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“Not quite,” Jax said, fighting the urge to smile. “Giraffes are about eighteen feet tall.”

“Whoa.” Oliver’s eyes went even wider. “How do you know that?”

How did he know that? He had no idea. “I read it somewhere.”

“Are they your favorite animal?”

“No.”

“What is your favorite?”

“Dogs,” he said without even thinking about it.

Oliver sighed in exasperation. “I mean wild animal.”

“Oh. Well, then, wolves.”

He contemplated that a moment, then nodded.

“That makes sense. I like dinosaurs,” he announced, bouncing on his toes.

“I know all about them. The Tyrannosaurus rex had a bite force of 8,000 pounds. That’s stronger than a crocodile.

And it could run twenty miles per hour, which is faster than me, but I’m getting faster.

Mom says I’m like a tornado with legs. Do you know about dinosaurs? ”

Jax didn’t know what to do with the rapid-fire subject changes or with the way this kid looked at him as if he hung the moon.

“Uh, I know a little,” he admitted finally. “Mostly just that they probably had feathers instead of scales.”

“Like Velociraptor!” Oliver’s face lit up even brighter. “I did a project on them. They were actually the size of turkeys, not like in the movies. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

Oliver beamed at him like he’d just announced he could fly. “Mom, Jax knows about dinosaurs!”

Nessie watched them, her expression soft and uncertain. “That’s great, honey. Why don’t you go wash your hands? You can tell Jax all about your project after.”

“Okay!” The boy darted toward the back, pausing only to add, “Don’t leave, okay? I want to show you my drawing!”

Before Jax could respond, Oliver disappeared through a swinging door.

The silence that he left in his wake felt heavier somehow.

Jax shifted his weight, unsure what to do with his hands or where to look. He settled for taking another sip of coffee.

“He doesn’t usually take to strangers,” Nessie said quietly. “Actually, he’s usually shy around men.”

Jax didn’t know what to say to that. Her words created a picture he didn’t want to examine too closely.

So, instead, he asked, “He’s what, five?”

“Just turned seven last month.” Pride colored her voice. “Going on forty, sometimes.”

“Smart kid.”

“Smarter than me most of the time.” She shook her head and gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Notices everything. Remembers everything. I really don’t know where he gets it from.”

The bakery door opened again, and Ghost materialized in the entrance, a hardware store bag in one hand. His gaze swept the room, taking in everything before landing on Jax. “Ready?”

He nodded, but before he could move, Oliver burst back into the room, a crumpled paper clutched in his small hand.

“Look! This is my T-Rex!” He thrust the paper toward Jax, who had no choice but to take it. “See his teeth? They’re really sharp for tearing meat. And I made his arms small because T-Rex had tiny arms but really strong legs.”

The drawing was exactly what you’d expect from a seven-year-old—all disproportionate limbs and crayon scribbles—but there was something oddly compelling about it.

The dinosaur had been carefully colored, with each scale meticulously drawn, and the teeth rendered in jagged white against a fierce red mouth.

“It’s good,” Jax said, meaning it. “You got the details right.”

Oliver practically glowed at the praise. “I studied real hard. Mom took me to the museum in Missoula, and I saw a skeleton and everything.”

Ghost cleared his throat softly from the doorway.

“I have to go,” Jax told the boy, handing back the drawing.

Oliver’s face fell. “But you just got here.”

“I know. But I have to get back to the ranch.”

“Can I come see the ranch sometime? Do you have horses? I’ve never ridden a horse, but I want to. Mom says maybe when I’m bigger.”

Jax glanced at Nessie, who looked torn between amusement and concern. “That’s up to your mom.”

Oliver turned to her, eyes wide and pleading. “Can we, Mom? Please? I want to see where Jax lives. And the horses. And maybe there are dogs, too?”

“We’ll see,” she said, using those universal parent words that could mean anything from “absolutely not” to “maybe if you’re lucky.”

“That means no,” Oliver said with a dramatic sigh.

“It means we’ll see,” Nessie corrected. “Now say bye to Jax.”

“Are you coming back soon?” Oliver asked, clutching his dinosaur masterpiece. “Mom makes the best cinnamon rolls on Fridays.”

Jax glanced at Nessie, unsure how to answer. Her eyes met his, and something passed between them—a question, maybe, or an invitation.

“If he wants to,” she said softly.

Oliver grinned. “You should! And next time I’ll show you my book about wolves, since that’s your favorite.”

Jax felt that strange warmth again, spreading through his chest like a wildfire he couldn’t control. He didn’t deserve this child’s easy acceptance, this woman’s gentle understanding. He was a danger to them both, a lightning rod for trouble.

But God help him, he wanted to come back.

“Maybe.”

Ghost cleared his throat again, a subtle reminder that they needed to leave. Jax nodded and turned toward the door, but paused when he felt a small hand slip into his.

Oliver had reached up and taken his hand, as naturally as breathing. The boy’s fingers were warm and sticky, probably from whatever he’d eaten at school, and so small that they barely wrapped around three of Jax’s fingers.

“Bye, Jax,” Oliver said, giving his hand a little shake. “I’m glad you’re not in jail anymore.”

Jax froze, his gaze shooting to Nessie, who looked equally startled.

“Oliver!” she gasped. “Where did you hear that?”

The boy’s face scrunched in confusion. “Mrs. Perkins told her friend at school pickup that the man from the Ridge who fixed our tire was an ex-con. That means jail, right? Like on TV?”

Nessie’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oliver, that’s not something we?—”

“It’s okay,” Jax interrupted, sounding steadier than he felt. He crouched down to Oliver’s level, the boy’s small hand still in his. “Yes, I was in jail. I made some bad choices and had to pay for them.”

Oliver considered this with solemn concentration, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Like when I have to sit in time-out when I do something bad?”

A surprised laugh escaped Jax before he could stop it. “Sort of. But longer.”

“How long?”

“Five years.”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “That’s forever! That’s like, my whole life!”

“Almost,” Jax agreed.

“But you’re better now? You don’t do bad things anymore?”

He opened his mouth, but closed it again without making a sound. Was he better? Would he ever be? Or was he just one bad day away from becoming the monster everyone thought he was? The monster he had once been?

He finally settled on the same thing he’d told Echo. “I’m trying to be better.”

Oliver nodded, satisfied. “That’s good. Mom says trying is the most important part.” He squeezed Jax’s fingers. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Friend. The word lodged in his throat like a stone.

This child—this innocent, trusting child—thought they were friends.

And for the first time in years, he saw himself through someone else’s eyes.

Not as a threat, not as a criminal, not as damaged goods, but as someone worth knowing. Worth trusting.

It shook him to his core.

“Okay,” Nessie said and gave her son a gentle push. “Now go put your backpack away and wash those dirty hands like I told you.”

“I did!”

“With soap?”

The boy grumbled and trudged toward the back room, dragging his feet with theatrical slowness.

“Sorry about that,” Nessie said once he was out of earshot. “He asks a lot of questions when he’s excited.”

He straightened. “It’s fine.” And strangely, it was. The kid’s enthusiasm was... refreshing. Uncomplicated. “He’s a good kid.”

“The best.” Her voice softened. “Too good for what he’s been through.”

Before Jax could ask what she meant, Ghost spoke from the doorway. “Walker’s expecting us back.”

Nessie nodded. “Of course. Thank you again for fixing the door.”

“It was nothing.”

“Not nothing,” she corrected, her gaze steady on his. “It’s something. And I appreciate it.”

The way she said it, so quiet and certain, lodged under his skin and refused to budge. He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak, and turned to follow Ghost.

“Jax?”

He stopped at the threshold and looked back. She was holding out a small piece of paper.

“My number. In case you...” She trailed off, seeming uncertain how to finish that sentence.

In case he wanted to talk? In case he needed help? In case the sheriff came for him and he needed someone to vouch for his whereabouts?

He took the paper, careful not to let their fingers touch again. “Thanks.”

Outside, Ghost was already halfway to the truck, his long strides eating up the sidewalk. Jax hurried to catch up, tucking the paper into his pocket like it was something precious.

“Got what you need?” Ghost asked as he climbed into the cab, his tone neutral but his eyes knowing.

Jax didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what he needed anymore. A week ago, he’d known exactly. Stay invisible. Do his time at the ranch. Stay out of prison. But now...

“I need a phone,” Jax said abruptly, the words surprising even him. “Where can I get one in town?”

Ghost’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the only indication of surprise on his otherwise impassive face.

Then he nodded toward a small storefront a few blocks down.

“Cell phone shop at the end of Main. Nothing fancy, but they’ll set you up with something basic.

” He paused, studying Jax with those penetrating gray eyes.

“Burn phones at the gas station if you want to stay off the grid.”

“No, I got nothing to hide. Just need to be reachable.”

“Uh-huh,” Ghost said and started the engine. “Guess we got time for one more stop.”