Page 58

chapter

forty

Nessie ran her fingers along the blackened edge of what used to be her favorite display case.

The glass had shattered in the heat, but the wooden frame remained, scorched but stubbornly intact.

Like me, she thought, tracing the warped edge where fire had tried to devour it.

Beaten down but not broken. Two weeks since Brandt had delivered the news of Alek’s death, and she still caught herself looking over her shoulder, still startled at sudden noises.

Old habits died harder than ex-husbands, apparently.

She stepped carefully through the debris, salvaging what she could.

The fire had been concentrated in the kitchen, but smoke and water damage had touched everything.

The pink Formica countertops were stained with soot.

The faded checkered floor tiles were warped from the firefighters’ hoses.

But the building’s bones were sound. The fire marshal had confirmed that yesterday, giving her the all-clear to begin cleanup.

The insurance money would cover most of the repairs, but not all. Still, it was more than she’d had when she first arrived in Solace with nothing but a new identity and Oliver’s hand in hers.

Nessie set down her box of salvaged utensils and straightened, pressing her palm against the small of her back.

Through the front window, she watched Jax and Oliver carefully loading bags of feed into a Valor Ridge truck while Echo supervised from the sidewalk.

The dog never let Oliver out of her sight these days.

She’d appointed herself his protector, and Nessie couldn’t be more grateful.

Oliver was laughing at something Jax had said, his whole face lighting up. He looked happier than she’d seen him in years. Maybe ever. The ranch had been good for him—the wide-open spaces, the animals, the daily routine of chores that made him feel important and needed.

And Jax...

God, Jax had been everything. Patient, steady, there for both of them in ways she hadn’t known were possible.

She watched as he ruffled Oliver’s hair, then helped him carry a heavy bag. Her son was soaking up every bit of male attention like a plant that had been kept too long in the dark. And Jax seemed to blossom under Oliver’s adoration, too, standing taller, smiling more. They were healing each other.

Nessie turned back to the bakery, surveying the work ahead.

It would take months to get it all back to working order, but she already had plans forming.

Not just to restore, but to improve. The pink countertops would go, replaced with butcher block that Jonah had offered to help her install.

The dining area would be expanded into the small storeroom, making space for more tables.

She might even add a small children’s corner with books and toys.

She’d sketched it all out last night, sitting on the cabin porch while Jax and Oliver hunted for constellations in the vast Montana sky. For the first time in a long time, she’d let herself plan beyond next week, beyond next month. She’d allowed herself to think in terms of years. A life. A future.

“How’s it looking in here?” Jax’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright afternoon light.

“Better than I expected,” she said, brushing dust from her hands. “The insurance adjuster says I should have the first check by next week.”

He stepped inside, careful where he placed his boots. “Walker says the guys want to help with the rebuild. Ghost’s already talking about rewiring the whole place. And I’m getting you that espresso machine you’ve been drooling over.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“They want to.” He moved closer, taking her dust-streaked hands in his. “I want to.”

The simple declaration made her throat tight.

She’d spent so many years alone, convinced that asking for help was a weakness Alek would exploit.

Even in Solace, she’d kept herself separate, friendly but guarded.

And now here was this man, these men, offering to rebuild her world from the ashes without expecting anything in return.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Jax’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “You’re part of us now. Like it or not.”

“I like it.” She stepped into the circle of his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under her ear, strong and sure. “I like it a lot.”

They stood like that for a long moment, his chin resting on top of her head, her arms wrapped around his waist. Through the window, she could see Oliver sitting in the truck bed, Echo at his side, his legs dangling as he chatted with Margery Pendry on the sidewalk.

Just a normal kid on a normal day. No need to look over his shoulder anymore.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, the words muffled against Jax’s shirt. “Maybe instead of rebuilding the apartment, Oliver and I could stay at the ranch. Walker offered to let us rent the cabin.” She pulled back to see his face. “If you want us there.”

His eyes went soft around the edges. “Of course I want you there, but I was planning on moving here if that’s what you wanted.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Wherever you and Oliver are. That’s where I want to be.”

“Even if it’s a tiny apartment above a noisy bakery?”

“Even then.” His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Though Echo might need her own room. She snores.”

Nessie laughed, a real laugh that started deep in her belly and bubbled up through her chest. It felt strange and wonderful, like stretching a muscle she’d forgotten she had.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, and reached up to touch his face. “We’ve got time now.”

All the time in the world, she thought.

She patted his chest. “You better get that feed to the ranch before you piss Boone off.”

“Yeah, I’ve decided a pissed off Boone is something I don’t want to see. Regular Boone is scary enough.” Jax sighed, kissed her lightly, and stepped back. “What time do you want me to swing back and pick you up?”

“Five o’clock?” she said, already calculating how much more she could sort through before then. “I want to go through the storage room one more time. See if any of the baking equipment survived.”

“Don’t overdo it.” He swiped at a smudge of soot on her cheek. “You’ve been at this since dawn.”

She had been, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Every salvaged item felt like a small victory against the flames, against Alek.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, though they both knew she’d push until exhaustion forced her to stop. It was how she’d survived the last four years—constant motion, constant vigilance, never letting herself rest long enough for the fear to catch up.

Old habits.

Jax studied her face for a moment, and she could see him weighing whether to argue. Finally, he just nodded. “Five o’clock, then. And we’ll get dinner out before we go home.”

Just before five, the bell above the door jingled softly. Nessie glanced up at the time from the stack of salvaged mugs she was wrapping in newspaper. She’d been so absorbed in her work she hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.

“Hey, right on time. I’m just about done?—”

The words died in her throat as she turned.

It wasn’t Jax.

Dewey Stafford stepped inside, his postal worker uniform rumpled and stained with sweat, a red plastic gas can clutched in his right hand. Before she could speak again, he reached behind him and turned the deadbolt with a decisive click.

“Hey, Nessie,” he said, oddly casual despite the wild look in his pale green eyes. “You’ve been busy.”

“Dewey...” She set down the mug she’d been wrapping, careful not to make any sudden movements. “What are you doing with that gas can?”

He hefted the can like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this? Just thought I’d help finish what someone started.” His laugh had a brittle edge that raised the hair on her arms. “Seems like a shame to leave a job half-done, you know?”

Nessie’s gaze darted to the front door, calculating the distance.

The back door was currently blocked off from where the ceiling in the kitchen had collapsed, and Dewey stood directly in her path to the front, his stocky frame blocking her only exit.

Her phone was in her purse, but her purse was under the counter, ten feet away.

Jax would be here any minute. She just had to stall until then.

“I don’t understand,” she said, though a cold certainty was forming in her gut. “Why do you want to burn down my bakery?”

“You’ve been talking too much.”

“About what?”

Dewey’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step closer, the gas can sloshing. “About my truck! About seeing it that night!”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew—oh God, she knew exactly what he meant with a sickening certainty—but she had to keep him distracted for just a few more minutes.

Where are you, Jax?

“What night? Dewey, I haven’t said anything about your truck to anyone.”

“Don’t lie to me!” The words exploded out of him, spittle flying from his lips. His free hand clenched and unclenched at his side. “I saw you looking at it when you drove by. That night I had to... when I made Bailee go away.”

The friendly mailman who waved to everyone, who told tall tales at the bar, who’d helped search for Oliver when he went missing—he was a killer.

“What happened, Dewey?”

His eyes went distant. “She was gonna leave me. Said she had bigger plans than some small-town nobody. Said I was just like her daddy.” He barked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

“I just wanted to talk to her, you know? Make her see reason. But she wouldn’t shut up.

Kept saying she was done with me, she had someone better, and they were done with this town.

” His free hand clenched into a fist. “I just wanted her to be quiet for a minute. Just one fucking minute.”

The gas can swung in his grip, and a few drops splashed onto the floor near his feet. The sharp, chemical smell filled the air, making Nessie’s eyes water.

“But it was an accident,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. Then she was just... gone. And I had to do something with her. So I took her up to that service road, the one by the ranch. Figured they’d blame one of those convicts Walker keeps around.”

So he hadn’t planned to frame Jax specifically. Just figured one of the guys would catch the blame, and that was enough for him. She felt sick thinking about how casually he’d planned to destroy innocent lives.

“But then you had to go and complicate things,” Dewey continued. “Driving by right when I was coming back from the creek. I saw you slow down, saw you looking at my truck.”

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, taking a careful step toward the counter. “Not really. Just an impression of a vehicle in the brush.”

“Don’t lie!” He slammed the gas can down on the nearest table, and more of the liquid sloshed out. “You looked right at me. And then you told the sheriff you saw my truck.”

Shit. She had done that, hadn’t she? Right in front of half the town, Dewey included.

“Dewey, I swear I didn’t see you. It was dark.”

“Then why have you been talking to that federal agent?” he demanded. “I see him coming in and out of here. Why’s he asking questions about white trucks around town if you didn’t tell him something?”

Brandt. Of course he would be checking out Bailee’s murder. He’d want to make sure the town was good and safe for her and Oliver before he left. But Dewey had no way of knowing that.

“He’s not here about any truck,” she said. “He’s here because of my ex-husband. He was helping me with a personal matter that has nothing to do with you or Bailee.”

For a moment, she thought she’d gotten through to him. His brow furrowed, and the manic energy seemed to drain from him slightly.

Then his face hardened. “You’re lying. You’re all lying.”

He unscrewed the cap on the gas can and upended it, splashing gasoline across the floor in a wide arc. The fumes hit her like a slap, burning her nostrils and making her cough.

“Dewey, stop!” She backed away from the spreading pool. “Please, I swear I didn’t see anything. I won’t say anything.”

“You’re just like her,” he said, eerily calm now. “Always thinking you’re better than me. Always with a plan to get out. Well, guess what?” He tipped the can again, dousing the remaining salvaged items she’d so carefully sorted. “Nobody’s getting out this time.”

“Dewey, please. I have a son.” Her voice broke, and she hated that it betrayed her, giving away her fear. “He needs me.”

Regret flashed in his eyes, or maybe doubt—but it was gone in an instant. “Should’ve thought of that before you started talking about white trucks.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. His hands were shaking so badly he had to try three times before he managed to tear one off.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Whatever happened with Bailee, we can fix it. I can help you.”

“Nobody can fix this.” He struck the match against the strip, and the flame flared to life, casting his face in a ghostly orange glow.

Time seemed to slow. Nessie watched the tiny flame waver between his fingers, reflected in his dead eyes. Then his fingers opened, and the match fell.