One, she was hanging on to something that was heavy. As she made her way across the yard, following a path of mismatched stones embedded in the earth, there was an almost imperceptible drag to each step. Like there was an invisible weight on each shoulder that threw off a normal, happy gait. She was thinking of something and that something was difficult, whatever it was. Her polite, welcoming smile, which was required as the owner of the bed-and-breakfast, even had a tightness about it.

Two, someone or something had hurt her. Not just physically—though Julian clocked the small but noticeable scar that broke the smoothness of her skin above the left cheekbone. In addition to the subtle, weighted steps she took toward him, there was a hesitation. So small, yet he was as sure as his own scars lining his body that it was there. It was like she wanted to meet him but at the same time wanted nothing more than for him to leave. Halfway between fight and flight. It intrigued and perturbed Julian all at once.

And that third thing he knew about the golden-haired stranger making her way toward him?

She was beautiful.

Long braids thrown over each shoulder shone in the Tennessee sun and complemented a complexion formed by a life out in the elements instead of tucked in front of electronic screens. Crystal-blue irises took him in as his gaze dropped to the freckles dusting her cheeks. Those freckles, he had no doubt, probably made several other appearances across the skin of her arms and legs as well, but for now were hidden beneath a long-sleeved dress and a pair of black tights. It was a modest outfit, yet Julian didn’t miss the pleasant curves beneath the clinging fabric. She wore flats but only had to tilt her head up a fraction to see into his eyes as she came to a stop in front of him.

“Well, you sure are punctual, aren’t you, Mr. Mercer?” She held out her hand.

He shook it. “Is that a problem?”

“Absolutely not.” Her polite smile stayed just as polite. “It’s just not that common around here. Most guests end up stopping along the road to take pictures. One time a couple showed up an hour late because they spotted a black bear hanging out in a tree.” She glanced down at her watch. It was one of those smart watches made for exercise. The time popped up on the screen as she moved her wrist slightly. “You said you were going to be here at eleven on the dot and here you are.”

“You can thank my military training for that,” he said with a wry smile. “I don’t think I could be late for something if I wanted to.”

She laughed. Julian made sure not to trace the scar against her cheek with his eyes again.

“Well, either way, I’m happy you made it.” She angled her body and spread her arms wide toward the house. “I’m Madeline Nash, and this is the Hidden Hills Inn.”

The bed-and-breakfast was aptly named. Near the heart of the very small town of Overlook, Tennessee, the road to the inn wound its way through fields, forests and hills. Mountains crested in the distance. No sound of cars or city life broke through them or the land they were boxing in. Julian had gone from big-city Tennessee to small-town Tennessee to this rural beauty. The inn was in the center of it all yet felt a world away from everything else.

Julian appreciated the quiet, just as he did the privacy.

“Let’s get you all signed in and then we can start the tour,” Madeline continued. He followed her up to the long covered porch. She paused before opening the front door. “I’m sorry but it wasn’t clear on the phone, are you expecting to meet someone here or are you traveling alone?”

“It’s just me. I’m alone.”

Madeline kept smiling. Customer service was in her wheelhouse and it showed. She kept to small talk without it ever feeling like small talk. After Julian signed in, she took him on a tour of the wide two-story house with all the best efforts of a seasoned host. From the common rooms to the private suites to the small bar that made up the surprisingly comfortable lounge at the back of the house, Madeline Nash made every space interesting and somehow intimate.

When the tour concluded at the bottom of one of the two sets of stairs the house offered, his golden-haired tour guide fixed him with a grin.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, already taking a step back. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call the number on the card in your room. Breakfast and dinner are served every morning and night at seven. There’s a list of activities and sights you might consider during your stay in a packet on your bed.”

Julian had a flash of impulsive bravado. He almost asked the innkeeper if she ever considered accompanying guests to those sights and activities when a car door slammed outside. They both turned to the entryway window. A man with dark hair and a cowboy hat started up the walkway.

Madeline didn’t say it out loud but she wasn’t happy to see him. Her already-tense body tightened. Yet her smile stayed where it was.

“Again,

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