises with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed what had happened to her in the first place.
Isabelle huffed a breath and groaned as she tossed her covers aside.
How much longer did her psyche need to finally accept that there was no changing the past and that the only option for her was moving forward?
She grabbed her tennis shoes and pulled them on.
Then she yanked her brother’s hoodie from the spot on the floor next to the door.
No one would be up right now. Just like most nights when she couldn’t sleep, Isabelle went for a run.
It didn’t matter if it was one or three in the morning.
She’d rather push her body to the limit than lie in her bed going over that night again and again.
Her memories were so spotty. There had to be more to it—a sign that something was off about her date. How could she have been so blind?
Once outside, Isabelle’s feet hit the ground with a quiet thud, and she took off running.
Steering clear of men had been no small feat.
She’d managed to never be alone with a guy, except recently.
Camilla’s fiancé, Dallas, had been an exception.
There was something about him that she knew she could trust. Maybe it was his obsession with Camilla.
That didn’t mean she’d been comfortable with him.
She’d put on a brave face to confront him, for Camilla’s sake.
Camilla’s friend had sabotaged everything in her life, and for once, Camilla deserved happiness. So Isabelle had stepped in.
Sweat beaded on Isabelle’s brow as she darted up the trail and around the wranglers’ cabin toward the trails. It was dark, calm. Out here when there weren’t any other people, she could finally breathe and pretend that everything was different.
She was a cloud, floating aimlessly in the sky with nothing and no one to tether her to the ground.
Her legs propelled her forward as she continued her run.
Heavy panting filled the air as she continued to push herself all for that little bit of relief.
She needed this—the exhaustion, the numb tingling sensation that came with exerting herself.
If she couldn’t force herself to remember that night, then she’d do whatever it took to make it fade away.
Tears streamed out of her eyes, but she didn’t bother wiping them away.
No more.
No pain.
No confusion.
No more frustration.
If only repeating the words in her head would be enough to make it true.
A flash of dark eyes flickered in her mind, and she gasped.
Isabelle had made her way up the trail, around to an intersecting one, and had been heading back to the house when that flash of memory accosted her.
She stumbled, turning her ankle painfully enough to land her on the ground. On one side was a tall leafy shrub. On the other side was a building. Isabelle winced, shutting her eyes tight.
Those eyes. They belonged to him. Pain and terror enveloped her, and she got to her hands and knees to throw up at the side of the path.
Her heart pounded angrily in her chest, furious at her decision to run it into the ground. Throat dry and scratchy, Isabelle gulped in breath after breath. She reached for that memory again.
Why torture herself?
Because something told her that if she could piece it all together, she might be able to get closure. Then again, maybe she fed off the pain these days and was a glutton for punishment.
“Are you okay?” a low voice said.
Isabelle screamed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Her head whipped up to find a tall figure standing a few feet away from her.
Male.
Immediately her harsh breathing got worse. Spots formed in her eyes. Her stomach tossed again, and her grip on her mouth tightened.
He stepped toward her, and she held up her other hand, trembling. “No. Don’t come any closer.”
The man stopped short. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. His voice was like warm caramel and chocolate. It was sweet and inviting.
And exactly what a predator might use to lure an unsuspecting woman to her doom.
Isabelle shook her head again. “I don’t care. Don’t get any closer or I’ll scream.”
He dropped down to a crouch and peered at her. One side of his mouth quirked upward. “Well, you’ve already done that, and I don’t see the cavalry coming yet.”
“Is that a threat?” she demanded, moving gingerly to get to her feet. She kept her eyes trained on him so she could prepare herself if he were to lunge for her. “I’ve taken karate classes.”
“Good for you.” He rose slowly but didn’t come closer. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”
“Pass,” she muttered. Her stomach swirled again, and she placed a hand there in an attempt to quell it. With slow movements, she made to move past him, but he shifted and blocked her path. “Move… please.”
“You look kind of green.”
“And you should probably work on your pickup lines.”
He laughed, and the sound of it stopped the world from spinning. “I’m not trying to hit on you, Isabelle.”
So he knew her name. That wasn’t a surprise.
He worked here after all. Four years of sticking it out in the same place would do that to a guy.
Isabelle peered at him closer. He was familiar enough that she knew he worked for her brother, but she hadn’t bothered to get to know him personally. She preferred to keep to herself.
“Come here, let me get you something.” He stepped toward her again and immediately she held up both hands. When she opened her mouth to warn him off, he stepped back again. Then he held out his hand. “I’m about to start on breakfast. And by the looks of it, you’re a little unsteady on your feet.”
She eyed him suspiciously. Rule number one after the incident: Don’t be alone with a man. Ever.
“I swear, I’m not going to try anything. Just let me… help.” Boy, he was good. He had that pleading tone down perfectly. But that wasn’t what bothered her the most. It was the way he stared at her.
It wasn’t the kind of look a predator gives his prey. She didn’t get the sense that he wanted to hurt her. And yet his unwavering stare unnerved her.
“It’s French toast day. You like that, right?”
She gave a small nod.
He jerked his chin toward the building where everyone took their meals. “Then come with me. I’ll give you the first batch.”
Isabelle stared down at his offered hand, then back to his face. “Okay.”
He pushed his hand out to her again, indicating he wanted to escort her.
“I’m good.” She shook her head, then lifted her injured leg. Wiggling it only offered a small ache. “I’m sure I can walk. It’s just a little sore.”
The man nodded, then turned so he could walk beside her.
It wasn’t lost on her that he kept his distance just enough to ensure they didn’t touch. And for some reason, that brought a small smile to her face.
What was his name? She’d interacted with him before. Jeremy? John? It started with a “J.” Maybe she could ask Camilla. Her sister was good with names. More than that, she was the more social one in the family.
They made it to the kitchen, and the cowboy pulled a chair out for her as he started getting stuff ready.
“Would you believe that before I came to work for Mateo, I was a chef?”
Her eyes widened. “Like a chef-chef? Or like a… guy who worked in the kitchen.”
He smirked at her over his shoulder as he pulled eggs and milk from the refrigerator. “Like a chef-chef.”
She shifted on the metal chair, watching him with new interest. “So people would say ‘yes, chef,’ when you told them to do something. Like in the movies?”
He laughed again and nodded. “Yep.”
“Then what on earth are you doing here?”
There was a pause, a tension in the room that was drawn tight.
Then he turned to face her fully and another flicker of memory raced down her spine.
What was it about him that was so familiar?
She wasn’t na?ve enough to believe it was the fact that she’d seen him around for the last couple of years. This was different.
It nagged at her, pulling her thoughts in several directions until she felt her heart starting to race again. She clutched at her chest, but then his words shattered the strange sensation.
“I guess I got to the point in my life where I wanted something different. My life was so full of chaos.” His brows pulled together, but it seemed to only make him more handsome.
His eyes took on a far-off quality for a moment, and in those fleeting seconds, she could sense that he wasn’t completely with her.
Then he focused on her again. “Don’t get me wrong.
I fed off that chaos for a while. It can be fun.
But when it’s every single day, when you start to feel trapped in a cage while feeling like there’s something missing in your life…
” He shrugged. “I suppose I took this job because it offered me a taste of what I loved while giving me the freedom to explore what else my soul needed in order to feel whole.”
His explanation hung in the air. It was clear he’d thought about it for a while. Eloquent and admirable.
This man was someone who knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t willing to settle. He wasn’t the type to hold back.
Like she was.
Isabelle dropped her eyes to her hands. She flexed her fingers and curled them into fists again. She was stuck. And she was too much of a coward to do anything about it.
“One of the hardest things in life is to know something needs to change and still be incapable of doing anything about it.” Her whisper hadn’t been meant for him, and yet he still responded.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”