The house was too damn quiet. Trent Woodhall woke before the alarm, just like he always did. Five minutes to five. He didn’t need to look to know what time it was. He stared at the ceiling before he decided to peek over at the clock sitting on the nightstand. 

 

Yup, five minutes to five. The digital numbers glowed red in the dark bedroom. It was the only light in the furnished rental he’d been calling home for the past year. 

 

Home. 

 

He almost snorted at the word. He lay still for another moment, just listening. 

 

The refrigerator humming. 

 

Wind brushing against the siding outside. 

 

The old pipes ticking inside the walls. 

 

Nothing out of place. 

 

Still his body stayed tight. 

 

It always did. 

 

He blew out a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His bare feet landed on the cool hardwood floor. The cottage wasn’t much—one bedroom, one bath, small kitchen—but it was more than he usually bothered with. Normally he’d bunk wherever he worked. Ranch bunkhouse, cheap motel. It had never really mattered before. 

 

No point in settling in when you knew you’d be leaving. 

 

He crossed into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He squinted at his reflection. A few more lines around his eyes than last year. Stubble thick along his jaw. At forty-five, he wasn’t really old, but the Army had carved its years into him deeper than most life experiences. 

 

He brushed his teeth and washed his face. He dried off with a towel that wasn’t his. None of this was. The furniture came with the place. The dishes. Even the faded landscape picture hanging in the bedroom above the bed. 

 

He owned duffel bags filled with clothing, a couple pairs of boots, a pickup truck that had seen too many states. A collection of weapons and that was about it. 

 

He stepped back into the bedroom and reached for his jeans—

 

A thud. 

 

It was soft, but subtle, and sounded from the other end of the house. 

 

Trent froze. 

 

The shift was instant. His breathing slowed while his spine straightened. His pulse remained steady. The part of him that had once cleared buildings in the dark slid forward without invitation. 

 

He moved silently to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and wrapped his hand around the grip of his Glock. 

 

He didn’t think about it or question anything about his actions. The training never left. It was ingrained into his soul. He turned and paused, listening. 

 

Another second passed. 

 

Nothing. 

 

No footsteps. 

 

No creaking of a door. 

 

No movement within the house. 

 

He stood there probably longer than necessary. He listened for the kind of silence that meant danger instead of peace. 

 

Still nothing. 

 

It was probably the wind knocking something loose outside, or the old wood of the house settling. He lowered the gun but didn’t immediately put it away. He brushed his thumb over the cold metal. This object in his hands was familiar and comforted him. 

 

After another moment, he slid it back into the drawer and finished dressing. He pulled on a worn shirt, a button-down flannel shirt over that, then his jeans. Belt then his boots. The routine grounded him. Work was waiting on him. He had become dependent on his daily routine. 

 

The kitchen light flickered when he flipped it on. He went over to the fridge and took out everything he would need for lunch. He knew he could always stop up at the main house on the ranch for food, but sometimes he’d be far out on the ranch and it wouldn’t make sense to leave where he was going just to grab a quick bite. 

 

Making his lunch felt weird. Outside of his usual, but for some reason, it felt right. He made two simple sandwiches. Turkey and mustard on wheat bread. He wrapped them in foil and tucked them in a paper sack. He filled a thermos with water and picked up an apple he’d purchased at the local market. 

 

He quickly cleaned up his mess. He didn’t own much, but he kept what he had neat. 

 

A year. 

 

One whole year in Ironhaven. 

 

It was the longest he’d stayed anywhere since leaving the Army. 

 

Normally, around the six-month mark, the itch would start. Restlessness would embed itself under his skin. A sense that he was lingering too long would ride along his shoulders. He felt that if he stayed, something would root into him, and roots meant a vulnerability he didn’t want to feel. 

 

So he’d move on. 

 

Texas. Montana. Georgia. Virginia. South Dakota. 

 

Ranch jobs mostly. All physical work. Honest work that made a man tired at the end of the day. 

 

Silver Creek Ranch was meant to be the same here in South Dakota. Instead, it was different. 

Andy Harvey, the owner, was a fair man. Former Army like him. Buck, the lead ranch hand, had a way of looking at him like he understood things without asking too many questions. 

 

And the ranch itself…it wasn’t just cattle and fences. 

 

It was a healing ranch for veterans who didn’t quite know how to live in the quiet after the noise. 

 

Men and women who woke up too early. Who heard things that weren’t there. Who kept their backs to the walls in restaurants. 

He’d signed up for the ranch’s therapy program about nine months ago. At first he hadn’t talked much but then found that there were others like him, and it helped him open up more. 

 

That was something. 

 

Maybe that was why the itch hadn’t come. 

 

Or maybe he was just getting too damn tired of roaming. 

 

He collected his keys and locked up the house. He stepped outside and breathed in the early morning air. It carried that crisp pre-dawn bite. It was a little chilly out, and he’d kept a jacket in the truck. His pickup sat on the gravel drive. It was coated in thick dust from the ranch roads. He made a mental note to run it through the car wash in town later that day. 

 

Beyond the cottage, fields stretched out in shadows, the outline of a fence barely visible against the fading night. 

Ironhaven was a small town, but it had plenty to offer those who called it home. 

 

There was that word again. 

 

He climbed into the truck and turned it on. The engine rumbled to life. He backed out of the drive and guided the vehicle onto the road. He told himself that he was heading into town early because he wanted a hot breakfast before work. 

Not because he knew exactly who would be there at five in the morning. It wouldn’t take him long to arrive at his destination. He flipped on the radio. He just couldn’t drive in silence. It would allow his mind to wander to where he didn’t want to go. Even though he had left the Army because of his choice, it still felt weird that he wasn’t on base somewhere, or deployed to some godforsaken country where he and his men were deemed the enemy. 

 

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Here he was no longer known as Staff Sergeant Woodhall. He wasn’t leading a team into hot enemy territory. He didn’t have men and women looking at him to guide them. 

 

He was just Trent—the civilian. 

 

Almost four years ago, he’d submitted his retirement application. There were countless forms he’d had to fill in, approvals, a whole damn process that took months to complete. Three years ago, it was made official. He retired with full pension and all the benefits offered to a twenty-plus-year active veteran. 

 

The Sunrise Kitchen’s lights glowed warm against the dim streets when he drew up. A few other trucks and vehicles were already parked outside. 

 

Trent killed the engine and inhaled sharply. 

 

“Get your food to go.” He reached for the door and pushed it open, stepped out, and slammed it shut, then headed into the restaurant, already knowing what he was going to order. The bell above the diner’s door jingled when he walked inside. 

 

Coffee. Bacon. Fresh hot biscuits. 

 

The smells hit him first. 

 

Then the sight of her. 

 

Frankie Carpenter moved behind the counter with an ease that made the whole place feel steady. Golden-brown skin glowed under the lights. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. Her curves were wrapped in a simple fitted tee and jeans with an apron tied at her waist. 

 

She laughed at something one of the regulars said, and the sound did something to his chest that he didn’t like examining too closely. 

 

He’d planned to buy his food to go. 

 

In and out so he could head over to the ranch. 

 

Simple. 

 

“Morning, Trent. Booth?” The hostess smiled at him. 

 

He couldn’t remember her name. She was a young kid who was always friendly. He came often enough, she had learned his name, but then again, Ironhaven was a small town. He gave her a nod while he glanced over at the area where one could order takeout. 

 

Go order your food to go, he reminded himself. 

 

“Yeah, a booth will be fine,” he said.

 

“Follow me.” She found a menu and motioned for him. 

 

His gaze landed on Frankie again. His pulse picked up for no damn reason. The hostess led him over to a booth. He slid into it and rested his hat beside him. The vinyl seat squeaked under his weight. A menu landed on the table, though he didn’t need it. He ordered the same thing every time. 

 

“Your server will be with you shortly. Coffee?” 

 

“Please. Black,” he replied. 

 

She smiled and spun around and weaved her way through the restaurant. He glanced out the window and took in the lot. A few more cars arrived and parked. A second later, a large porcelain mug filled with hot steamy coffee was deposited in front of him. 

 

He wrapped his hands around the mug and let the heat seep into his palms. More customers filtered in. The place would be packed soon. It always was. The whole town loved Frankie’s cooking. She’d taken over the diner years ago and turned it into the heart of Ironhaven. 

 

He told himself not to stare. 

 

Failed. 

 

She moved with the confidence of a woman who was sure of herself. Her pouty lips smiled freely as she chatted at tables, refilled cups, and went to check in on orders. The woman belonged here. 

 

Unlike him. 

 

At least he didn’t think he did, but he was testing out a theory. 

 

He watched her as he took a sip of his drink. He closed his eyes briefly and savored the strong brew. Frankie’s coffee always hit in the right spot. She returned from the back carrying someone’s order and placed it on their table. 

 

As much as he liked her, he hadn’t asked her out. 

 

He wouldn’t. 

 

What would he offer her?

 

A man who packed light because he never stayed around long?

 

A former ranger who still reached for a gun at the smallest sound?

 

A guy who hadn’t been with a woman in years because he didn’t trust himself to want more?

 

Frankie deserved someone much better than him. 

 

Not a broken soldier still trying to figure out who he was when he was not in a uniform. At his age, he should know who he was and what he wanted out of life. 

 

As if she felt his gaze, she looked up. 

 

Their eyes met across the room, and the air escaped his lungs. It felt like someone had punched him in the center of his stomach. Her smile widened, and the twinkles in her eyes were bright. Her smile was warm, enticing, and directed at him. His stomach tightened. 

 

She excused herself from the table where she’d been speaking with its occupants and headed his way. Each step she took was confident. The way her hips swayed, how her smile seemed to brighten the room, or how she always seemed to make him feel as if he was the only person in the room when her attention was on him—had to be studied. 

 

How did she do it?

 

He was sure every person felt the same after speaking with Frankie. That was why the townsfolk flocked to her diner. It wasn’t just the good food, it was the atmosphere at Sunrise Kitchen—and her. 

 

As she grew closer, his heart pounded like he had just run ten miles. 

 

Get it together, Woodhall. 

 

She stopped at his table with a coffee pot in her hand. The scent of her perfume washed over him. He breathed in it deeply, committing it to memory. It was light, floral with a hint of sweetness to it. He wanted to thrust his face in the crook of her neck and breathe it in. 

 

“Good morning, Trent.” Her voice was smooth, low, and wrapped around his name as if she liked saying it. 

 

He certainly did. 

 

“Morning.” He took another hefty sip of his coffee to mask his grimace at his reply. 

 

Real smooth, Woodhall. 

 

Her gaze flickered back over him briefly. She tilted her head to the side with her lips still curved up in a smile. 

 

“You order yet?” she asked. 

 

He shook his head. The server hadn’t made it over to him yet. He wasn’t in any rush. She was bouncing between tables and getting orders delivered. 

 

“Your usual?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” He set his mug down.

 

She immediately poured more coffee into it, even though it didn’t really need it. He murmured his thanks. He tried to not stare too hard at her, but it was damn near impossible. 

 

“You’re early today.” Frankie leaned her hip against the table. 

 

Her dark hair swung behind her. A few strands escaped her tie. He wanted to reach up and brush them away from her face. Her big brown eyes stared at him. He swallowed hard. It was as if she could see into his soul. 

 

Not that he had much of one. 

 

The Army had certainly taken every ounce of it. He’d given his all to his country, and now that he wasn’t in uniform, he didn’t even know what was left of him. He was an outer shell of his former self, but then again, he’d entered the Army straight out of high school. 

 

He hadn’t known who he was then. 

 

“You are, too.”

 

That earned him a laugh. She reached out and touched the back of his hand. His heart skipped a beat at the softness of her fingertips. 

 

“Well, this place doesn’t run itself. Someone has to come in and boss everyone around,” she teased. 

 

She took her hand back, and he immediately missed the warmth of her touch.

 

His face heated at her laugh. Of course she’d been there at opening. She owned the damn place. He glanced around and took in the diner. He’d almost said he’d help. Almost said that he would come back after he’d finished over at the ranch. Almost said a lot of things. 

 

Instead, he watched her. 

 

For the first time in a long time, the idea of staying somewhere didn’t feel like a trap. 

 

It felt like a possibility. 

 

And that scared him shitless.