Chapter 2 - Mason
She's fucking gorgeous.
I know I shouldn't be thinking that. Shouldn't be noticing the way her curves fill out those tight jeans or how her purple cardigan clings to her full breasts.
But I can't help it. Haven't been able to stop looking since she walked through Murphy's door with that toddler on her hip, exhaustion written into every line of her body.
She's clearly tired. The kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from more than just a long day.
And still, she's beautiful. Dark frizzy hair falling out of her messy bun, green eyes that dart around the room like she's cataloging exits, those full lips wrapped around her burger in a way that makes my cock twitch inappropriately.
I force myself to look away, focusing on my own half-eaten meal. My beer. Anything but the single mom who's clearly running from something.
What the fuck is a woman like her doing in Blackwater Falls? Eating at Murphy's at this time of night with a toddler who should be in bed?
None of my business. That's what I should be thinking. Should finish my food, pay my bill, head back to the ranch and my empty cottage where the nightmares wait.
But I can't stop watching her through my peripheral vision. The way she tenses every time I glance in her direction. How she chose that booth specifically: close to the exit, far enough from me to maintain distance. She's smart and cautious and clearly used to being on her own.
The kid wakes up partway through, all sleepy and adorable, and the woman's entire face transforms when she looks down at her daughter. Soft. Tender. So much fucking love it makes my chest ache.
I've always wanted to be a dad. Stupid fucking dream for a man like me, someone who's terrified he'll turn into his piece of shit father.
Someone who still wakes up screaming from nightmares about combat, about watching his best friend die, about the sound of his mother crying while his father's fists connected with her face.
Better to be alone than risk hurting someone I love.
The woman pays her bill and gathers the kid back into her arms. I watch her leave through the window, my hands tight around my beer bottle as she buckles the toddler into a car seat that's seen better days.
The Honda Civic looks like it might not make it another hundred miles. Rust spots on the doors. A cracked taillight. Everything about this woman screams trouble, screams complications, screams exactly what I should stay away from.
"You worried about her?"
Murphy's voice makes me turn. The old man is standing at my table, wiping his hands on his perpetually greasy apron, his weathered face creased with concern.
"No." The lie tastes bitter. "I'm not worried about her."
Murphy raises an eyebrow. "But?"
"But I'm worried about the kid. What kind of mother is driving around this late with a toddler? Where the hell are they going?"
"Betty's motel is closed for the night," Murphy says quietly. "Told her that. Girl looked like she was about to sleep in her car."
Fuck. "You think she will?"
"Seems like the type who does what she has to." Murphy shrugs. "Seems like she's been doing it for a while."
I drain the rest of my beer, my jaw clenching. A woman and a toddler sleeping in a beat-up Honda in the middle of Montana in late fall. The temperature's already dropping. It's not freezing yet, but it's close enough that a kid could get sick.
"You should follow her," Murphy says casually, like he's suggesting I try the pie. "Just check where she's sleeping. Maybe offer her a place to stay."
"At the ranch?" My voice comes out harsh. "You want me to invite a complete stranger to the ranch?"
"You got room, don't you?" Murphy leans against the booth, studying me with those knowing eyes that see too damn much.
"Wade and Sierra are gone for the week," I admit. "Romantic getaway or whatever Wade called it. Just a way for him to get out of work if you ask me." I take another pull from my beer.
"There you go." Murphy grins. "Perfect solution."
He's right. Wade and Sierra left this morning for some cabin in the mountains. A week of privacy, Wade said, though we all know it's really a week of fucking without worrying about thin walls and brothers who can hear everything. Their cottage is sitting empty, fully stocked, wasted.
"The others wouldn't—"
"The others would understand," Murphy interrupts. "You're all good men. Frank raised you right. You see someone who needs help, you help them. Especially when there's a kid involved."
Frank would've already been out there, already offering the woman a place to stay, a hot meal, whatever she needed. Frank never turned away anyone who needed help.
That's why he took in six fucked-up boys over the years. Why he gave us all a home when nobody else wanted us.
"Fuck." I stand up, throwing cash on the table. "If this goes sideways—"
"It won't." Murphy's grin widens. "You're a good man, Mason Reid. Even if you don't believe it yourself."
I grunt something that might be agreement and head for the door. My truck is parked next to the building, and I climb in, starting the engine and pulling out onto Main Street. The Honda is easy to spot, only other car moving through town at this hour.
I hang back, keeping my distance. The last thing I want is to scare her by obviously following. She drives slowly, like she's looking for something. Pulls into a park, then backs out. Checks the grocery store parking lot, sees the no overnight parking sign.
Finally, she settles behind the closed general store. Well-lit from the streetlamp but tucked away. Good sightlines.
I park on the street, far enough away that my truck isn't obviously watching but close enough that I can see the Honda clearly. Through the windows, I watch her climb into the backseat with the kid. See her arranging blankets and pillows.
She's really going to sleep in her fucking car with a toddler.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I should just drive away. Go back to the ranch. This isn't my problem. She's a grown woman who can make her own decisions and getting involved with a single mom who's clearly running from something is the worst fucking idea I've had in years.
But the kid. That little girl with the stuffed elephant and sleepy eyes who shouldn't be sleeping in a cold car.
"Fuck it."
I climb out of my truck and approach the Honda slowly. The last thing I need is her thinking I'm some creep trying to attack her in a parking lot.
She sees me coming. I watch her body go rigid through the window, one arm wrapping around the kid. Her other hand reaches for something—pepper spray, probably. Maybe a knife.
I stop a few feet from the car and hold up my hands, palms out. Non-threatening. Or as non-threatening as a man my size can look in the dark.
She cracks the window an inch. "Can I help you?"
Her voice is cold. Defensive. Exactly what I expected.
"I'm not here to hurt you." I keep my voice low, calm. The same tone I use with spooked horses. "I saw you at Murphy's. Saw you setting up here."
"So?" Her green eyes are sharp despite the exhaustion. "I'm not breaking any laws."
"No, you're not." I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a creep or a predator. "But it's going to get cold tonight. Too cold for a kid to be sleeping in a car."
"We'll be fine."
"Maybe." I crouch down so I'm at eye level with her window instead of looming over her. "But you don't have to be just fine. I've got a place you can stay. A cottage at the ranch I work at. It's warm, it's safe, and it's empty right now."
Her eyes narrow. "And why would you offer that to a complete stranger?"
Because Frank would've. Because I can't stand the thought of that kid being cold. Because you're fucking gorgeous and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you walked into Murphy's.
I don't say any of that.
"Because I'm not an asshole," I say instead. "And because I've got a niece around your daughter's age. If her dad was in your situation, I'd hope someone would help him out."
It's a lie. I don't have a niece, but it sounds believable. Humanizes me in a way that might make her trust me. I can see her internal debate playing out. Trust a strange man offering shelter, or sleep in a cold car with her kid.
"What ranch?" she finally asks.
"Promise Ranch. About fifteen minutes outside town. Six of us own it together, inherited it from the man who raised us." I keep my voice steady. "One of the cottages is empty this week. You can lock the door from inside. There's food in the kitchen, hot water, real beds."
"And what do you want in exchange?"
There it is. The question I knew was coming. The assumption that nothing's free, that there's always a price, especially for women who look like her.
"Nothing." I meet her eyes directly. "I want nothing in exchange. You can stay the night, get some rest, figure out your next move in the morning. Or you can stay longer if you need to. Either way, no strings attached."
"Men don't offer women 'no strings attached' anything," she says flatly.
"This one does." I stand back up, giving her space. "Look, I get it. You don't know me. I could be a serial killer or a rapist or whatever. But I'm not. I'm just a guy who knows what it's like to have nowhere to go and nobody to help."
That's true, at least. Those months after I got back from the military, going from town to town, drinking myself stupid trying to stop the nightmares.
Waking up in alleys and parking lots and shitty motels that charged by the hour.
If someone had offered me a safe place to sleep back then, I would've taken it.
She's still watching me, still calculating. Her daughter shifts against her, making a small sound, and something in the woman's expression cracks.
"How do I know you're telling the truth about the ranch?" she asks. "That you actually work there and aren't just making shit up?"
"You can call the ranch." I pull out my phone, showing her the screen. "Or I can drive ahead and you can follow me. That way you know where we're going and can leave if you change your mind."
She chews on that plump bottom lip, and I force myself not to stare. Not to imagine what that lip would feel like between my teeth.
"Fine." She finally says. "I'll follow you. But if this is some kind of trap—"
"It's not."
"—I have pepper spray and I know how to use it."
"Good." I mean it. A woman alone with a kid should know how to protect herself. "Follow me. Stay as far back as you want. And if you change your mind at any point, just turn around."
I head back to my truck, half-expecting her to drive off in the opposite direction the second I'm not blocking her car. But when I pull out onto the street, her Honda follows.
We drive through the quiet town and out onto the rural highway. Fifteen minutes of dark road and scattered houses before the turnoff to Promise Ranch appears. I signal early, giving her plenty of warning, and turn onto the long driveway that leads to the main house.
The Honda hesitates at the entrance.
Come on, I think. Trust me. Just fucking trust me.
After a moment that feels like forever, her headlights turn and follow me up the drive.