Page 8 of Finding His Redemption

“It does to me.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “Eggs it is.”

“I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. It’s breakfast.” She kept her tone light. “And if you’re worried about paying, I can put you to work. The delivery guy stacked all the flour bags in front of the freezer again, and I need them moved.”

Something like relief crossed his face. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great. I’ll fix you something to eat, and then you can earn it.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “Oliver, show Jax where the bathroom is if he wants to clean up.”

She hadn’t meant anything by it, but when she glanced back, Jax’s shoulders had tensed again. He looked down at his hands—dirty from changing her tire—and his jaw tightened.

“Second door,” Oliver offered, pointing down the hallway. “The first one’s a closet with mops. It smells funny. You don’t wanna go in there.”

Jax nodded stiffly and stood, leaving his duffel by the chair. He disappeared down the hall without another word.

Nessie exhaled slowly. What was she doing? She didn’t know anything about this man except that he was from Valor Ridge, which meant he had a record. A serious one. Walker Nash didn’ttake on shoplifters and jaywalkers. He worked with men who’d done real damage.

And she’d just invited one into her bakery. With her son.

The smart thing would be to call Boone Callahan. He’d want to know about his escapee.

She reached into her pocket for her phone, but hesitated. She didn’t know why, but Jax tugged at her. He was clearly running from something. Maybe the ranch, maybe himself. And she knew what it felt like to run.

The water turned on in the bathroom, and she heard the sound of vigorous scrubbing. She put her phone away and went to the fridge for a carton of eggs. Her specialty was pastry, but she could whip up a mean scramble when the situation called for it.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom, and she tucked the phone away.

“Mom?” Oliver climbed onto his step stool and peered over the counter. “Is Jax sad?”

Out of the mouths of babes. “I think he might be, honey.”

“Like when we first came here? And you used to cry at night?”

Her chest tightened. Oliver had been barely four when they’d arrived in Solace, but he’d been old enough to notice things. Too many things. “Something like that.”

“We should help him feel better.”

Before she could answer, the bathroom door opened and Jax emerged. He’d washed his hands and face, smoothed his hair back, but he still looked like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His gaze found hers across the bakery, and again she saw something raw and vulnerable there before he shuttered it away.

“Where’s that flour you need moved?” he asked, carefully neutral.

She pointed toward the back. “Storage room’s through there. Just stack the bags against the far wall, away from the freezer door.”

He disappeared into the back, and she heard the sound of heavy lifting. No grunting, no complaints, just the methodical thud of fifty-pound bags being moved with military precision.

Oliver wandered over to the storage room doorway to watch. “You’re really strong,” she heard him say.

“Strong enough,” came Jax’s quiet reply.

“My dad was strong too, but he used his strong for bad things. Do you use your strong for bad things?”

Nessie’s heart stopped. She dropped the bowl she’d just pulled off a shelf and hurried toward the storage room. Her son had no filter, no sense of boundaries. He asked the questions that adults were too polite or too afraid to voice. She had to constantly remind him of all the things he couldn’t say and all the reasons he couldn’t say them.

But Jax’s voice brought her up short outside the door.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

“But not anymore?”

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