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“Because, I was just crazy enough about her to not want to see her hurt. Plus, this is you we’re talking about. You were bound to screw up eventually. Then I could show her how a real man treats a woman he cares about.”
Luke felt that in his soul. He knew he fumbled every step with Andie, and he had no one to blame but himself. He didn’t blame her for needing a buffer or a safety net. Shit, if the roles were reversed and it had been Jax who treated her this way, Luke would’ve done everything he could to get her away from him.
“It’s no use though,” Jax went on. “What she feels for you is obviously not a passing fancy, and she’s not a flighty woman with shallow crushes. She’s in love with you—only God knows why—and I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re not over there right now holding onto her and healing together. Instead, you’re over here alone, like a mountain troll.”
Luke said nothing as he contemplated Jax’s words.
“I want to be over there. I want to hold her and take care of her.” Emotions choked his words to a stop for a moment until he could rein them back in. “I just keep remembering all the times I made her cry. All the chores she did that I could have done for her. How stressed it made her to be caught between the two of us.” He rubbed angrily at his eyes; the tears gathered in them felt like lead weights, but he refused to let them fall. “This was all my fault. If I had just left her alo—”
“I didn’t realize you were omnipotent.” The droll tone was only eclipsed by Jax’s withering expression. “If you were so all-powerful, she would have never lost the baby. It’s not your fault. It’s not her fault. What happened was just a horrible tragedy. One you suffered together.” Jax took another long pull from his drink then set the empty bottle down on the counter. He gripped Luke’s shoulder in a firm hold. “You made your daughter together. You shared the pregnancy together. You didn’t leave her side the entire time at the hospital and lost her together. Then, a few days after you brought her home, you just disappeared on her. Get over there, show her your pain, and let her show you hers. What’s happening is a hell of a lot more than ‘she needs you.’ This goes deeper than that. And besides, you need her just as much. Look at you. You’re a wreck.”
Chapter 21
“Can’t we just get it next time?” Sharon asked the raised back end of Christy as the other woman hunted through the haystacks. “You know we’re gonna be right back here in a day or two. If one of them finds it beforehand, they can just hang on to it for us.”
“I can’t risk it, sweetheart,” Christy said in her chipper voice. She’d been a whole new woman since her reconciliation with her son. Suddenly, the tiny glimpses of joy and sweetness that had drawn Sharon to her like a moth to a flame had blossomed and multiplied until Christy was practically a euphoric bonfire. The oppressive weight of guilt and longing were gone, and she glowed with an inner peace that could make Sharon weep with gratitude. No one she had ever met deserved a second chance more than this woman. And she’d gotten it.
Now, she bubbled over with happiness, and Sharon’s already sweet and giving lover was practically saint-like now in her generosity and love. She showered it on everyone she came in contact with and was so content she even smiled in her sleep. “You’re not a cook, Sharon. You wouldn’t understand the bond I have with that spatula. I got it at a specialty craft fair, and I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere else. I won’t be able to replace it. I don’t know if you’ve paid attention to me in the kitchen, but I use that almost every time I cook!”
Sharon tried not to laugh. Christy was riffling through the loose hay on the floor, flinging it everywhere as panic started to set in.
“It’s just a spatula,” Sharon told her. “I’ll buy you a whole new set if we leave now.”
“Just a spatula!” Christy popped up from behind a stack, hay ridiculously caught throughout her hair, face flushed, and eyes bright with mock indignation. “Didn’t you just hear me? It’s not just any old spatula. It’s the Rolls Royce of spatulas. The Lamborghini even.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s the Bob Fosse of kitchen utensils, and I’m not leaving this barn until I get my Fosse back.”
Fosse was Sharon’s all-time favorite choreographer, and she’d taken that argument to the mat with many a dancer over the years—including Christy, who objected him for his misogyny rather than his talent—and the point was made. God, the woman was irresistible.
“Fine,” Sharon told her. “Find your Fosse then.”
“This’d go a lot faster if you helped,” Christy replied then scooped up an armful of hay and threw it in Sharon’s face.
“Oh, it’s on now.” The challenging glint in Christy’s eyes ignited a fire in Sharon, and she vaulted over the hay separating them, knowing Christy expected her to go around instead. Christy squealed like a twelve-year-old, scrambled backward, and turned to run. With a laugh, Sharon gave chase.
* * *
“More sweet tea?”
Max looked up from his file notes to focus on his waitress—Jessica today.
“Yes,” he answered her with a smile. He tried to put real warmth into it for her benefit. He’d been a regular here over these last months, and she had quickly become his favorite. The food here was always good, but whenever Jess was on the grill, the meals elevated to a whole new level of delicious. “Excellent as always tonight. My compliments to the chef,” he said the last with forced formality and was pleased to win an answering smile from her for his effort. She’d been close to the last victim, and the longer the case drug on, the harder it had been on her. She—not to mention the families—needed closure.
“Any news?” she asked with a scared kind of hope in her eyes. “Anything new, I mean? It’s why you’re back, isn’t it? Something new?”
“Nothing groundbreaking.” His hand flapped the papers on the table in front of him. “We just finally got back some of the forensics from the lab, so I came in town to go over some of the findings with your sheriff.” Though not mandatory or the norm, he shared all the facts of the case with Derek. The sheriff was smart, and his easy, good-ole-boy charm disguised a mind as sharp as a scalpel. He’d come to value the man as a colleague and grown to value him as a friend on top of that.
“Forensics? Now?” Jessica looked sincerely baffled. “Brandi was killed almost three months ago. The lab results are only just now coming in?”
“Yes.” Her reaction was the fallout from crime dramas and movies. “Contrary to what you see on TV, forensics take a very long time. We haven’t even gotten all the labs back, and what we do have took a lot of string pulling and favors to get them this fast.”
“Oh.” Jessica looked crestfallen. Her large blue eyes glistened as tears gathered like storms in them. “I didn’t know that. I guess this means things could take a whole lot longer then, huh?”
Her resignation cut deep. “Yeah, it does.” Max gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “No matter how long it takes, Jess, I won’t give up. We’re gonna find this guy. Don’t you give up hope, okay?”
“Okay.” Her smile was forced, but he appreciated the effort. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint, right?”
“Right,” he told her and reopened his folder to get back to work while she reached out to fill his glass. Something on the back of her hand caught his eye. There was a smudge of a greenish pattern stamped on the back of it that looked remarkably familiar.
“Hey, Jess,” Max said, feeling like a door were being cracked open. “Where’d you get that?” He tapped on the discolored spot with a fingertip.
