Emmett hobbled through the village, his crutch scraping against the cobblestones with every step. He muttered curses under his breath, his movements slow and deliberate as the pain in his abdomen flared with each jarring motion. The warmth of the sun did little to ease his discomfort, but it was a welcome change from the bed he’d been confined to for over a week.

  “Emmett!” a familiar voice called out.

  He stopped, turning toward the sound, and spotted Adele standing by a market stall, her arms crossed and a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “You need a bath,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

  Emmett gave her a pained grin, leaning heavily on his crutch. “Hasn’t exactly been a priority,” he said dryly. “You know, with being stuck in bed and all.”

  Adele walked closer, her expression softening slightly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hurting,” Emmett admitted, adjusting his stance awkwardly. “But alive.”

  She nodded, her smile returning. “Well, you still owe me and my brother dinner. Or have you forgotten?”

  Emmett smirked, shifting his weight as he leaned on the crutch. “I haven’t forgotten. Just didn’t think you’d want me stumbling around your place.”

  Adele raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you can’t manage? Too busy sulking in your bed?”

  He laughed, though the motion brought a sharp pang to his side. He winced, sucking in a breath, but his grin didn’t fade. “I think I can find the time.”

  “Good.” Adele smiled, stepping back. “Come to my house, three o’clock sharp. Bring what you want for dinner, and I’ll cook for us.”

  Before Emmett could respond, she added with a pointed look, “And make sure you’ve bathed and put on clean clothes.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emmett said with mock seriousness, his lips curling into a grin. “I’ll make it happen.”

  Adele gave him a satisfied nod before walking away, her dress swishing as she disappeared down the street. Emmett watched her go, shaking his head and muttering, “Bossy.”

  Later that afternoon, Emmett arrived at her small but cozy cottage, his crutch tapping against the stones. Henri walked beside him, carrying a basket filled with goods they’d picked out earlier. Fresh vegetables, bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and the makings for a hearty “coq au vin” a dish Henri had assured him would impress.

  Henri chuckled as they approached the door, adjusting the basket. “You sure you don’t need me to walk you home afterward, mon ami? Or perhaps hold your hand through dinner?”

  Emmett shot him a glare. “Go fuck yourself, Henri.”

  Henri laughed, clapping a hand on Emmett’s shoulder. “Bonne chance, cowboy. Don’t embarrass us.”

  Henri gave a mock salute, his grin wide, and sauntered off toward the inn. Emmett shook his head, muttering under his breath, and turned to knock on the door.

  It swung open almost immediately, and Adele’s younger brother stood in the doorway, looking Emmett up and down with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “The mad American’s here!” the boy called into the house, his French carrying a teasing edge.

  Emmett chuckled, leaning slightly on his crutch. “You must be the welcoming committee.”

  The boy smirked, stepping aside as Adele appeared behind him, wiping her hands on an apron. She glanced at the basket Henri had handed off to Emmett, her eyebrow arching. “What did you bring?” she asked, her tone skeptical but amused.

  Emmett fumbled for the words. “I, uh, got the fixings for…” He stumbled over the pronunciation of coq au vin, his French mangled.

  Adele burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Coq au vin.” She corrected him, her tone playful. “It’s not that hard.”

  “Yeah, that,” Emmett said with a sheepish grin. He handed her the basket. “Thought you’d make it better than I could.”

  She took the basket, her fingers brushing his briefly, and smiled. “You’re probably right. Although It might not be as tender as I prefer. The dish usually requires many hours on the stove.”

  Emmett hobbled into the modest but cozy home, settling heavily into a chair at the small dining table. He glanced around, taking in the simple but warm décor. The cottage had a lived-in charm. Knitted blankets draped over the chairs, a few family photos on the mantle, and the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air.

  The boy plopped into a chair across from Emmett, his gaze sharp and curious. “I heard that you were shot,” he said bluntly.

  Emmett nodded, adjusting his position as he winced. “Yep. Right in the gut.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  Emmett gave the boy a look. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  The boy’s eyes wandered to the pistol tucked into Emmett’s waistband. “Did you kill anyone with that?”

  Emmett froze for a moment, the question hitting harder than he expected. His mind flashed to the collaborator he’d executed not long ago, but he forced the memory down. “No,” he said finally, his voice steady but firm. “Haven’t had to.”

  The boy’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied. “Can I see it?”

  Emmett glanced toward the kitchen where Adele was busy prepping the food. She looked up briefly, her gaze meeting his. He raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she nodded with a faint smile.

  “All right,” Emmett said, pulling the pistol free. He ejected the magazine, set it on the table, and cleared the chamber before handing the weapon carefully to the boy. “That’s a Walther P38.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up as he took the gun, turning it over in his hands with a mix of awe and reverence. “It’s German?”

  “Yeah,” Emmett said. “Say what you will about them, but they sure know how to make a gun.”

  Adele glanced over, her voice laced with dry humor. “Just don’t shoot yourself with it.”

  The boy cast her an annoyed look. “I know how guns work, Adele.”

  Emmett smirked and held out his hand. “All right, let’s not test that theory. Hand it back.”

  Reluctantly, the boy returned the pistol. Emmett reloaded the chamber, slid the magazine back in, engaged the safety, and tucked it back into his waistband. He caught Adele’s amused glance as she stirred the pot on the stove, her lips quirking upward.

  She glanced at the dwindling pile of firewood stacked near the stove and sighed. “Julien, go fetch some more wood, will you? We’re running low.” She asked in French.

  The boy groaned but pushed himself up from the table. “I just sat down.”

  “And now you’re standing up,” Adele quipped, shooting him a pointed look.

  Emmett smirked. “I can get it.”

  Adele turned to him so fast he barely had time to blink. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly, her hands on her hips. “You were shot, Emmett. You’re not doing anything that involves lifting.”

  Emmett held up his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

  Julien snickered and trudged outside, muttering something about being “the only able-bodied one in the house.”

  As Emmett leaned back in his chair, Adele stirred the pot on the stove, casting him a quick glance. “You’re good with him,” she said, her tone soft but genuine.

  Emmett shrugged. “He’s got guts. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Adele arched an eyebrow but didn’t press further. She turned back to the stove, her movements fluid and practiced.

  Moments later, Julien stomped back inside, his arms full of firewood. He dumped it near the stove with an exaggerated huff before plopping back down at the table, shaking dirt from his hands. “Happy?” he grumbled.

  Adele simply nodded, tossing another log into the fire.

  Emmett shifted in his chair, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his side. He leaned heavily on the table, his crutch resting against his leg, and watched as the boy continued to eye him curiously. A thought struck him, and he frowned slightly.

  “You know,” he said, tilting his head, “We were never properly introduced. Julien, right?”

  The boy straightened a little, clearly pleased to be addressed directly. “Yes, Julien,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Emmett reached out and clasped it firmly, his rough palm enveloping the boy’s smaller hand. “I’m Emmett. Nice to meet you.”

  Julien nodded, looking him over again with the same wide-eyed curiosity. “I heard from the others that you’re a cowboy.”

  Emmett raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That so?” He leaned back slightly, adjusting his stance. “Well, I used to be. Grew up on my folks ranch back in Montana. Cows, horses, fences. The whole deal.”

  Julien’s eyes lit up. “Did you ever get into a gunfight? Like the cowboys in the novels?”

  Emmett groaned softly, shaking his head. “Nope. Never had to duel anyone at high noon or anything like that.”

  Juliens face fell a little, the disappointment plain on his young features. “Oh,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

  Emmett chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Sorry to let you down, kid. Life on a ranch is more about fixing fences and chasing cattle than it is about shootouts.”

  Adele finished wiping her hands on her apron before joining them at the table. She sat gracefully, hands folded in her lap, her sharp, intelligent gaze drifting over Emmett. “So,” she began, her voice casual, yet carrying a thread of genuine curiosity, “tell me about Montana.”

  Emmett blinked, caught off guard for a moment. He leaned back slightly, adjusting his weight. “Montana?” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t figure you’d be too interested in some place that’s half a world away.”

  Adele smirked. “Actually, that’s why I’m interested.”

  His gaze grew distant for a moment, his mind reaching back through the years. “It’s wild country,” he finally said, his voice quieter, almost reverent. “Big sky, rolling plains, and mountains that stretch so high they look like they’re holding up the sky itself.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke, painting a picture. “There’s a place up near the Musselshell River. Cattle country. Real open, long stretches of grassland that go on for miles. Not much between you and the horizon but the wind, and the sun hanging low in the sky.”

  Adele leaned in slightly, watching him as he spoke. “It sounds... peaceful.”

  Emmett shrugged, tilting his head in consideration. “Can be. Storms roll in fast, though. You ever seen a real thunderstorm? Not the kind that just makes a little noise. But the kind that rolls in black and mean, shaking the earth? The sky cracks open like the world’s ending, and the rain comes down so hard it drowns everything in sight.”

  Julien’s eyes widened. “That sounds terrifying.”

  Emmett smirked. “It can be. But it’s part of life there. You learn to respect the land, the weather, the animals. It’s a hard life, but it’s honest.”

  Adele studied him for a long moment before murmuring, “You miss it?”

  Emmett’s smirk faded. His expression hardened, and he glanced away, running his fingers over a knot in the wooden table. “Don’t know,” he said flatly. “Ain’t been back in years.”

  Silence settled between them for a moment. The fire popped softly in the background, and the rich aroma of the stew filled the air, thick and warm.

  Emmett reached for the bottle of wine he’d brought for the dish, and poured himself a glass with the remainder. His fingers idly turning the stem as he stared into the deep red liquid. He wasn’t ready to think about Montana, not really. That life felt a million years away, like it belonged to another man entirely.

  Regardless he leaned into the comfortable rhythm of storytelling, spinning more tales about the land, the cattle, the long nights riding out on the range, the rare but memorable moments of camaraderie around a campfire.

  Adele listened with quiet interest, asking the occasional question, her expression flickering between amusement and something softer. Julien, on the other hand, was enthralled, absorbing every detail like a sponge, his young mind painting pictures of the American West.

  Time passed unnoticed as they spoke, the conversation winding through different memories, jumping from topic to topic. At some point, Julien had pulled his legs up onto the chair, sitting cross-legged as he hung on every word. Adele had long since leaned her elbows onto the table, resting her chin on one hand as she listened, a faint smile playing at her lips.

  Eventually, the boy’s expression turned more thoughtful. He idly spun a butter knife between his fingers, his gaze flicking between Emmett and the flickering firelight.

  Then, after a long pause, he finally spoke. “Why are you here? Helping the Resistance?”

  The question hung in the air, and Emmett hesitated, his expression tightening ever so slightly. He drummed his fingers on the table, considering his response. “That’s a long story,” he said finally, shrugging as if to dismiss the weight of it. “I came over myself. Decided to volunteer with the Resistance.”

  Julien looked impressed, his admiration evident. “Really? You just came over by yourself?”

  Adele, let out a quiet snort, her lips curling into a smirk. “Really?” she repeated, her tone laced with playful skepticism. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s not what I heard. Something about the OSS…”

  Emmett shot her a quick, pointed look, his lips pressing into a thin line. He mouthed the words, Keep quiet, his expression suddenly serious.

  Adele raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence as she turned back to the stove. “What?” she said, her tone light and teasing. “I was just saying.”

  Julien didn’t seem to notice the exchange, his attention fully on Emmett. “Do you think the other Americans will come and fight too? Like they did in the Great War?”

  Emmett leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. He met Julien’s gaze, his expression softening. “I hope so,” he said honestly. “We’ll see. A lot of folks back home want to help.”

  Julien nodded solemnly, as if weighing Emmett’s words carefully. “I think they’ll come,” he said with conviction. “They have to.”

  Emmett gave him a faint smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite the weight of the conversation. “Maybe you’re right, kid. Maybe you’re right.”

  Adele stood and returned to the kitchen. Grabbing the pot from the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, setting it down in the center of the table. She glanced at Emmett, her smirk returning as she began setting out plates. Julien leaned forward, his excitement clear as the smell of the food filled the room. He reached for the ladle, but Adele smacked his hand.

  “Wash first.” She said flatly in French.

  Julien rolled his eyes, and stood up from the table. His chair scrapping across the wood floor.

  Emmett waited until he disappeared outside. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch as he hobbled toward Adele, who was busy tidying up the counter. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows raising in mild curiosity.

  “Alright,” Emmett began, his tone low and a little gruff. “Who’s been yapping about me?”

  Adele straightened, turning to face him with a sly smile. “Yapping? I don’t think anyone was yapping, monsieur.” She folded her arms, leaning casually against the counter.

  “Yeah, sure,” Emmett muttered, adjusting his stance to relieve the ache in his side. “Somebody said something about me being with the OSS while I was laid up.” Adele shook her head, the smile lingering on her lips. “Honestly, I don’t know who it was. For that matter I don’t fully know what that means. I just overheard some of the others talking about it while you were… indisposed.”

  Emmett groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great. That’s just what I need.”

  Adele tilted her head, her smile fading slightly as she studied him. “Is it true? Are you working on behalf of the United States?”

  He shot her a sharp look. “That’s not something I can talk about. And you,” he jabbed a finger toward her, “Need to keep it to yourself. Got it?”

  Her expression softened, and she gave a solemn nod. “I understand,” she said quietly. “I won’t say a word.”

  Emmett let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Good. Thank you.”

  After a moment of silence, Adele tilted her head. “Does that mean more Americans will be coming? To help?”

  He shook his head, cutting her off before she could say more. “I have no damn idea,” he said bluntly. “I was sent to France in a damn kayak with four other guys. At this point, I don’t know jack shit about what’s coming next.”

  Adele blinked, her lips parting in surprise. “A kayak?” she repeated, incredulous.

  “Yeah,” Emmett said, his voice dry. “A Kayak. Middle of the night, too. Thought we’d freeze our asses off before we even got to shore.”

  Adele’s lips twitched, and she fought to suppress a laugh. “That sounds… unpleasant.”

  “You don’t say,” Emmett grumbled. He sighed, shifting his weight on the crutch. “Just… promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  She nodded again, this time with a more serious expression. “You have my word.”

  The sound of Julien’s opening the door drew their attention, and Emmett hobbled back to his seat at the table just as the boy reentered the room. Julien cast a quick glance at both of them, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing as he sat down.

  “Smells great,” Emmett said, trying to shift the mood as Adele set the last of the dishes on the table.

  “It does,” Julien agreed, already reaching for a piece of bread.

  “Hold on,” Adele said, smacking his hand lightly. “We sit properly first.”

  Julien grumbled but complied, waiting until Adele took her seat. Emmett chuckled softly at the exchange and picked up his fork. “Thanks for this,” he said, glancing at Adele. “Really.”

  She smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course,” she said simply. “Eat. You’ll need the strength.”

  The three of them ate in relative silence for a while, the clink of utensils and the occasional hum of appreciation filling the small kitchen. The meal was simple but hearty, and Emmett couldn’t remember the last time food had tasted so good.

  When they were finished, Emmett leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach lightly. “That was excellent,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Adele smiled, standing to clear the plates. “You’re welcome. If you’d like, I can cook more for you while you’re here. Good food will help with your recovery.”

  Emmett nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll take you up on that. Thanks.”

  As Adele carried the dishes to the sink, Emmett glanced at Julien, who was busy scraping the last bit of sauce from his plate. He looked up, his face curious. “How come you two speak English so well?” Emmett asked.

  Adele paused, glancing over her shoulder with a small, wistful smile. “Our father was American,” she said. “He came over during the Great War and stayed when he met our mother.”

  Emmett nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Makes sense,” he said softly.

  Adele returned to the table, drying her hands on a towel. “I suppose that’s why we’ve always felt connected to America, hence my questions about Montana.” she added, her tone quieter now.

  Emmett nodded again, his expression thoughtful. “That’s… good to know,” he said, his voice trailing off.

  The room fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the meal and the crackle of the fire filling the space. Emmett leaned back slightly, the weight of the day settling over him.