“Why haven’t you ever been married?”

He rubs his hand over his face. “Maybe you should go to journalism school. You sure know how to ask the unanswerable question.”

“Why unanswerable?”

He chuckles, a sound so foreign, I’m a little taken aback. But I love it, yearning to make him laugh some more. “For me, it’s a mixture of never finding the right woman and never being the right man. How about for you?”

“More or less the same. Along with a healthy dose of not wanting to settle down.”

“I understand what you mean.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to settle down? Ever?”

He shifts, leaning back against the pillows a little more. “It would take something exceptional to make me want to settle down.”

“Something exceptional … so basically, non-existent, then.”

“I said exceptional, not impossible,” he corrects. “It would take knowing to the depths of my soul that I could make the other person truly, one hundred percent happy until my dying day.”

“You don’t take this stuff lightly,” I murmur.

“No, I don’t. Maybe that’s also part of the reason I’m still single. But what about you? What would make you ditch the 4Runner home and set up camp in one spot?”

“The right mountain man.”

“I’m okay with that answer,” he replies, tenderness and lust swirling beneath the surface of his guarded eyes.

“Tell me about your childhood. Why you don’t trust people.”

He frowns, deepening the creases in his forehead.

“Was that a bad question?” I ask quickly, kicking myself.

“No.” His voice is far off and his face hard. Despite his answer, I don’t believe him.Is this where the honesty ends?

As if reading my mind, he answers, “Honesty means there are no bad questions, just difficult ones.”

With an inhale more like a gulp, he murmurs gruffly, “I was an only child. Thank God. Because my father was a drunk and drug addict, and my mother was the perfect enabler. Always there to supply his habits, bail him out, and come up with excuses for our bruises, abrasions, and broken bones. By ours, I mean Mom’s and mine.”

His voice strains as he stares absentmindedly at one of the fake fur blankets next to him, fingering it. His frown deepens in thought. The fire crackles, luminescent and hypnotic, to the left of me.

“I always knew he’d kill my mom. Thought he’d end up in prison for life. Hoped he wouldn’t kill me, too, because I was prepared to defend her to my dying breath. Whether I was six or sixteen. But that’s not how it went down. They were both in a bad car accident. DUI. Mom died on impact, but Dad lingered for months, comatose. A drain to society and the world. The first chance I had, I pulled the plug. And the funny part was, nobody cared. Nobody was there to advocate for him, and I’ve never regretted what I did. Never will. Does that change your opinion of me?”

“Yes,” I admit, swallowing hard.

Beau’s eyes flicker up to the clock on the mantle. “As fun as this conversation’s been, we could both use some sleep. Everything you need should be in the guest bathroom. If not, let me know. Goodnight, Brynn.”

“Wait, you didn’t let me explain.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Yes, I do,” I say, leaning forward to cup his cheek. It’s the first time I’ve initiated touching this man, and it makes my body tremble with yearning. “Your explanation of your childhood helped me understand why you hate betrayal so much. And why you have abandonment issues. That’s how it changed my opinion of you.”

Beau covers my hand with his own. His palm is rough and work-hardened like I imagined. “Brynn, I’m a twisted man, twisted in ways a bad childhood alone can’t account for. Do you know what a Scout Sniper does for a living? Do you have any idea how many men I’ve killed?”

I sit back, letting my hand trail from his face back into my lap. “I have no idea. But I know you did it to serve your country. And I would also venture to prove to the world and yourself that you’re nothing like your dad.”

“That’s right,” Beau replies softly. “Because I’m a far more effective and better killer than he ever could be. Even though the only man I ever really wanted in the sight of my rifle was him. Talk about fucked up, right?”