Page 28 of Tracking Safety

He didn’t like what that suggested.

Micah closed his notepad and looked at Jenna. “You sure you don’t want that cut looked at? I can have a paramedic⁠—”

“I’ll be fine.” She waved a hand in the air. “It’s small.”

Luke glanced at her injury. The scratch had mostly stopped bleeding, but it needed cleaning at minimum. He had a kit in his truck.

“All right.” Micah tucked the notepad away. “Don’t go far. I may have more questions once my deputies report back.”

He looked at Jenna one more time—a second, slower look—and then walked toward the house on the corner.

Luke went to the truck and pulled the first aid kit from behind the seat.

He stood there a moment, his back to her. By tomorrow morning this would be all over town.

He’d deal with that issue when he got to it.

Right now, the woman who’d broken his heart was sitting on the front steps of Hollow House. She wanted to explain herself—as if anything she said would make things better.

Still, he’d listen.

God, be with my reaction. Protect my heart so I can protect my children’s hearts. Give me wisdom.

After muttering “amen,” he turned around and went back to her.

Jenna watched as Luke crouched in front of her and opened the first aid kit.

Breathe normally, Jenna. Breathe normally.

But Luke was close. So close. And that was the problem.

He was near enough that she could see the small scar on his chin from the fall he’d taken off a ladder three summers ago. Close enough to catch the familiar scent of the Irish Spring soap he’d been using for as long as she’d known him.

Some things didn’t change.

She’d expected everything about him to feel different, and instead it felt like standing too close to a fire after months in the cold.

He gently tipped her chin up with two fingers to get a better look at the cut.

Jenna focused on a point somewhere past his shoulder and kept her breathing even. She couldn’t show him how much this moment was affecting her. That would only make their situation more complicated—and awkward.

Because the truth was that she’d never stopped loving him.

Luke had always been tender like this. It had surprised her early in their marriage—this big, capable man who could frame a wall or fell a tree could then turn around and tend to a skinned knee with the same careful patience.

She’d filed the trait away as one of the things she loved most about him. Over the years it had become so ordinary that she’d stopped noticing it.

Now, she noticed it again.

As he cleaned the cut with an antiseptic wipe, her pulse spiked. She pressed her hands flat against her knees and waited for the feeling to recede.

He applied a small bandage then sat back on his heels. “That should hold.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled slowly as he stood and stepped back and the distance between them returned to something manageable.

He was snapping the kit closed when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and a small frown crossed his face.

“Everything okay?” she asked.