It was weird to walk by the barn and catch his truck parked out front. It wasn't the same truck he used to drive – that old thing was better off as parts or in a junkyard somewhere – but it was still his truck.

Dale came to visit in the early hours of the afternoon to help me with a few chores, after which we went for a ride on horseback to check on the cattle. John was in town by then to get his things and check out of the Days Inn, so I didn't have to explain the extra vehicle parked in the driveway or the fact that I was finally renting out the loft again after protesting for so many years.

I already knew all too well he'd make fun of me.

I brought out iced tea for me and a beer for him and we sat on the porch for a while after all was said and done. The sun blazed overhead and the heat was damn near insufferable, so sitting in the shade with a cool drink was a huge relief.

"Are you goin' to Buck's tonight?" Dale asked, speaking of the tavern in town that was always crowded with people come nightfall.

"No, I think I'll pass... I started readin' this book today and I'm hooked," I told him, which technically wasn't a lie. It wasn't the real reason behind why I didn't want to go to Buck's, but it would have to do for the time being.

After Dale left half an hour later I went inside to start on dinner: chicken, potatoes and steamed vegetables. I didn't defrost nearly enough chicken for two people, figuring I'd be eating alone again, so I made extra vegetables instead.

Dinner that evening was about the same as it would have been if I'd been eating alone. John didn't speak as he ate and I didn't know how to break the silence, so we listened to the voices of journalists and news anchors on TV and the sound of our clinking silverware.

"Did you do everythin' you wanted to do in town today?" I asked.

"Yeah, just about," John replied.

There was more of the same awkward silence; I glanced down and finished my plate.

"Thank you for dinner, it was really good," John said finally, the first to stand.

"Yeah," I smiled. "It's not like my mama used to make but one day I'll get there," I smiled and began to collect the dishes. "You don't have to do that," I added when I saw John do the same with his.

"I'm helpin', your mama never let me and I always felt bad," John told me.

"Yes sir," I smiled, rolling my eyes.

He reached the kitchen sink first and set down his plate and utensils, reaching for mine and taking those too. I wasn't going to let him to the bulk of the work, so I insisted on doing the rinsing and he stacked the dishwasher. When it came to washing the pots and pans I let him do the drying.

"Do you want a beer?" I asked him.

"Oh uh... nah, I'm good... Can't drink with the pain meds I'm on," John told me.

I nodded, the conversation falling flat again.

Finally, the sky an inky blue now, John retreated to the loft and I told him I'd be up in a little while. I started getting towels and bed sheets ready for him, putting everything in a white laundry basket for easy transportation. As an afterthought I added some toilet paper, two wash cloths and a Tupperware container with some homemade cookies. I slipped a spare key to the main house in my pocket to give to him.

The hole in the ceiling leading up to the loft was open when I came around so I climbed the rickety steps one a time, wobbling slightly with the load I was carrying.

I popped my head through the hole and dropped the laundry basket on the old wooden floorboards, a relieved huff escaping my lips.

"Hey John I have some–" I started to speak but trailed off when I didn't see his tall frame anywhere. I began making my way further into the room and raised my fist towards the bathroom door, which already stood ajar. I was about to knock when he pulled it open and almost slammed into me.

"Shit, Carly," he hissed, taking a startled step back.

"Sorry, sorry! I was about to knock... I uh..." My brain was suddenly like mush. I looked up at him. The scruff on his face was gone; it made him look younger, softer. The scar on his cheek stood out a little less. My eyes automatically trailed down his to his bare chest, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, which was tanned and tight over hard muscles.

The bandages on his left side had been removed, revealing the extent of the damage. Most of his arm and shoulder were covered in red blisters. It didn't look as bad as I'd imagined.

My eyes darted to his stomach again, and to the thick black hair that peaked through the waistband of his gray sweatpants, which were riding low on his narrow hips.

"Eyes up here," John told me with what I could've sworn was a devilish smirk, but before I could be absolutely sure of the expression on his face he'd already moved on, brushing past me.

"Sorry," I laughed awkwardly, heat blazing across my cheeks as I watched him make his way across the room. His back to me, I allowed myself to relax a little. I needed to get a grip. He was just a man...

Yeah, okay, so maybe he looked like the male protagonist in a Nora Roberts novel, but... still, that shouldn't excuse my idiotic behavior and my wandering eyes.

I needed to stop acting like a hormonal teenage girl.

"I got you some things," I told him, gesturing to the laundry basket on the floor. "I made the cookies yesterday so they'll be good for a while... unless you're like me... I eat 'em all before they have a time to cool down, let alone go bad," I laughed nervously.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," John glanced at me and smiled.

I stood there watching him like an idiot for a moment, wondering if I should just leave. He was digging through the open suitcase on the bed and grabbed a large zip-lock bag filled with a bottle of antibiotic ointment and fresh bandages. He grabbed the ointment first and started dabbing at his wounds. I saw his reflection in the mirror wince as his fingers made contact with the burnt skin.

I took it as my cue to leave and started making my way across the room to the hole in the floor but one more glance at him made me pause. He was obviously having a hard time.

"Here," I said purely on instinct, making my way over to him and touching his uninjured arm, silently asking him for the cream. "Let me do it," I told him.

He hesitated.

"Don't be such a wuss, I'll be careful," I told him, smiling a little as he finally let me take the ointment from him. "Sit down on the bed, you're massive," I told him.

"Maybe you're the one that's too short," he commented with a smile, but obeyed me nonetheless.

I climbed on the bed and knelt behind him, pressing three fingers into the ointment and carefully dabbed at the wounds on his shoulder and part of his back. His face, turned slightly towards me, remained expressionless, but I could tell he was fighting the pain. His muscles were tight underneath my fingers and he didn't exhale once.

"Am I doing this okay?" I asked him nervously.

"Mmhm," he murmured.

I was silent for a moment, deciding whether or not to ask what I wanted to ask, or if he'd even want to answer.

"Can I ask what happened?" I wondered softly, feeling strangely like I was tiptoeing on eggshells that were already cracked.

"There was an attack near our camp," he said after a drawn out silence, his voice strained, his eyes closed. I continued to dab at the burns on his skin, watching him, waiting for him to speak again. When he opened his eyes again there was something indescribable written in his dark gaze. "Suicide bomb... killed two of my friends," he murmured.

I didn't what to say; how do you respond to something like that? Sorry just didn't feel good enough. Instead of saying anything, I took a page from his book and kept my mouth shut. I took a bandage from the plastic bag and motioned for him to turn around so that he was facing me, his face inches from mine.

"This feels weird," John commented when I pressed a second bandage to his skin.

"Sorry, did I do it wrong?" I asked, worry on my face as I looked up at him.

"No, no, don't worry, you're doin' fine... I mean you..." he trailed off, looking around the room. "You were just a kid the last time I saw you," he chuckled.

"And now I'm not," I replied simply.

"No you're definitely not," he drawled, and there was something about the way he looked at me just then that made my heart flutter.

"I think you're good," I told him after helping him with a few more bandages. I stood from his bed and wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly very aware of just how small the loft was and how little space there was separating us.

"Yeah," he answered, inspecting my handy-work in the mirror.

"Well then, I better go... Let you get some sleep... You'll need to be up early tomorrow... I heard your new boss is a bit of a tyrant," I smiled awkwardly.

"I'm sure she's not that bad," John chuckled.

"I suppose you'll just have to wait and find out," I shrugged, making my way back to the hole in the floor. "Good night, John," I smiled at him.

"Good night," he replied.