He nodded, something thick and unfamiliar lodging in his throat. Cinder had always mirrored him—watchful, wary, economical with her energy and trust. But here she was, playing like a puppy in the sunshine, as if some fundamental law of the universe had shifted.
And maybe it had.
Because of Naomi.
Ghost swallowed hard against the emotion rising in his chest. He didn’t have words for what he felt watching his dog—his shadow, his silent companion through the darkest years of his life—discover something as simple and profound as joy.
“She likes you,” he said finally, the words inadequate for what he meant.
“Feeling’s mutual.” Naomi’s smile deepened as Cinder circled back to them, sniffing at her boots before racing off again. “I think she’s having an identity crisis. Poor thing doesn’t know whether to be a war dog or a pet.”
“She can be both,” Ghost said quietly.
Just like he could be both—the man with blood on his hands and the man who woke with Naomi in his arms. The ghost and Owen. Maybe he didn’t have to choose.
The thought terrified and liberated him in equal measure.
“How are your ribs?” he asked, changing the subject because the alternative was drowning in realizations he wasn’t equipped to process.
“Better.” She touched her side absently. “Still sore, but the doctor was right. Another week and I’ll be back to normal.”
Normal. As if anything about this situation—about them—could ever be normal again. He’d crossed too many lines, let her too close to ever go back to who he was before. The man who’d arrived at Valor Ridge wouldn’t recognize the man sitting on this horse right now, watching his dog chase butterflies and his woman wear his clothes.
His woman. The possessiveness of the thought should have alarmed him more than it did.
The decision crystallized in Ghost’s mind with sudden clarity. If he was going to do this—really do this, not just share her bed but share his life—she needed to know everything. Not just the sanitized version in his file, not just the hints and fragments he’d let slip, but the whole ugly truth.
Before they went any further.
Before she gave him any more of herself.
She deserved to know exactly who she was falling for, what kind of darkness lived inside him.
And if she walked away afterward... well, at least it would be an informed choice.
thirty-four
“Want to go for a ride?”he asked, the words coming out more abruptly than he’d intended.
Surprise flickered across Naomi’s face, followed by cautious interest. “Now?”
“Unless your ribs are bothering you too much.” He kept his tone neutral, giving her room to decline without feeling challenged.
“No, they’re okay.” She glanced down at her clothes—his shirt over her tank top, jeans, boots that would work fine for riding. “I’m not exactly dressed for it, but I’d like that.”
Ghost dismounted in one fluid movement, keeping a firm grip on Coyote’s reins. The stallion stamped restlessly, impatient with standing still. “Not on him,” he clarified. “He’s not great with new riders. I’ve got someone better suited for you.”
He led Coyote back to the small corral where Lazy Susan was dozing in a patch of sunshine, her golden coat gleaming. The buckskin mare didn’t even lift her head when they approached, though one ear swiveled lazily in their direction.
“This is Lazy Susan,” Ghost said, transferring Coyote to the hitching post. “She’s Walker’s initiation mare.”
Naomi moved to the fence, studying the mare with obvious amusement. “Initiation mare?”
Ghost’s mouth quirked. “She humbles newcomers. Tests their patience.” He unsaddled Coyote with practiced efficiency, his hands moving through the familiar motions while his mind raced ahead. Where would he take her? What would he say? How much detail did she need to understand what kind of man he’d been?
“She doesn’t look very intimidating,” Naomi observed as he set Coyote’s saddle aside.
“That’s her superpower.” He retrieved Lazy Susan’s saddle and bridle from the tack room, then approached the mare, who finally lifted her head with a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t realize you’re being played until it’s too late.”
