His pulse jumped, just thinking about it. He’d never had an innocent. She made him ache. It was uncomfortable.

“Was there anything else?” she asked tersely.

He moved to the table and leaned his hip against it while he watched her hands work. His own hands were deep in the pockets of his jeans, to keep them honest. Her face was averted, but he could see the pain in it. Would a mercenary woman really look like that?

“I don’t trust women,” he said bluntly. “I don’t like them much, either.”

She glanced at him, surprised at the honesty. She swallowed. “I don’t like men much,” she replied. She grimaced. “There’s all this hoopla about how women can do anything. But when Henry took that belt to me, all I could think about was how big he was. I was afraid to fight him, because he was drunk and I thought it would just make him use the belt even harder.”

“There are a lot of things women can do,” he said quietly. “But some they can’t. Basically, a woman can’t match a man’s upper body strength. That puts her at a disadvantage if things get physical. Well, if she hasn’t had training in martial arts or hand-to-hand combat,” he amended.

“I would have liked a few lessons in martial arts,” she said. “But I never had the money. All I had coming in was what I made as a waitress, and my mother got that.”

He scowled. “Why didn’t you run away?”

She turned and looked up at him. “Where would I have gone?” she asked solemnly. “Mama convinced people around here that I was a liar. Nobody would have believed me about Henry.”

“Bart would have.”

She smiled sadly. “Henry was dangerous when he drank, and he kept a loaded pistol in the house. I wasn’t willing to risk Bart’s life, even to save myself.”

He drew in a long breath. She seemed genuine. It would have been hard to make up so many lies about her past.

“I was never around drunks,” he said. “Well, not until I went overseas.” He sighed. “A lot of men drink after they’ve had a taste of combat.”

“Including you?” she asked, as if she knew.

He averted his eyes. “For a time,” he confessed. “I had a pal that I went all the way through basic training with. He was a great kid. Grew up in Dade County, Florida, and his dad was a detective there.” His face tautened. “We’d just been deployed in Iraq. It was our first day there. A sniper took him out. He was standing next to me one minute and dead the next, with part of his head missing. I’d never seen anybody killed before,” he added very quietly.

She was listening. Just listening. Her dark eyes were steady on his face, soft with sympathy.

“There was a lot more than that, too, wasn’t there?” she asked.

His teeth ground together. “A lot more.”

“My father was in the military, in combat,” she said, turning her attention back to the flour. “I heard him talk about it to my mother, just once. He said it was like being sentenced to hell.”