Page 51 of Finding His Redemption

The drawing was exactly what you’d expect from a seven-year-old—all disproportionate limbs and crayon scribbles—but there was something oddly compelling about it. The dinosaur had been carefully colored, with each scale meticulously drawn,and the teeth rendered in jagged white against a fierce red mouth.

“It’s good,” Jax said, meaning it. “You got the details right.”

Oliver practically glowed at the praise. “I studied real hard. Mom took me to the museum in Missoula, and I saw a skeleton and everything.”

Ghost cleared his throat softly from the doorway.

“I have to go,” Jax told the boy, handing back the drawing.

Oliver’s face fell. “But you just got here.”

“I know. But I have to get back to the ranch.”

“Can I come see the ranch sometime? Do you have horses? I’ve never ridden a horse, but I want to. Mom says maybe when I’m bigger.”

Jax glanced at Nessie, who looked torn between amusement and concern. “That’s up to your mom.”

Oliver turned to her, eyes wide and pleading. “Can we, Mom? Please? I want to see where Jax lives. And the horses. And maybe there are dogs, too?”

“We’ll see,” she said, using those universal parent words that could mean anything from “absolutely not” to “maybe if you’re lucky.”

“That means no,” Oliver said with a dramatic sigh.

“It means we’ll see,” Nessie corrected. “Now say bye to Jax.”

“Are you coming back soon?” Oliver asked, clutching his dinosaur masterpiece. “Mom makes the best cinnamon rolls on Fridays.”

Jax glanced at Nessie, unsure how to answer. Her eyes met his, and something passed between them—a question, maybe, or an invitation.

“If he wants to,” she said softly.

Oliver grinned. “You should! And next time I’ll show you my book about wolves, since that’s your favorite.”

Jax felt that strange warmth again, spreading through his chest like a wildfire he couldn’t control. He didn’t deserve this child’s easy acceptance, this woman’s gentle understanding. He was a danger to them both, a lightning rod for trouble.

But God help him, he wanted to come back.

“Maybe.”

Ghost cleared his throat again, a subtle reminder that they needed to leave. Jax nodded and turned toward the door, but paused when he felt a small hand slip into his.

Oliver had reached up and taken his hand, as naturally as breathing. The boy’s fingers were warm and sticky, probably from whatever he’d eaten at school, and so small that they barely wrapped around three of Jax’s fingers.

“Bye, Jax,” Oliver said, giving his hand a little shake. “I’m glad you’re not in jail anymore.”

Jax froze, his gaze shooting to Nessie, who looked equally startled.

“Oliver!” she gasped. “Where did you hear that?”

The boy’s face scrunched in confusion. “Mrs. Perkins told her friend at school pickup that the man from the Ridge who fixed our tire was an ex-con. That means jail, right? Like on TV?”

Nessie’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oliver, that’s not something we?—”

“It’s okay,” Jax interrupted, sounding steadier than he felt. He crouched down to Oliver’s level, the boy’s small hand still in his. “Yes, I was in jail. I made some bad choices and had to pay for them.”

Oliver considered this with solemn concentration, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Like when I have to sit in time-out when I do something bad?”

A surprised laugh escaped Jax before he could stop it. “Sort of. But longer.”

---