Page 8 of Montana Justice

Lachlan shook his head immediately. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” The words were out before I could stop them. Oh God, was I not allowed to stay in town from all those years ago? Not that I had the money to do so anyway.

“The motel’s completely booked. A bunch of bigwigs from the county in town. Every room in a fifty-mile radius is taken.”

“No problem.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “I’ll figure something out.”

Lachlan was quiet for a moment, studying my face in the glow of the streetlights. Then he said, “Come stay at my place.”

“What?”

“I’ve got a guest room. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and warm and the bed’s comfortable.”

The alternative was sleeping in an alley or under a bridge, and my body couldn’t take that right now. Not with my ribs the way they were, not with winter coming.

And the truth was, I felt safer with Lachlan than I had felt anywhere in years. For reasons I couldn’t explain or justify, I trusted him. Which was either the smartest or stupidest thing I’d ever done.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Absolutely. It’s the least I can do for an old friend.”

An old friend.Was that what I was? The label felt both too little and too much at the same time.

“Okay, that would be great,” I said softly. “Thank you.”

His smile was warm and genuine, lighting up his whole face in a way that made my chest tight with longing. “Great. Do you have a vehicle? Want to follow me?”

I shook my head. “No, I caught a ride.”

His smile fell away. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

As we walked toward his truck, I told myself I could handle this. One night of safety, of warmth, of feeling like I mattered to someone. Then tomorrow, I’d figure out my next move. Find someone else to target, someone who wouldn’t look at me like I was worth saving.

Someone who wouldn’t make me remember what it felt like to want to be better than what I was.

For tonight, for just tonight, I was going to let myself pretend that I was someone who deserved kindness. Someone who belonged in a place like this, with a man like him.

Even if I knew it was a lie.

Chapter 3

Piper

Lachlan’s housesat nestled between towering pines on a quiet street a couple minutes outside downtown, the kind of place that whispered stability and permanence. White siding, dark green shutters, a porch light that cast a warm, welcoming glow.

“Home sweet home,” he said, pulling into the driveway.

I clutched my backpack tighter as we walked to the front door. On the small porch, I spotted hiking boots kicked carelessly beside the entrance and a welcome mat that actually looked welcoming instead of like a cruel joke.

Inside, the house was thoroughly, devastatingly normal. A leather couch that had molded itself to its owner’s preferences faced a stone fireplace. Sports magazines shared space with a crossword puzzle on the coffee table—half finished, like he’d been working on it over morning coffee. The kitchen opened into the living room, and I spotted a single plate and mug in the sink—evidence of an ordinary morning routine.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, following my gaze.

“This isn’t mess.” I set my backpack down carefully, fighting not to wince as the movement pulled at my ribs. “This is what a home looks like.”

Everything about this place spoke of permanence. Of someone who expected to wake up in the same bed tomorrow, who had favorite coffee mugs and a preferred spot on the couch. Who belonged somewhere.

“Can I get you something to drink? Water, soda, beer?”

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