Then she talked about the recent times—the wrenching loss of both brothers. Her father’s accident, the poverty and shortages, the threat of eviction, listening to her parents’ tormented whispers in the night as they wondered what would become of them. She spoke of the night Jean-Luc had been taken away, and her desperation to help him.

“Didier came to the rescue,” she said. “That is what I thought. He convinced the authorities to spare Jean-Luc.” She was surprised to feel the tears on her own cheeks. She had worked so hard to numb herself to emotion that she’d nearly forgotten what true sentiment felt like.

He grew restless, thrashing so hard that he overturned the carbine that was always by his side. She couldn’t understand his vague mutterings, but she stayed beside him, trying to hold him still. After what felt like an eternity, his thrashing stopped.

Now his stillness disturbed her. She lowered her cheek to his nose and mouth to make sure he was breathing. As she did, she noticed something—his skin was cool, and damp with sweat.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered. “Your fever’s broken.”

He shivered, and she covered him up, gently patting his shoulder. He groaned and opened his eyes to slits, looking around the cave-like interior of the borie. She shifted her position so he could see her.

“Lisette,” he said, his voice rough and quiet.

She smiled, liking the sound of her name on his lips. “Welcome back.”

“That shot of penicillin did the trick, then.”

“It was no trick.”

He smiled briefly. “It’s a turn of phrase. I mean, the medicine worked.”

“Oh. Yes.” She gave him water and something to eat. His gaze darted around the hut. “What is this place?”

“We’re a kilometer away from the farm, and even farther from the village. There’s a stream nearby and a forest. The vineyard has been abandoned, and no one comes here. Since the fighting started, there hasn’t been anyone to work the vines, so they’ve gone wild.”

“I need to get out of here,” he said. “Find my stick—my team.”

“It must be frightening to be here all alone.”

He gazed at her steadily. “When you’re here, I don’t feel alone at all.” His eyes were the richest color of brown. And despite the dirt and beard stubble, it was the best face she’d ever seen.

In the midst of war and mayhem, Lisette discovered something beautiful. She could tell no one, and could scarcely describe it to herself, but it was a feeling she had yearned for all her life. She was utterly seduced by Hank Watkins—his engaging smile, his ink-black hair, and dark brown eyes.

He was everything Didier was not. He was warm sincerity where Didier was cold, gentle where Didier was cruel, sweet where Didier was bitter. There was nothing she couldn’t tell Hank. Nothing she couldn’t trust him with. And that was extraordinary, because although he was a complete stranger, a foreigner, someone whose life had unfolded a million miles from hers, he knew her. And she knew him.