Page 79 of Four Promises to Love

“Who?”

“Johnson.” His chest surged. “He was the same age as me, the son of a Norfolk farmer. We used to tease him—Carrots, we called him, on account of his hair. He was a mild lad, never complained or got into fights. But that day, he’d taken a bullet to the leg, and he was lying there, screaming as blood poured out of him. He was shaking and white; he couldn’t walk, could barely move, and…and he begged me to end the pain.”

“Blooming hell.” She swallowed. “Did you…?”

“I couldn’t.” Owen stared out over the water. “Even though I had a bullet left in my pistol and knew he was in agony, I couldn’t make myself do it. Instead, I lied. I told him I would get him to safety and tried to drag him out of that hellhole. We didn’t make it far.”

Feeling him tremble, she wrapped her arms around him.

“There were three of them,” he whispered. “Two held me back, and the third pulled out a dagger—I remember the way it glinted in the sun. Johnson was whimpering, begging. The man cut him open, this gentle farmer’s son from Norfolk, and there was nothing I could do but watch. I thought I would be next, and I wanted to be. I wanted oblivion. Instead, they took me hostage…dragging me away and leaving Johnson there to rot.”

Finn felt moisture trickle down her cheeks as he sobbed. She held him, saying nothing because there was nothing to say. Night settled over the woods, and they sat beneath the glowing moon and spread of stars.

“It won’t leave me.” Owen’s voice was quiet. “The war, those years in captivity. When I first came home, I thought I could put it behind me. When that didn’t happen, I tried to distract myself. Alcohol, gambling…debauchery. Nothing worked. In fact, my carousing only made things worse.”

She thought about it. “You seem better now.”

“How can you say that?” His expression was grim. “After my episode tonight, I wouldn’t blame you if you ran for the hills.”

“Your episode, as you call it, consisted of a few tears and shared confidences. That is hardly cause for concern.”

“You don’t understand. My past lives in me like…like a monster ready to pounce. I have hurt people in my life, and I don’t want to—I won’t—hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t let you.” She said it with the bittersweet knowledge of who was likely to hurt whom. “More to the point, the past makes us who we are, and we must learn to live with it. And I think you are healing and making the best of things.”

“Am I? That is news to me.”

She thought the return of his wry humor was a good sign.

“Isn’t this your philosophy when it comes to landscape design? You heal neglected gardens and bring out the best in them. And you do this without changing their essential character,” she said earnestly. “I think that is why people respond to your work. You see beauty in imperfection and rarity in the mundane. You don’t fight against nature but work with it. Can you not apply these same principles to yourself?”

He stared at her with eyes the color of moonlight.

When he said nothing, she prodded, “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking,” he said slowly, “that I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“Falling in love with you isn’t a possibility for me—it’s a fact.”

Her breath jammed; her heart stumbled against her ribs with panicked delight.

“You’re right—about everything, and the gardening especially. Working has helped to heal me. But you missed something important.”

“What did I miss?” she whispered.

“You,” he said solemnly. “Since you came into my life and turned things topsy-turvy, I’ve felt right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t mind being me because I get to be here with you.”

She felt a wrenching in her chest. A pain that was also an impossible joy.

“Owen, I’m not good⁠—”

“You are everything I want, Finn. And I want you to know: I am falling in love with you.”

The emotion in his eyes was a gift. The finest she’d ever been given.

One I don’t deserve.