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Jenna Barclay proved too stubborn or stupid to take hold of the lifeline he offered, he’d be discharged from that promise. Now he saw her as the kind of woman who’d grasp any possibility of survival, just like she swallowed those overcooked noodles along with her pride.
    â€œI never knew my folks and grew up in foster care,” he said, his throat tight. “A lot of being smacked around but not a lot of supervision. I knocked off my first convenience store when I was fourteen.”
    Jenna gazed at him steadily. He found no accusation or pity on her face. Just enough curiosity to suggest she was paying attention.
    â€œNot much of a future, starting out that way,” she said.
    â€œNo future outside of the penal system, no. But Mitch got me out of it. Broke the cycle.”
    â€œNever took him for the big-brother type.”
    Mason shoved away his empty plate. “Me and two buddies held up a liquor store. Hadn’t been to school in years. The dude behind the counter opened fire. I caught one in the leg.” He resisted the urge to rub his upper thigh, the place that ached whenever he thought of his youth. Stupid kid. “But instead of waiting for the cops, I took off for the woods.”
    â€œWhere Mitch and his pals used to make camp.” Jenna rubbed the back of her neck, like she was tired or sore, and Mason caught sight of her reddened wrists. He felt a twinge of regret. “Don’t tell me you fell in with those crazies.”
    â€œI did.”
    She snorted. “Hardly better than a cult.”
    â€œThey had order and honor at least. Mitch took care of my leg and taught me survival skills. I was young. I’d never known anything like it. His people knew all about old-timey shit, making soap and herbal medicines. It was pretty weird. I thought most of them were crazy. At first.”
    Jenna sipped from her water glass and looked down at her own empty plate, practically licked clean. She shrugged. “Guess I was hungry after all.”
    â€œSeems so.”
    â€œHow long ago was this?”
    â€œFifteen years now.”
    â€œI was in junior high,” she said, her expression souring. “There I was, pulling good grades and captain of the volleyball team while he was trouncing around the woods with some delinquent. I mean, seriously, can you respect a man like that?”
    â€œYeah. But my perspective was different.”
    â€œI’ll say.”
    â€œHe talked about you all the time,” Mason said. “How proud he was of you.”
    â€œBullshit.”
    â€œNo bull. He had an envelope full of letters about you. I guess your mom sent them.” He stood and rounded the table, daring to put his hands on her shoulders.
    She flinched. “Don’t touch me.”
    But he didn’t let go. The tension he found there begged for some release. He began with his thumbs on the back of her neck, hoping to ease the ache she’d unconsciously revealed.
    â€œLook, Jenna, he didn’t think he had anything to offer you. I was just somebody the world threw away, and he tried to make use of me. But he didn’t want this life for you—until there was no choice.”
    â€œBullshit,” she said again, with less conviction.
    Did she notice how she’d leaned into his touch? Mason did. That small measure of trust returned him to thoughts of sex. Damn, but he was in a bad way. Being cooped up with her for the foreseeable future wouldn’t help.
    He leaned over, his lips near her ear. “No bullshit, Jenna. The times he was around you and your mom, what did he do?”
    â€œDrink. And fidget. He always wanted to be out there.” She gestured toward the window and trees that lay beyond. “Preparing. Preaching. Whatever. After a while she told him not to come around anymore. I was ... relieved.”
    Sliding onto the bench, Mason took her hands. “I never saw him take a drink. Not ever. And he was calm in the