She shrugged him away, but he didn’t stop, wrapping her in his arms. She fought against him, slapping at his chest, beating her fists into his shoulders, before finally slumping into him, letting him hold her, the fight within her slipping away. “You’re wrong, Jack. The way I feel about you has most definitely changed.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have told you, I should have been honest, but Cate, you need to hear this. He saved the lives of our friends, we both hauled them so far to get them out of harm’s way, and your Charlie, he didn’t even know the bullet was coming. He was gone before he could have felt anything, and I need you to know that.” He sobbed. “Please, this doesn’t have to change anything.”

She clung on to him, needing to be held in that moment, but knowing at the same time that she needed to leave. “It does,” she cried. “It does change everything, Jack. Because you lied to me, and you had a connection to my past that you kept hidden.” You knew Charlie—how could you have known him and never, ever said? It only made her feel more guilty about moving on, following her heart instead of her head. Her only relief was to hear he’d died a fast death.

“Cate, please,” he whispered, his thumb gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Leave me, Jack,” she said, finding the courage to move away from him. “We have a big week ahead of us and I just want to be alone.”

He stood, hands hanging at his sides, his eyes filled with tears. And she knew, for as long as she lived, she’d never forget the forlorn way he stared at her as she backed away and then ran to her room.

Cate shut the door and curled up on the bed, her knees touching her chin as she cried like she’d never cried before. She loved Jack, she’d fallen so hard and fast for him, but like her mama always said, a man will say anything to get close to a girl.

They’re like peacocks, strutting around, doing anything to attract a female and lure her in.

Charlie hadn’t been like that. Charlie had been kind and sweet. She’d known him her entire life.

But he never made me feel like Jack does.

She wept into the bedcovers as she remembered the day her father had passed, as she fought against the wave of memories: all the times she’d vowed not to be fooled or hurt by a man.

“He’s dead, Ma,” her brother said, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stood in the doorway. “Killed himself with his own gun.”