Page 89 of Finding His Redemption

“I need your word, Nessie.” Brandt wasn’t backing down. “No contact with Thorne or any of the men from that ranch.”

“What about when they come to the bakery? I can’t exactly ban paying customers.”

“You can serve them coffee, but nothing more. No private conversations, no after-hours repairs, no hugs outside the jail or making out in the alley.” His eyes narrowed. “And if Thorne tries to get close to you again, you shut it down. Hard.”

The unfairness of it all made her want to scream. She’d finally found people who accepted her, who made her feel safe without smothering her, and now she had to push them away.

But what choice did she have?

chapter

twenty-six

The drive outof town passed in silence. Boone kept the windows down, letting the air rush through the cab, which, thankfully, was also loud enough to curtail any attempts at conversation.

The mountains, slate blue, loomed sharper than before. Jax could see the lines of every ridge, the fissures running down them like old scar tissue. He watched the fences and grazing cattle streak by, the pastures going gold in the late afternoon light, and wondered if he’d ever feel completely whole again.

A strange mix of longing and relief washed over him as they approached the turnoff to Valor Ridge. Longing for what he’d left behind—Nessie’s soft lips, her warm brown eyes, the way she’d melted against him. Relief that he was returning to the one place where he actually knew the rules.

“You want to talk about it?” Boone asked as they turned onto the gravel road that led to the ranch.

Jax kept his eyes on the passing landscape. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit,” X said from the backseat. “You look like someone gutted you.”

The words hit too close to home. Jax’s chest felt hollow, like something vital had been scooped out and left behind in town. He flexed his fingers, still feeling the phantom softness of Nessie’s skin.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her,” he said, more to himself than the men in the truck with him.

River leaned forward. “She kiss you back?”

“Yeah.” The memory of her pressing against him, her fingers threading through his hair, sent heat rushing through his veins again.

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

The problem wasn’t the kiss. It was the way she’d acted afterwards, but he wasn’t about to tell River that.

Boone drove past the barn, kennels, and bunkhouse. He pulled into the circular drive in front of Walker’s house and cut the engine.

“Jax,” he said. “Walker wants you in his office. The rest of you, get to chores.”

X snorted, “Yes, Daddy,” but slid out of the truck and led the others away, leaving Jax alone for the short walk up the porch.

The house was what passed for fancy in rural Montana, a two-story beast built of stone and knotty pine, and a porch more expansive than some people’s houses. Jax knocked, even though the door was open.

“Come in,” Walker called.

The office was the first room on the left, with a set of double doors framing the pasture and mountains beyond. The desk was old, its wood scarred by cigarette burns and coffee rings. Picture frames decorated the walls, photos of Walker in uniform, Walker with a little girl on his shoulders, both laughing so hard that their faces were stretched wide. There were pictures of Cowboy as a puppy and of Walker’s horse, Dust Devil, and so many other dogs, horses, and other animals, including General Mayhem andthe goats, Rip and Ruckus. And so many casual shots of the Ridge guys doing chores, working with the animals, or hanging out around a bonfire. Jax recognized his bunkmates and Boone, but there were other faces in the mix he didn’t know.

Walker noticed him looking and nodded to the far wall. “Those are Valor Ridge’s graduates. At least the ones that aren’t still hanging around.”

He wandered over and studied the mug shots of men with gang and prison tats. They all looked like the kind of men nice people would cross the street to avoid, and they all had that same haunted quality he recognized in his own reflection.

“All found their way here broken,” Walker said. “All left whole. Or as close to whole as men like us get.”

Next to each mug shot was another casual photo of the same man. Some were with their families, some with their dogs or horses or bikes, but all of them looked like they’d found something worth living for. Something that gave them peace.

Jax tore his gaze away, not ready to hope for that kind of transformation for himself. He turned to face Walker, who was leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest.