He opened the door to go inside just as a bus pulled in at the back. Ben hoped it was heading the way he needed to go. He looked around the old, worn room with its cracked linoleum floor and scuffed woodwork, feeling just as tired and worn out. At least the buses were running.
Ben stood in line at the window, waiting behind two other people with their luggage beside them.
“Excuse me,” a man said, jostling Ben. Ben turned, glancing over his shoulder at the man behind him.
It was Mugs, one of Dallas’s loyalists. His real name was Harold, but he had a face only a mother could love and had acquired his nickname long before Ben ever set eyes on him. The guy didn’t seem to recognize him, thank God. Before his luck could run out, Ben headed back toward the doors and out into the cold, wondering where in the hell he was going to go. His fight-or-flight reflexes had kicked in, and all he wanted to do was run as fast and as far as he could.
The cold and light hit him, and Ben blinked against the brightness. A few people passed him on their way inside as he desperately looked for an escape route.
There was a diner next door. He hurried inside, walking between the tables, thankful the place had a back door.
Suddenly another hand snagged his arm. “What’s going on?” Ashton asked.
Ben had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. “They’re here. I need help,” he said, breathing hard, already moving toward the back of the building with Ashton following him.
The bell over the front door jingled, and Ben turned as Mugs came inside.
Only it wasn’t Mugs. It never had been. Ben sighed and almost sagged into the nearest booth. “I’m okay. It wasn’t him.” Once again, his imagination had run away with him. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, looking into Ashton’s concerned eyes.
Without thinking, Ben threw his arms around Ashton, holding on so he didn’t crumple to the floor. It took a few seconds before he realized Ashton was holding him back. His cheeks heated in embarrassment as he got hold of himself and reluctantly pulled away.
“Come back to the table and tell me what happened,” Ashton said, and Ben got back to his feet and followed Ashton into the booth.
“I’m stupid, that’s all. I saw a guy here and at the bus station, and he reminded me of someone else—one of the people I think might have been sent after me. But it wasn’t him. Thank God.” Still, the fear had been very real, and his leg still bounced under the table from the adrenaline rush.
“Take a minute to pull yourself together,” Ashton told him patiently. “Do you want something to eat?” He motioned, and the server came over.
Ben ordered a hamburger, fries, and coffee, then thanked her.
“It wasn’t him, and I’m okay,” Ben said again, for his own benefit. He needed to get his head back in the game and return to the bus depot. But then he lifted his gaze to Ashton, and suddenly he doubted himself. Ashton drew him like a moth to a flame. Ben would be lying if he denied that. But his decision had implications for more than just himself.
“When I saw you fly out of there, I was scared for you,” Ashton said. “Tell me what’s going on and why you’re so damn scared. I can’t help you otherwise.” He waited, his intense gaze remaining on Ben. It was tinged with something almost unfamiliar to Ben: gentleness.
“I should just go back and….” Ben paused as the server set his coffee in front of him.
“I know you’re frightened. But running isn’t going to make the fear go away.”
Ben nodded. “You’re going to say that if I run, I’ll be looking over my shoulder forever.” He was well aware of the message he could see in Ashton’s eyes. “That may be so, but at least I’ll be safe, and so will you and everyone at the ranch.” He kept his voice low. God, he was so tired of being ruled by fear. He’d been terrified almost the entire time he’d been with Dallas—afraid of pain, or what Dallas would do to anyone he cared for. He had spent years mired in fear, and it had worn him damned near down to the bone.
“I was. But I was going to add that whatever it is that’s going on with you, you don’t have to face it alone. Fear can make you sharp, but it can also wear you down and debilitate you.” Ashton leaned over the table, brushing his hand lightly over Ben’s. “Aren’t you tired? Jumping out of your skin, watching everyone around you? You’re tensing every time the front door opens.”
Ben nodded. When the food arrived, he ate slowly and tried to give himself a chance to think. This was one of those decision moments that felt important. “Of course I am, but….” The arguments that bubbled up sounded hollow, and he swallowed them and returned to the food.
“Come back to the house and we’ll figure things out.” Just like that, Ashton offered him a symbolic hand.
Ben found himself nodding and immediately felt better. He had been as careful as he could when he’d left and had gone in the direction that Dallas was least likely to suspect. That didn’t mean that Dallas wasn’t looking for him. But it was a big country, and Ben had covered a lot of distance. It was too soon to begin to hope that he might have gotten away, but Ashton was offering his help, and as soon as Ben accepted it, some of his tension eased.
“Then finish eating, and we’ll return to the ranch.” Ashton’s smile went nearly to his eyes, and Ben found himself returning the expression. He wasn’t alone. And maybe this time, the help being offered was genuine, unlike Dallas’s. He got that, and a seed of trust was planted.
Ben finished his food, and Ashton drained the last of his coffee, then paid the bill. They didn’t talk much, which was a blessing. Then they returned to Ashton’s truck and headed back toward the ranch.
Ashton seemed to concentrate on driving, and Ben sat quietly, ruminating on what he was going to tell Ashton. In the end, he decided he would come clean and tell him everything. Ashton was willing to help him, so Ben owed him the truth. Then, if it was too much, Ben could still get out of town somehow and leave them all in peace.
They pulled into the driveway, and Ashton drove up close to the house. The area was plowed but quiet. Marcel and Lucy must have been working elsewhere. Ashton got out and walked slowly toward the porch, climbed the steps, and went inside. When Ben joined him, the dogs gathered around him as if he were their long-lost brother, squirming and jostling for attention.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” Ashton said. “Get your gear off and come into the kitchen. We need to talk.” There was an edge to his voice, but Ben figured he might as well get this over with. There was certain to be fallout, and he needed to know what it was going to be.
Ben hung up his coat and gear before joining Ashton at the scarred kitchen table. Ashton brought him a steaming mug and got one for himself. “Okay. Look….” Ben wasn’t sure where to start. “Dallas Remington.”
Ashton’s eyes widened. “Shit…,” he breathed. “You’re kidding? He’s one of the worst motherfucking crime lords in the country.” He immediately began messaging on his phone, holding up a finger for Ben to wait until he finished. “I think we’re going to need some extra help.”
Ben couldn’t argue with that assessment. “I wish I was kidding. I thought the guy in the station was Mugs, one of Dallas’s associates, sent to bring me back.”