Broken

Broken: Chapter 4

"Good morning, Ms. Hunt," Ruth announced.

I buried my face in the pillow, annoyed by the perkiness of the AI. "Go away."

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Hunt. You left instructions to wake you as soon as Sargent Barnes exited his home. External sensors indicate he's outside right now."

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "All right. I'm up. Time for round two."

I quickly showered and dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top before grabbing a breakfast bar and heading outside.

Bucky was baling hay out of a two-wheel cart that was surrounded by several eager looking goats. Even with only one arm, he still managed to impressively maneuver himself so that his hungry guests were all properly fed. Again, I had to admire how adaptive he was. He seemed to be able to do anything he set his mind to.

"Nice herd you got there," I called pleasantly as I strolled in his direction, careful not to come between the goats and their food.

He paused long enough to give me an annoyed glance. "What do you want?"

"Well, I was thinking about asking you to breakfast, but I don't know where any good diners are." I stopped on the opposite side of the cart and grinned. "Any suggestions?"

"Try New Jersey," he grumbled.

I lowered my eyes. "I deserve that. I'm really sorry about last night."

He jammed his pitchfork deep in the ground. "I could've killed you."

I nodded. "I know."

"And you still wanna try and fix me?"

"Yes." I eased around the cart. "But I admit when I mess up. I said I'd let you take the lead here and I violated your trust. But I can promise you it won't happen again."

"You're damn right." He looked over at me finally, his eyes hard and cold. "Because we're done."

I met his stare. "Why?"

"Because I'm still a danger to people." He sighed. "There's no helping me."

I laughed. "You're kidding right?"

He glared at me. "You should leave before you get hurt."

I rolled my eyes. "You think you're the first man to try and kill me? Please. I've been mangled a lot worse than a couple of bruises on my neck."

He shook his head dismissingly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about this." I walked up to him and shoved my forearm in front of him, revealing the jagged scar running from wrist to elbow. "See that scar? It's from a lovely little British grandmother who had a psychotic break. Not impressed with that one? There's a hole just above my left breast where a meth-head thought it'd be fun to stab me. Oh! And those aren't weird freckles around my kneecap. That's where they had to put the screws in after a drunk shoved me off a second story balcony. That was fun.

"But you wanna know my favorite one? The one that really holds a special place in my heart? It's where they had to staple my head back together after my ex-husband beat the crap out of me. That's my favorite because it reminds me every day that I'm worth fighting for. And so are you, Bucky Barnes."

"How do you know?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the scar.

"Because I know." I took a chance and reached out for his hand. Taking it in mine, I smiled when our eyes finally met. "And if you're willing to work with me, I'll prove it. You just got to give me another chance. Can you trust me?"