Page 59

chapter

forty-one

Jax spent the whole drive back to town picturing Nessie’s face when he told her about the reservation he’d made for them at a nearby steakhouse.

He was determined to take her on a real date—a belated birthday present, since circumstances hadn’t allowed them to celebrate on the actual day.

Not just crashing into bed together after Oliver passed out, but something that actually said, Hey, I’m serious about this.

He’d secured a babysitter—Johanna was more than happy to take Oliver for the evening—and cleaned himself up, putting on a button-up and his best jeans.

He’d packed several dresses for Nessie to change into, not sure which she’d want, and had already gotten the okay for her to use Mariah’s shower to clean up before they left.

Then, at the last moment, as he pulled onto Main Street, he decided he needed to get her flowers, too, and ducked into Pine & Bloom.

“These are perfect,” he told Mariah, nodding toward the mixed bouquet she’d put together. Pale pink roses, baby’s breath, and cheerful daisies that reminded him of the mug Nessie had poured his coffee into the morning they met. “She’ll love them.”

Mariah smiled, her hands gentle as she wrapped the stems in brown paper. “Nessie deserves something beautiful. She’s been working herself to the bone in that bakery.”

He glanced out the flower shop’s window toward the bakery—and his grin froze, his gut twisting as he watched Dewey Stafford disappear inside with a red gas can clutched in his meaty fist.

No.

Every instinct Jax had honed through years of combat and survival screamed danger.

“Mariah.” Her name came out sharp from fear, and she looked up from the arrangement, her brow crinkled.

“What—”

“Call the Ridge. Tell them to get down here now. And Marshal Brandt! Something’s wrong at Nessie’s.” He was already moving, shoving out the door, his boots eating up the pavement between the florist and Nessie’s Place.

The bakery’s new front windows were dark, the interior lost in shadow. No sign of movement, no flash of Nessie’s dark hair or her easy smile. Just a stillness that felt wrong, like the moment before an IED detonated.

His hand closed around the doorknob, twisting hard. Locked. Through the glass, he caught a flicker of movement, heard the faint sound of Nessie’s voice rising in distress.

No time to think. No time for anything but action.

He took two steps back, planted his left foot, and drove his boot into the door just beside the lock. The wood splintered with a crack that echoed down the empty street. His second kick sent the door flying inward, banging against the wall as he charged through.

The acrid stench of gasoline hit him like a punch. Dewey stood in the center of the bakery, a lit match suspended between his fingers, his face twisted in surprise at the sudden intrusion. Nessie was backed against the counter, her face pale with terror, eyes wide as they locked with Jax’s.

“Don’t drop it!” Jax roared, but Dewey’s fingers were already opening, the match tumbling in slow motion toward the gasoline-soaked floor.

Jax lunged, moving on pure instinct. He tackled Dewey with enough force to send them both crashing into a table, away from where the match had fallen. Behind them, flames erupted with a whoosh, instantly climbing the nearest wall.

Heat scorched his back as he pinned Dewey to the floor, one forearm pressed against the man’s throat. “Nessie, get out!” he shouted, not daring to look away from the postal worker. Dewey thrashed beneath him, more powerful than he looked, his face contorted with rage.

“You ruined everything!” Dewey spat, twisting to free himself. His hand shot up, and something glinted in the firelight—a box cutter, its blade extended.

Jax caught the movement a split second too late. The blade sliced across his forearm, a line of fire opening his skin. Blood welled instantly, warm and slick, but he barely felt it. Combat training took over, narrowing his focus to the threat in front of him.

He slammed Dewey’s wrist against the floor until the blade clattered away, then drove his knee into the man’s sternum, pinning him more securely. The smoke was thickening, making his eyes water and his lungs burn.

“Nessie!” he shouted again, risking a glance toward where she’d been.

She wasn’t there.

Dewey bucked beneath him, using Jax’s momentary distraction to break free.

He scrambled toward the box cutter, but Jax was faster, tackling him again.

This time, he didn’t hold back. He drove his fist into Dewey’s jaw, the impact jarring all the way up his arm.

The postal worker’s head snapped back, hitting the floor with enough force to daze him.

“Why?” Jax demanded, grabbing Dewey’s shirt and hauling him half-upright. “Why the hell would you do this?”

“She knows,” Dewey gasped, blood trickling from his split lip. His eyes darted to Nessie. “She saw my truck that night. With Bailee.”

The flames were spreading faster now, eating up the walls and licking at the ceiling. Smoke billowed through the bakery, black and choking. They needed to get out, but Jax couldn’t let Dewey go—not when he’d just confessed to murder.

Through the haze, Jax spotted movement near the counter.

Nessie had returned, a red fire extinguisher clutched in her hands.

Her face was set with determination as she pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle at the base of the flames.

White foam erupted from the extinguisher, coating the burning wall with a hissing sound.

The chemical smell cut through the smoke and gasoline fumes as Nessie moved methodically, sweeping the spray across the worst of the blaze.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second.

“I’m not going to prison,” Dewey snarled, renewed panic giving him strength. He twisted violently, his knee catching Jax in the ribs.

Dewey scrambled to his feet, but instead of running for the door, he charged at Nessie, who stood frozen in shock.

“No!” Jax roared, lunging after him.

He caught Dewey around the waist, driving him into the counter with enough force to crack the wood.

Dewey’s head snapped back, his eyes glazing briefly before refocusing.

He clawed at Jax’s face, fingernails catching his cheek, but Jax barely felt it.

All he could think about was keeping this monster away from Nessie.

A crack of flesh and bone broke through the smoke-filled air, and Dewey’s body went suddenly limp in Jax’s grip, slumping forward as his eyes rolled back. Behind him stood Nessie, the empty fire extinguisher clutched in white-knuckled hands, her eyes blazing with anger.

“That’s for Bailee.”

Jax let Dewey fall and reached for her.

“Are you hurt?” His hands shook as he checked her face, her arms, her body, looking for burns or cuts. She was covered in soot and chemical residue from the extinguisher, but her skin was unmarked.

“I’m okay.” The assurance came out hoarse, but whether that was from the smoke or the fear, he couldn’t tell. She did sound shocky when she added, “Jax, you’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at his arm. Blood had soaked through his shirt sleeve, but the flow was already slowing. “It’s nothing.”

The fire department burst through the door first, two firefighters in full gear hauling a hose line. Behind them came Sheriff Goodwin and Deputy Murdock, weapons drawn.

“What the hell happened here?” Goodwin demanded, his gaze moving between Jax and Nessie with obvious suspicion.

Before Jax could answer, Brandt appeared in the doorway, his usually pristine suit wrinkled and his tie askew like he’d been running. His pale eyes took in the scene—the unconscious postal worker, the fire damage, Jax’s bloody arm—and his expression went cold and professional.

“Dewey Stafford killed Bailee Cooper,” Nessie said, stronger now. “He confessed. He was going to burn down the bakery with me inside to cover it up because I saw his truck when he dumped Bailee’s body.”

Deputy Murdock crouched next to Dewey, checking his pulse. “He’s alive. Gonna have one hell of a headache when he wakes up.”

“Good,” Jax said. He meant it. The bastard deserved worse than a headache for what he’d tried to do.

Goodwin holstered his weapon but kept his suspicious gaze fixed on Jax. “You expect me to believe our mailman is a killer?”

“Believe what you want,” Jax said, exhaustion suddenly hitting him like a truck. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind the familiar ache in his bones and the metallic taste of fear in his mouth. “But he just tried to burn Nessie alive.”

Brandt stepped forward. “Sheriff, I suggest you arrest Stafford and read him his rights. We’ll sort out the details later.”

For a moment, Goodwin looked like he wanted to argue. His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out. Finally, he nodded to Murdock. “Cuff him. And call for an ambulance.”

As the deputy moved to secure Dewey, Jax felt Nessie’s hand slip into his. Her fingers were cold and trembling, but her grip was strong.

He exhaled in relief and lifted her hand to his lips.

She was finally, truly safe.

The firefighters extinguished the last of the flames, but the damage was worse this time. The walls were blackened and blistered, the air thick with the acrid smell of burned plastic and melted metal. What the first fire hadn’t destroyed, this one had finished off.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw. “I should have gotten here sooner.”

“You saved my life.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “If you hadn’t broken down that door...”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. They both knew how close it had been.

Through the broken windows, Jax saw a crowd gathering on the sidewalk. Half the town, it looked like, drawn by the sirens and the smoke. He spotted Walker’s truck pulling up, followed by the familiar sight of the Valor Ridge crew spilling out onto the street.

River was the first through the door, his face grim as he took in the scene. “Jesus Christ, Jax. What happened?”

“Dewey killed Bailee Cooper,” Jax said simply. “Tried to kill Nessie to cover it up.”

River’s expression went from concern to fury in the span of a heartbeat. His gaze moved to Dewey’s unconscious form, and for a moment, Jax thought his friend might kick the bastard while he was down. Instead, River just shook his head.

“Good thing you got here when you did.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of statements and questions.

Dewey regained consciousness in the ambulance, immediately demanding a lawyer and refusing to say another word.

But it didn’t matter. Between Nessie’s testimony and the physical evidence—the gas can, the matches, the box cutter—they had enough to charge him with attempted murder and arson.

The murder charge for Bailee would come later.

By the time they finished with the sheriff’s department, the sun was setting behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded Jax uncomfortably of flames.

He sat on the tailgate of a Valor Ridge truck while Bear cleaned and bandaged the cut on his arm, Nessie beside him with Oliver on her lap. Echo pressed against his legs.

“Twelve stitches,” Bear said, securing the last piece of tape. “Keep it dry for a few days, and you should be fine.”

Jax flexed his fingers, testing the range of motion. The bandage pulled tight against his skin, but everything worked like it should. “Thanks.”

Bear just grunted and packed up his supplies.

Walker approached with that measured stride that meant he had something important to say. His weathered face was unreadable in the fading light.

“You did good today,” he said simply. “Both of you.”

Coming from Walker Nash, that was high praise.

“Dewey’s talking now,” Brandt said, joining their small group. “The lawyer told him to take the deal we offered. Twenty-five to life for second-degree murder, attempted murder, and arson. He’ll die in prison.”

Jax watched the last of the emergency vehicles pull away, their flashing lights disappearing around the corner. The street felt strangely quiet after the chaos, with just the murmur of voices from the crowd still lingering on the sidewalk.

“Come on,” he said, sliding off the tailgate and offering Nessie his good hand. “Let’s go home.”

She looked back at the bakery one more time, and her lips trembled.

“Hey,” Jax said, squeezing her hand. “We’re still going to rebuild it. The plan hasn’t changed.”

“You’re right.” She drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Then she turned and kissed him right there in front of half of Solace, Montana.