“No,” he said. “Not always. I asked Lula and she told me his behavior in the tavern tonight was unusual. What did he want?”

“Stop,” I said. “I’m not telling you anything else until you tell me something, Wyatt.”

“Carly…”

“You promised me,” I said, leaning in closer and lowering my voice. Sound carried out here. “You told me we’d bring them down. I want that. I need it. Now, are you going to tell me or not?”

A war waged in his eyes, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was trying to decide whether to start sharing or if he was preparing himself for a fight. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” I repeated. Was I being unreasonable? I was asking him to share his most intimate secrets. It had taken me two months to share my whole story with my friends from Arkansas. But my connection with Wyatt was deeper and more intimate. If he told the wrong person the things he knew about my past, I’d be murdered, and yet he refused to take me into his confidence.

Be smart, Carly. Don’t let another man screw you over.

I stared up at his emotionless face and took a step back, raising my hands in surrender. “You know what? I’ve had enough. I’m not doing this anymore. Until you’re willing to be more open with me, we’re done.”

His eyes flew wide. “Carly!”

He reached for me and I took another step back, needing distance from him so I could stand firm.

“You know how hard it is for me to trust, especially after Jake.” My voice broke, and I couldn’t stop my tears. “He was my best friend for my entire life, and he betrayed me, Wyatt. Betrayed and destroyed me.”

He shook his head, looking shell-shocked. “No. Not destroyed.”

I released a bitter laugh. “Okay, he was saving that part until after he got a wedding ring on my finger.”

“Carly…”

“Give me something, Wyatt. Give me a reason other than the bogus excuse that you’re trying to protect me.” When he didn’t respond, I gasped from the burst of pain in my chest. “You don’t trust me,” I said, giving voice to the doubt that had been simmering below the surface for the past two weeks.

“Carly, it’s just that—”

I wasn’t sure what else he would have said because I walked past him into the house and shut the door, locking it before he tried to follow me inside.

“Carly!” he shouted through the door. “Please let me explain.”

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. No. I was done letting people screw me over.

“Carly!” he shouted again, banging on the door. He had a key, so he could open it at any time. Apparently he was respecting my boundaries, which softened my resolve. Some.

Hank appeared in the hall, one crutch under his armpit and his rifle in the other hand. He wore a white T-shirt and a pair of blue pajama pants with the right pant leg cut off below his knee. His gray hair was smooshed on one side, and it hit me that I should take him to get a haircut when we were in Greeneville.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” he grumped. “Who’s out there?”

“Wyatt,” I said, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry we woke you.”

“Why’s he outside bangin’ on the door?”

“I refused to talk to him and told him to leave.”

Hank gave a sharp nod, then hobbled toward the door faster than one would have thought possible for a one-legged man. He jerked it open, and the relief on Wyatt’s face quickly turned to confusion.

“She don’t wanna talk to you.”

“Hank, if she would just—”

“It’s damn near one in the morning,” Hank snapped. “She don’t wanna talk to you, Drummond, so go home.”

But the ground beyond Wyatt was covered in snow, and I knew those roads were slippery. Even now, I didn’t like the thought of him driving on them.

“If he doesn’t want to drive in the snow, he can sleep on the sofa,” I said in a firm voice. “But I’m goin’ to bed.”

I didn’t wait to hear his answer, instead heading to my room. Closing the door, I sat on the edge of the bed and started to cry, but it pissed me off. I’d started to let him into my heart after all, something I shouldn’t have done so easily.

How could I have been so stupid again?

I heard Wyatt’s truck roar to life, the sound fading as he drove away. Seconds later, a soft knock rapped on the door, and Hank said, “He’s gone.”

“Thank you,” I said, hating that I’d let Hank be the one to run him off. Grateful that he’d taken my side without knowing any of the details.

“You okay, girl?” he asked in a softer tone than I was used to from him.

“No,” I said, a sob rising in my throat. “But I will be.”

“Do I need to go kick Wyatt Drummond’s ass?”

A laugh bubbled up, and I stood and opened the door. Hank was standing there with one crutch and no shotgun. “No,” I said with a watery smile. “I can handle him on my own.”

“I know you can, girl,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “But just because you can doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. Say the word, and I’ll step in and have a go at him. You’re my family now.”

To my horror, I started crying again. How had I been lucky enough to find him?

I expected Hank to turn and run, but kindness filled his eyes. “Wyatt Drummond is a stubborn man who grew up with the belief that women should be protected. I learned different from my Mary, but his momma lives in his daddy’s shadow.”

Which meant Hank had heard a lot of our conversation, not that I was surprised. The walls and doors in this house were thin.

“Even after everything we went through together with Carson Purdy?” I asked in disbelief as I sat down on the bed. But my mind wandered back to Wyatt’s explanation for why he hadn’t jumped into my spat with Bingham. I knew Hank was reading this wrong. Wyatt wasn’t old-fashioned. He just didn’t trust me. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wyatt may be stubborn, but he’s a good man, Carly,” he said, hobbling back to the doorway.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “What makes a good man?”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t know,” Hank scoffed. “I definitely ain’t one.”

I thought about Lula’s reaction to the news that I was staying with Hank. Had he been something like Bingham back in the day? He hadn’t hesitated to shoot the intruder who’d attacked me—one of Seth’s killers—but that had been self-defense. I had trouble seeing him hurting anyone for any other reason.

“Whatever you were like in the past, you’re a good man now,” I said, looking up at him.

“Nah. You just see what you want to see,” he said with a sigh. “I done plenty bad. So has Wyatt. And I suspect so have you. But the levels of bad are different for all of us. Mine just happen to be worse than the lot of you.”

I wondered what he meant by that, but part of me didn’t want to know. I’d meant it—the Hank I knew was a good man.

“Wyatt knows about my past. I shared it all with him, but he refuses to tell me anything substantial about his,” I said, realizing I was opening a can of worms. Hank still didn’t know about my former life. I’d tried to tell him once, but he’d cut me off, insisting that I keep my secrets—it didn’t matter where I came from, it only mattered that I was here now.