Page 20 of Finding His Redemption

Margery’s white eyebrows shot up. “Concerned? No, no, I don’t think so. He’s not dangerous. Broken, like most of them boys up there, but Walker wouldn’t take him in if he were dangerous.”

That wasn’t entirely true. A few years ago, shortly after Nessie arrived, one of Walker’s guys had beaten a man half to death at the Rusty Spur. Nessie remembered the horror, the petitions to have the ranch closed down. Walker had sent him away after that, but his name—Creed Calder—was still whispered around town like he was some kind of bogeyman.

But she didn’t voice that concern to Margery. Instead, she asked, “What did he do? To end up there, I mean.”

Margery’s expression grew more serious. “I don’t know the details, dear. But I will say this—whatever he did, he paid for it.Did his time. And Walker Nash doesn’t take on lost causes. He sees something in that boy worth saving.”

The bell above the door chimed, and Sheriff Hank Goodwin filled the doorway like a storm cloud rolling in from the mountains. He was solid with the weathered look of a man who’d spent most of his life outdoors. His steel-gray hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and a permanent frown seemed etched between his brows, as if he’d been born disapproving of the world.

He looked enough like Boone Callahan that you could tell they were related—Hank was his uncle—but the resemblance stopped at the bone structure. Where Boone was brooding but kind at heart, Hank was just plain mean. Solace might reelect him year after year, but that had more to do with fear than respect. He wielded his authority like a weapon, brandishing his badge and family name to remind everyone who really ran the town.

“Morning, Nessie.” His pale blue eyes swept over her, then flicked to Margery. “Mrs. Pendry.”

“Sheriff,” Margery acknowledged, her tone cooling several degrees. The two had never gotten along, not since Margery had supported the rival candidate trying to unseat Hank’s brother in the last mayoral election.

“Coffee, Sheriff?” Nessie asked, already reaching for a paper travel cup. She didn’t particularly like Hank Goodwin, but his money spent the same as anyone else’s.

“Black. And one of those bear claws if you’ve got ‘em.” He settled against the counter, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, and surveyed the bakery like he was looking for violations.

Nessie poured his coffee and plated a pastry, sliding both across the counter. “Beautiful morning,” she offered, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Hmm.” Hank’s grunt was noncommittal as he took a long sip of coffee. His pale eyes lingered on her face, studying her with the kind of intensity that made her skin crawl. “Been seeing anything unusual around here lately? Strange cars, people who don’t belong?”

The question hit like a punch, knocking all the air from her lungs. Her hand tightened around the coffee pot, and she felt Margery’s sharp gaze shifting between them.

“Unusual how?” she managed, proud that her voice came out steady.

“Oh, you know. Outsiders poking around where they shouldn’t be? Men from the Ridge causing trouble?” His tone was casual, but there was something predatory in the way he watched her reaction. “Had a report yesterday morning about someone walking the back roads before dawn. Thought you might’ve seen something since you’re up so early every day.”

Her mouth went dry. How could he possibly know about that?

“Can’t say I have.” The lie was like sawdust in her throat.

Hank’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s funny. Because your car was spotted out on Ridge Road around five-thirty yesterday morning. Seems like an odd time for a drive with a little boy.”

Shit.

“Oliver loves watching the sunrise,” she said, echoing her earlier excuse to Margery. But her voice came out thin, unconvincing even to her own ears, and her heart hammered so hard she was sure the sheriff could hear it.

Hank’s smile was cold as winter. “Funny thing about sunrises. They happen every day, right from your back porch. Don’t need to drive twenty miles into the mountains for that.”

Margery set down her coffee cup with a sharp clink. “Hank Goodwin, are you interrogating this poor girl about taking her son for a drive? Last I checked, that wasn’t against the law.”

“Just making conversation, Mrs. Pendry.” But his eyes never left Nessie’s face. “Making sure our citizens are safe. You know how those Ridge boys can be. Unpredictable.”

The radio on his shoulder crackled. “Sheriff, the medical examiner is on site and confirmed the victim’s time of death was sometime early yesterday morning.”

The deputy kept talking, but Nessie didn’t hear the rest, the voice drowned out by the rising roar in her head.

Victim.

The world tilted. The coffee pot slipped from her numb fingers and shattered against the floor, sending glass shards and hot coffee in every direction. The crash echoed through the suddenly silent bakery, and every head turned their way.

“Oh, my!” Margery jumped back as coffee splashed across her shoes.

But Nessie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She stared at the spreading pool of coffee and broken glass, seeing instead a flash of memory: Jax walking alone down that empty road, his shoulders hunched with defeat and… maybe something that looked like guilt?

“You alright there?” Hank’s voice held a note of satisfaction, like a cat who’d cornered a mouse. He keyed his radio. “Copy that. I’m en route.” His gaze fixed on Nessie again. “There’s a dead girl out on the Ridge Road, Ms. Harmon. Killed yesterday morning. So, do you want to revise your statement?”

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