“I can tell. Not just a biker with tats. You got some brawn, you and your friends.”

“Oh, we train together, but yeah, I’ve earned my stripes.”

“You serve?” she asks. Picking up the mess. Dropping the gauze and cotton and the bloody pant leg in the waste can. Putting medical supplies back into drawers and cabinets.

“Yeah. Iraq. What gave it away?”

“Your bearing. Manners. Respect for what you talk about. Not negative.”

“I was a mechanic. Helicopters. Still saw my share of shit. Kids mainly. Killed daily. Born into war, they never had a chance other than us soldiers and liberation.”

“And you’d let them down during the first Iraq invasion.”

“I didn’t have a say during the first invasion. Wasn’t a soldier then.”

“I didn’t mean you personally.”

“I know. I just hated leaving people, the kids especially. You never get used to that rumble and gunfire day after day. Gave me an appreciation for what we have in America. People here don’t know how good they got it.”

“Hard to believe that people could fight so hard to take away your freedom.”

“Sometimes, I think we’re too free.”

Tara makes a wry smile. “Yeah, like building walls around what a person can or can’t say. Just because we don’t agree doesn’t mean we’re wrong.”

“Where else can you work and eat and read and do as you wish? You speak out in some countries, and it’s the last anyone will hear from you. People don’t realize how sacred their freedom of speech is.”

“I agree. Not to change the subject, but you got a change of clothes, I’m assuming?”

Standing up, Hunter says, “Yeah.”

“The bunkhouse is at the end, on the right. Showers. Amenities. You should try to get some sleep.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have a look at that bike before I hit the hay.”

Walking out into the shop area, Hunter fishes out his cell phone. He hasn’t turned it on since they started traveling. Hasn’t checked in with Olivia. He squats down and looks over the bike. Blown tire and a bent rim. Scuffs and deep scratches—that will set him back even more than a new tire and a rim.

His phone vibrates as it comes to life. Looking at it, he sees ten missed calls. Three from Olivia and seven from his uncle. Shit.

Stepping out of the barn, getting some bars, he phones his uncle.

“Dave?”

“Hunter? When you gonna get out here?”

“Soon. Had a bike wreck, but I’m in Colorado.”

“Sorry to hear that, but we really need you out here. Lawyer’s wanting to get this wrapped up—too bad you can’t do it over the phone.”

“Let me straighten this bike situation up in the morning, and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Hope to see you soon.”

He hangs up.