Maddox knew the moment that Hannah stepped into the kitchen. He didn't know how, because he hadn't heard her, but suddenly he knew she was standing in the same room as he was. He closed his eyes and braced his hands on the counter, not turning around.

Ten pies were lined up on the stovetop, and the potholder was still in his hand. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to see that expression on her face again, when she realized how dangerous he was, how blackened his soul was.

He was used to people looking at him like that. He had truly thought he didn't care anymore. He had honestly believed that on that night when he was seventeen, he had shut down enough that it would never bother him again, when someone looked at him like the monster he was.

And it never had bothered him. Not until the moment that he'd seen that expression on Hannah's face, when she'd been holding her daughter so tightly, her eyes wide with fear as she had announced her need to get on the road.

He had had no words to respond.

And now she was standing behind him, as if he were expected to turn around and talk to her, as if he was a normal human being. As if all the crap of his past wasn't firmly entrenched in every fiber of his being.

"Maddox?"

He grimaced at the sound of her voice, at the way it spread through him like kindness and warmth. Her voice was beautiful, like the sounds of birds on an early morning ride just as the sun was rising and nature was waking up. Shit. He hadn't thought of those rides on his favorite horse in a long time. What the hell? Why was he thinking about Big Red again? He'd left horses and his memories behind long ago.

He cleared his throat. "I'll be ready to go in about five minutes." He didn't turn around, and didn't give her the chance to say she wanted to drive in the storm by herself. Fuck that. He might be scum, but there was no chance he was letting Hannah and Ava out into the storm alone. "I'm going to put the pies in the walk-in freezer, so they should be okay, even going in hot." He kept his voice hard and steady, focused. "You can follow me in your car."

She sighed, a deep sigh he could feel in his gut even from the other side of the kitchen. He ground his jaw, his muscles becoming even more tense. What the hell did she want from him? This was all he had. All he fucking had to offer.

He heard the creak of the floor, and knew she was heading back to the front of the café. It was exactly what he wanted to accomplish, but he couldn't suppress the stab of regret that he managed to alienate the first woman that had made him feel anything in years. Hell. He didn't want to be dealing with this—

Suddenly, he felt the whisper soft touch of her hand on the back of his shoulder. He froze, going absolutely still, his breath freezing in his chest. Her touch was so gentle, so soft, softer than anything he'd ever felt in his life. Every one of his senses honed in on the sensation of her fingers against the back of his shoulder, trying to imprint the sensation in his soul so he would never forget how it felt to be touched like that.

"I'm sorry, Maddox." Her voice was as soft and kind as her touch, gently nestling its way past the armor he'd worked so hard to reinforce over the years.

He cleared his throat, still not turning around, afraid that if he moved at all, her fingers would slide off him, and he would never feel this again. "No apologies necessary." His voice was gruff, hard, almost harsh. He grimaced when he heard what he sounded like, but he didn't know what else to say. He felt like he didn't have another voice anymore, but for the first time in a long time, he wished he did. He wished he had another way to talk to her, to this woman who was touching him as if he was some treasure to be honored and nurtured.

"Sometimes an apology is necessary." Her voice was still soft, but he heard the crack of emotion. "I owe you one."

It was that hint of vulnerability that made him turn around. He simply couldn't turn his back on her, even if it meant losing the whisper-light physical connection between them. The moment he turned to face her, and she raised those brown eyes to his, his breath stuttered again. "God," he whispered. "You're like a single ray of sunshine, drifting through the darkness. I could breathe it in forever. Never apologize for who you are."

Her eyes widened, and belatedly, he realized what he'd said. Shit. He wasn't the guy who talked about sunshine and hope, not anymore.

Her hand slid down his arm, and fell to her side. His entire soul seemed to call out at the loss of her touch, and he was viscerally aware of the fact that she hadn't simply pulled her hand back, but had prolonged the contact, as if she too had come to life from that mere touch.

She lifted her chin, as if she were summoning resolution. "I do owe you an apology," she said firmly. "I insulted your kindness and your offer of help. I want you to know that my reaction to you had nothing to do with you. I…" She hesitated, but before he could interrupt, she caught herself and seemed to find the energy to finish what she was saying. "I have trust issues when it comes to men," she said succinctly, her gaze steady on his face. "That's my baggage, not yours. I appreciate your help, and I would love for you to escort us to our new place so we can get there safely."

There was so much vulnerability in her eyes that Maddox couldn't hold onto the detached coldness he lived by. But he knew he should. This woman was vulnerable. She could not let her guard down around him. She simply couldn't. Which meant he had to keep the walls up for them. "Ironically," he said. "Your hesitation was the appropriate response when dealing with me. I'm not a good guy. I come from bad stock, and it's just a matter of time until it wins. You saw in me an evil that is truly there." Crap. He hated saying that out loud. He absolutely hated acknowledging what he really was, especially to her.

She stared at him, searching his face as if trying to see into his very soul.

He let her. She needed to know what he was.

"You would never hurt me," she said softly, breathing out a deep sigh of relief, as if she was so pleased to have finally figured out the truth about him.

Except she was wrong. "I'm not a good guy," he said again, ignoring the way his chest tightened at her words. "Don't look at me like I am."

But she did. She kept studying his face, and then her gaze dropped to his forearm. He knew what she was looking at. He knew that she could see the scars from the cigarettes his dad had put out on his arm so long ago.

"Who did that?" she asked, her voice gentle.

He stiffened. "My dad." He hadn't meant to answer her. He sure as hell hadn't meant to pour out the baggage from his past, and when the flicker of sadness rushed over her face, he wished he hadn't. But at the same time, he had to get that empathy out of her. He had to make her understand that tainted blood ran in his veins. "My dad was a piece of shit, and he taught me all I know." He meant the last as a warning to her, to make sure she understood that the monster who sired him still lived within him.

To his shock, Hannah reached out, her fingers drifting over his scarred forearm. He went still, staring in shock as he watched her hand brush over the old scars, as if she could wipe away all the pain that had accompanied them. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "There are some men in this world who are so bad. I'm so sorry your dad was one of them."

He wanted to tell her that he was one of them too. He really did. But the words stuck in his throat. He simply couldn't do it. He couldn't say the words that would make her run away.

She raised her gaze to his. "Have you ever hurt anyone physically? Ever?"

He swallowed. "I got in fights as a kid. I...do what I have to do. I'm a bounty hunter. My job is...ugly sometimes."

She didn't look away. "Someone like me, I meant," she whispered. "Have you ever physically harmed someone innocent? Someone who you could break if you hurt them. Have you ever hurt anyone like that? Hit them? Struck them?"

The mere idea of it made a cold chill grip his spine. He couldn't imagine anything more abhorrent. "Fuck, no. Never."

She raised her eyebrows, searching his face. "Not once?"

"No way." He swore. "I'd cut off my own arm before I'd strike an innocent, but the monster that would is inside me. I'm my father's son. The violence is a part of me. The destruction of all things beautiful. Not just physically, but spiritually." He brushed his finger over her jaw, quickly, lightly, just needing to touch. "Like you. I would crush that light that shines so beautifully through you. I'm that kind of bastard." Hell. Had he just said that aloud?

Hannah studied him for a long minute, and he saw wisdom in her eyes that belied her age. "If it were in you, you would have hurt someone by now," she said softly. "Men like that...they can't stop themselves. It starts small, but it's always there. If it's not there yet, Maddox, it won't ever be there for you." She touched his arm again. "Even with these."

"Don't believe in me, Hannah. Just don't."

She smiled sadly. "I don't believe in anyone, Maddox, but you make me want to change that."

He saw the truth in her eyes, and suddenly, he wanted to be the one to make her believe again. He wanted to be that good guy who would teach her that some men were decent human beings, that there were people she could count on, that the world could be safe. But he wasn't that guy. He knew those men existed, because his brothers were those kinds of men. He saw the way Chase, Steen, Zane, and Travis treated their women and kids, and he knew that his brothers had somehow risen above the hell that haunted them all.

But he wasn't like them. He was worse, so much worse. There was no happy ending for him. Silently, he reached up and brushed his finger over Hannah's cheek. One touch. Just to see if her skin was as soft as he'd thought.

It was.

She didn't pull away, and for a long moment, they stood there in silence, with his hand against her cheek, and her fingers gripped around his scarred wrist. In less than an hour, he would be on the road, back to his job, back to his life, but this moment...this moment was one he would hold onto for a long time, because it was the first time he'd felt like a real person since his mother had died.

Because Hannah was looking at him with trust, even if he didn't deserve it. That was all it had taken to make him feel human again: just the expression on her face when she looked at him. It was breathtaking.

The kitchen door suddenly opened, and they both dropped their hands as Ava poked her head in. She looked back and forth between them, and then smiled and held up her empty glass.

Hannah let out a nervous laugh. "You want some more milk, pumpkin?"

Ava nodded, holding the glass silently toward Maddox. There was absolutely no fear in her face, just a contented certainty that he would provide.

Fierce protectiveness surged through him, a raw need to draw both females into his space so he could shield them from whatever had caused the shadows in their eyes. He wasn't a protector. He was the guy who people guarded against, but in that moment, he knew his role had changed. He would do whatever it took to keep them safe, even if it meant keeping them away from him.

But right now, they needed him. And he needed them, more than he'd ever needed anything. He needed their sunshine.

So, he took a deep breath, and let go of the walls he'd worked so hard to build up. Not forever. Just for the next hour, until he had them safely set up in their new place. When he was back on the road, he'd be back to himself. But right now, right now he needed to be the guy that they both saw when they looked at him. "One chocolate milk, coming up."

The smile he got from both of them was a gift he knew he'd never forget.

Ever.