Page 125 of Finding His Redemption

Jax woke to the sound of him crying about his pets—the mangy strays that lived behind Nessie’s Place and the elaborate menagerie of imaginary animals he’d drawn on every scrap of paper in their old apartment.

Jesus. The kid was breaking his heart one piece at a time, and Jax couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He rolled to find Nessie’s side of the bed empty and cold. How long had she been in with Oliver tonight?

Jax threw back the covers and dressed before crossing the hall of the Valor Ridge guest cabin.

Walker had been more than accommodating when he’d shown up with Nessie and Oliver in tow, all of them soot-streaked and reeking of smoke. Walker had ordered the guys to clean out the biggest of the guest cabins, which usually sat empty because guests were a rarity at the ranch. Then he sent word through town about what really happened to quash rumors, and the donations flooded in. Clothes, toiletries, toys for Oliver.

And all the while, he kept Sheriff Goodwin off their backs, banning him from the Valor Ridge property unless he showed up with a warrant.

In Jax’s estimation, Walker Nash should be sainted.

Warm yellow light spilled from Oliver’s room. He hesitated, then pushed the door open a crack, peeking in.

Oliver sat up in the narrow bed, big tears rolling down his face. Echo was draped over his legs like a furry security blanket, where she’d been every night since the fire.

“They’re probably so scared. And hungry. They don’t know where I went.”

Nessie sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in a donated robe, stroking Oliver’s hair. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and Jax felt the familiar twist in his chest—the need to fix things, to make her world easier somehow. She’d been through enough without losing sleep over feral cats.

“We can check on them tomorrow,” she murmured, but Oliver shook his head.

“What if they’re already gone? What if they think I left them?”

The raw fear in the boy’s voice cut through Jax like a blade. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “What if I went and got them?”

Oliver’s head whipped around, tear-filled brown eyes wide with hope. “Really? All of them?”

“All of them.” Even the invisible ones. Especially the invisible ones. “But I’m gonna need some help. Think the guys would be up for a rescue mission?”

So that was how Jax found himself in the bunkhouse at dawn, explaining to seven grown men why they needed to help capture a bunch of feral cats and pretend to see a dragon.

“So let me get this straight,” River said, leaning against the scarred pool table and crossing his bunny-slipper clad feet infront of him. “You want us to round up actual cats and also... invisible cats?”

“It’s actually an invisible dragon. And an invisible chinchilla named Niblet who hates Tuesdays.”

River blinked, then shook his head and took a long drink from his coffee. “I haven’t had enough caffeine for this.”

“I’m in,” Anson said, economical with words as always, and Bear grumbled his agreement.

“Me, too,” Jonah added. “Little dude’s been through enough. If this helps him heal, I’ll wrangle ten invisible dragons.”

“Hell, I’d wrangle a real one,” X said.

“You can’t wrangle a fence post, Cartier Cowboy,” Jonah shot back.

Ghost looked up from his laptop, pale eyes moving between them. “How many cats are we talking about?”

“Three real ones,” Jax said. “Trouble, Princess Jellybean, and Socks. And whatever imaginary ones Oliver needs us to see.”

“Christ,” Ghost muttered, but Jax caught the slight curve of his mouth. “Fine. But I’m not chasing anything through a dumpster.”

“That’s what X is for,” River said cheerfully.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the prettiest. Cats like pretty things.”

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