Page 9 of Finding His Redemption

A long pause. The sound of another bag hitting the floor.

“I’m trying not to.”

“That’s good. Mom says trying is the most important part.”

Nessie closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the wall. God, she wished Oliver didn’t know about the bad things in life. He was only seven. If she hadn’t already hated her ex for all of his many other crimes, she’d hate him for stealing her son’s innocence. For making him understand, at such a young age, that some people use their strength to hurt instead of help.

“Your mom sounds smart,” Jax said.

“She is. She knows everything. Well, almost everything. She doesn’t know about dinosaurs as much as me, but she knows about making people feel better.”

Another thud. Another bag moved.

“Does she make you feel better?” Jax asked, and there was a note of something she couldn’t place in his voice. Curiosity. Maybe even longing.

“Yeah. She gives the best hugs. And when I have bad dreams, she sits with me until they go away. And she makes special pancakes on Sundays that look like her sign monster, but with chocolate chips for eyes. Oh, and her monster muffins are really special, too. They make you feel brave. She gave me one before my doctor appointment, and I didn’t cry even when I got a shot.”

Nessie pressed her hand to her mouth, blinking back sudden tears. She hadn’t realized Oliver paid such close attention to all the small things she did to help him feel safe.

“That sounds nice,” Jax said quietly.

“Do you have bad dreams?”

The sound of movement stopped. The silence stretched so long that Nessie almost stepped into the room to rescue both of them from the weight of her son’s innocent question.

“Yeah,” Jax finally answered. “I do.”

“Maybe Mom could make you a monster muffin, too, so you can feel brave when you have your bad dreams.”

“That’s... that’s real nice of you to offer, kid. But I won’t be sticking around long enough for pancakes.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t belong here.”

“How do you know? You just got here.”

Another pause. Then a rough laugh that sounded more like pain than humor. “Trust me. I know.”

Nessie stepped away from the doorway and went back to the eggs, her chest tight with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. She cracked them into the bowl harder than necessary, whisking them with sharp, aggressive strokes.

The bell above the front door chimed, and she looked up to see Boone Callahan filling the doorway. All six-foot-four of him, with shoulders that barely fit through the frame and dark blue eyes that missed nothing. He wore his usual uniform of faded jeans, work boots, and a black Stetson pulled low over his brow.

“Morning, Nessie.” His voice was a low rumble, the kind that made smart women stupid and stupid women forget their own names.

“Boone.” She kept whisking. “You’re out early.”

“Looking for someone.” His gaze swept the bakery, landing on the duffel bag beside the table by the window. “Tall guy, blond hair, probably looks like he’d rather be anywhere else?”

She set down the whisk. “He’s in the back, moving flour for me.”

Boone’s eyebrows rose. “You put him to work?”

“He needed breakfast. I needed help. Seemed fair.”

“Nessie.” Her name held a note of gentle warning. “Do you know who that is?”

“I know he’s one of yours. I know he helped me change a flat tire when he didn’t have to. And I know he’s been nothing but polite to me and Oliver.”

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