Page 36 of Montana Memory

That was a relief.

“I know this is awkward, and I promise we won’t be announcing our presence all over town. Jada isn’t innocent, andshe’s not claiming to be. We both just need a place to regroup for a little while.”

Lucas ran a hand over his jaw. “Ranch is pretty full right now, but there’s a cabin on the far side. Closer to Pawsitive Connections than the lodge. Tiny, a little run-down, but it’s got the basics and supplies. It’s yours if you want it.”

I nodded once. “We’ll take it.”

Lucas didn’t ask for more details. Daniel didn’t push. But I knew them both well enough to see it in their eyes—they wanted answers. Wanted to know why I was involved. Wanted to know what the ultimate plan was.

They weren’t going to get those answers tonight. Neither was I.

Lucas got me a key, and I went back out to the truck.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” she whispered. “If not, I would understand.”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “There’s a cabin on the far side of the property we can use.”

She was silent as we drove, the truck’s tires crunching over uneven ground as we followed a barely there path through the open land. The main ranch faded behind us, swallowed by rolling fields and clusters of trees, the sky deepening into the last shades of twilight. I rolled down my window. It was quiet out here—no traffic, no voices, just the occasional call of a bird and the rhythmic creak of the truck’s suspension as we bumped along. Peaceful. Isolating. Exactly what we needed.

The cabin came into view, a small structure tucked at the edge of a clearing, its dark wood blending into the trees behind it. It wasn’t much—one story, maybe a couple of rooms—but it was shelter. A safe place.

I parked and killed the engine. Jada didn’t move at first, just stared at the cabin like she was bracing for something. Then, without a word, she opened the door and stepped out.

She walked inside while I grabbed our bags from the truck, cheap clothes from the supercenter we’d stopped at on our way here. By the time I followed, she was standing in the middle of the room, taking it all in. Tiny living space, a basic kitchen, bathroom, one bedroom. She didn’t say anything about that, didn’t seem unsettled by it, and that was good.

I watched her carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction, but she just turned toward the window, her gaze drawn outside.

There was a corral fairly close, a handful of horses shifting in the darkening field, their movements slow and easy. Jada pressed her fingers lightly to the glass, exhaling softly. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured. “So free.”

She stayed there for a long moment, then without looking at me, moved to the oversized chair in the corner, looking out another window. She curled her legs beneath her, sinking into the cushions like she was finally letting herself breathe.

I should’ve left her to it. Given her space, let her work through whatever was going on in her head.

But I wasn’t good at this—dealing with emotions, saying the right thing. And I didn’t want to walk away from her either.

I lingered by the kitchen, fingers drumming against the countertop. “You hungry?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, small and soft, “No.”

I nodded, not pushing. But I didn’t leave her alone either.

Instead, I lowered myself into the chair across from her, letting the silence stretch between us. It was heavy with unspoken things, unanswered questions, unknown futures. And I stared out the window myself.

Once again, there were no answers. But at least neither of us was alone.

Chapter 13

Jada

The rhythmic scrape of my shovel against the barn floor a week later was oddly soothing. The scent of fresh hay, warm animal musk, and the crisp Montana air filtering through the open doors made something in my chest loosen. Out here, doing something with my hands, surrounded by creatures who didn’t expect anything from me—it was the closest thing to peace I’d felt in…well, as long as I could remember.

Which, granted, wasn’t saying much.

I’d been here at Pawsitive Connections nearly every day this week, enamored with the farm-type place where they raised and trained emotional support, service, and security animals. Since it was only half a mile from the cabin, and Hunter already knew the owner, Lark Monroe, we’d found ourselves wandering over here.

Lark, a compassionate and peppy woman about my age with gorgeous red hair, worked beside me now, efficiently forkingfresh hay into a stall. “You know,” she said casually, “I should just put you on payroll at this point.”

I huffed out a laugh, pausing to lean on the handle of my shovel. “Yeah? And what exactly would my title be?”

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