Page 60

chapter

forty-two

One Month Later

The bakery had to be gutted.

Nessie stood in the doorway of what had once been her kitchen, studying the construction zone around her.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching motes of dust that danced in the air like snow.

The familiar scents of coffee and baked goods had been replaced by fresh paint, wood stain, and the sharp tang of sawdust.

But instead of devastation, she saw rebirth.

In just a few weeks, her life had transformed completely. No more looking over her shoulder, no more contingency plans, no more emergency cash hidden in three different spots. She could just... live.

She was still Nessie Harmon—she could never go back to being Genessa-Rae Sarkisian, or even Jennifer Westbrook.

She wasn’t either of those girls anymore, though she had finally reached out to her parents in Seattle at Jax’s urging.

They were shocked to hear from her, and when she explained why she hadn’t been able to call all these years, they’d dropped everything and flown out to Montana to meet their grandson.

They still weren’t sure about Jax, but they had loved Oliver on sight, and Oliver had been thrilled to finally have grandparents.

And Nessie had been thrilled to have her parents back, especially her mom.

They’d returned home only three days ago, with a promise to come back for a month in August to spend more time with Oliver before school started and help her with the bakery opening, but she already missed them terribly.

They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Nessie ran her fingers along the new countertop, smooth butcher block replacing the old pink Formica. It was exactly what she had pictured when she thought of renovating, and the men of Valor Ridge had helped make it happen.

“What do you think?” Jonah asked as he stepped out of the bathroom behind her, drying his hands on a paper towel. “Sealed it with food-grade oil. Should hold up to anything you throw at it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, meaning it. “Better than I imagined. It’s all really coming together.”

He lifted a shoulder and tossed the paper towel in the trash. “It was easy when the owner knew exactly what she wanted.”

She could picture it so clearly now: warm pendant lights hanging low over the counter, their Edison bulbs casting a golden glow across the display case.

The walls, once a depressing, dirty beige, were now painted a soft, buttery cream that made the whole space feel brighter, cozier, like stepping into a warm hug.

Chalkboard menus—still waiting for their first scrawl of daily specials—hung above the prep counter.

In the corner by the front window sat the skeleton of what would be a cushioned bench seat, offering her customers a quiet nook for reading or sipping coffee.

She imagined Levi Wiley would spend a lot of time there working on his book.

And the table directly in front of the window was perfect for Margery and Ruthie’s daily gossip sessions.

She planned to frame the window with billowy white curtains and a hanging plant that trailed lazy vines.

Everything here had been touched by someone who cared.

Jax’s steady hands were in the wood grain.

Anson’s eye for level lines and neat finishes showed in the trim.

The townspeople had chipped in where they could, refinishing furniture, donating dishes, even painting the little mural Oliver had dreamed up in the kids’ corner: a golden dragon curled around a cupcake.

River and X were working to hang floating reclaimed wood shelves on the wall behind the counter, which she planned to fill with rows of mason jars, vintage tins, and labeled glass canisters filled with sugar, flour, and chocolate chips.

River, as usual, looked like chaos incarnate, his curls held back with a paint-splattered bandana, his face alight with mischief while he stood on a ladder, holding a bracket in place so X could anchor it.

Meanwhile, X maintained his effortless composure despite the physical labor, looking more like he belonged on a magazine cover than in a construction zone.

“How’d it go with the ice queen yesterday?” River teased. “Did Mariah finally agree to defrost long enough for a date?”

X’s easy smile didn’t falter. “Some women require finesse, hermano .”

“Says the man who’s been shot down four times this month.”

“Three,” X corrected smoothly. “The fourth time, she said ‘bless your heart,’ which is technically not a no.”

“No, that’s Southern lady for ’fuck off.’ You grew up in Atlanta. You should know that, Cartier Cowboy.”

Nessie shook her head, smiling despite herself. Those two were exhausting separately; together, they were a force of nature.

On the other side of the room, Bear knelt on the exposed subfloor, his massive frame making the space around him seem smaller.

Despite his size, his movements were delicate as he fitted a new floorboard into place, checking the level with painstaking attention.

He worked in complete silence, his focus absolute.

Over in the mechanical closet, Ghost rewired the electric panel to work for all of her shiny new appliances, including the industrial espresso machine Jax had bought for her.

The screech of the table saw had her glancing at Anson in the back room, where he worked methodically on the cabinets for the new display case, measuring twice and cutting once.

He caught her watching and nodded at her, a slight acknowledgment that managed to convey both respect and distance.

Of all the Valor Ridge men, Anson was the hardest to read—even harder than Ghost—but she’d come to appreciate his silent competence.

She’d learned these three men spoke through their actions, not words. The careful restoration of her bakery said more than any reassurance could.

Her gaze shifted to the center of the room, where Jonah had returned to the project he and Oliver were working on, sanding down a salvaged tabletop.

“Remember, always with the grain,” Jonah was saying, guiding Oliver’s hand. “Feel that resistance? That means you’re going against it.”

“Like when you brush a dog the wrong way?” Oliver asked, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Exactly like that. Wood’s got a direction to it, just like everything in nature.”

“Does Echo like being brushed the wrong way? Jax says she doesn’t, but she doesn’t bite or anything.”

“That’s because she trusts you, but it probably doesn’t feel good, even if she puts up with it. So maybe don’t do that to her, huh?”

Oliver nodded thoughtfully, absorbing this new bit of wisdom. He was so fascinated with these men, in ways that made her heart squeeze—with gratitude, with worry, with a dozen emotions she couldn’t untangle.

After the second fire, she’d been certain this was the end. Two fires in a month had nearly bankrupted her. The insurance company was dragging its feet, citing “suspicious circumstances,” and she’d started looking at job postings, worried her dream bakery was officially dead.

But Jax had refused to let her dream die without a fight. He’d done most of the demolition himself after putting in long days on the ranch.

“Mom!” Oliver called. “Look how smooth it is!” He pointed to the small section of the tabletop he’d been sanding, his face beaming with pride. “Jonah says I’m a natural.”

“That’s wonderful, baby.” Her voice caught on the endearment. He’d stopped objecting to being called “baby” lately, another small miracle in a season of them.

The back door swung open, and Jax appeared, carrying in the last of the shelves that would be mounted on the back wall.

He looked tired but satisfied, the way he always did after a hard day’s work.

The bandage from the knife wound Dewey gave him was finally gone, after he popped open the stitches so often that Bear threatened him with duct tape and super glue.

Now there was a fresh pink scar that would eventually fade to white like all the others.

He caught her looking and smiled, that slow, gentle smile that still made her stomach flutter. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, warmth blooming in her chest. “Just... happy.”

He set down the shelves and crossed to her, leaning in to kiss her. “Good. That’s all I want.”

His shirt was damp with sweat, his skin warm and smelling of sawdust and something uniquely him. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him and breathe him in. But if she did that, she’d want to climb him like a tree and let him whisper all those dirty things in her ear that made her melt.

There would be time for that later, when they were alone.

“Jax!” Oliver raced across the room and grabbed his hand. “Look what I did!”

Jax released her with a smirk—he one hundred percent knew what she’s been thinking before the interruption—and let Oliver drag him away.

He crouched down to Oliver’s level as the boy pointed out his handiwork with pride.

It was something Nessie had noticed from the beginning, the way Jax always made himself smaller, less intimidating, when talking to her son. She loved him for that.

“See? I did this whole part. Jonah showed me how to go with the grain, which is like brushing a dog the right way, and I didn’t mess up even once!”

Jax ran his fingertips over the smooth wood, his focus absolute, as though Oliver’s work deserved the same attention as the rest of the men’s.

“Good job, buddy.” He reached out and ruffled Oliver’s hair. “You’re doing better than I would have at your age.”

Oliver beamed up at him, his entire face radiating joy. “Thanks, Dad!”

Dad.

The room went suddenly, completely silent.

Oliver froze, his smile faltering as he realized what he’d said. His eyes widened, darting first to Jax, then to Nessie, panic spreading across his small features.

Jax’s expression was stuck between shock and something so raw and unguarded that Nessie’s heart ached for him. For a long, suspended moment, no one moved. Even River, who could find a joke in a funeral, stood motionless on his ladder.

Then, slowly, the tension melted from Jax’s face, and he pulled Oliver into a quick, fierce hug, his large hand cradling the back of the boy’s head.

“It’s okay,” Jax murmured against Oliver’s hair. “It’s okay, buddy.”

Nessie’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched them, father and son in everything but blood. The sight should have terrified her—Oliver getting attached to another man who carried darkness she didn’t fully understand. Instead, warmth flooded her chest, so intense it made her eyes burn.

Oliver pulled back first. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I know you’re not?—”

“Hey.” Jax caught a tear that had escaped down Oliver’s dirty cheek and flicked it away. “You don’t apologize for saying what’s in your heart, okay? Ever.”

“But you’re not really my dad.”

Nessie held her breath, waiting for Jax to retreat behind those walls he’d built so carefully around himself. Instead, he cupped Oliver’s face in his hands, his scarred fingers gentle against her son’s skin.

“Biology doesn’t make someone a father,” Jax said quietly. “Being there does. Caring does. And I’m not going anywhere, Oliver. Not unless you or your mom wants me to.”

Oliver’s face crumpled with relief. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“Then I won’t.”

Nessie had spent so long bracing for loss that the simple act of being chosen left her defenseless.

She was so completely in love with Jaxon Thorne that she wasn’t sure what to do with all the emotion roiling in her chest. She pressed her hand to her mouth, tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back.

River let out a suspicious sniff and quickly wiped his face on his sleeve. “I swear to God, if y’all make me feel one more feeling, I’ll combust.”

“Please,” Ghost deadpanned. “Do us all a favor.”

River shot him a finger. “You’re crying too, Casper. Don’t think I don’t see that emotional leakage.”

Ghost grunted… but turned back to the electrical panel just a bit too fast.