"I-I finally did it."

While the confession was made softly and hesitantly, as if acknowledging it that way made it somehow more of a concrete fact than it already was, she ended up feeling much better once she'd said it out loud for some reason.

There was no reason to go into the embarrassing, humiliating details. It was done. That was all she needed to know about it. It wasn't as if she wouldn't be able to guess a lot of it once she laid eyes on her, anyway.

Thankfully, Bronwynne "Brownie" Marshall knew exactly what her friend was talking about—which, at its heart, was both a good and a bad thing.

"You left him." It wasn't a question, followed immediately by an emphatic, "Good." She barely managed to refrain from saying what she was thinking, which was, about fucking time. But it wasn't as if Jayne didn't know she'd restrained herself. That one word contained many layers and years of disgust, not to mention a large helping of pure relief.

"Yes."

* * *

Brownie knew her friend better than to think that she was agreeing with the idea that leaving the man who Brownie refused to refer to as anything other than "that bastard" was good. That was one of the reasons why it had taken her much longer than everyone she loved would have preferred for her to get to the point where she could actually walk out that door.

But it was absolutely necessary, and she'd finally seen her way to being able to accomplish it.

Brownie wasn't about to criticize her. She was too happy to hear the news, although she was trying to be respectful of her friend's feelings about the situation, which she knew were somewhat muddled.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" she asked, wishing she'd thought to do so much sooner.

There was a long beat before she answered, "I'm fine." Jayne could see her friend's angry glare from across the country, even though they weren't Facetiming for exactly that reason.

"Liar. Are you, really? Did he hurt you?"

She could tell Jayne really didn't want to go into it. "I'm fine."

"Do you need medical attention, Jayne? If you do, go now. I'll cover whatever it costs."

"I don't, and no, you won't," came the staunch, stubborn, and not at all unexpected reply.

Brownie knew better than to push. "Where are you now? Are you somewhere safe?"

"I'm in Ohio."

"Ohio? Really? Why?" As far as she knew, Jayne didn't know anyone in the state. She heard her friend clear her throat nervously.

"Remember when you said that I could come stay with you anytime I needed to?"

"Of course!"

"Well," she sighed, reluctance in every word. "I think I need to, if it's still okay with you."

Before her friend could get another word out—most likely to retract her acceptance of an offer Brownie had been making since they were in college together, repeating it ad nauseum every time she spoke to Jayne, especially over the past few years—she came back with, "Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll call you back with flight numbers."

"No, you won't. We're already on the road. I had prepared—some—before I did this. I have a little money saved, the car's all packed, and it'll give me some time to process."

But Brownie wasn't one to be easily bullshitted. "You mean for the bruises to fade, right?"

Sometimes, having a friend as close as Brownie was a distinct detriment. "That's not what I said."

"Yes, but that's why you're driving rather than flying."

She honestly hadn't been thinking about that, although it was a fortunate consequence of being poor, she supposed.

"I'm driving rather than flying because that's what I can afford, and it'll be nice to have my own car while I'm there. It's bad enough that I'm dumping myself and my son on you, along with the very real possibility that Jake will appear on your doorstep, looking for me at some point, although I hope I don't impose on you long enough for that to happen."

"Have I ever made you feel that I am even somewhat concerned about that? I hope you know—deep down, despite your self-deprecating humor—that you are welcome to stay with me—with us—for as long as you want to."

There was a pause before Jayne returned, "So, he's home."

"Of course, he is. It's his house. And he's retired, so he's home all the friggin' time nowadays. But he also has various businesses to run, so he's out a lot during the day, too."

"H-he's not going to be happy for me to be there."

Brownie sighed impatiently. "You're wrong there, like you've been wrong about him all along. I don't know why you've always felt that he doesn't like you for some reason. He'll be fine," she answered, her voice revealing her own insecurities about what she was saying.

"Uh-huh."

* * *

"We go, Mommy?" Braeden hinted from his car seat, mouth full of Apple Jacks. Usually, she only gave him the healthier flavors of Cheerios when he wanted something to nibble on, but she wanted him to think of this as somewhat of a vacation, so she relaxed the rules a bit for him. On a scale of kale to Toblerone, she didn't think that a small tab bag of the sugary, cinnamon cereal was too horribly bad.

But she was trying to teach him about courtesy and politeness, and she didn't believe that there was any age that was too young to learn about such things. "Braeden, my love, is Mumma on the phone?"

"Huh-huh." He nodded.

"What do we say when we want to speak to someone who's on the phone or talking to someone else?"

Braeden's face screwed up in the cutest way when he was thinking hard. "Say 'tuse me'?" he guessed in a questioning tone.

"Exactly! Good job!"

"He is such a doll!" Brownie gushed, having overheard the conversation. She was dying to have one of her own, but Jayne thought that a few weeks of close proximity to a two-and-a-half-year-old might well change her opinion to happy childlessness for the foreseeable future as Braeden chimed in right on time.

"'Tuse me, Mumma. We go?"

Jayne had to grin at her precocious son. "Yes, little love." She turned the phone toward him. "Say buh-bye to Auntie Brownie."

"Buh bye, doodie head!" he said with a giggle.

Before she could correct him, his aunt compounded his naughtiness, responding while laughing uproariously, "Buh-bye, doodie head!"

"Honestly. Did you really have to teach him to say that? He did it to our thousand-year-old neighbor just last week, and I was mortified! How old are you?" Jayne chided, half-kidding, but her friend was still giggling. "Stop encouraging him! He'll probably say that to Pace!"

Bronwynne chuckled at that idea. "I guarantee you, he'll only do that to my brother once."

Jayne frowned fiercely. "I know he doesn't like kids, but I won't have him bullying my son."

"I don't know where you got that idea about him, but you're wrong, and I take back what I said." Then she wisely changed the topic. "When do you think you'll be here?"

"Depends on whether I take us on any side trips, how bad traffic is, and how well the jalopy runs."

"And Braeden, I would imagine."

"Oh, he's a trouper. He loves to ride. It's how I used to get him to sleep a lot of the time when he was a baby."

"He's still a baby."

"He's a toddler, Brown."

"Toddler, baby, infant, kid, whatever."

"Spoken like a true non-parent," Jayne teased. "All right, well, we're gonna get back on the road for a few more hours. I just didn't want to descend on you without warning."

"That would have been fine, too, you know. I'm always glad to see you."

She smirked. "Well, that makes one of you."

"Arch loves you too, though, just so you know. He's snow birding in Florida at the moment. But so does Pace, in his way."

Her "uh-huh" sounded just as skeptical as she'd intended. "See you soon."

Brownie's stern, "Drive carefully!" trickled in her ear, as if she was channeling Pace.

"'Tuse me," came the small but insistent voice from the back seat.

But Jayne met his eyes in the rearview mirror and preempted what he was going to say. "We go, Braeden. We go."

* * *

Five days later, she turned her beat up, ten-year-old Outback down the long road that led to the Marshall Family Ranch, just outside of the barely-there town of Bath, Wyoming.

They drove past what seemed like—and probably was—miles and miles of fenced pasture, kicking up dust on the dirt road even though she wasn't going very quickly. The car refused to go quickly; it could barely get above fifty miles an hour. Its catalytic converter was clogged, and they—she—never had the almost thousand dollars that it would take to fix any of the myriad problems the car had.

Before Braeden ended up coughing, she rolled up his windows, thankful that at least this fifth-hand car had electric windows.

The other car she and her soon-to-be erstwhile husband owned still had the crank kind. It was a fitting metaphor for their marriage, she realized with a start.

But even that disturbing thought couldn't distract her from the nervousness that was making her heart beat faster. The fast food burrito she'd eaten for lunch was beginning to feel like a lead weight in her stomach, and she could feel her shoulders and neck tightening in anticipation.

Maybe he'd be gone—out on the range or, better yet, into town—for the day. Or the week. Or the month.

Nah, she couldn't be that lucky.

And of course, she wasn't.

Jayne had sincerely hoped that Brownie would be the first person that came through the front door when she pulled up and stopped the car. But no. That would be much too easy, and the universe didn't like her anywhere near enough to be that kind.

Instead, she saw him taking those enormous strides of his as he crossed the big veranda on the front of the family's beautiful house, casually missing every other step on the way down the stairs.

She couldn't just sit there, watching him like a woman who sees a pool of pure, cool water after years of thirst, so Jayne unbuckled herself, got out of the car, and reached into the back to do the same for Braeden, thankful that she had something to do besides gawp at him like some love-struck schoolgirl.

Braeden didn't want to be held after spending so much time in his car seat over the past few days, so she put him down next to her while she recovered some of his things from the back of the car, holding firmly on to his hand.

Or so she thought.

The next thing she knew, his little hand had slipped out of hers, and he was gone.

Jayne straightened immediately and turned to see her worst nightmare coming true. He was running, hell bent for leather, as fast as his chubby little legs would let him, toward the enormous man who was stalking boldly toward them, looking all kinds of sexy in a red plaid shirt, cowboy hat, jeans, and well-worn boots.

"Braeden, no, don't bother him," she ordered, wanting but not wanting to run and scoop him up to keep him from getting in Pace's way.

She might as well have saved her breath, and what happened next could not have been more unexpected.

The six-five man sank gracefully into a squat in front of the little boy, who slowed himself down at that development, as if he hadn't considered the idea that the man could fold himself in such a way.

Neither had she, nor had she thought that he would even bother to do so.

"Hey, little man," she heard him croon in a tone she didn't like recognizing as he used a big finger to tip his hat back. "Where're you headed in such an all fired hurry, hmm?"

"Annie Bwownie!" the little man in question answered in no uncertain terms. She'd been telling him, off and on throughout the day, that today was the day that he would get to meet his Aunt Brownie, and he was very excited to do so, in the unabashed hope that she would have presents for him.

Her son had "met" her online and liked her a lot, but Brownie wasn't stupid. Since she was across the country and hadn't met him in person, she'd been slyly buying his affection since the day he was born. Every nice toy he owned had come from his aunt.

Jake hadn't been much in favor of spending any more money than was absolutely necessary on the kid—or anyone but himself, for that matter. And, for some unknown reason, the idiot insisted he wasn't sure Braeden was actually his. That was utterly ridiculous, of course. She didn't like sex—as he'd so frequently pointed out, using very insulting language, as usual with her—so why would she go looking for something she never cared if she ever indulged in again in her life?

"Well, partner, she's busy right now, but I'm sure she'll be out soon. Meanwhile, how about if I pick you up?" He put his arms out to do so but didn't touch the boy, watching his face intently.

At least as intently as Jayne was watching his.

Braeden hadn't spent much time around men, and his experiences with his father—almost all negative—had taught him to be wary of strangers in general.

Pace could see him biting his lip and looking heartbreakingly tentative at his question, so he revised it. "No problem, sport," he reassured in a kind, soft tone as he stood. "Why don't we go help your mom with her things? Then we'll all head into the house together."

His eyes found hers while they were still glued to him, and she couldn't help but blush.

And fuck, she'd forgotten—as she'd known she would—to stop at a convenience store and put more makeup on!

The big man's expression was pretty open when he'd started walking toward her, Braeden pausing for a moment to look after the behemoth then deciding to try to keep up with him, which wasn't an easy thing to do at his size.

And the closer Pace got, the angrier he became.

Too late, Jayne turned back to what she had been doing before she'd stopped to watch the two of them become acquainted, and he stopped a respectful distance away from her, trying to remember not to crowd her when all he wanted to do was to grab her to him and hug her fiercely tight.

She closed the car door and slipped past him—knowing he had allowed her to do so—heading for the trunk, which was where the majority of their crap was, although "their" was being generous. It was ninety percent Braeden's, but then, that was how it went when you had a child, and she wouldn't trade him for all the clothes, jewelry, or perfumes in the world.

Jayne had been working on this little emergency jump kit for them for a while. It was easy to hide from Jake—he hated her little shit box of a car and would never think to look in the trunk. Besides, she hadn't used suitcases—not that she had any to use, anyway. In case he did decide to snoop, she'd disguised their things as trash by putting everything in big black garbage bags.

Which Pace was now seeing and realizing that she couldn't afford luggage.

As she felt her face grow almost painfully hot with embarrassment, Jayne kept herself busy pulling things out, the last of which was the incredibly elaborate—and expensive, she was sure, since it had been a gift from Brownie—pack and play. And she had thanked her friend for it every time she could remember to. It was a lifesaver, especially now.

Even though she was sure it must seem to Pace that she'd packed enough stuff for five toddlers, the majority of his stuff was still in the crappy apartment she'd left to come here. Jayne wouldn't have been at all surprised to find that the asshole had already sold everything of value that he could on Craigslist and EBay.

But she didn't want to dwell on him and his toxicity. She wasn't with him anymore.

He couldn't hurt her, ever again. She wouldn't let him. And she certainly wouldn't let him touch their son. It had been the very real possibility that he might that had given her the impetus to leave him, finally.

When she closed the trunk, everything they owned at her feet, she heard the low vibration of his voice.

"Look at me, Jayne." Quiet and soft, but with a steel core.

He was, again, keeping a respectful distance, but she wouldn't put it past him at all to reach out and use one of his fingers to turn her head toward him. Of course, Brownie had told him that she was coming, and probably some of the why of it, hopefully not all of it, but enough apparently. He wanted to see her bruises, she knew, and she had a feeling that he wasn't going to let it go until she let him. And it wasn't as if the makeup was really camouflaging them very well, anyway.

So, Jayne said "fuck it" to herself, grabbed that part of her inner strength that she'd had to develop in order to leave that awful marriage and get herself across the country with her son in tow and not much more than the clothes on their backs, and she turned to face him full on.

The dark purplish bruise on her jaw—where Jake's fist had connected with it hard enough to snap her head back and into the wall—was just starting to fade, but the black eye was still blooming, getting worse every time she looked into the mirror, she would swear. There was a cut on her cheek that she'd cleaned up but didn't bother to put a Band Aid on, a knot on the back of her head from the wall, and a gash at her temple where she'd hit it against the corner of the coffee table when he'd knocked her off her feet. Her ribcage hadn't fared much better than her face as she'd endured some well-placed kicks once she was down there, but he would never see those, and when she looked into his eyes, she was damned glad he wouldn't.

There was no way she could miss the shock he managed to cover quickly—she had to give that to him—before his expression became, not blank but set, a muscle ticking furiously in his jaw. That finger she'd anticipated did reach toward her slowly, but even though she'd known he might do that, Jayne couldn't prevent herself from shying away.

His face changed in a disturbing way—one she couldn't begin to put a name on—and he retracted his hand without ever having touched her, while taking a large step back. Then he cleared his throat and began to gather the stuff she'd set outside the car, shouldering almost all of the load and leaving her just a few small things. He set off toward the house, Braeden galloping behind him, trying to keep up.

Meanwhile, his mother was left to follow or not, and she wondered which would be the lesser of the two evils. Maybe she could just live in her car, rather than having to deal with him. Pace Marshall had always made her nervous for some reason. He made her jittery. Her heart beat faster around him, her hands were always clammy, and she just felt like such an idiot that she actively avoided being in his company, when she could.

This was not going to be one of those times, though. She was going to be living in his house, able to stay there only because of his good graces. Brownie and Archie lived there, too, but Pace owned the house and the ranch, which was only right since Brownie had no interest whatsoever in being a rancher.

Brownie had a fiancé who was very nice—more than a match for Pace; in fact, he was one of Pace's football player friends who was still playing the game. Eventually, they were going to get married and had already bought a plot of land on which they would be building their dream house shortly, not too far from the ranch.

Jayne wondered baldly if she'd still be sponging off her friend when the house was finished. That was supposed to take another year and a half or so, and she'd be damned if she'd impose on them for that long.

Realistically, she'd given herself ninety days to find a job of some sort and get herself moved out of the ranch, and she considered that that was much too long, intending to accomplish it much sooner than that with any luck. She could do anything—she'd take any job in order to get some money flowing in. Brownie had already told her—during multiple attempts, over the years, to convince her to do what she'd just done—that rents were very reasonable—much more so than they were in the East.

So, hopefully, that would be doable. That was her goal, anyway, and she knew that she'd give herself hell if she didn't meet it. Brownie wouldn't care one whit about how long she stayed. Hell, she'd already told her she could live there indefinitely as far as she was concerned.

But Jayne couldn't see Pace signing onto an open-ended stay—especially with a precocious toddler getting into everything. Hell, she couldn't see him being particularly happy with the idea of her staying the entire ninety days, either.

Ninety minutes would probably be a stretch for him.

She knew it was going to be for her.

But she was very pleasantly surprised by Pace, she had to admit. He'd hauled all their stuff to a different room from the one she'd used when she'd stayed there previously.

"I put you here because it has a connecting door to the next room. I thought Braeden could stay in the other bedroom," he explained matter of factly, putting things that were obviously for the baby in the other room and leaving anything questionable in what would be her room.

"It's no problem for him to sleep in here with me," Jayne offered tentatively. "I don't want us to take up any more of your house than we have to."

He passed her—giving her an almost comically wide berth—on the way to the door. "We have lots of spare bedrooms, Jayne, and you're our first company in years, so they're always empty. I'll let you unpack. Make yourself at home."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes when she blurted out, "Thank you for letting us stay here, Pace."

He stopped at the door and turned back toward her. "I'm glad Brownie offered, and we're both very happy to help in any way we can."

Jayne almost snorted at the "both" but managed to suppress it. Keeping her eyes on the bags in front of her, she repeated, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, Pace merely nodded and closed the door behind himself, leaving Jayne to sink bonelessly down onto the end of the bed, her legs feeling like Jello.

"Mumma?"

"Yes, baby?" she replied absently, still trying to deal with how disconcerted that man always made her.

"'M hungwy."

"Well, I'll fix you a snack in just a minute. I want to get your pack and play setup and this stuff put away, so that the room is neat and tidy. Then we'll head for the kitchen and see what we can rustle up."

She'd meant to find a grocery store before they arrived, too, but in the end, after having driven for so long, she really just wanted to get to Brownie's house and collapse for a year or two. But that option wasn't open to her. There were things that had to get done, and unpacking was one of them.

The rooms were incredibly spacious—much more so than the cramped flat from which they'd fled—and Jayne was able to find a place for everything while Braeden "halped" occasionally, but mostly played with his favorite stuffed animal—a dog named Blue, who was, ironically, green.

"There we are," she announced, hands on her hips. "Who's up for some food?"

"Me, me, me!" her son yelled excitedly.

"Let's go rustle up some grub, then, partner." She smiled down at him and extended her hand.

Jayne had sincerely hoped that Pace had departed by now, even though this was his house and he had every right to be in it. But he also worked here, and she was sure that he should have been doing something, probably involving either a horse or a cow, or both.

But, no.

He was in the big, open great room, reading something on his tablet.

She stood as close to his chair as she was comfortable doing, saying, "If you don't mind, I'm going to fix this little guy a snack. Can I get you anything?"

He stood, and she really wished he hadn't. Jake was a big guy—not quite as big as Pace—but Pace's size disturbed her, even though she didn't want it to. "There's no need to ask about eating anything, Jayne," he scolded lightly. "We want you to feel at home here. Eat whatever you'd like, whenever you'd like. I had lunch already, but thank you for the offer."

Something struck Jayne that she hadn't done when they were outside, and she knew she needed to do it now, or she never would. She had hated introductions and handshaking and all of that all her life, but she was determined to make sure that her son was more comfortable with it than she would ever be, so she tried to remember to formally introduce him to people.

"Pace, this is my son, Braeden. Braeden, this is Mr. Marshall."

Pace, bless him, leaned over to offer his enormous paw to the little boy, who looked at it, then up at his mother, who nodded slightly.

Then he put his hand in Pace's—not really shaking it, but going through the motions his mother had taught him.

"Good job, buddy!" she whispered with a big smile, and when Pace let go and straightened up, she was surprised to see that he was wearing a small one himself as he gazed down at the boy.

Then that intense gaze was transferred to her, making her feel even more uneasy. "There are sliced meats in the drawer and bread on the counter if you'd like sandwiches, salad makings in the big bag on one of the shelves—Brownie likes to keep all of that stuff in one place so she can just throw a salad together whenever she wants one."

"Ina have salad."

Pace looked floored at that pronouncement as Jayne moved into the kitchen. "Salad?" he repeated. "Really?"

Jayne smiled. "Yeah. I have no idea where I got him from, but I'm not going to look a gift salad in the mouth."

She made it a chef's salad by putting some provolone and roast beast in, along with romaine, sunflower seeds, croutons, raisins, radishes, olives, baby carrots, and celery while Pace, to her astonishment, proceeded to keep Braeden occupied, picking him up and setting him on his lap as he took over one of the bar stools.

"So, Braeden, have you ever met a horse?"

It was impossible for her not to hear them talking.

"Nuh-uh." Braeden shook his head.

"Well, this is a ranch, and we have lots of horses and lots of cows. We call them cattle."

"Awe you a real-life cowboy, Mr. Marshall?" the little boy asked, voice full of awe.

When he smiled, her heart ached uncomfortably. "Why, yes, I am. And I think that you can probably call me—"

"Mr. Marshall," Jayne interrupted to supply, with a warning look at Pace. "Or sir."

He didn't look perturbed in the least at her correcting him but nonetheless countered, "Or how about boss? Most people around here call me that. Would that work for you, Momma?"

It was the first time anyone but Braeden or Brownie had called her that. Jake had certainly never done it, and yet Pace was using it within five minutes of their arrival. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing, necessarily, but she was leaning toward good.

"I think so," she agreed.

Braeden was struggling to get down, although Pace seemed to be holding the wiggle worm fast. "I wanna see the horses! I wanna see the cows!"

Jayne was desperate to try to avoid him having a tantrum, not that he did that very often. But still. It wouldn't make a very good impression, and despite how well he was doing with Braeden now, she didn't think Pace would appreciate such behavior.

But just as she was reaching for her boy, he leaned down and whispered something into his ear that she couldn't catch, and the next thing she knew, he was sitting quietly on Pace's lap again.

What the fuck? She was going to have to find out what he'd said to him, so that she could use it herself! He was behaving really well now, though, and she didn't much care to rock the boat.

When the two salads were made, Pace carried Braeden to the dining room table, which wasn't very far away, as Jayne brought in their lunch, which she essentially abandoned on the table to dash into their bedroom and come out with a booster seat.

When she returned, though, he was again ensconced on Pace's lap and already digging—messily—into his "salad", which was really just some lettuce, celery, and baby carrots with a bit of ranch dressing.

Jayne lifted him off Pace's lap and put him down on his booster seat.

"He was fine sitting on me."

"No, he sits in his own chair, because when you're not here, I'm not going to hold him on my lap while he eats."

She gave him a pass on using a fork with salad at the moment, especially in front of Pace. He was much more accurate in finding his mouth when he used his fingers, and less food would land on the beautiful tile beneath their feet.

Of course, just as they sat down to eat, Brownie arrived and began smothering mother and son in hugs and kisses. Braeden, trouper that he was, continued to eat throughout.

She even gave her big brother a hug.

"I am so glad that you came out to stay with us, Jayne," she sighed, plopping down in the chair next to her friend and grabbing a radish out of her salad to munch on for herself.

"I'll make you a salad of your own, if you want," Jayne offered, having forgotten how forward her friend could be without thinking.

"No, I'd much rather cannibalize yours."

When they were done and Jayne was putting their dishes in the dishwasher, Brownie suddenly popped out of her chair, heading down the hall toward her room, returning with a pile of presents in her arms that was so tall that she could barely see over them.

Luckily, Jayne saw her out of the corner of her eye before Braeden caught sight of them, and while her son was staring at Pace as he talked about what it was like to be a cowboy, she was able to waylay her friend, backing her back into her bedroom.

"What is the problem?" Brownie whined, putting the boxes and bags down on the bed.

Hands on her hips, Jayne raised her eyebrow as she confronted her friend. "You cannot give him all of those presents. You'll spoil him."

"They're not all for him," she wheedled. "Some are for you."

With a loud sigh, Jayne came to sit next to her friend on the bed. "That doesn't make it any better. You don't need to buy me things. You're letting me stay at your house on a moment's notice already—"

Brownie pouted. "But I like buying you things, and having you here is no hardship."

"I've—we've—only been here five minutes. Wait until Braeden gets overtired and has a tantrum in front of Pace."

"I told you. Pace likes kids."

"I'm sure he likes the ones who are screaming and crying at the top of their lungs the best, right?"

Brownie sighed in exasperation. "You never let me do anything nice for you."

Eyes wide, Jayne responded, "Oh, please! You pretty much outfitted Braeden's entire nursery yourself, and you're always sending him tons of presents. And, as I've already said, here I am, imposing on you—"

"Stop. You're not. I want you here. I've missed you since you've been on the coast. And everything you just listed about the presents was for Braeden. I want you to have nice things, too."

"I don't need or want anything at the moment besides a safe place to stay and a moment to collect myself. I'll be out of your hair—and Pace's—as soon as I can possibly manage it."

"Stop! What do I need to do to make you stop thinking of yourself as some kind of horrible person who I can't bear to have around?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"If I had to come stay with you, would you want me to feel like I had to leave as soon as possible, because I was some kind of burden to you? Or would you want me to feel welcome and comfortable and wanted and at home?"

Jayne frowned fiercely, unwilling to answer her friend's hypothetical question.

"Yeah, well, I don't resent you. I will love having you—and Braeden—here! And this is the safest place for you. Almost everyone wears or has quick access to a gun and is a crack shot—coyotes are a bad problem. It's isolated, but there are a lot of people around. If Jake decided to come looking for you here, he'd never make it to the door, much less to you. And I'm sure Pace would just love the chance to beat the ever-loving shit out of him."

That was startling to hear.

"I want you to feel free to take as much time as you need. I know you've been working practically 'round the clock to support that dickheaded bastard. You deserve a vacation. Relax. Get your head together. I took some time off to be with you, and I'll take care of Braeden so that you can sleep in in the mornings, for a while, at least. It'll be good for you to have some down time, and it'll be good practice for me for when I start having kids."

Brownie was a wonderful friend, but she wouldn't put down any money on the idea that she would last more than a half hour or so "babysitting" Braeden in the morning, although it was a very nice thought for her to want to do that.

Jayne wrapped her arms around her friend from behind, and then Brownie turned into the hug. "Thank you. I will never be able to say it often enough."

"You've already said it more times than you need to. Really. I mean it. You need to take some time and relax as best you can. You've been so tightly wound since you met Jake—and no wonder. I'm so proud of you for being strong enough to leave him. Now let me take care of you—and Brae—for a while. Then, when you're ready, we'll get you a job—close by, I hope—and a new apartment and get you set up for the next phase of your life."

They hugged each other tightly, Jayne wondering baldly what she would have done if she hadn't had Brownie to come to.

"And I wasn't kidding about me taking care of Braeden, either. I don't have a lot of experience with kids, as you know—"

"So you want to experiment on mine," Jayne supplied wryly.

"Just a teensy bit," Brownie confessed. "I'll take him away for the day a couple of times, so that you can just veg out and not worry about him."

Jayne wasn't going to touch that one, because her intentions were good.

"We'll go to the zoo and the Children's Museum."

She was betting that one outing with a toddler would cure her of ever wanting to go anywhere with him again, but it was going to be interesting to watch her come to her senses, so she didn't try to dissuade Brownie.

"You can pick one present to give him today, and then you have to disperse them—weeks apart—until they're gone." The full-on pout was back at that. "Or pick some to save and give to him on his birthday."

Her friend squealed loudly, in a manner that wasn't too far from what Braeden sounded like when he was excited. "Do you think you guys'll still be here six months from now. I hope, I hope?"

"Well, in the area, anyway, although not living with you."

Brownie's face fell a bit at that proclamation as they both stood, then Brownie grabbed her friend into another hug. "Well, I'll take you any way I can get you."

As she followed the other woman back into the dining room, Jayne was thankful that her friend hadn't mentioned—or had any reaction whatsoever to—the bruises on her face. She didn't think that she could stand to see the pitying look she'd seen on most people's faces whenever she had sported those, or others, over the years.

* * *

The next morning, Brownie was as good as her word, and when Jayne awoke, she saw that it was nearly ten-thirty.

She was usually an early riser, but apparently, she'd needed the sleep. And for the first time in a very long time, she had slept very well and deeply.

When she wandered down the hall toward the kitchen, wondering where her son was, she looked out the sliders at the end of the dining room and saw him being chased by a Pace-monster. He was laughing and giggling so hard that he could barely run, and every once in a while, Pace would grab him and hold him up above his head while he literally screamed and giggled helplessly.

Then Pace would put him back down and begin to stalk him again.

Auntie Brownie, meanwhile, was observing them both from a lounge chair with an adoring look on her face.

As she was making herself an egg and some toast for breakfast, she heard the sliders move, knowing who it was without looking.

"Thank you for watching him this morning."

"I told you that I would."

"I didn't even hear you come in and get him."

"I know, you were dead to the world."

"And he's even still alive! Miracles will never cease!"

For that, she got a smack from her best friend.

When she sat down to eat her breakfast, Pace came in, wearing her son on his shoulders. His face was all smiles the entire time, and the big man didn't seem to mind those inevitably sticky little fingers glomming onto his face.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you," she answered shyly.

"We decided to occupy him outside, so he could run off some energy and hopefully not wake you up."

"It worked. I don't think I've slept this late since college—or maybe ever. Thank you."

Pace carefully lifted Brae off his shoulders, but instead of putting him down, he took a seat and perched the boy on his knees. "Does he take a nap in the morning, usually?"

It was a very good question, frankly, especially coming from someone she would bet had even less experience with kids than his sister did. "No. He naps in the afternoon for a couple of hours if I can get him down. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't."

She could feel his eyes darting to her, even though she refused to look at him.

"Well, we'll do our best to tire him out this morning. I forgot to ask you last night, but would you have any objections to me showing him the horse barns?"

"No, not if you're up for it. I bet he'd love it."

"Great!" Pace seemed genuinely happy to do it as he stood with Braeden on his hip. "You gals wanna come with?"

It felt like a very long time since anyone had called her a "gal", not that she objected, necessarily.

"Yes!" Brownie replied for them both.

Jayne wasn't at all sure about it. Where they'd not spent much time around kids, she'd not spent any time at all around horses, except for her very infrequent visits out here. And during exactly none of those visits had she done anything in connection with horses or cattle. But apparently, that was about to change.

She'd only brought jeans and t-shirts or the occasional blouse, so at least she was dressed correctly for the occasion. They all trooped out across the yard to the large, immaculately kept building. The double doors were wide open, and there were people buzzing around, all of whom smiled brightly and called him boss or Pace, and Brownie, well, Brownie.

So he could have a better view than his diminutive height, Braeden was back on Pace's shoulders, looking happy and excited to be there. And Jayne had to admit, he seemed like a natural.

They stopped at the first stall, where a reddish-brown horse immediately hung her head out, nuzzling at Pace's shirt pocket, to Braeden's delight. He squealed and reared a bit back, having been slightly startled that the horse was coming so close, but Pace spoke to him softly and confidently, letting him know that there was nothing to be afraid of, and eventually, he was even brave enough to reach down and pat the horse's muzzle.

"This is Lady. She's getting a bit long in the tooth, but she's a great kid's horse. Maybe Brae could learn to ride on her."

Jayne looked a little alarmed at that suggestion from where she was hanging back in the group, staying well away from the horse's reach and looking slightly apprehensive herself.

They walked slowly past every stall, only some of which were occupied. Troy was a beautiful buckskin gelding that did the same thing as Lady, snuffling for truffles in his shirt pocket and coming up empty. Then there was Coral, a black mare just about to drop a foal. She looked tired, and Jayne had an instant sense of empathy for the poor horse. She'd been there, too.

Along the other side, there was Star, and she did, indeed, have a star on her forehead, in white against her otherwise reddish coat, and the last horse was Mischief, Pace's personal horse, and a stallion.

He seemed a bit fractious, at least until Pace handed Braeden to his sister and he went to stand in front of the horse and speak to it in much the same voice he'd used with her at the car and Braeden when he'd been afraid of Lady.

"Brown, why don't you take Braeden in and show him the tack room."

Brownie knew how to take a hint, guiding the little guy through another set of doors to where all the saddles and bridles and other equipment was stored.

As soon as they were gone, he turned to Jayne. "Are you afraid of horses, Jayne?"

It was put to her as just a question—she didn't sense any judgment coming from him at all.

Jayne shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't been around them much."

Pace wandered over to a shelf near one of the empty stalls, where there was a bag of Starlight hard candy peppermints—the red and white striped ones.

He held out a handful of them to her. "Here." He looked around the stable. "Unwrap five of them, please."

She did as he said, putting the wrappers in the handy garbage can, then trying to hand them back to him.

"No, I don't want them. I want you to feed one to each of the horses."

He was standing in front of Lady's stall with his hand out to her.

Jayne came to him but did not touch him in any way.

"Put the mint in the center of your palm, and keep your hand and fingers flat. She's very gentle and would never deliberately bite you, I promise. And she loves peppermints."

Although he was now patting the beautiful creature, Lady could smell that she was the one with the treats, and she extended her neck toward Jayne, who approached her with her hand posed exactly as he had suggested.

Her lips felt dry but funny, soft but kind of rubbery, almost, and before she knew it, she could hear the horse crunching away on the mint.

"Wanna pet her?"

Surprising herself, she nodded vigorously.

Lady was wearing a halter, which he had a loose hold on, not that he needed it. "She loves to get neck scratches and forehead scratches. She likes human contact, so she's a good gateway horse."

Jayne had to laugh at that, and when she did, Pace's breath caught in his chest. He didn't know her all that well, but well enough to gather that laughing and fun and happiness hadn't been common experiences for her over the past few years, when they damned well should have been.

They revisited the other three horses, and they were all perfectly behaved.

"Mischief is very aptly named, and he used to be quite a handful. He's still high-spirited, which isn't a fault, but he'll be gentle with you, I promise."

Her eyes darted to his at the way he'd put that, but she didn't say anything, bravely stepping up to the horse—who was half again the size of the rest of them, at least—with the treat on her palm.

He took it perfectly then lowered his head to her.

"He's asking for pats," Pace informed her. "He likes you, and he doesn't like very many people. He's got taste."

She almost smiled at that, and she did blush. Pace felt a sense of elation that surprised him with its strength.

Later that evening, he said goodnight before heading to bed.

"You girls going to stay up?"

"For a while, I think," Brownie answered.

"Well, don't get into trouble, and try to keep it down to a dull roar, huh?" he teased as he turned to head down the hallway.

"Thank you for taking Braeden and me to see the horses," Jayne felt compelled to blurt out.

He turned back and caught her eye for a split second, before she looked down again. "You're very welcome."

Then he was gone.

* * *

"You did really well. I thought you were scared of horses."

"I am!" Jayne confessed. "But your brother seemed to notice that, and while you were showing Braeden the tack room, he showed me how to feed them a treat—one of the peppermints that you guys keep on hand."

"Ah, yes. He can work wonders with those things."

Jayne's eyebrows rose at her friend's comment.

Then Brownie realized how what she'd said must've sounded to Jayne, and she began to laugh. "Oh, fuck, I didn't mean that way!"

Shrugging, Jayne returned, "Well, I can tell you that I wasn't about to ask how you knew that."

"Oh, gross! No, what I meant is that he's really great with horses—with difficult horses in particular, like Mischief, who was half feral when Pace rescued him. That horse was literally on his way to becoming dog food if Pace hadn't taken him. He's gotten such a reputation with horses that people bring them to him because they know he can straighten them out."

"A horse whisperer."

"Something like that. The peppermints are a part of his method, besides the fact that he's very calm and never angry with them. He never, ever speaks harshly to them, and I've seen him get kicked in the you know where. He always says that's his fault for not being careful about being in range or being in range before the horse was ready for it. He never blames the horse."

She took a sip of her wine, aware that her friend was listening raptly, although she was trying not to let Brownie see that she was. "I know for a fact that, when Mischief first arrived, he wouldn't let anyone near him. But Pace kept leaving a peppermint on his stall door—once a day or so, I guess. At first, he'd do it and leave, but eventually, he'd hang around, longer and longer, until the horse made the connection between him and the treat.

"And now, he's a big lunk. Still cantankerous sometimes—just so Pace knows that he's capable of rebelling, I think. But overall, he's as much of a sweetheart as a stallion can be, especially for Pace."

"He let me give him a treat and pat him."

"He'd do anything for Pace. Eventually, we'll get you riding—not Mischief, but Star or Lady."

Jayne had to laugh at that, and her friend was kind of startled at the sound, since she hadn't heard it very often from her friend, in the past year in particular.

"I don't know about that."

"Pace'll be glad to teach you."

"No, if anyone's going to do that, it's going to be you, not him."

"I keep telling you, he may be a big guy, but my brother is a total teddy bear. And, frankly, he's the better teacher."

"Don't care."

Brownie actually saw her friend shudder—physically shake—at the thought. "Damn, that bastard really did a number on you," she said with a grimace, watching the smile dissolve from her friend's face and wishing she'd kept her big, fat mouth shut.

Especially when Jayne, who was staring at the hands in her lap, admitted rawly, "Yeah, he did."

Brownie moved from the armchair she'd been occupying to the couch to pull her friend into a warm hug. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Feel free to smack me one; it would make me feel better if you did."

Although she was on the verge of sobbing on her friend's shoulder, Jayne instead pulled herself back from that brink, saying, "Be careful what you wish for."

When she'd let go but hadn't moved much away, Brownie began to play with one of Jayne's long curls. "Hey, if you ever want to talk about it, you know I'm here, right? I can't think that you've had much time to process on the drive out here, especially not with Braeden right there."

"I-I haven't done any processing of what happened," Jayne admitted. "I just left, and now I'm dealing with all of the changes I wrought in doing that, good, bad, and indifferent. I haven't cried, I haven't gotten angry, I just…haven't dealt with it."

Brownie patted Jayne's hands. "Well, like I said. I'm here, and once we get you settled into a good job, maybe you could get some counseling."

"I don't know about that."

"I do. It'll help. Believe me. And even if you didn't have any big situations to handle, it's an hour a week where someone is paid to listen to you talk about yourself. It's paradise."

Sometimes Brownie was so gleefully, unrepentantly self-centered, it was hilarious, and it was hard to tell whether she was just trying to make Jayne laugh.

"Well, you know me well enough to know that I'm not really fond of being the center of attention."

"That's because you never really have been when it's good attention. Your family was a wreck, I'm sorry to say, and then you ended up with that scumbag bastard. We need to find you someone who will treat you like the queen you are."

Jayne snorted. "Where? Here? In the ass end of nowhere?"

Brownie gave her friend a considering look. "He might be closer than you know."

After gulping the last of her wine, Jayne's utter skepticism shone through in her voice. "Don't even go there. That would be just a ridiculous thing."

"It absolutely would not! It would be the perfect thing for you both! I know for a fact that Pace wants to get married and have kids. He's got money, he's rock steady, and he's the definition of trustworthy."

"Right. The hunky ex-football player turned rancher and the unremarkable woman who just got out of a bad relationship and comes with a two-year-old. That's not going to happen."

"You never know. It might," Brownie countered.

Putting her wine glass in the dishwasher, Jayne headed down the hallway toward her own room. "When pigs fly, Miss B. Night!"

"Night. Sleep well," Brownie answered absently, the topic of their last conversation distracting her and filling her mind with possibilities.