Page 24 of Finding His Redemption

Jax stared. “This a normal thing?”

River squinted at the goats. The one on the counter was now attempting to knock over the paper towel holder with its snout. The one with the boxers… screamed. There was no other word for it.

“Yup,” River said, popping thepat the end of the word. “The noisy one’s Rip. Which means the drama queen on the counter is Ruckus. Or maybe it’s the other way around. X keeps swapping their collars just to mess with me.”

He shuffled toward the kitchen, deflecting a headbutt from the goat with the boxers. “Go on. Git.” He shooed at the one on the counter, who let out an indignant bleat and refused to move. He pulled open a cabinet and grabbed a box of off-brand cereal. “They’re Walker’s problem children. Found ‘em half-dead in a ditch last winter during a blizzard. Been causing chaos ever since.” He shook the box of cereal at the goats. “Don’t let them see your fear. They thrive on it. Bribe ’em with cereal, but not the good stuff. They’ll get a taste for it and bankrupt us.”

Jax blinked. That wasn’t a sentence. It was a verbal ambush. “You say all that like it makes sense.”

River grinned. “Welcome to Valor Ridge. Are you wishing you stayed away yet?”

I’m wishing a lot of things were different,Jax thought, but said, “Right now, I’d settle for a cup of coffee that doesn’t require negotiating with goats.”

“Ah, a man with priorities.” River gestured toward the coffee maker with a flourish. “Help yourself. Just don’t touch the blue mug. That’s Ghost’s, and he’s territorial as fuck about his caffeine delivery system.”

Jax edged around the goat, still chewing on the boxers, and started the coffee maker. As it burbled, he watched River attempt to wrestle the refrigerator door closed while the other goat—Ruckus? Rip?—jumped down from the counter and headbutted the door, putting a sizable dent in the stainless steel. The standoff ended with River cursing and the goat bleating victoriously.

“Where is everyone?” Jax asked, glancing at the clock. 5:03 AM.

“Walker and Ghost are looking at some new security measures along the property line. Everyone else is out on the property somewhere. You’ll get used to the rhythm. Or you won’t and you’ll leave like the last guy.” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned either way.

“The last guy?”

“Evander Cole. Real grumpy bastard. The only guy Boone couldn’t convince to come back.” River grabbed a handful of cereal and crunched it loudly, then tossed some on the floor. The goats took instant interest. “Funny thing, though. He left but didn’t actuallyleave. He got some property that borders the ranch and a dog that looks like it’d rather eat you than be friends. You might see him out there when we ride the fence line later. Do you ride?”

Jax just stared at the man. His brain was still stuck somewhere back on Ghost’s mug, trying to picture a man named Ghost and wondering why the hell a coffee cup mattered. He’d briefly had a cellmate like River—a guy who just said things because he wanted to fill the space. It had driven Jax crazy within three days, and he’d requested a transfer.

Except he couldn’t transfer out of here.

But he could still leave.

Maybe that Evander Cole guy had the right idea.

The coffee maker sputtered its last drops. Jax poured the black liquid into a plain white mug and took a careful sip as he watched River lure the goats toward the door. The coffee was strong enough to strip paint and tasted like it had been brewing since yesterday. Awful. But he’d had worse, and so he drank it anyway.

River suddenly stopped short, much to the goats’ dismay. “Oh, shit. Don’t tell me you can’t.”

Can’t what?Jax looked up from his mug to see River staring at him, waiting for an answer. He racked his brain to find the thread of the conversation again.

River had asked if he could ride.

Right.

“X couldn’t ride for shit when he came here. City boy,” River added in a tone that suggested there were few worse sins. “It was a pain teaching him. You a city boy?”

Jax took another long sip of coffee, buying time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to invite more questions and had a feeling telling River he’d grown up in San Diego would earn a long lecture on the evils of urban life.

“Yeah,” he said finally, “but I can ride.”

Every summer, his mother had signed him up for riding lessons at some overpriced stable on the edge of the city. He’d spent entire summers of his childhood sulking in a saddle, counting the minutes until he could go back to his friends. He’d hated it. Or at least he’d pretended to until his mom finally stopped signing him up. In reality, he’d missed the horses more than he’d been willing to admit.

The memory of those summers and his mom sent a pang through his chest. He’d last seen his mom at the trial. Hisparents had sat in the back of the courtroom, rigid and quiet, unsure how to reconcile the son they thought they knew with the strung-out, angry man in handcuffs before them.

He pushed the thought away. “I can ride,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

“Well, thank Christ for small mercies,” River said, dropping more cereal as the goats followed the trail toward the door. “Come on, you little demons. Outside where you belong.” He opened the door and nudged them with his bunny-slippered foot. The goats protested but eventually trotted out.

“And stay out,” River called after them before pulling the door shut. He yawned and scrubbed both hands vigorously over his face. “Ugh. I need a shower.”