Page 138 of Finding His Redemption

His eyes went soft around the edges. “Of course I want you there, but I was planning on moving here if that’s what you wanted.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Wherever you and Oliver are. That’s where I want to be.”

“Even if it’s a tiny apartment above a noisy bakery?”

“Even then.” His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Though Echo might need her own room. She snores.”

Nessie laughed, a real laugh that started deep in her belly and bubbled up through her chest. It felt strange and wonderful, like stretching a muscle she’d forgotten she had.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, and reached up to touch his face. “We’ve got time now.”

All the time in the world, she thought.

She patted his chest. “You better get that feed to the ranch before you piss Boone off.”

“Yeah, I’ve decided a pissed off Boone is something I don’t want to see. Regular Boone is scary enough.” Jax sighed, kissed her lightly, and stepped back. “What time do you want me to swing back and pick you up?”

“Five o’clock?” she said, already calculating how much more she could sort through before then. “I want to go through the storage room one more time. See if any of the baking equipment survived.”

“Don’t overdo it.” He swiped at a smudge of soot on her cheek. “You’ve been at this since dawn.”

She had been, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Every salvaged item felt like a small victory against the flames, against Alek.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, though they both knew she’d push until exhaustion forced her to stop. It was how she’d survived the last four years—constant motion, constant vigilance, never letting herself rest long enough for the fear to catch up.

Old habits.

Jax studied her face for a moment, and she could see him weighing whether to argue. Finally, he just nodded. “Five o’clock, then. And we’ll get dinner out before we go home.”

Just before five, the bell above the door jingled softly. Nessie glanced up at the time from the stack of salvaged mugs she was wrapping in newspaper. She’d been so absorbed in her work she hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.

“Hey, right on time. I’m just about done?—”

The words died in her throat as she turned.

It wasn’t Jax.

Dewey Stafford stepped inside, his postal worker uniform rumpled and stained with sweat, a red plastic gas can clutched in his right hand. Before she could speak again, he reached behind him and turned the deadbolt with a decisive click.

“Hey, Nessie,” he said, oddly casual despite the wild look in his pale green eyes. “You’ve been busy.”

“Dewey...” She set down the mug she’d been wrapping, careful not to make any sudden movements. “What are you doing with that gas can?”

He hefted the can like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this? Just thought I’d help finish what someone started.” His laugh had a brittle edge that raised the hair on her arms. “Seems like a shame to leave a job half-done, you know?”

Nessie’s gaze darted to the front door, calculating the distance. The back door was currently blocked off from where the ceiling in the kitchen had collapsed, and Dewey stood directly in her path to the front, his stocky frame blocking heronly exit. Her phone was in her purse, but her purse was under the counter, ten feet away.

Jax would be here any minute. She just had to stall until then.

“I don’t understand,” she said, though a cold certainty was forming in her gut. “Why do you want to burn down my bakery?”

“You’ve been talking too much.”

“About what?”

Dewey’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step closer, the gas can sloshing. “About my truck! About seeing it that night!”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew—oh God, she knew exactly what he meant with a sickening certainty—but she had to keep him distracted for just a few more minutes.

Where are you, Jax?