Page 38 of Montana Memory

So instead of answering, I just grabbed another water bucket and got back to work.

Once our chores were done, Lark and I stepped outside, the crisp Montana air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the barn. I stretched my arms over the top rail of the fence, watching as Hunter and Noah Scott, one of the guys from Resting Warrior Ranch, wrapped up their training session with the dogs.

Hunter crouched low, murmuring something to a golden retriever, his hand steady on the dog’s head. The retriever’s tail wagged, slow and deliberate, as if responding to some silent reassurance Hunter was offering. It was strange, seeing him this way—so at ease, so focused. In Denver, he’d always been on edge, his body tight, his gaze constantly tracking his surroundings. But here?

He almost lookedcomfortable.

Lark leaned against the fence beside me. “Noah has a way with animals,” she said, nodding toward where Noah was scratching behind a German shepherd’s ears. “They trust him, even the skittish ones.”

I glanced at her. “Why?”

“Not sure,” she admitted. “Could be because he understands them. Could be because he’s got the patience of a saint. Or it could be that they know he has an alpaca as a best friend.”

I blinked. “Awhat?”

“An alpaca.Al Pacacino.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “You’re messing with me.”

Lark grinned. “Swear on my life. Noah found him half starved in a field years ago and took him in. Now the damn thing follows him around like a dog.”

I shook my head, still watching Hunter as he stood and gave the retriever a final pat. “Do you think animals could help Hunter? He has PTSD issues sometimes.”

Lark was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. They’ve helped Noah with his very severe PTSD.” She hesitated. “But honestly? It’s beenKatethat’s helped him the most.”

“His fiancée?”

She nodded. “Dogs, horses, even an alpaca—they can give you comfort. Stability. But sometimes, what you really need is a person. Someone who sees you—the good, the bad, the broken—and stays anyway.”

Something in my chest went tight.

I glanced back toward the field just as Hunter turned, his sharp green eyes locking on mine. For a second, neither of us moved. Then—almost hesitantly—he lifted a hand in a small wave.

My heart did a stupid little flip. I swallowed, forced my fingers to unstick from the fence rail, and waved back.

Lark made a noise beside me, something amused and knowing. She nudged me with her elbow, grinning. “You like him.”

My spine snapped straight. “What? No. He’s helped me. But there isn’t anything more to it than that.”

She arched a brow.

I huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe.” I picked at a splinter in the fence rail, refusing to meet her eyes. “It’s complicated.”

Lark snorted. “Complicated? Jada, it’s not complicated. It’spainfullyobvious you two gravitate toward each other.”

I shot her a glare. “Why would anyone want to get involved with me? I don’t even know who Iam.”

Lark rolled her eyes. “So what? You think Hunter’s sitting around wondering what your favorite color used to be? If you preferred coffee or tea before your memory went blank?” She shook her head. “That man looks at you like you’re the only thing in focus in a world full of static.”

I swallowed hard. “You hardly even know him.”

“No, but I’veseenhim. And trust me—he’s not the kind of guy who wastes time on things he doesn’t care about.” She gave me a pointed look. “So maybe stop trying to talk yourself out of what’s right in front of you.”

I let out a slow breath, staring out at the field where Hunter and Noah were securing the last of the dogs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is.”

I shook my head. “Hunter could do better.”

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