Jennifer hadn’t slept since she’d made Clay leave. All she could think was that in two days it was probably going to end.

While she was only there because someone was trying to kill her, she’d barely thought about that. Instead, she’d spent the time absorbing and savoring the feeling of . . . of being a part of something. A part of something that felt like a family. Cooking, washing dishes, horseback riding, even watching Family Feud with Pete.

A part of a relationship that felt so real, so right, that the thought of leaving hurt like a goodbye—a forever kind of goodbye—like the last day of high school hurt, like leaving her first job hurt. Not just the I’m-gonna-miss-this kind of ache, but one that came with knowing it would never be this way again.

How could it just end? She’d laughed more in these last few days than she had in months. And she felt . . . whole. As if she’d accidentally fallen into some alternate world where she actually belonged. The last few days had been refreshing, relaxing, rewarding . . . Not like a vacation because while you might want a vacation to last forever, you know it won’t. This time here felt like . . . like coming home feels. The sensation you get when the daily stresses fade away, and you kick off your shoes, take off your bra, remove your jewelry, and slide into something cottony.

Clay, Pete, Devil, even this house with the horses and cattle—all of it fed her soul in a way it hadn’t been fed in a long time.

But it was illogical to think that she could just stay. It was too soon. They’d never even dated.

Although wasn’t dating overrated? Didn’t you learn more about someone living with them?

Stop! Stop! Stop!

She couldn’t let herself go there. And no matter how much leaving was going to hurt, it didn’t really mean it was a forever goodbye. Clay liked her. Maybe not as much as she liked him, but she knew he cared about her.

What was it he’d said? Damn it, I have no idea what this is. I can’t promise anything—we just met. But you managed to get under my skin.

She needed to go a lot deeper than skin. She needed to get all the way to his heart. But just because he hadn’t promised anything didn’t mean that down the road he couldn’t reconsider. Her best chance of this working out long-term was for her to play it cool, not come off like some lovesick, clingy female.

Leave. And then maybe he’d miss her and want her back.

But she could eat herself up with maybes. Instead, she should start working on his place.

She sat up, got into her meditation pose, and pulled her mind away from possible heartbreak. With deep breathes, she forced herself to see his home. Mentally, she did a little virtual tour of the space. Not to see it the way it was, but to see it for its full potential.

* * *

At eight AM, Clay was sitting out on the front porch, sipping a cup of coffee. Pete, who’d gotten up early and fed the animals, walked out.

“Hey, your phone rang twice.” Pete, dressed in what he called his going-out clothes, handed him the cell.

“Thanks,” he said. “Where are you heading?”

“I’m going to go take Ralph home. His son is supposed to be back around one, but he’s likely to get released earlier. And if he’s not feeling well, I might stay with him until his son gets there. I thought I’d go by and pick up some groceries, too. I promised Jennifer I’d show her how to fry chicken when I get back.”

“Sounds good.”

When Pete’s truck wouldn’t start, Clay tossed him his keys.

Pete drove off, stirring up a cloud of Texas dirt in his wake. Walking back toward the house, wanting to go snuggle up with Jennifer, he remembered Pete saying that someone had called him.

He hit recent calls to see who he’d missed. When the number came up, air hitched in his throat. What the hell did Sheri want?

* * *

When Clay walked in from feeding the horses, Jennifer was standing in the middle of the living room, coffee in hand, turning in slow circles. So focused on the room, she didn’t hear or see him. In spite of the emotional storm talking to his ex-wife had stirred up, he watched her turn, appreciating her at every angle.

When she still didn’t notice him, he spoke up, “You okay?”

The question echoed back at him. He’d been so damn sure this morning about the two of them, about what he wanted. The three-minute conversation with Sheri—about her needing a signature to sell a car they’d bought together—had kicked up a boatload of insecurities. He didn’t love her anymore, but he had once.

And now he worried. Worried that caring this much could land him in another world of hurt. Because, damn it, all the women he’d loved in his life had ended up hurting him.

Starting with his mom. And Jennifer had even reminded him of that last night.

When Jennifer circled back to him, she wore a huge, happy smile that contradicted his mood. “I have an idea!”

“What kind of idea?”

“My storage unit. I have living room furnishings in my storage shed from when I did a guest house design last year. It would fit this house perfectly. That would mean for the living room, all we need to do is paint, and I can transform this room to look like a million bucks. The kitchen is going to take a little more work. The wallpaper has to go. I think we can just paint the cabinets, but you need new countertops.”

She waved her arms out, expressively, energetically. She was doing what she did best. Design. “I was thinking of going with a soft taupe color for in here. The sofa is light brown, and the recliner is a tapestry pattern with browns, reds, yellows and dusty greens. Oh,” she did a little jump for joy and pointed at the wall behind the sofa, “I have this print with cows, sort of Impressionist style, but masculine, and it would be perfect right there! And I have some wrought-iron art work with a touch of Western flare that could go there and there.”

Her enthusiasm bubbled out of her and challenged him to let go of his issues, but before he accepted that challenge, he realized another problem. “I, well, we could paint, but I’m going to have to wait to get new furniture and furnishings.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I have them.”

“Yeah, but I would need to pay you for them.” Because one day she might be wanting him to sign papers so they could sever ties.

Her expression lost some of its bliss. “No, we were bartering, remember?”

“For your ideas, not for actual furniture.”

“No, you don’t understand. I was planning on emptying out the storage unit. I pay way too much monthly. And I usually have a consignment shop take the furniture. I only get fifty-percent of the profit, and I have to pay them to move it. Right now, I have to so much that it would take two trucks to get the furniture there. I’d lose money. So, you’d actually be saving me money.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

Her smile faded. “We had a deal.”

“That’s too good of a deal.” One look at her and he felt like he’d stuck a pin in her happy balloon. “I just … I don’t like owing people.”

Her big blue eyes widened. “You wouldn’t owe me anything. I’m the one who imposed on you.”

“You didn’t impose.” I love having you here. And I’m a whisper from falling in love with you, and it’s scaring the fuck out of me.

He was screwing this up. His cell phone, resting on the coffee table, rang. Needing a diversion, he picked it up, saw the number, then looked back at her. “It’s Jake.”

She nodded.

“Hey,” he answered, only half listening, still squirming in the limelight of her frown and his own fears.

“Good news, bad news,” Jake said.

“Tell me.” He watched Jennifer walk outside. She was upset, but he wasn’t sure why. Because he didn’t want her furniture? Or could she read his mind? Did she know he didn’t trust her enough to let himself love her?

“Bundy’s left town.” Jake’s voice pulled Clay’s attention from the front door banging closed.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“A rental car, a black Chevy Cruise, was found at the airport in metered parking. It even has dents on the bumper with scrapes of paint matching Jennifer’s car. It was just found, but it appears to have been there for several days. He must’ve skipped town right after the showdown at the junkyard.”

“Do you know where he went?” His gaze shifted to the door again.

“No. We put in requests to get the airport security cameras, but it’s going to take time.”

“Okay.” Clay raked a hand over his face. “And the bad news?”

“Now it’s going to be harder to catch him.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Clay said, but the relief that Jennifer wasn’t in danger any longer far surpassed that.

“If you want, I can drive Jennifer’s car over there, and you can be free of her.”

He should say “Yes.” Freaking hell! “No. I mean, shouldn’t we stay the course, until after the trial? Just to be sure?”

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Jake chuckled.

Clay closed his eyes. “I prefer playing it safe.” But there was nothing safe about how he felt right now. Losing her scared him to death. The only thing that scared him more was loving her.

“Of course,” Jake said, his tone placating.

Hanging up, Clay took two deep breaths, then walked outside. She sat in the old chair, petting Devil.

She glanced up and only held his gaze a second before refocusing on Devil. “What did Jake want?”

“They found Bundy’s car at the airport.”

“So, he left town?”

“It looks like it, but until we get a peek at the airport security cameras, we won’t know for sure. So . . .”

She glanced at him. “So, I should stay here until the trial, huh?”

Or later. What’s the hurry in leaving? I kind of like having you here. The words sat on his tongue, but for some crazy, fucked-up reason, he couldn’t spit them out. He nodded. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Where’s Pete?” she asked.

“He went to take Ralph home from the hospital. He . . . he said he was going by the grocery store on the way home. That he was going to teach you to fry chicken.”

“Yeah.” A smile brushed her lips, but it seemed fake.

The silence hung on. Then she blurted out, “I want you to have the furniture.”

Still unsure if that was what had upset her, he cratered. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She stood and rested one hand on his shoulder.

Now he was confused. Was she angry? Not angry? Damn it, he couldn’t read her. Or maybe he could. Sadness made her blue eyes bluer.

Lifting up on her tiptoes, she kissed him. It was soft, sweet, but too short. A knot of emotion climbed up his throat then fell back and landed with a thump in his chest.

“You know what I’d love to do again before I leave?” she said.

His heart got hung up the word leave. “What?”

“Go horseback riding. Can we do that?”

“Yeah.”

“Now?”

He nodded.

“I’ll put on my jeans.” He watched her walk back into the house. I’m going to fix this. I am. Just as soon as he could chase off the cloud of doom his ex-wife’s call had brought on.

* * *

“Dad-blast it. I forgot the flour,” Pete moaned.

Jennifer, shelving the butter in the fridge, glanced back at him. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can just fix something else.”

“Nope,” Pete declared. “My mouth’s watering for fried chicken. I’ll go back.”

“I’ll go,”

Clay walked in carrying the last of the groceries. Just looking at him caused an ache to wiggle around in her chest.

They’d gone horseback riding and gotten home right when Pete pulled up. Clay had barely said two words on the ride. Obviously, he was upset. At first, she hadn’t known why, but then it became clear to her. For Clay Connors, accepting a gift from her was too much. A lot of people looked at gifts in a relationship as some kind of a commitment.

She’d planned on confronting him and getting to the bottom of things when they got back to the house, but Pete’s return had put that on hold. All Clay had to say was he wanted her to leave, and she’d be gone. Oh, it was going to hurt like the dickens, but she’d do it.

“You don’t mind going?” Pete asked.

“No,” Clay said. “Where’re the keys?”

Pete tossed them over.

Clay looked at her. “I think there’s one bag of groceries in the truck. Want to follow me out?”

“Sure.” She started for the door, knowing this wasn’t about groceries and praying it wasn’t about goodbye. Her heart started pounding, each thump against her breastbone hurt a little more.

Much to her surprise, he took her hand as soon as they stepped out on the porch and led her to the truck. When he got her behind it, he pulled her close and leaned his forehead against hers. He didn’t speak. He barely breathed.

His green eyes showed so much pain. “What’s going on, Clay?”

“I’m sorry. I’m acting like an idiot.”

She swallowed. “Do you . . . want me . . . to . . . go?” Each word came out more painfully than the last.

“No. But we started this thing living together, and I’m not sure . . . how we’re supposed to move forward. And I’m scared.”

His inhale was deep. “Of what?”

“I spoke to . . .” His pause sounded painful. “I don’t want to lose you, but I’m scared to . . .”

“To what?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face as if to wipe away his emotions. “There has to be a way to make it feel . . . less scary. Maybe we need to just slow it down a little bit.”

So, she’d been right. For Clay Connors, accepting her furniture translated to commitment. Yeah, there is a way to slow it down. I can leave.

“We’ll talk tonight, when Pete goes to bed. And I’m sorry, okay?”

Sorry for what? Not wanting her in his life?

He kissed her on the forehead. When he pulled back, he didn’t look at her.

Opening the truck door, he stood there as if thinking. Devil came running and jumped in. “I’m taking him,” Clay said.

She nodded and watched his truck drive down the dirt road, getting smaller, stirring up a cloud of dust. Stirring up heartbreak.

* * *

Bundy had started toward the south part of town late last night. But he spotted the sheriff’s car tucked away in the trees less than a mile from where the black truck had turned in. Was it coincidence, or was the sheriff expecting Bundy to come back?

Either way, he had left and waited until now to try again. The sheriff was nowhere to be seen.

He found the dirt road. Not wanting to just drive up to the house, he pulled off on a side road. It was only about a five-minute walk to the driveway.

Gun tucked inside his pants, he started walking. Revenge was sweet. And hopefully, he was about to get his.

It took a good five minutes before he spotted the old yellow farmhouse. There wasn’t a black truck to be seen, and since there wasn’t a garage, it meant he’d wasted his time.

But then he spotted the old man working on the fence out by the barn. It was him. The old man who’d been driving the black pickup.

Goddamn it. It was time he got some answers.

* * *

Clay, flour riding shotgun, was heading back from the grocery store when he saw another black Chevy truck, same make and model as his, turning into a driveway. Then he spotted the small cottage house.

This was the house that had been ransacked. Jacob Brown’s place. He recalled the name from the day the sheriff dropped by.

He pulled his foot off the gas. His mind raced. At the time, he had felt the whole Bundy attack and this one didn’t have a connection. Was it a coincidence that the man drove the same truck as Clay?

Could Bundy have gone into the house looking for him?

Maybe he was just looking for something to fret over other than making an idiot out of himself with Jennifer.

Then again, what would it hurt to just have a chat with the man? With no oncoming traffic, he did a sharp U-turn and headed back to the Brown place.

When he pulled into the driveway, Brown was exiting his truck. He turned and stared at Clay.

Appearing about Clay’s age, Brown was tall with short-cropped auburn hair. His firm shoulders and the way he carried himself had Clay guessing the man served his country in some form or the other.

“Hello,” Clay said, shutting his truck door.

The man nodded, but stood rock hard. Nothing in his stance told Clay he was welcome there.

Still, Clay moved up the driveway and offered his hand. “I’m Clay Connors. Our properties line up.”

Brown appeared to relax and accepted Clay’s hand. “I made an offer to purchase some of your acreage.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I’m ready to let any of it go right now, but if I decide to, I’ll come to you first.”

“I’ll take that.” Brown’s gaze shifted toward the driveway. “Your truck?”

“Yeah,” Clay said. “That’s sort of why I stopped by. I heard your place was ransacked.”

Brown shook his head, hrumphed, and then kind of chuckled. “It makes sense now.”

Clay knew what made sense to him, but he wasn’t sure about Brown. “What do you mean?”

Brown hesitated, before saying, “You had some trouble at the junkyard.”

“Yeah,” Clay said.

“Well, his name is Ted Bundy. Has priors.”

Clay stared at the man. “How do you know. . . Bundy’s name hasn’t been released.”

“I have cameras. I was able to identify him. Have you caught the guy?”

“No. He . . . It looks like he left town. But I still don’t get how you . . .” Clay remembered his first inclination about the guy. “Navy Seal? CIA?”

Brown crossed his arms, a gesture that told Clay he wasn’t the sharing type. “So, Bundy slipped away?”

“Yeah. We found his black Chevy Cruise at the airport this morning.”

Brown lifted a brow. “I wouldn’t stop looking, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“He must have traded that car in for a new one. Last time I spotted him, he was driving a silver Honda.”

“What?” Clay said. “You’ve seen him?”

“That was before I had a good look at the tapes. And he’s driven past here a few times since. I let the sheriff know I’d seen the guy. I really thought he was just a petty thief.”

“Shit.” Clay realized he’d left Jennifer alone. “I should go make sure . . .” He started backing up.

“You need anything?” Brown asked.

“No, I think I got it. But thanks!”