Page 54 of Sawyer
He cut her a sidelong look. Slowing his words so she couldn’t miss a single one, he said, “I don’t play disco music because I like it, Half-Pint.” His chest ached. “I play it because I love you. And because making you happy matters to me.”
Her lips parted. Her voice was soft, sad. “I want that, too. But I don’t know if I can get back there.”
Bullseye. Clean shot to the heart. And yeah, he deserved it. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. “I get it, babygirl. I’m not rushing you. But you need to know, my feelings haven’t changed. I’ll be here. Always. Sometimes closer than you might want.”
Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, somebody unloaded an entire clip into your house. Until I know who it was and end them, I’m at your place whenever you are. Day. Night. Doesn’t matter.”
Her jaw dropped. “You mean… all the time?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. When you’re in Elk Jaw, I’m your permanent couch ornament until the shooter’s behind bars.”
She sputtered. “But… but, we can’t do that.”
“Yeah? It’s good you see that,” He slowed, turned the wheel, and headed for Darling. “I’m glad we agree.”
The pitch of her voice rose an octave. “Wait! What are you doing?”
“Taking you back to Darling. It’s the only place I know you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t want to go back to Darling. I have a life in Elk Jaw.”
He gave her a look. “You just said I couldn’t stay the nights on your couch. So, what are you proposing? I stay in your bed?”
“No!” The squeak in her voice went straight to his cock. Was that panic or desire? Or a bit of both. Either way, he’d take it. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not staying in Elk Jaw. Because I am.”
“So, youaresaying I can stay on the couch or bed.”
She threw her hands up. “Ugh! You are such a Daddy!”
He grinned and wagged his brows. “Never said I wasn’t, Half-Pint. Now quit stalling and answer the question.”
She threw her hands skyward. “Fine! You can sleep on the couch.”
Sawyer turned the truck back toward Elk Jaw.
He gave her a beat to contemplate the reality of her new living arrangement, then asked, “Tell me something, Half-Pint. How open are you to helping me gather intel on Jaxon’s trial? I need to find something we can leverage to overturn his conviction. It’s more urgent now.”
Her head tilted. “Not that it matters, but I’ve been trying to help him since my first week in prison.”
That hit like a fist. Jealousy clawed at his chest, but he shoved it down. “What does that mean?”
“I owed him an apology. So, I wrote him a letter every week telling him how sorry I was. Trying to explain.”
His grip tightened on the wheel. Damn. His girl was all heart. If she’d let him back in, he’d spend the rest of his life proving to her he deserved to be there.
“How long did you write to him?”
Her shoulder lifted, eyes sliding to the window. “I still write him.”
His pulse kicked up a beat. “Wait. You’ve been writing him every week for five years?”
“Yes. But he never accepted them. They always come back. I’ve kept them all, and I keep trying. I hope maybe one day he’ll read them, or at least one of them. He needs to know I’m sorry I lied.”
Holy hell. Five years of letters. Handwritten testimony she’d lied under oath. That was evidence. Ammunition someone might use against her if they got their hands on it.
But not put her at risk. He thought the statute on perjury was one year, but he’d have to check. He wasn’t doing anything to jeopardize her. Not even for a brother.
