Page 17

chapter

eleven

Nessie clutched the muffin tin to her chest like a shield, the metal still warm against her ribs, and shut her car door.

Dawn had barely cracked the sky open, painting Valor Ridge in shades of pink that made the place look softer than it was.

The ranch sprawled before her, all weathered wood and rusted metal, a patchwork of buildings that had seen better days but still stood strong.

Just like the men who lived here, she supposed.

The ranch was quiet at this hour, just the occasional whinny of horses from the paddock and the distant barking of dogs.

The air smelled of hay and damp earth, with undertones of manure and pine that mingled in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

A few trucks sat in the gravel lot, their windshields gleaming in the pale morning light.

She hadn’t planned on coming. Had told herself the whole drive over that this was stupid.

Dangerous, even. But the image of Sheriff Goodwin’s satisfied smile when she’d mentioned meeting Jax on the road kept replaying in her mind like a horror movie she couldn’t turn off.

She’d inadvertently given him the ammunition he’d been wanting for years.

Ammunition that could destroy this ranch and all the men that lived here. Especially Jaxon Thorne.

So, since it was Sunday and the bakery was closed, and since Oliver had a sleepover with his best friend Tate last night, she’d spent the night guilt-baking muffins for the men at Valor Ridge.

Blueberry for Bear, Jonah, and Anson. Chocolate chip for X, River, and also for Boone, because the man needed sweetness in his life.

Banana nut for Walker, because it was his favorite.

An everything bagel for Ghost, because he didn’t do muffins.

And one monster muffin for Jax, because her son had insisted on making him one yesterday.

She’d made extra of all but the monster muffin.

Too many, really, because her hands had needed something to do while her mind churned with guilt and worry.

Baking was her meditation, her way of making order from chaos.

But even the familiar rhythm of measuring and mixing hadn’t been enough to quiet the voice in her head that kept whispering: You might have just ruined an innocent man’s life.

Okay, so if Jax was living here, he technically wasn’t an innocent man. But she knew without a doubt he hadn’t killed anyone before she met him on the road that morning. She’d been around enough monsters to know what evil looked like when it wore a human face, and Jax Thorne wasn’t it.

She spotted three men near the barn. River leaning on a fence, that ever-present grin on his face; Boone’s massive frame dominating the space beside him, arms crossed; and Dewey Stafford, the local postal worker whose route included Valor Ridge.

He wasn’t dressed in his uniform today, though, but instead wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a blue canvas jacket.

He was gesturing animatedly with his gap-toothed smile wide, his trucker hat pushed back on his head.

“I swear on my momma’s grave,” Dewey was saying as Nessie approached, “that fish was THIS big!” His hands spread wide, the universal sign of an exaggerated fishing tale. “Biggest brown trout I ever seen in Coldwater Creek.”

Boone’s face remained impassive, but River snorted. “You know what they say about men who exaggerate the size of their... fish.”

Dewey’s laugh was just a touch too loud, his eyes flicking around the yard like he was making sure everyone heard it. Nessie had served him coffee often enough to recognize his pattern. Dewey collected stories like currency and spent them wherever he thought they’d buy him belonging.

“Morning, fellas,” she called.

River straightened, grin widening. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite purveyor of baked goods. You’re a vision, darlin’.”

“Can it, Beckett,” Boone growled, but there was no real heat in it.

Dewey’s gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “Nessie! Heard all about that dead girl you found off the Ridge Road the other day.”

Was that what everyone was saying?

“Uh, no. I… didn’t find her. I was just driving past and may have seen a truck near the crime scene. Probably nothing.” At least, that was what she’d tried to convince herself during her baking marathon last night.

Dewey tsked. “Terrible business. Just terrible.” His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “They’re saying it was Bailee.”

Nessie’s stomach dropped. “Bailee Cooper?” She’d known the girl.

Pretty, young, from a rough family that mostly kept to themselves out in the mountains.

The kind of girl who had big dreams but limited options.

Bailee had been a regular patron at Nessie’s Place until a few months ago when she’d suddenly quit her waitressing job down the street at The Griddle and Grind Diner.

Nessie had heard rumors she’d found work with Craig Foster, the developer who was buying up half of Bravlin County.

She’d been quiet, kept to herself mostly, but she’d always been polite.

“That’s the one,” Dewey said, nodding gravely, though his eyes held a gleam. “Found her all torn up near the service road. She was stabbed. Multiple times. And that’s not even the worst part.”

Her stomach somersaulted. She hadn’t known the details. Hadn’t wanted to know them. “I’d rather not hear the worst part.”

“Oh, right.” Dewey looked deflated for a second, but perked up fast. “Well, at least the sheriff’s got himself a suspect already.”

Boone’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Dewey.”

“What? It’s public knowledge. That new fella you got staying here was seen walking that very road that morning.

Real convenient timing, if you ask me.” Dewey’s gaze darted between Boone and River like he was gauging their reactions.

“Course, I’m not saying he did it. Just saying it’s mighty suspicious. ”

The blood drained from Nessie’s face, and she felt suddenly lightheaded. This was her fault. Her careless words to Sheriff Goodwin had already spread through town like wildfire, twisted and reshaped with each telling.

“Nobody asked you,” River said. “Don’t you have more packages to deliver?”

Dewey’s smile faltered. “Hey now, I’m just repeating what folks are saying. Can’t blame the messenger, right?”

“Can if the messenger’s got a big mouth and no sense,” Boone said, his words full of the kind of quiet menace that made smart men take a step back.

Dewey wasn’t smart. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “All I’m saying is, maybe you boys ought to be more careful about who you’re letting stay here. All of us still remember that Creed guy and all the trouble he caused.”

“Dewey.” Walker’s voice cracked the air like a whip. The ranch owner strode across the yard from the kennels with Jax trailing behind him. “Time for you to go.”

The postal worker’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m just finishing up my deliveries,” he said, hands raised in surrender, but his eyes fixed on Jax with undisguised curiosity.

Jax stopped a few paces away. He looked like he’d been dragged backward through hell. Dark circles under his eyes, stubble shadowing his jaw, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His movements were stiff, and he rolled his shoulders like they ached.

Walker stepped between them. “Then finish and go.”

“No offense meant. Just making conversation.” He tipped his hat to Walker, but paused as he passed Nessie, his hand brushing her arm. “You take care now, Nessie girl. These are dangerous times.”

Nessie tightened her grip on the muffin tin until her knuckles ached. “It’s no more dangerous than any other time, Dewey.”

“Dewey,” Walker growled. “Get in your truck. Drive away.”

This time, Dewey got the message. He scurried toward his mail truck, calling over his shoulder, “Y’all have a blessed day now.”

The silence that followed his departure was thick enough to cut with a knife. Nessie sensed Jax’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed sandpaper.

“Muffins,” she said finally, holding up the tin like it explained everything. “I brought muffins.”

“You’re an angel,” River said, plucking the tin from her hands with surprising gentleness. “Let me guess, chocolate chip for me because I’m sweet as can be?”

“Something like that,” she managed, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Boone stepped closer, his massive frame blocking the morning sun. “What brings you out here so early, Nessie?”

“She needs an excuse other than muffins?” River asked, his mouth already full.

Her throat closed up. She could feel the weight of all their eyes on her, but Jax’s gaze felt heaviest. When she finally worked up the courage to look at him, his expression was unreadable. Jaw tight, arms crossed, waiting.

“I need to talk to Jax,” she finally managed. “Alone.”

River’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, this is getting interesting.”

“River,” Boone warned.

“Go find something else to do.” Walker jerked his head toward the barn. “All of you.”

River took another muffin from the tin before handing it to Walker. “If you need backup,” he said to Jax, “just holler.”

Boone lingered a moment longer, his pale eyes shifting from Nessie to Jax. Finally, he nodded once and followed River toward the barn, where Anson was working on a horse’s hoof while Jonah soothingly stroked its black muzzle.

Walker was the last to leave. “Come find me in the barn when you’re done,” he said to Jax, then tipped his hat to Nessie. “Thanks for the muffins.”

“Your favorite’s in there.”

A genuine smile broke across his rugged face. “Knew it would be.”

He turned to walk away, but she stopped him.

“Oh, wait. Jax needs his muffin.” If she let him go into that barn with all of them, Jax wouldn’t get one. She took the monster muffin from the tin, then selected a blueberry one for herself.

Walker offered her another smile and, if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a knowing twinkle in his deep blue eyes that had heat rising up into her cheeks.

Then he was gone, leaving them alone in the yard with nothing but the sound of horses shifting in their stalls and the distant call of a hawk circling overhead.

Nessie held out the monster muffin, her hand trembling slightly. “Um, Oliver insisted you need this.”

Jax stared at the green muffin with its candy eyes and the toothy, lopsided grin drawn on with frosting. She’d debated with herself for a good ten minutes whether or not to include the eyes, but ultimately did because her son would have been outraged at a monster muffin with no eyes.

Jax finally accepted it carefully, like it might bite him. His fingers brushed hers in the exchange. His hands were warm, calloused, and she noticed a fresh scrape across his knuckles.

“He made this for me?” His voice was rougher than she remembered.

“Well, I made it, but he drew on the smile.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “He’s been asking about you non-stop. Wanted to know if you were coming back to the bakery.”

Jax’s fingers tightened around the muffin. “Kid shouldn’t be thinking about me.”

“Maybe not. But he is. He likes you.”

Something flickered across Jax’s face. Surprise, maybe even pain. He looked down at the ridiculous green muffin with its googly candy eyes like it was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“I didn’t come here about the muffins,” Nessie said finally. “I came to warn you.”

His head snapped up, hazel eyes locking onto hers. “Warn me about what?”

“Sheriff Goodwin knows I gave you a ride yesterday morning. He knows you were walking away from where they found...” She swallowed hard. “Where they found Bailee Cooper’s body.”

Jax went very still. The kind of stillness that preceded violence or flight. “And?”

“And he’s looking for someone to blame. The whole town’s talking about it. About you.” The words felt like broken glass in her throat. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should have kept my mouth shut, but he cornered me and I?—”

“You told him the truth.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “That’s what normal people do.”

“Normal people don’t throw innocent men to the wolves.”

“Who says I’m innocent?”

The question hung between them like a blade. Nessie studied his face, searching for some hint of guilt or deception, but found only exhaustion and a bone-deep weariness that made her chest ache.

“I do,” she said simply.

He barked out a laugh that held no humor. “You don’t know me, lady. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I know you helped me change a tire when you didn’t have to. I know you were gentle with my son.” She took a step closer, close enough to see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes. “And I know you didn’t kill that girl.”

“How?”

Because I’ve looked evil in the face and kissed it goodnight for five years. Because I know what a monster looks like when it’s pretending to be a man.

But she couldn’t say any of that. Not without revealing too much of herself.

“Because you’re here,” she said instead. “If you’d killed someone, you wouldn’t have come back. You’d have kept running.”

Jax stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes. Then he looked away, jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” he said finally. “Or what I did or didn’t do. The sheriff’s made up his mind, and I’m an easy target. Ex-con with a history of violence? Perfect suspect.”

“Then we fight back.”

“We?” His gaze snapped back to hers. “There’s no ‘we’ here, Nessie. You need to stay the hell away from me before you get dragged down with me.”

The words hit like a slap, but she didn’t flinch. “Don’t you dare tell me what I need to do.”

“I’m trying to protect you?—”

“I don’t need your protection.” The words came out harder than she’d intended, edged with old pain and older anger. “I need you to let me help.”

“Why?” The question exploded out of him, raw and desperate. “Why do you give a damn what happens to me?”

Because I know what it’s like to have the whole world convinced you’re something you’re not.

Because I know what it feels like to be alone and afraid and certain that no one will believe you.

Because when I look at you, I see myself four years ago, broken and running and convinced I deserved whatever hell was coming for me.

But she couldn’t say that either. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said instead, and knew it sounded inadequate even as the words left her mouth.

Jax studied her face like he was trying to read her secrets. “You’re lying.”

“Maybe. But I’m here anyway.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He looked down at the monster muffin still clutched in his hands, its frosting smile cheerful and absurd.

“Tell your boy thanks,” he said quietly. “But tell him not to make any more for me. I won’t be around long enough to eat them.”