Page 90 of Finding His Redemption

The guy looked older than he had three days ago, with more lines around his eyes, his shoulders carrying extra weight. The stress of having one of his men arrested, probably. The threat to everything he’d built here.

“I’m sorry,” Jax said, the words scraping his throat raw. “I know this isn’t what you wanted when you took me in.”

“Sit.” Walker gestured to the chair across from his desk and crossed to the battered Mr. Coffee on the sideboard. He poured two mugs and passed one over, then wandered to the open French doors, propping an arm on the frame and watching the horses graze in the pasture beyond. “They treat you okay in there?”

“They didn’t beat me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He grunted, unimpressed, and raised his mug to his mouth. “You need a shower, son.”

“I’m aware.” He didn’t know why Nessie had let him anywhere near her with the way he smelled right now. Not to mention kiss her.

The older man was quiet for a long moment, still watching the horses. Outside, Jax could hear the distant sound of cattle lowing and the rhythmic thunk of someone chopping wood.

Finally, Walker crossed back to his desk and settled into his chair. “Jax, never apologize to me for doing what’s right.”

Jax scowled into his mug. “Attacking a cop isn’t right.”

“Protecting a woman from a man who’d hurt her is.” Walker’s blue eyes were steady, certain. “I’ve seen Deputy Murdock’s handiwork before. He’s got a reputation for getting rough with women, especially ones who can’t fight back.”

Jesus. The thought of Murdock putting his hands on other women, using his badge to intimidate and hurt—it made his vision blur red around the edges.

“You did good, son.” Walker’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute conviction. “I’m proud of you.”

Jax’s throat closed up. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone said they were proud of him. If ever. He’d certainly never heard it from his own father, and it meant the world to him that Walker said it now.

“Sheriff’s not done with you,” Walker continued after a beat. “Or with us. This was just the opening salvo.”

“I know.” Jax scrubbed a hand over his face. “I should leave. Find somewhere else to finish my parole. I’m bringing too much heat down on the Ridge.”

“Like hell you are.” That snap of command had probably sent soldiers scrambling to obey back in his special forces days. “You’re exactly where you belong. And anyone who says different can kiss my saddle-worn ass.”

Despite everything, Jax felt his mouth twitch toward a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, what’s really eating at you? Because it’s not the sheriff, and it’s not the jail time.”

Jax shifted in his chair, the leather creaking in protest. Walker saw too much, always had from the moment Jax had climbed into the truck with him outside the prison in California. It was probably what made him so good at this job—reading broken men, seeing past their defenses to the wounds underneath.

He set down his coffee. “It’s complicated.”

“Most things worth having are.” Walker leaned back in his chair. “You talking about Nessie?”

Heat crawled up Jax’s neck. “How did you?—”

“Boone mentioned she came to get you from jail. And yet now you’re here, looking like a man who’s had something precious torn away from him.”

Jax’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs. The old man’s insight cut too close to the bone, laying bare the ache that had been gnawing at him since he’d walked away from Nessie’s bakery.

Walker studied him for a long moment. “You care about her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jax answered anyway. “More than I should.”

“There’s no ‘should’ when it comes to caring about people. It just is or it isn’t,” Walker said and paused. “Folks in town are talking about you two.”

Jax looked down at the floorboards. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

“I know you’re not. But trouble tends to find men like us.”

Jax nodded, slow and stiff. “She’s just…” He trailed off, words catching on his tongue.