Page 14

chapter

eight

Walker waited on the porch of the main house with the sheriff as if he had nothing better to do with his time.

He leaned on the railing, arms folded, jaw set, his hat cocked back on his head.

Cowboy sat faithfully at his side, the old cattle dog’s ears pricked forward, watching the approaching riders with alert blue eyes.

Jax forced himself to loosen his grip on the reins, but Lazy Susan must have sensed his tension anyway because she stopped without being asked, head swinging toward the house.

So the walking glue stick wasn’t completely clueless, after all.

She knew trouble when she smelled it, and, judging by her stubborn refusal to take another step, wanted no part of it.

Walker’s voice carried across the yard. “Dismount, gentlemen. Sheriff would like a word.”

River swung down from his horse with his usual careless grace, but he kept his mouth shut for once. Even the class clown knew when to read the room.

Boone dismounted next, the saddle creaking as his considerable bulk left it. The man had to be six-foot-four if he was an inch, with the kind of build that came from years of hard work and harder living.

He handed his horse’s reins to River, then nodded stiffly at the sheriff. “Hank.”

“Boone.” Goodwin’s tone wasn’t particularly friendly. “Been a while.”

Jax stayed in the saddle a moment longer, studying the scene. Walker’s posture. The sheriff’s smirk. The way Boone positioned himself like a wall between the law and the other two men.

This wasn’t a social call.

He dismounted slowly, keeping his hands visible, movements non-threatening. He’d been through this dance before—the careful choreography of questions and half-truths, the way lawmen sized you up like a piece of meat. The difference was, last time he’d been guilty as hell. This time...

This time he didn’t even know what he was supposed to have done.

As soon as he was out of the saddle, Lazy Susan huffed like she was relieved and dropped her head to chomp at the sparse grass, as if nothing happening around her could possibly be more interesting than her next meal.

Sheriff Goodwin stepped forward, his blue eyes scanning Jax from head to toe like he was cataloging evidence. “You Jaxon Thorne?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“That’s me.”

“Sheriff Hank Goodwin. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Walker straightened, his weathered face giving nothing away. “About what, Hank?”

“This have something to do with the buzzards circling Coldwater Creek for the past day?” River asked, uncharacteristically icy.

Goodwin didn’t look at Walker or River. He stared straight at Jax as he stepped off the porch, boots thudding on the steps. His badge caught the sunlight, and the glint was sharp enough to make a man blink.

He stopped a little too close to Jax. “You know the service road off Ridge Road?”

Jax shook his head. “No.”

Goodwin’s smile was so sharp it could cut glass. “Yes, you do. You were walking right near there yesterday.”

That monster of a rooster crowed from the chicken coop, and the silence that followed was so complete Jax could hear the flies buzzing around the trash bins by the kennels.

Goodwin stepped even closer, and Jax felt the old instincts snapping awake, the part of him that counted exits, measured angles, and prepped for violence. It was muscle memory, bone deep.

“We found a body out there.”

Walker straightened away from the railing, and Boone crossed his arms over his massive chest. River stepped closer behind Jax, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other men had stopped working and were also closing ranks around him. X, Jonah, Anson, Bear, and Ghost.

The solidarity should have been reassuring. Instead, it made Jax’s chest tighten. These men barely knew him, but they were willing to stand with him anyway. It was more loyalty than he deserved.

Jax kept his hands at his sides, but his fingers twitched. He wanted a cigarette, but he didn’t smoke anymore. “I didn’t see anything.”

Goodwin studied him, head tilted, as if he could spot the truth hiding under Jax’s skin. “That right? Funny thing, you being new in town and all, and the girl gets dead same day you show up. What were you doing on that road before dawn?”

Escaping.

But he couldn’t say that, so he kept his mouth shut. He knew every word could be twisted, every response used against you. Better to stay quiet and let them hang themselves with their own assumptions.

“Is it illegal for a man to take a walk now, Sheriff?” River asked.

Goodwin ignored him, never breaking eye contact with Jax. “You got a record, son. Long one. Drugs, assault, attempted murder, plus a whole mess of other things they couldn’t pin on you. Can’t say I’m thrilled to have you in my jurisdiction.”

“That’s enough,” Walker said. “You want to question my men, you do it proper. With a warrant and lawyers present.”

“This is just a friendly conversation, Walker. No need for lawyers. Yet.” Goodwin tilted his head, studying Jax like he was already sizing up the rope for the noose. “Unless Mr. Thorne here has something to hide.”

Every time a cop got that look, it meant they’d already decided you were guilty. Evidence was just window dressing.

He remembered his first night in the Lost County jail in California, back before the trial. The way Sheriff Ash Rawlings had stared him down in the interview room, like he was an animal brought in for rabies. It had taken hours for Rawlings to break him, but break he did.

Goodwin took a step back. “Nessie Harmon saw you on the road. Says you helped her fix a tire. But here’s what I’m still trying to figure: did she give you an alibi or put you at the scene of the crime?”

Jax’s throat felt like sandpaper. “She what?”

Of all the people to throw him under the bus, he hadn’t expected it to be her. The woman with the kind eyes and the smart kid.

“Told me she saw you walking alone on that road around six a.m.,” Goodwin elaborated, watching Jax’s face for any reaction. “Said you looked... distressed.”

Had she really said that? Or was Goodwin twisting her words, fishing for a reaction?

Walker moved off the porch and put his body between Jax and Goodwin. “You’re reaching, Hank.”

“Am I? Young woman. Pretty. Brutalized. Found right where Thorne was walking. Timing fits. Profile fits. His history fits, too.”

Jesus, he should say something—defend himself, demand a lawyer, anything—but his tongue felt welded to the roof of his mouth.

“I need to know exactly where you were between four and six yesterday morning,” Goodwin pressed.

“Sleeping,” he finally managed. “Then I took a walk.”

“Anyone other than Nessie see you?”

“He left the bunkhouse at five-thirty. We all saw him,” Ghost said, his voice quiet but no less steely for it, and a murmur of agreement came from the rest of the guys.

“If you want proof, I can pull the security footage. It will show him coming in late that night when he and Walker got in from California, and not leaving again until he went for the walk. So what was T.O.D.?”

The sheriff’s expression soured.

Walker nodded. “You’re done here, Hank. Next time bring a warrant.”

Goodwin plastered on a smile and held up his hands in surrender.

“Like I said, just a friendly visit.” He strolled back to his cruiser, but paused at the door, turning just enough so his profile was visible, and spoke to the yard without facing anyone at all.

“But if I get reason to think any of you lied to me, I’ll be coming back with that warrant. ”

He got into the cruiser and slammed the door, the echo of it hanging in the morning air like a gunshot.

“Fucker,” River muttered.

“Get back to work,” Walker said. “Those horses need tending, Beckett. The rest of you, too. Go.”

Jax exhaled, slow, steady, but the pressure in his chest didn’t ease. He should be used to this. To suspicion, to the heat of an accusation. To being the first and only suspect.

He replayed yesterday morning in his head. Waking up to the chaos of King tearing around the bunkhouse. The curious stares from the men. Nessie on the side of the road, and the way her kid had stared at him through the glass. The way she’d sized him up before deciding he was safe enough to help.

He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t seen the girl, hadn’t known about the murder until Goodwin told him.

But none of that mattered, did it? All that mattered was who they’d decided he was.

He watched the road long after the cruiser was gone. When the last dust settled and the guys had all gone back to whatever they’d been doing before the sheriff’s visit, Boone turned, hands on hips, and fixed him with a stare. “You didn’t do anything, right?”

Jax got the feeling if he so much as twitched the wrong way, Boone might break his jaw just to make a point. “If you have to ask, we got a problem.”

Walker cleared his throat. “Boone’s not your judge, son. He’s your shield.”

Boone nodded. “Exactly. I ain’t asking if you killed her. I don’t care, but if I gotta stand between you and a murder charge, I need to know what to be ready for.”

Jax tried to relax his hands, but they kept curling into fists. “I walked Ridge Road. Fixed a tire for the woman and her kid. She drove me to the bakery. You picked me up there and brought me back here. End of story.”

“You didn’t see anything unusual? Anyone else on the road?” Boone pressed.

“I told you everything.”

“You sure about that?”

“Last time I killed someone, it was from behind a sniper rifle while I was still on the Teams.” The words came out flat, emotionless. “The last time I attempted to kill someone, I wasn’t in my right mind and got sent to prison. Now I am in my right mind, and I’m not itching to go back inside.”

A hint of a smile turned up the corner of Boone’s mouth, and the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

A big hand clapped down on Jax’s shoulder hard enough that he had to stumble a step to keep his balance.

He straightened and looked between the two men, searching for the lie, the angle, the trap.

He’d spent too many years with people who assumed the worst about him.

His own parents hadn’t believed he wasn’t responsible for those murders in California, even after the DNA evidence cleared him.

“You… believe me?”

“What I think,” Walker said carefully, “is that Hank’s never met an ex-con he didn’t want to put back behind bars. And you’re fresh meat.”

Boone nodded. “He’s right. Hank’s had a hard-on for this place since day one. You’re just the latest excuse.”

“This’ll get uglier if we don’t stay ahead of it.” Walker’s weathered face was grim. “So stay close to the ranch for a few days. No more dawn walks, no trips to town. Let the heat die down.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. He’d been free for barely three days, and already his world was shrinking back to prison dimensions. Fences. Boundaries. Permission needed to go anywhere.

This place was just another kind of cage. Bigger, sure. Prettier, definitely. But still a cage.

“So I’m on lockdown.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Boone said. “Just don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”

Walker studied him, eyes narrowed against the sun. “You got anywhere better to be?”

Jax didn’t answer. They both knew he didn’t.

“It’s just common fuckin’ sense, son,” Walker added. “You want to give Goodwin another crack at you? Go ahead. Walk into town. See how fast he finds a reason to cuff you.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

And Jax heard the unspoken message loud and clear: If shit goes sideways, you better be where I can find you.

“Then we’re done here.” Walker gave a sharp whistle, and Cowboy rose from his spot on the porch, trotting to his master’s side. “You have a dog to work with. Focus on that.”