Page 29

chapter

nineteen

Before Jax could respond, the back door swung open and two small boys tumbled out, a whirlwind of energy and laughter. Oliver spotted him immediately, his face lighting up with recognition.

“Jax! You came back!” He raced across the bakery, nearly colliding with a table in his excitement. The other boy—Tate, presumably—hung back, watching with dark, soulful eyes.

“Hey, kid,” Jax said, surprised by the warmth that spread through his chest at Oliver’s obvious delight.

“We’re coloring dinosaurs! Wanna see? I did a T-Rex with really big teeth, and Tate did a?—”

“Oliver,” Nessie interrupted gently. “Take a breath. Jax just got here.”

“Sorry.” The boy bounced on his toes, barely containing his excitement. “But you gotta see our pictures. They’re awesome. Right, Tate?”

The other boy nodded shyly. He was smaller than Oliver, with light brown skin, a shock of tight red curls, and reddish-brown freckles spread thickly across his cheeks and nose. His expression was curious, but cautious.

“Show me,” Jax said, and was rewarded with a grin from Oliver so bright it could have powered the whole town.

Oliver darted back to retrieve their masterpieces, chattering to Tate the whole way. Nessie watched him go, a soft smile on her lips.

“Hurricane Oliver,” she said fondly. “Always at full speed.” She glanced toward the door as the bell jangled, and her smile faded. “Oh great,” she muttered under her breath.

Jax followed her gaze. The first man in was Dewey Stafford, the mail carrier whose truck he’d seen making deliveries at the ranch. Beside him was an older man in a crisp button-down shirt and khakis, with silver at his temples and a Bible tucked under one arm.

“Pastor Glenn,” Nessie said. “Dewey. What can I get you?”

“Just coffee, Vanessa,” the pastor said. “And perhaps a word with your... guest.”

Jax stiffened. He’d heard about Pastor Glenn O’Brien from the men at the ranch. The man ran the First Light Fellowship on the outskirts of town and made no secret of his disdain for Walker Nash and the convicts he took in.

“Pastor,” Jax acknowledged with a curt nod.

O’Brien pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, setting his Bible on the counter between them. Dewey hovered nearby, his eyes darting between them with undisguised interest.

“Mr. Thorne,” O’Brien said, folding his hands atop his Bible. “Did you find Jesus in prison?”

Jax’s jaw tightened. “Wasn’t aware he was lost.”

Nessie snorted, then quickly covered it with a cough when O’Brien shot her a sharp look. Someone called her name from across the room.

Jax sent her a pleading look. Don’t you dare abandon me.

“Sorry,” she mouthed and picked up the coffee pot, hurrying away to offer refills.

Fuck.

O’Brien’s attention shifted back to him. “I’m simply offering you the path to redemption. A man with your... history... must surely feel the weight of his sins.”

The weight of his sins.

If only the pastor knew how heavy that burden truly was.

“I appreciate the concern,” Jax said. “But I’m not looking for redemption. Or salvation.”

If there was a Hell, he knew the devil was keeping a seat warm for him there.

“Everyone is looking for salvation, whether they know it or not.” O’Brien leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “The Lord can wash away even the darkest stains, Mr. Thorne. Even violence against women.”

Jax went very still. How the hell did he know about that? The sheriff must have been talking, spreading Jax’s past around town like fertilizer.

“Pastor,” Nessie said sharply, returning with a coffee pot. “I’ve asked you multiple times not to sermonize my patrons.”

“I’m simply offering spiritual guidance to a lost soul, Vanessa.”

“Seems to me there are plenty of lost souls closer to home that could use your guidance,” Dewey said, uncharacteristically serious. “Like those kids in your youth program. Wasn’t Bailee one of yours?”

O’Brien’s face hardened, the mask of benevolence slipping for just a moment before he regained control. “I don’t like your tone, Dewey.”

“Well, never like yours, either, Pastor, so guess that makes us even.”

Jax watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. There was history there, something ugly simmering beneath the surface.

Oliver bounded back to the counter, oblivious to the tension, clutching two crumpled papers. “Look, Jax! This is my T-Rex! See his teeth? They’re super sharp for eating other dinosaurs!”

Jax forced himself to focus on the child, grateful for the interruption. “That’s some dinosaur, kid.”

“And this is Tate’s Triceratops,” Oliver continued, holding up the second drawing. “He’s got three horns for fighting. But they were plant-eaters, so they only fought to protect themselves.”

“Very impressive,” Jax said, genuinely impressed by the detail in both drawings.

Pastor O’Brien cleared his throat. “Oliver, perhaps you should take your friend back to play. Grown-ups are talking.”

Oliver frowned, looking between the adults with a child’s keen perception. “Are you being mean to Jax? My mom says we should be nice to everyone, even if they made mistakes before.”

Nessie’s face flushed. “Oliver?—”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” O’Brien murmured.

The bakery door swung open again, and Sheriff Hank Goodwin strode in, flanked by two deputies.

Double fuck.

Coming here had been a bad idea.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Goodwin’s cold gaze swept over the occupants, finally landing on Jax.

“Well, well,” Goodwin drawled. “Valor Ridge’s newest resident decided to grace us with his presence.”

Jax didn’t respond, just held the sheriff’s gaze steadily. Every muscle in his body had tensed, ready for confrontation, but he kept his expression bored.

“Sheriff,” Nessie greeted, her expression carefully professional. “Coffee?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Goodwin said, leaning against the counter. He winked at an older man sitting nearby. “Special of the day seems to be trouble.”

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the bakery. Jax remained silent, watching as the sheriff sauntered over to their table.

“Pastor,” Goodwin nodded respectfully. “Dewey.” His eyes narrowed as they landed on Oliver. “Why don’t you take your little friend back to play, son? Grown-up business here.”

Oliver looked to his mother, who nodded tightly. “Go on, honey. Show Tate that new fire truck book we got from the library.”

The boys reluctantly retreated, Oliver casting concerned glances over his shoulder.

“Thought Walker had you on lockdown out at the Ridge,” Goodwin said once the children were out of earshot.

“Last I checked, getting coffee wasn’t a parole violation.”

“No, but murder is.”

The bakery went deadly silent. Jax felt every eye on him, felt judgment settling over him like a shroud.

“You’re not seriously accusing him again,” Nessie said in disbelief. “We’ve been through this. He didn’t do it.”

“Just making conversation,” Goodwin replied, echoing Dewey’s earlier words. “Bailee Cooper’s family deserves answers, don’t you think?”

“They deserve better than a sheriff who’s more interested in scoring political points than finding the truth,” Jax said quietly.

Goodwin’s face darkened. “You questioning how I do my job, convict?”

“Hank,” Pastor O’Brien interjected smoothly, “perhaps this isn’t the venue?—”

“No, I think it’s the perfect venue,” Goodwin cut him off. “Let the good people of Solace see exactly what kind of men Walker Nash is harboring up at that ranch of his.”

One of the deputies moved closer, hand resting on his belt near his weapon.

Jax knew his type—stocky, puffed up, exuding the kind of false authority that came from years of bullying the defenseless.

The other deputy—barely out of puberty, by the look of him—hovered awkwardly near the door, visibly sweating.

“Sir,” he started, but Goodwin cut him off with a slashing motion of his hand.

“Shut it, Frye.”

“I think you should leave now,” Nessie said, stepping between Jax and the sheriff. “You’re disrupting my business.”

“Am I?” Goodwin’s smile was cold. “Or is he?” He jerked his chin toward Jax. “Man with his record shouldn’t be anywhere near decent folks. Or children.”

Jax’s hands clenched into fists against his thigh, but he kept his face impassive. He’d survived five years in prison by mastering his reactions, by not giving the guards or other inmates what they wanted. This was no different.

“Sheriff.”

Everyone looked at Nessie. If that was her “mom” voice, it was effective.

And kind of hot.

Which, Jesus Christ, was not an appropriate thought to be having right now.

Or ever.

“I decide who’s welcome in my bakery,” she continued. “Jax is welcome. And, right now, you and your deputies are not.”

“That right?” Goodwin’s gaze slid to her, something ugly flickering in his eyes. “Careful, sweetheart. People might start wondering why you’re so quick to defend a violent felon.”

“Because I know what a real monster looks like,” she shot back, then immediately looked like she regretted the words.

The burly deputy took a step forward and reached for her arm. “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to back?—”

Nessie went pale. Her breath hitched. Her entire body stiffened in a way that hit Jax in the gut like a sucker punch.

She was terrified.

He rose to his feet so fast his stool toppled to the floor. “Don’t touch her.”

The deputy sneered, fingers digging into Nessie’s forearm as he jerked her sideways. “I said back up.”

Nessie made a small, broken sound—not quite a cry, more like the whimper of someone who knew better than to scream. Her eyes went glassy, distant, like she was suddenly somewhere else entirely.

Something primal and violent erupted in Jax’s chest.

His fist connected with the deputy’s jaw before he’d even made the conscious decision to swing. Bone met bone with a sickening crack. The deputy staggered backward, blood spraying from his split lip, eyes wide with shock.

“Murdock!” Goodwin bellowed.

The deputy—Murdock—touched his fingers to his mouth, staring at the blood in disbelief. Then his face twisted with rage. He lunged for his weapon.

“Stop!” The younger deputy—Frye—stepped between them, hands raised. “Everyone just calm down!”

But Goodwin was already moving, slamming Jax face-first against the counter. Cold metal bit into his wrists as handcuffs clicked shut. He closed his eyes, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come.

He’d played right into their hands. Five years of discipline, undone in a single moment of weakness.

“Jaxon Thorne, you’re under arrest for assaulting an officer,” Goodwin growled in his ear, voice thick with satisfaction. “You just bought yourself a one-way ticket back to prison.”

“No! He was defending me,” Nessie protested. “Your deputy grabbed me. I was?—”

Goodwin cut her off, yanking Jax upright. “You were interfering with a police investigation, and your boyfriend here just made it a whole lot worse.”

The word “boyfriend” hung in the air like a toxic cloud nobody wanted to touch.

Heat crept up Jax’s neck, but not from embarrassment—from the way Nessie flinched at the implication, the way her face went chalk-white.

“He’s not my—” she started, but stopped and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Course not,” Murdock said, dabbing at his split lip with a napkin. “What would a nice girl like you want with a piece of shit like him?”

“You set him up,” one of the patrons called. The skinny guy who was always pecking away at a laptop whenever Jax visited. Now he stood next to his table, phone raised. “I have it all on camera.”

“You’re the piece of shit, Goodwin,” one of the old timers spat, and a ripple of agreements went around the room.

“Never were good for anything,” Margery added, shaking her bony finger at him. “You just wait until the next election.”

Jax stared at them all in disbelief. Were they… defending him? They didn’t know him. They had no reason to stick their necks out for him.

And yet the murmurs grew into a dull roar of protest.

Sheriff Goodwin’s grip tightened painfully on Jax’s shoulder, but his face remained a mask of professional calm. “Anyone interfering with police business will be joining Mr. Thorne here at the station.”

“You can’t arrest everyone,” the laptop guy said, still recording. “And I’m sending this to my cousin at the Missoula Tribune right now.”

“Do what you want, Levi,” Goodwin said, but he didn’t sound quite as sure of himself now. “I’m just doing the job you all voted for me to do, keeping you safe.” He jerked Jax toward the door. “Deputy Frye, get statements. Murdock, with me.”

As they dragged him out, Jax caught a glimpse of Nessie’s face. Her eyes were wide, haunted.

“It’s okay,” he mouthed, not sure why he was trying to comfort her when he was the one in cuffs.

“Jax?” Oliver’s small voice came from the back room doorway. The boy stood frozen, eyes huge in his pale face as he watched Jax being hauled away.

“It’s alright, kid,” he called back. “Just a misunderstanding.”

The last thing he saw before Goodwin shoved him through the door was Oliver’s trembling lip and Nessie pulling her son protectively against her side.