“Those were your footsteps in the snow?” the stranger asked. Ben nodded, slowly turning to face him. “What were you doing to my horses?”
“Nothing.” He held on to one of the stall walls. “Just getting out of the cold.” Ben tried to remember the last time he had eaten or had anything to drink. “I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry for the intrusion.” He headed toward the door and pushed it open. It was time to get going anyway.
The light from the sun on the snow was nearly blinding, and the cold took hold of him immediately. He shivered and shook.
“It’s okay,” the rough voice said from behind him as Ben began to cough. “Marcel, Lucifer, I need your help.”
It took all of Ben’s will to stay upright as two men, one on either side, took hold of him. He struggled to get away but didn’t have the strength. It was happening again. “Please don’t hurt me.” He fought in mindless panic, but there was nothing he could do but stumble forward in the direction the men were taking him.
“No one is going to hurt you,” one of the cowboys said as they helped him into a truck. Ben flopped back on the seat and remained still as the others got in on either side of him. Heat blew out of the vents as they drove a short distance. The men helped him out of the truck and across a small open area into a single-story ranch house. When they walked through the door, Ben wondered if it led to hell. But he was too weak to care. Maybe Dallas had found him after all and this was the end.
Inside was a darker, warmer room, and they helped him lie down with cushions under him and blankets on top, placed there carefully and with soothing words. The man from the barn thanked someone. All Ben knew was that he wasn’t standing… and he was so tired. His eyes refused to stay open, but his heart still raced, and he was a jumble of anxiety. Where was he, and what was going to happen to him?
“Drink this, it’s warm tea. It will help,” the man said, helping him upright.
Ben did as he was told. The liquid felt good and hit his empty belly hard. He held it down and sipped again and again, his thirst taking over.
“Slow down. It’s going to be okay.” It was the same voice—the man who had snapped at him—but now he seemed gentle and caring.
It had been so long since anyone had cared for Ben. He began to cry, his shoulders shaking as a wave of desperation, loneliness, and helplessness washed over him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do any of this,” he whispered.
“Just drink some more.”
Ben did until there was no more, and then he lay back down, real warmth seeping into him. “Thank you,” he sighed. He kept his eyes closed because that seemed to make the room stop spinning.
“You’re welcome.” Footsteps combined with a gentle tapping on the wooden floor retreated and then returned. “Drink some more. I think the cold has dehydrated you, so you need to keep drinking. Then you can rest awhile.” He helped Ben with some more of the tea and then laid him back down. Ben pulled the blankets back over himself.
“Thank you,” he said again and opened his eyes.
The man leaned over the sofa, adjusting the blankets so they covered Ben’s feet, and then turned to him. The biggest, brightest blue eyes Ben had ever seen shone back at him from a face that had seen a lot of life and spent years out in the sun. “You’re very welcome. Now rest. I’ll make something to eat in a little while.” He stood and stepped away, leaning a little on a cane with his left hand. “Just relax. You’re safe here.” He left the room, and it grew quiet.
The idea that he wasn’t going to be hurt, or worse, settled into his mind, and Ben blinked and sighed with relief. Yeah, he knew he couldn’t stay here for very long, but some rest would be welcome, and the scent of whatever was cooking in the kitchen had his stomach rumbling. Not that he had the energy to get off this sofa right now. He closed his eyes and figured he would take things one step at a time for now.
After a while—was it an hour, or longer?—the man with the cane returned with a glass of water and helped him drink part of it. Then he set the glass on the table and left the room, only to return with a plate in his free hand. “Go ahead and sit up. Eat a little and you’ll start to feel even better.” He waited as Ben slowly propped himself against the cushions. Then the man set the plate on his lap and turned to leave once more.
The food was basic: scrambled eggs, a piece of toast cut in half, and a few sausage links. Ben took a bite of egg and then a second. It tasted really good. He drank some more, and then his appetite kicked in and he had to stop himself from shoveling the food into his mouth.
“No one is going to take the plate from you. Just relax and eat slowly. You don’t want it to come back up on you.” The man sat in a chair at an angle to the sofa with his own plate balanced on his lap. “I’m Ashton, Ashton Covert.”
“Ben Mal… voin, Malvoin.” He changed his last name to be safe. There was no way he wanted to leave a trail. It was best if Benjamin Malton simply disappeared forever. Besides, these people didn’t need to pay for their kindness with the kind of terror Dallas could unleash if he tracked Ben here. “Thank you for all of this.” He finished eating and set the plate on the table. Then he drank the rest of his water and lay back down, almost more tired now than he was when they’d brought him in.
“You rest, and we can talk later,” Ashton said. “Stay warm. If you want some, there’s tea in the kitchen. Water too, of course. Get what you need.” He continued eating, and Ben watched him, taking in his weathered features and the way Ashton lifted his gaze sometimes between bites. Ashton’s gaze seemed almost hard, like the weight of the world had settled in those eyes. Ben knew exactly how that felt.
By the time Ashton finished eating, Ben was struggling to keep his eyes open. As soon as Ashton left the room, he snuggled under the blankets and fell asleep.
BEN WOKE sometime later. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but the house was silent. No one moved. He slowly pushed back the blankets and sat up, clearing his head. He carefully stood and wandered into the kitchen, where he drank some water and found a plate of cookies on the counter with a note to have some if he liked. Homemade cookies. He looked around and marveled at how clean the room was, admiring the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling. That was high-end, expensive cookware for professionals.
The man who lived here was certainly not what Ben expected a rancher to be like. He lifted the plastic wrap and took a cookie, biting into it and moaning softly at the chocolaty, buttery decadence. Ben ate it and took another, then closed the wrap before drinking some more water.
He knew it would probably be best if he left, but he honestly had little idea where he was and no way of going anywhere if he did. His car was useless, probably buried until the spring, not that it was going to do him any good in the shape it was in.
A door opened and nails tapped on the floor. Suddenly Ben was surrounded by a phalanx of dogs jumping and jostling for attention. “If you pet them, they will be your friends for life,” Ashton said as he came into the room. “I can put them back out if they bother you.”
Ben shook his head and scratched behind ears and down backs, only to get mobbed even more by the motley group of mutts.