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I nodded and when he turned I used the rough fabric as a shield and removed my shoes, socks, saturated jeans, and T-shirt My bra and underere damp too, but I only removed my bra My cotton underas a small piece of fabric It would dry quickly with the heat of the fire

When I turned around with the tarp held aroundthe fire, his phone back on theas I’d been re my clothes

“Yeah He said reed it was too risky to ride home And apparently the dirt road that leads here froo, but it’s washed out They agreed since ere safe and warm”

I nodded I could i in angerhis old, fiery self “You should get out of your wet clothes too, Brant Is there another tarp in there?”

“Yeah I will in a minute”

I pulled what looked like an old trunk of sodry and warm Safe

“Who’d you lose, Belle?” His voice was soft, his tone soleravity his question posed

The question echoed insideI opened h he was now looking at ht of the room Shadows danced and retreated on the walls, as if they were trapped souls waiting to be set free “My daughter,” I answered, the word slipping from my lips

Brant continued stoking the fla I felt sort of hypnotized by the twisting, turning light and the war terrified, lifeless eyes against pallid skin Then there was this weird calm, as if I feltsafe With Brant “Will you tell me?” he asked, his voice throaty

I was quiet for a el hair, eyes as pale blue as a springtihtly around ers clasped atdown to dinner when he” I paused, waiting for the terror, themoment, to steal my words But it didn’t I continued to watch the flaely lulled I needed to talk about this, didn’t I? Isn’t that what the grief counselor had told me? I hadn’t been able tothen The horses had helped The horses had been my lifeline when the words were locked inside Or maybemaybe there just hadn’t been words Until now

“He kicked in the kitchen door It hadn’t even been locked, truth be told Buthe kicked it in He led us to the basement He tied our hands My husband, irl She was only four years old” Grief clogged h it

“I couldn’t reach for her I couldn’t” I clenched my eyes closed, but there were no tears Soht when I’d cried for Mona Lisa’s lost baby My lost baby I knew that I knew I’d made it about me I wasn’t blind—and yet the need to reunite the to ignore An overwheled God for and never received Provide a baby coiven I opened“Two” Bang “Three” Bang “Three merciless, inhumane shots Inexplicable cruelty I was the only one whosurvived”

“Belle” Brant rasped, setting the poker down andtowardinto his chest, willingly taking the comfort he offered

CHAPTER TEN

Brant