Page 48 of Finding His Redemption

fourteen

The truck’sengine rattled as they crested a hill, and Solace spread out below them like a postcard from a different era. Main Street stretched through the center of town, lined with picturesque brick buildings. The mountains framed it all, making the town look small and fragile, like they might swallow the whole place if they ever decided to close in.

Jax wasn’t sure what he was doing here, why he’d agreed to come. But as Ghost guided the truck down the winding road toward town, he found himself scanning the buildings until he spotted the bakery with the green awning, teal door, and monster with eyelashes on a sign swinging gently in the breeze.

Ghost pulled the truck up to the curb half a block from Nessie’s Place and cut the engine. Jax didn’t move immediately. He scanned the street first, checking doorways, alleyways, and rooflines. Old habits. Even in a town this small, danger could lurk in shadows.

A sheriff’s cruiser sat outside the hardware store down the street, and Jax’s muscles tensed involuntarily. But it wasn’t Goodwin behind the wheel, just some fresh-faced deputy scrolling through his phone.

“You going in?” Ghost asked, already sliding out of the driver’s seat.

Jax hesitated and looked at the bakery, taking in the weathered awning, the hanging flower baskets framing the doorway, the chalkboard sign advertising today’s special: lemon poppyseed muffins with blueberry drizzle. Through the windows, he could see a few customers at tables, but not the lunch rush he’d expected.

“No,” he said finally.

“Bullshit,” Ghost said, point blank. “Your eyes landed on that bakery the moment we turned onto Main Street. You want to see her. That’s why you came.”

Jesus. Was he that transparent? Or was Ghost just that good at reading people?

“She doesn’t need the trouble I’ll bring her.”

Ghost regarded him with those unsettling gray eyes. “Sometimes you don’t get to decide what other people need.”

They stood on the sidewalk, the morning sun warm against their backs. Main Street was quiet. A few shoppers moving between stores, an old man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the barber shop, and a woman walking a small dog that looked like it might blow away in a strong wind.

Ghost started walking toward the hardware store without another word, leaving Jax alone with his indecision. The smart thing would be to follow Ghost, buy whatever supplies they needed, and get back to the ranch. Keep his head down. Stay invisible.

But his feet carried him toward the bakery anyway.

The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The chatter of conversation mixed with the hiss of the espresso machine and the soft clinking of ceramic against metal. Chipped mugs hung from hooks behindthe counter, and that ridiculous sea monster logo beamed from the wall, its exaggerated eyelashes somehow both absurd and charming.

And there was Nessie behind the counter, a rag in her hand, wiping down the worn surface. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. She looked up at the sound of the bell, and he watched surprise flicker across her features before settling into something more cautious. Not quite a smile, but not unwelcoming either.

“Jax,” she said, his name a statement rather than a question. “Didn’t expect to see you in town.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of the other patrons watching him with poorly disguised interest. A gray-haired woman at the corner table whispered something to her companion, both of them stealing glances his way.

“Ghost needed to run errands,” he said. “I came along.”

He tried to shut the door behind him, but it stuck halfway, refusing to close completely. He gave it another push, harder this time, and it grudgingly swung shut with a protesting squeal.

“Sorry about that,” Nessie said, moving around the counter toward him. “It’s been sticking for weeks now. I’ve been meaning to call someone.”

Jax glanced at the door, immediately spotting the problem. He looked back at her. “I can fix it. If you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” Physical problems he could solve. Mechanical issues made sense in a way people never did.

“Well... okay. Thank you. There’s a toolbox here under the sink.”

Jax retrieved the ancient red metal toolbox, its surface scratched and dented from years of use. He knelt by the door and examined the hinges. The bottom one had come loose from the frame, the screw holes stripped and useless.

He laid out the tools methodically—screwdriver, pliers, a small hammer, a handful of wood screws—each item placed within easy reach. His hands knew what to do even as his mind drifted. He’d worked in the prison’s woodshop before being accepted into the dog training program, and this was a language he spoke fluently—fixing, building, making broken things work again. If only people were as straightforward as dogs or door hinges.

He was vaguely aware of Nessie moving around the bakery, chatting with her customers, refilling coffee cups, clearing empty plates. A few customers left, the bell jangling as they pushed past him. But Jax remained focused on his task, drilling new pilot holes, repositioning the hinge, and tightening each screw. There was comfort in the work, in losing himself to the rhythm of it.

A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to find Nessie standing there, a steaming mug in her hand.