Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
NATALIE
Iwake up not knowing where I am.
For three terrible seconds, my body locks rigid and my breath stops and I'm back in that house, in that bedroom, waiting for the door to open and the footsteps to come down the hall.
Then a dog whines softly from somewhere near my feet, and reality rushes back.
The cabin. The mountain man. Cade.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way the therapist taught me back when I still thought therapy could fix my marriage instead of helping me survive it.
Pale morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains. The bed beneath me is soft, the sheets clean and smelling faintly of cedar. There's a glass of water on the nightstand that wasn't there when I fell asleep, and next to it, two white pills with a handwritten note.
Ibuprofen for the pain. Breakfast whenever you're ready. No rush. - C
I stare at that note for a long time.
No rush. Like I'm a guest instead of a stray he found bleeding in his woods. Like my presence here isn't an imposition, an inconvenience, a burden.
The small dog lifts her head from where she's curled at the foot of the bed. Luna, he called her. She watches me with warm brown eyes, tail giving a tentative wag.
"Hey, girl." My voice comes out rough, wrecked from days of not using it. "You sleep there all night?"
Another wag. She inches closer on her belly, and I reach out to stroke her soft fur. She's small, maybe thirty pounds, with a patchy coat that suggests she's seen some hard times too.
He said he found all three dogs in situations not too different from mine.
I don't know what to do with a man like that.
The pills go down easy with the water. Moving is harder. Every muscle in my body screams when I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and my ribs protest so loudly I have to sit still for a full minute just breathing through it.
Four days of walking through mountains with cracked ribs. Looking back, I'm amazed I made it as far as I did. Amazed I made it at all.
The flannel shirt I slept in hangs past my thighs, soft and worn and carrying a scent I'm starting to associate with safety. Pine and herbs and something warm underneath. Him.
Stop it.
I push myself to my feet and shuffle to the window, Luna padding along behind me.
Outside, the world is green and gold, morning sun painting the trees in colors that belong in a postcard.
Mountains rise in the distance, snow capped and impossibly beautiful.
And there, between the cabin and a large greenhouse structure, Cade moves among raised garden beds.
He's shed his jacket in the warming air, wearing just a henley that stretches across shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. Even from here I can see the careful way he handles the plants, those massive hands gentle as they work through the soil.
Hands that touched me last night with more care than I've felt in years.
My throat tightens and I turn away from the window.
The guest room is simple but comfortable. Wooden furniture that looks handmade, a braided rug in warm colors, a small bookshelf stocked with paperbacks. Everything clean and orderly but not sterile. Lived in. Loved.
My clothes from yesterday are gone, replaced by a neat stack on the dresser: soft sweatpants, a long-sleeved t shirt, thick wool socks. Women's clothes. Where did he get women's clothes?
I don't let myself wonder too long. Just change slowly, carefully, wincing when I have to lift my arms. The sweatpants are a little big but have a drawstring. The shirt is soft gray cotton that doesn't irritate my bruises. It's the most comfortable I've been in months.
The hallway beyond my door is quiet. I can hear the distant sounds of the cabin settling, a clock ticking somewhere, one of the dogs snoring. Luna stays close to my side as I make my way toward the kitchen, like she's appointed herself my personal escort.
The main room stops me short.
It's beautiful. Open and warm, with exposed beams and a stone fireplace and windows that look out on the mountains.
The furniture is sturdy and masculine but arranged for comfort, and there are personal touches everywhere: books stacked on tables, a worn quilt thrown over the back of the couch, herbs hanging to dry from a rack near the kitchen.
This is a home. A real one. Not a showplace designed to impress the neighbors, not a cage disguised as a castle. Just a home.
My eyes burn and I blink rapidly, pushing down the sudden swell of emotion.
On the kitchen counter, I find another note.
Coffee's in the pot. Eggs and bread in the fridge. Help yourself to anything. I'm in the greenhouse if you need me.
I trace my fingers over his handwriting. Neat and precise, like everything else about him.
The coffee is still warm. I pour myself a cup and cradle it in my hands, breathing in the steam while I try to make sense of where I've landed.
Three months of running. Three months of cheap motels and gas station food and jumping at every shadow. Three months of waiting for Kevin to find me again, knowing that when he did, it would be worse than before.
And then he did find me. In Elko. He must have tracked my debit card when I got careless and used it for gas. Stupid. So stupid. Six years of marriage should have taught me never to underestimate him.
I touch my throat without meaning to. The bruises there are the freshest, four days old, still vivid enough to show exactly where his fingers pressed.
"You think you can leave me?" He'd said it so calmly. So reasonably. Like we were discussing the weather instead of his hands around my windpipe. "You're mine, Natalie. You'll always be mine. Death do us part, remember?"
I got away because he wanted to savor the moment. Because he set me down on that motel bed and went to get a drink from the minibar, so confident that I was too broken to run. And I grabbed his keys and I ran anyway.
The car died somewhere in these mountains. I just kept walking. Kept moving until my body gave out and I couldn't take another step.
And then Cade found me.
I finish my coffee and wash the mug. Dry it and put it away. The small act of normalcy steadies me more than I expected.
Through the kitchen window, I can see the greenhouse clearly now. Can see Cade inside it, moving between tables full of plants, his concentration absolute. The two bigger dogs are with him, lounging in patches of sunlight while he works.
I should go thank him properly or at least figure out what happens next. Instead, I explore the cabin like the coward I apparently am.
The living room yields more personal details.
Photos on the mantle show Cade with a group of men, all of them big and dangerous looking, standing in front of a building with a sign that reads Guardian Peak Security.
In another, he's in military fatigues, younger, with a medic patch on his sleeve and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
There's a photo of him with a young soldier, both of them dirty and exhausted, arms slung around each other's shoulders. The soldier looks barely old enough to shave. Something about Cade's expression in that picture makes my chest hurt.
I move on before I can examine why.
The bathroom is clean and well stocked, with a first aid kit the size of a small suitcase under the sink. Of course. He's a medic. Probably has enough supplies here to run a field hospital.
Back in the main room, I'm drawn to the bookshelves. Most of the titles are practical: wilderness survival, medicinal herbs, military history. But there's a whole shelf of fiction too, well worn paperbacks with cracked spines. Westerns, mostly, and some thrillers.
I'm running my fingers along the spines when the front door opens.
My whole body goes rigid. The book I was touching falls to the floor with a thud that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet cabin.
"Sorry." Cade stops just inside the doorway, hands up in that non threatening gesture he used yesterday. "Didn't mean to startle you."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my damaged ribs. I make myself breathe. Make myself remember where I am and who I'm with.
"No, I'm sorry." I bend to pick up the book, using the moment to compose myself. "I'm not usually this jumpy."
He doesn't call me out on the obvious lie. Just shuts the door gently behind him and moves toward the kitchen, giving me plenty of space.
"You eat yet?"
"Just coffee."
"That's not food." He opens the fridge and starts pulling out ingredients. "Eggs okay? I've got some fresh herbs that would make a good omelet."
He’s done enough. I know he’s done enough already, but my stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly enough for both of us to hear. Cade's mouth curves into a small smile. It transforms his face, softens all those hard edges, and for a second I forget to breathe for an entirely different reason.
"Eggs it is." He cracks four into a bowl without waiting for my response. "Sit down before you fall down. You look like a strong wind would knock you over."
Kevin always said comments about my appearance were for my own good, that he was just trying to help me be better. But Cade doesn't say it like that. He says it like a fact. Like he's seen too many people push past their limits and he's not going to let me do the same.
I sit at the small kitchen table and watch him cook.
He moves efficiently, no wasted motion, clearly comfortable in this space. The herbs he adds to the eggs smell incredible, things I can't identify but that make my mouth water. When he slides a plate in front of me a few minutes later, it's the most appetizing thing I've seen in months.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate.
He sits across from me with his own plate, and we eat in silence for a while. It should be awkward. It's not. The quiet feels easy somehow, like neither of us needs to fill it with meaningless noise.
"The clothes fit okay?" he asks when I've cleared half my plate.
"Yes. Thank you. Where did you..." I trail off, not sure how to ask.
"Vivian. Deck's wife. She sent some stuff over this morning when I told the team I had a guest. She's about your size or was before the pregnancy."
He says it casually, like it's nothing, but I hear what he's not saying. He told his team about me. People know I'm here.
"Is that going to be a problem?" My appetite vanishes. "If my ex comes looking, I don't want anyone else getting hurt."
Cade sets down his fork. Those warm brown eyes meet mine, steady and serious.
"Natalie. My team is Guardian Peak Security. Former special forces, every one of us. Whatever your ex thinks he's capable of, I promise you, we've handled worse."
"You don't understand." I push the words out past the tightness in my throat. "Kevin isn't some random guy. He has money. Connections. He's a corporate lawyer with clients who owe him favors. The restraining order didn't stop him. The police couldn't help. He'll find me eventually. He always does."
"Then he finds you here." Cade's voice is calm. Certain. "And he'll discover that I'm not the police, and I don't give a damn about his connections, and the only way he's getting to you is through me."
I stare at him. This man I met less than twenty-four hours ago, who found me broken in his woods and brought me home and treated my wounds and fed me breakfast. This man who's promising to protect me like it's the simplest thing in the world.
"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper. "Why would you do that for a stranger?"
He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than before.
"Because I spent ten years watching people suffer and not being able to stop it.
Because I have the skills to help you and doing nothing would make me the kind of man I don't want to be.
" He pauses. "Because you walked thirty miles on cracked ribs to get away from him, and that kind of strength deserves someone in your corner. "
My vision blurs. I blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.
"I'm not strong." My voice cracks. "I stayed with him for six years. Let him convince me I was worthless, that no one else would ever want me, that everything he did was my fault. A strong person would have left the first time he hit her."
"No." Cade leans forward, and there's an intensity in his eyes that makes my breath catch. "You survived. You got out. You're still fighting. That's not weakness, Natalie. That's the definition of strength."
No one has ever said anything like that to me. Not once in six years of bruises and broken bones and slowly losing myself one piece at a time.
A tear escapes down my cheek. Then another.
Cade doesn't move to touch me. Doesn't crowd me or make a big deal of it. Just sits there, solid and steady, letting me feel whatever I need to feel.
"Thank you." I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "For all of it. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
"Not looking for repayment." He stands and clears the plates, giving me a moment to compose myself. "Just looking to help. You can stay as long as you need. Figure out your next move when you're ready."
"I don't have a next move." The admission costs me something. "I have about eight hundred dollars in cash and the clothes on my back. My parents are dead, I don't have siblings, and Kevin made sure I lost touch with all my friends years ago. I'm thirty-one years old and I have nothing."
Cade turns from the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel. "You have a roof over your head. Food. Medical care. A lock on your door that works from the inside." He holds my gaze. "That's not nothing, Natalie. That's a start."
A start.
For three months, I've just been trying to survive. I hadn't let myself think beyond that. Beyond Kevin finding me again, beyond running out of money, beyond all the ways this could end badly.
But maybe this man is right. Maybe a start is all I need.
"Okay." I let out a shaky breath. "Okay. A start."
Cade nods like we've just sealed an agreement. "Good. Now finish your coffee and take it easy today. Your body needs rest."
"What are you going to do?"
"Got some work in the greenhouse. You're welcome to join me if you want, or you can stay here and sleep. Whatever you need."
Whatever I need. Like it's that simple. Like he's not putting his entire life on hold to help a stranger.
"Maybe later." I wrap my hands around my refilled mug. "The greenhouse, I mean. I could help."
His smile returns, small but warm. "I'd like that."
He heads for the door, and I watch him go, this giant gentle man who treats me like I matter.
I don't know what I did to deserve landing on his doorstep.
But maybe, just this once, the universe decided I'd had enough bad luck.
Maybe it's time for something good.