Page 20

chapter

thirteen

Echo watched Jax from the corner of her kennel, mismatched eyes fixed on his every movement. Jax knelt on the concrete floor, his knees aching against the hard surface, and waited. The kennels smelled of disinfectant and wet fur, with undertones of fear that no amount of cleaning could erase.

A week had passed since Nessie had shown up with that ridiculous green muffin. A week of avoiding most of the other men, of keeping his head down during meals, of spending every free moment here with Echo while the rest of the world decided whether or not he was a murderer.

He’d learned that Ghost was right about the dead girl’s name: Bailee Cooper. Learned that she’d been stabbed multiple times. Learned that the sheriff had already been by the ranch twice to question Walker about his newest resident.

But here in this kennel, none of that mattered. Here, it was just him and Echo and the slow, patient work of trust.

“Not hungry today?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the untouched food bowl, which he’d sprinkled with meatballs. “Can’t say I blame you. Bear’s on kitchen duty again. Those meatballs look questionable.”

Echo’s nose twitched. She still hadn’t moved from her corner, but her body wasn’t as rigidly tense as it had been the first day.

Progress.

Slow progress, yeah, but real.

He shifted his weight, careful not to make any sudden movements. Echo’s eyes tracked him like she was trying to determine if this was the moment he’d finally reveal himself as a threat.

“I’m going to move the bowl closer to you,” he told her, narrating his actions before he made them. “Just the food. Not trying to touch you.”

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent warning as his hand stretched toward the bowl. But she didn’t growl. That was new.

Jax slid the bowl six inches closer to her, then returned to his spot by the kennel door. “Your call.”

A beam of sunlight slanted through the high window, catching the dust motes in the air and turning them to gold.

Outside, he could hear the muffled sounds of the ranch—a truck engine starting, men calling to each other, the occasional bark from another dog or whinny of a horse.

And of course, General Mayhem was crowing like a demon, announcing his displeasure to anyone who’d listen.

But inside the kennel, time seemed to stand still.

“There’s a whole world out there, you know?

” He leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall and rested his arms on his drawn-up legs.

“It’s not all scary, I promise. Some of it’s actually pretty good.

There’s this kid, Oliver, and he makes these fire truck noises that sound like dying cats, but he’s so damn proud of them.

And his mom...” Jax trailed off, his throat tightening unexpectedly.

“His mom makes coffee that doesn’t taste like motor oil, and she smiles at you like you’re not a complete waste of space. ”

Echo’s head tilted slightly, one ear rotating toward him like a satellite dish picking up a signal.

“Course, that was before everyone decided I’m a killer.

” He let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea, staying in that corner.

People are shit, Echo. They’ll hurt you just because they can.

And I can’t lie, I used to be one of those people.

I was hurting and wanted the whole world to hurt with me, so I went after the people I should’ve been leaning on.

And I hurt someone. Bad. I keep telling myself I’m different now, but maybe that’s bullshit.

Maybe we are what we are, and all this..

.” he gestured vaguely at the kennel, “is just pretending. But I’m trying—” His voice caught, surprising him with its sudden roughness.

“I’m trying to be better. So maybe you can try to come out of that corner, huh? ”

Echo watched him for another long moment, then slowly, cautiously, unwound from her defensive ball.

She inched forward, belly low to the ground, eyes never leaving his face.

One careful paw, then another. Her ribs showed through her patchy coat—she needed the food, but so far, fear was a stronger motivator than hunger.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured. “No rush.”

Jax kept perfectly still, barely breathing, as the dog stretched her neck toward the bowl, sniffed once, and took a small bite.

“Good girl.”

Her ears flicked back, then forward again at the praise. She took another bite, then another, her eyes never leaving his face.

For days, he’d been coming here, sitting with her, talking to her. At first, she’d cowered from his voice, trembling so hard he could hear her teeth rattling. But he’d kept talking, telling her about his day, about the ranch, about the nightmares that still jolted him awake at 3 a.m.

He’d never expected her to listen. But somehow, she did.

Echo finished the last of the food and looked up at him, something new in her gaze. Not trust, not yet. But maybe curiosity.

“Finished already? Good job.” He extended his hand, palm up, and laid it flat on the floor between them.

For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Echo took a step toward him. Another. She stretched her neck, nostrils flaring as she sniffed his fingers.

And then?—

She bumped her nose against his hand before darting back to her corner.

The touch lasted only a split second. But it was electric. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in Jax’s chest, cracking open a space he’d thought had calcified years ago.

“Shit,” he whispered, staring at his hand where he could still feel the cool press of her nose. “You did it.”

Echo settled back into her corner, but her body language had shifted. Her tail wasn’t tucked quite so tightly. Her eyes, while still wary, held something that might have been interest.

Jax’s shoulders relaxed slightly, some of the perpetual tension bleeding out of them. He hadn’t even realized how tightly wound he’d been until that small release.

Echo had touched him. Voluntarily. It was such a small thing, but it felt monumental. Felt like the first step toward something he couldn’t quite name.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to Nessie and her dark, knowing eyes.

The way she’d looked at him that day in the bakery, like she could see past all his defenses to whatever broken thing was still worth saving underneath.

The way she’d shown up with her apologies and that ridiculous muffin, like she gave a damn what happened to him.

I know you didn’t kill that girl.

He’d replayed those words a hundred times in his head, turning them over like worry stones. How could she be so sure? What did she see that made her believe in him when he barely believed in himself?

“You’d like Nessie,” he told Echo quietly. “She sees things.”

“Most women do.”

Jax’s head snapped up, muscle memory from prison kicking in—never let someone approach from behind without noticing. But it was just Ghost, materializing in the kennel doorway like he’d been conjured from shadow.

Ghost’s ice-gray eyes took in the scene with clinical detachment, cataloging everything from Echo’s slightly relaxed posture to the empty food bowl to Jax’s position on the floor.

His lean frame filled the doorway, but he made no move to enter the space.

Always maintaining a precise distance. Always calculating.

“Didn’t hear you coming,” Jax said, rising slowly to his feet, careful not to spook Echo.

Ghost’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “You weren’t meant to.”

The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.

Jax had barely spoken to Ghost since arriving at the ranch.

The man kept to himself, disappearing for hours and reappearing without explanation.

But there was something in his eyes—a quiet vigilance, a bone-deep wariness—that Jax recognized.

The look of a man who’d seen too much and done worse.

“Heading into town,” he said, voice flat as the Montana plains. Not a question, not quite an offer either. Just a statement of fact that hung in the air between them.

Jax hesitated. Town meant people. Stares. Whispers about the ex-con who might have killed Bailee Cooper. But it also meant a chance to get away from the ranch for a while, to breathe air that wasn’t laced with expectation.

“Walker wants me to stay close to the ranch.”

“Not asking for Walker’s permission.” Ghost’s expression was neutral, except for his eyes. Those gray eyes held a challenge. “Asking if you want to go.”

Jax glanced back at Echo, who was watching them with alert interest. “Sheriff’s looking for me.”

“Sheriff’s looking for a scapegoat,” Ghost corrected. “Big difference. If he really wanted to arrest you, hiding out here ain’t going to change that. He knows where you are.”

Jax studied the other man, trying to read the angles and shadows of his face.

Ghost remained the most enigmatic resident at the ranch.

While the others wore their damage like badges—River with his manic charm, Bear with his barely contained rage, X with his weaponized swagger, Jonah with his too-bright smile, Anson with his stoic silence, Boone with his granite discipline—Ghost was a blank slate, impossible to read.

The only things Jax knew for certain were that Ghost had been CIA, was extremely skilled with computers, and could slip in and out of rooms without making a sound.

“Why do you want me to go?”

Ghost’s mouth twitched. “Because you’re better company than River.”

“That’s a low bar.”

“The lowest.”

Jax considered the offer. Staying on the ranch meant safety, predictability. But it also meant sitting with his thoughts, waiting for the sheriff to show up with handcuffs and that smug, gotcha smile that cops got when they’d finally cornered their prey.

He looked back at Echo. She’d inched forward again, head cocked slightly as she watched the exchange.

“I’ll be back,” he told her softly. “Keep the corner warm.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the dog’s tail twitched in acknowledgment.