Page 103 of Finding His Redemption

Nessie grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter for the third time, scrubbing at a coffee stain that was decades old and never coming out. Her hands needed something to do while her mind raced.

The bell above the door jingled, and Nessie’s head snapped up, half-expecting to see him standing there despite everything.

But it was just Mariah.

“Whew. It’s windy enough to blow the stripes off a flag,” she said in her sweet southern lilt and then winced as the wind blew the door shut behind her. “There’s a storm rolling in. You can feel the charge in the air.”

She set her purse down on the counter and batted her dark auburn hair out of her eyes. “Oh, honey. You look like hell. And that’s coming from someone who spent the morning wrestling with a bridal shower arrangement for Mrs. Henderson. She’s changed her mind five times about the color scheme.”

“Thanks,” Nessie muttered, tossing the rag into the sink. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

Mariah tsked. “If your best friend can’t tell you the truth, who can? Have you slept at all?”

Nessie shrugged and busied herself with stacking clean mugs that were already perfectly organized. The ceramic clinked together as her hands shook slightly.

Yes, sleep had been elusive since Saturday. Every time she closed her eyes, she either saw Jax’s wounded expression or, worse, Alek’s face, twisted with rage, promising that no one would ever take what was his.

“You did the right thing,” Mariah said softly, reading her thoughts. “Those Valor Ridge men are dangerous.”

“Oh, not you, too. They’re not dangerous. Jax would never hurt me or Oliver. None of them would.”

“Not all danger leads to physical harm,” Mariah said softly, sounding very much like a woman who had learned that life lesson the hard way. “You’ve been crying yourself to sleep ever since you told him to stay away.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Was it that obvious? “I haven’t?—”

“Honey, please. Your eyes are redder than a stop sign, and you’ve got that hollow look you get when you’re not eating.” Mariah moved closer and caught her hands, stilling her busy but purposeless motions. “I’m worried about you.”

Nessie turned away, staring out the window at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were building over the mountains, heavy and threatening. The wind rattled the glass, and she could smell the ozone in the air, that electric scent that came before lightning.

“You didn’t see him with Oliver,” she said quietly. “The way he was so patient, so gentle. Oliver painted with his dog, Mariah. This broken, scared dog, who doesn’t trust anyone, let my son shove a paintbrush in her mouth because Jax has spent the last month working with her. How can a man like that be bad for me? For Oliver?”

Mariah opened her mouth, but then closed it again without saying anything when Nessie’s phone rang.

She dug it out of her apron and frowned at the caller ID. “It’s the school.”

Mariah’s eyes went wide, and she dug in her purse for her own phone, relaxing only when she saw no notifications. “They haven’t called me, and you know Tate and Oliver are joined at the hip. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Nessie sucked in a breath and answered, “Hello?”

“Ms. Harmon? This is Melissa Martinez from Solace Elementary.”

Everything in her went still. Her heart. Her breath. Principal Martinez never called parents directly unless something was seriously wrong. “Is Oliver okay?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. There was an incident at recess today. Another student was saying some unkind things about... well, about the recent events in town. Oliver got upset and pushed the boy. When the playground supervisor tried to talk to him, he ran off.”

The phone nearly slid from her hand. “What do you mean, ran off?”

“He left the playground. We’ve searched the school grounds. We thought he was just hiding, but when we couldn’t find him, we thought maybe he went home?—”

“He’s not here.” Panic clawed at her throat. “How long has he been gone?”

“About twenty minutes. We’ve called the sheriff’s office, and they’re sending someone out to look for him. But I thought you should know?—”

“I’ll be right there.” She hung up and stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing. Oliver was out there somewhere, alone, upset. It was her fault. She’d pushed Jax away, and now Oliver was paying the price.

“What is it?” Mariah sounded like she was shouting from the end of a very long tunnel. “Nessie, what’s wrong?”

“Oliver ran away from school,” she whispered. “Someone was saying things about Jax, about the murder, and Oliver pushed the kid and then just... left.”

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