Chapter One

      The mysterious man sitting in the back of the room didn’t want to be seen. Too bad, because Lucy Brooks had spotted him the second he’d tried to slip in unnoticed twenty minutes ago.

      A sexy man with broad shoulders, perfectly tanned skin, denim worn out in all the proper places, and clutching a black cowboy hat could not simply blend in. That square, stubbled jaw alone would grab any woman’s attention. Not that Lucy wanted to be grabbed.

      She tried to focus as one of the regular attendees discussed her one positive experience from the past week. The Helping Hands support group Lucy had started with her best friends Tara and Kate was a way to encourage others struggling with grief. Everyone brought something different to the meetings because everyone handled the loss of a loved one differently. And nobody had the same story to tell.

      Which brought her gaze back to the cowboy in the back. Stonerock, Tennessee, had its fair share of ranchers, but she’d never seen this man before. The fact he was new explained the jumbled nerves in her belly. She refused to believe they were caused by the dark stare he was returning in her direction.

      “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?” Tara asked, pulling Lucy back to the moment. When nobody stepped forward, Tara went on. “Remember, we will be changing the starting time next week. We’ll be switching to seven instead of six. Have a great week, everybody.”

      All in attendance tonight were regulars, save for the cowboy. They’d all had a positive week and tonight’s meeting had mostly been smiles and laughter—the whole reason for forming this group nearly two years ago.

      Lucy excused herself from her friends and headed toward the back of the church where the new guy was trying to sneak out as quickly and quietly as he’d snuck in.

      Lucy wasn’t having any part of that. She made her way through the aisles, smiling and nodding to familiar faces. But when she reached the back, the stranger was gone. Jogging out the open doors, she spotted him striding toward a big black truck. What else would a mysterious cowboy drive?

      A fine mist covered her face as she picked up the pace to catch up with him. Those long legs of his ate up some serious ground.

      He must’ve heard or sensed her because he glanced over his shoulder and stopped. Swiping the dampness from her face, Lucy finished closing the gap between them.

      “Hi. I’m Lucy.” Okay, that sounded lame, but she didn’t know what else to lead with. She was usually fine with greeting new guests, but this man was different. “I wanted to welcome you to the group, but you slipped out before I could say hello.”

      The stranger shoved his black hat back on and fished the keys from his pocket. “I’m not joining. Just wanted to come by and see what it was about.”

      She recognized that emptiness she saw in his dark eyes, knew that denial, that unspoken insistence he’d be all right without help. Even with the light rain and only the glow from the church lights, she had become all too familiar with that look. Two years ago she’d seen it every day staring back at her in the mirror.

      “You’ve lost someone recently?” When his jaw clenched, she knew she’d hit the mark. He was the angry griever. There were all types and she’d come to know them all. “Would you like to come back in and talk?”

      The stranger snorted and shook his head as he turned toward his truck and held out his key fob. Lights flashed as the locks were released.

      “No, I wouldn’t. I’m not baring my soul to a group of strangers.”

      Lucy wrapped her arms around her waist. Occasionally rude people came through, but she’d had to remind herself the words weren’t necessarily directed at her. They were targeted toward the person’s inner anger.

      The stranger cursed on a sigh and turned back to her. “Noah. My name is Noah.”

      Lucy smiled. Apparently his guilt trumped his anger where she was concerned. A cowboy and a gentleman.

      “I didn’t plan on making you bare your soul, just so you know. I didn’t know if you’d like to come in and just talk, not necessarily about loss or grieving. We actually get together once a week and discuss a variety of things.”

      One thick, dark brow quirked. “Like what?”

      Lucy shrugged. “One rule is if you’re going to speak, you have to start with something good that happened since you were here last. It can be anything. We are really just here to lift each other up, not focus on why we’re hurting.”

      His eyes darted away for a brief second before returning to her. “That’s great, what you’re doing. It’s just…not for me.”

      Nodding, Lucy knew when not to push. “Well, we’re here every Monday. If you change your mind, you’re welcome to come back.”

      When she turned to go, she dropped her head as the rain started to pick up intensity.

      “I lost my wife six months ago.”

      His low tone was nearly drowned out by the rain, but Lucy froze, knowing full well she’d heard correctly. Shoving her damp hair off her forehead, she turned back around.

      “My husband has been gone for two years,” she replied, wanting him to know they already had something in common and he wasn’t alone. Still, saying the words never got any easier. It was just an ugly fact she’d learned to live with. “I’m available to talk one-on-one, too, if you prefer.”

      He stared at her a bit longer, as if he was trying to process what move to make next. That internal struggle was real, but something he had to battle himself. She waited for his reply, not caring how wet she was getting, how her hair was clinging to her cheeks or how her shirt had plastered itself to her skin.

      With a tip of his hat, he nodded toward the church. “You’d best get inside. Storm’s comin’.”