Jennifer’s face paled. She shook her head and took a step back as if she needed distance. “I’ve not seen Rory since camp. Heard rumors about the drugs. He never got his act together. Why are we doing this? Can’t we let the past go? I know we both made terrible mistakes but when do we stop suffering and move on?”

“I work at it every day.”

“I do, too.”

Greer sighed. She’d liked Jennifer when they’d been in camp. The girl had been frightened and skittish but she’d been nice to Greer. “Sara is also dead, Jennifer. She froze to death.”

Her mouth dropped before she snapped it closed. “She committed suicide?”

“Cops don’t know for sure.”

“You think she and Rory are somehow connected? I know she really had a crush on him at camp.”

“Who knows? He might have remembered she liked him and hit her up for money. That would be classic Rory. He could have made promises he couldn’t keep. She had a bad temper.”

“You think she could have killed him and then herself ?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to understand what happened.”

Jennifer raked her hand through her hair. “Leave it up to the cops. Just leave it alone.”

“I can’t. Rory’s body was found near my vineyard and he had a picture of us taken at camp on him when he died.”

She paled. “A picture of all of us?”

“Just Rory and me.”

Relieved, Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know about them, and honestly I don’t want to know. I want all that past junk to stay buried. I don’t want to lose what I have. I met a guy who is so great there are days I wonder how I got lucky.”

A heavy silence hung between them and clearly Jennifer wanted her to leave. But Greer couldn’t let it go yet. “You never think about that time?” She’d not meant to ask the question but it had been a long time since she’d spoken to someone who’d been in as bad a place as she.

Jennifer shook her head. “No, I don’t. I don’t. I have forgiven myself.”

Greer leaned toward her a fraction, genuine curiosity pulsing through her body. “How did you manage forgiveness?”

She frowned and took the question as a challenge. “What do you mean how? I just did.”

Greer shook her head. “I still struggle with it.”

Jennifer shrugged. “I can’t help you. I just know I manage it. The past is the past. End of story. Please.”

Greer searched Jennifer’s eyes for a flicker or a waver that signaled a lie or doubt. But there was none and she was both glad for her friend and a little jealous. “Maybe one day I will find peace as well.”

For a moment Jennifer’s face softened as if she wanted to say more. “Greer . . .”

And then beyond the office door the voices of customers drifted toward them. The front shop-door opened and closed.

Jennifer straightened and the emotional guards slipped into place. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ve work. My customers expect personal attention.”

The moment, the near connection they’d shared closed with the shop door. “Yeah, I have to get back to the vineyard.” The next moments were awkward. A dozen years ago they’d have hugged. Now it didn’t feel right, whereas walking away bordered on cold. She managed a smile and then turned toward the door.

“Elizabeth,” Jennifer said.

“Yes?” She turned, a little hopeful.

“Please don’t come by here again. I’d fix both our pasts if I could. I’d wish it all back, if possible. But I can’t. Now, I’ve a good thing going and I’m going to be married in eight months. My fiancé and his family don’t know about Shady Grove, and I want to keep it that way. Let the dead bury the dead.”

Greer hugged Dog a little closer. “Sure.”

Mitch didn’t much like the black horse, Beauty. Turn your back on her for a second, and she’d find a way to nip at your shoulder. He had a couple of healthy bruises on his shoulder and a couple of times she made him yelp. But not anymore. He might not know all the rules yet, but he was a fast learner. She kept him on his toes. If his mind wandered back to the darkness, she was there to bite and remind she would not be ignored.

As he tossed the hay in her feed bin, he kept one eye on the job and one on her.

The day was hotter than hell, but not as blistering as Iraq. The air in Texas was clean and clear and in the Hill Country free of the Middle East sand lurking in the air ready to clog his throat and nose or burrow under his clothes and irritate his skin.

The first time he’d gotten off the plane the air had been so hot he’d thought the heat had come from the jet’s engines. Sweat-soaked clothes became a matter of course and a good night’s sleep was impossible in the oppressive heat.

Yeah, Texas could get hotter than hell, but it was home and would always beat Iraq.

If only Iraq would stay on the other side of the world. But it had followed him here. Stalked him. If he closed his eyes he could hear the grinding noise of vehicles, the shouts of soldiers, the drone of low-flying planes and gunfire.

He’d remembered when he’d first arrived back in Austin and dumped his bag on the spare bed in his uncle’s rented house. The cool air, quiet, and soft bed had been distracting and for several weeks he’d put a sleeping bag on the floor. He hoped the hard floor would offer a familiarity that might ease the transition home. But when he’d closed his eyes and fallen asleep the dreams began. They’d all been the same, not varying a little.

He’d been behind the wheel of the Humvee. He’d been in the country for a year and grown accustomed to the coiling heat and the weight of his body armor. A battery-operated radio that dangled from the ceiling had been blaring Bruce Springsteen. His buddy Max had cracked a joke about a girl’s breasts. He and his buddies had been laughing.

The mission had been routine. And though they said they were on their toes at all times, familiarity with the job had made them a little cocky. As the driver, it had been his job to avoid the IEDs, to keep the vehicle on the road, and to keep his friends alive.

And then he’d been distracted for a moment by the flicker of a light in the distance, and he’d edged too close to the edge of the road. The next moment a loud explosion ripped through the music and the laughter, shredded his eardrums and battered him about like a piece of meat. Next, he’d been crawling through hot twisted metal, clawing at the dirt as he pulled himself free. He’d called out to his buddies, searched the blackening smoke, but pain and a blow to the head had made the world spin, and then he’d blacked out.

Later he’d awoken in the hospital. Burned on the left side of his body. His first question had been for his men, and when he’d found out they’d all been killed he’d retreated into himself as far as he could go. He didn’t want to be around people. Talk again. Care again. Live again.

He’d thought about ending it all, after the third military funeral. It would be easy enough to let the final darkness take him and make the pain go away.

But as much as he’d thought about it he couldn’t manage it. He was too scared to die and too undeserving to live.

Tec had given him a roof and a bed. But it was clear his uncle didn’t know what to do with him. Hell, Tec was a goddamned legend in the Rangers. He’d pursued outlaws, faced human traffickers, and been in a couple of gun battles. He’d walked away from it all unscathed with no lingering regrets.

Maybe Mitch was too much like his own mother. Well-meaning but simply weak.

A sharp pain dug into his shoulder and he whirled around at Beauty’s braying. He rubbed his shoulder, annoyed at her but angrier at himself. “Damn it, girl. Can’t you lay off for a minute? Shit, there won’t be a bit of my flesh left at the rate you are going.”

The horse neighed.

“Yeah, you are the smart one. You got all the damn answers. Just like my uncle. You think you know.”