Chapter Ten
It should have been awkward, irritating, difficult, but working with Jax? It was like walking through a forest at dawn—easy and calm and natural.
Willow tried not to think about that.
She tried not to think about anything as she set the last Chocolate S’more Delight in the case and slid the glass closed.
Done. Finally.
Every piece of chocolate in place. Internet orders boxed. Deliveries ready to go.
All with six minutes to spare.
“We win!” she said, turning to high-five the one person she should not be high-fiving. Because he shouldn’t have been there. In the shop. Helping her fill penny candy jars and display cases. Carrying trays of chocolate. Counting change for the register. Standing beside her while she cut fudge and piped dark chocolate over milk chocolate–covered strawberries.
“You win,” he said. “All I did was follow instructions.”
“You made brittle without any help from me, and it tastes great.”
“Thank you for not mentioning how many tries it took for me to get an edible batch.”
“Only two. Not that I was counting.”
“Were you counting how many chocolate drops I ate? Because I think I owe the shop a few hundred bucks,” he said, and she smiled, moving out from behind the counter and opening the blinds in the front windows.
“If you’ll take your day’s wage in chocolates, we’ll call it even.”
“I’d rather take my wage in something else,” he murmured, suddenly right there beside her, his hand on her back, his fingers trailing up her spine.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Fudge,” he murmured in her ear, his lips brushing her hair, his breath a warm whisper against her skin.
She could have turned right then and kissed his lips, let her fingers trace the line of his scar. Just like she had the other night. She could have done a half-dozen things that would have sealed the bond between them.
The bond she shouldn’t want.
The one he didn’t want.
Hadn’t he said that he couldn’t risk it? That love was too dangerous? She stepped away, because their closeness was tempting, and she wasn’t sure what either of them really wanted.
Or maybe she was, and maybe she was just afraid of it.
Just like she was afraid of so many other things.
Like coming home.
Working in the shop.
Facing that hallway again and again, walking through it and remembering. Only today . . .
Today, the memory had been a kernel of a thought in the back of her mind, a grainy image of what had been, a backdrop to what was.
“What kind fudge do you want? Addie made milk chocolate, peanut butter, rocky road,” she asked.
“I want,” he responded, stepping toward her again, closing the distance that she’d put between them, “whatever fudge you made.”
“Me?” She laughed, and she could hear the nervous edge to it, feel her heart thumping frantically. “My fudge is trash. Literally. I’ve tossed every batch.”
“Why?”
“Because it tastes . . . normal.”
“There’s nothing wrong with normal.”
“No, but Lamont fudge is special. It’s creamier and richer and more decadent than any other fudge on the market. It tastes like . . .” She hesitated, because she’d sound like a fool saying it.
“Like what?”
“Love,” she admitted. “Family. Home. That’s why people come year after year on their anniversaries or birthdays or special occasions, because they can taste all that in their fudge, and it reminds them of all the best things in life. At least, that’s what my father always told me. Once I got older, it seemed silly.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble making it, because the idea seems silly to you. Because you don’t believe in the magic of it now.”
“It’s just a recipe, Jax. A simple one. There’s nothing magic or mystical about it. Even someone who hates it should be able to make it.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“What?”
“Hate it?”
“It’s the cornerstone of the family business. My great-great-grandfather—”
“That wasn’t the question, Willow, and I’m not in the mood to play the game,” Jax said, flipping the sign on the front door from CLOSED to OPEN.
She glanced at the clock.
Sure enough, it was time.
“What game?”
“The one where I ask and you avoid, so I ask again.” He turned, and grayish daylight streamed across his face, turning his scar dark purple.
“Is that what we’ve been doing? Playing a game?” she asked, knowing she was staring at the scar and telling herself to stop.
She’d seen it hundreds of times before.
Like everyone else in school, she’d been fascinated by the stories she’d heard whispered by adults. She’d wondered about Jax’s family. She’d wondered about the scar. But she’d been caught up in her own drama, and she’d never really considered what the experience had done to him.
Now...
Now she was an adult, and he was a man with a past that was way more violent and traumatic than hers.
Somehow, he’d managed to make a good life for himself, and that scar? It seemed like a badge of honor, a symbol of strength.
“I never play games,” he said.
“I’ll make a note of that.” She looked away from the scar, told herself that she had to keep things light, because Jax wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted forever, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who could settle for anything less. That’s why she’d left Ken, because she couldn’t see him ever wanting more than what they had—the easy, simple friendship that would only have lasted until he’d gotten up the energy to find someone more exciting.
“Make a note of this, too: I don’t wait around for answers. I go out and find them. Eric is dead. You know that, right?”
The words were so unexpected, it took a minute for them to register.
When they did, she stiffened, every muscle in her body going tight and tense. “Who told you it was Eric?”
“It was easy enough to figure out.”
“So what’d you do? Try to look him up?”
“You’re damn right I did.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? He was a grown man. You were a little girl—”
“It wasn’t your business.”
“Wrong,” he retorted, his tone cold, his eyes colder. “Guys like that don’t change. They don’t stop victimizing kids. Not unless they’re caught. It was every bit of my business to make sure he wasn’t out there hurting someone else.”
“And you didn’t think I’d have already made sure that he wasn’t?” She wasn’t angry. Not really. She’d have done the same thing if she’d been in his shoes, but...
She wasn’t used to having it out there—all the ugliness of it, all the horror.
“What you’d done or hadn’t done wasn’t part of the equation,” he responded, his jaw tight. He was angry. Either with Eric, or with his helplessness to change what had happened.
“You could have asked me about it. That would have saved you some effort and time.”
“How about a little honesty?” He stepped close, and she could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. She could smell the chocolate on his skin, mixed with soap and fresh winter air.
“I am being honest,” she lied.
“No.” He shook his head, his hands sliding up her arms. “You aren’t. We both know you wouldn’t have told me anything, and I would have spent time beating my head against the brick wall of your silence. Then I just would have gone and done exactly what I did.”
“I might have told you,” she muttered.
“You said silence was its own kind of monster, Willow. I haven’t forgotten that.” His hands settled on her shoulders, his fingers warm through her shirt, and she wanted to lean into him, rest her head against his chest, listen to his heartbeat and let it drown out the voice that always seemed to whisper from the past—Scream and you die.
She swallowed bile, the hallway behind them suddenly darker and longer and more horrible.
“It is, but I still might have told you what you wanted to know,” she finally managed to say.
“Because, you’ve done it every other time you’ve been asked?” he said, his thumbs brushing her collarbone, gently, tenderly, as if he was afraid of scaring her.
God!
She wanted to cry again.
She wanted to let every tear she’d never shed over what she’d lost slide down her cheeks, puddle on the floor, flood the chocolate shop, and wash all the ugliness away.
“I’ve never been asked,” she said, her throat tight, her heart thudding against the wall of her chest. “Never.”
That was the truth. All those years ago, no one had questioned the changes in her. Her parents hadn’t asked why she suddenly slept with the lights on, or how she’d gotten the cut under her chin. Her grandparents hadn’t asked why she had a million excuses for not working in the shop. Her friends hadn’t asked why she spent recess in the library and her free time locked away in her house. Her grades had slipped, and the teachers had patted her on the head and told her that it was tough having a father who was sick.
No one had asked, and she hadn’t told, because she’d been terrified Eric would follow through on his threats and hurt her younger sisters.
“Hey,” Jax said quietly, leaning down and looking into her eyes. “Breathe.”
And she realized she was holding her breath, seeing stars, feeling light-headed and nauseated.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, because what else was she going to say? That she was falling apart. Again. Spinning into the vile memory and the vicious nightmare.
“You will be.” He kissed her then—her temple and her cheek, and, finally, her lips.
She levered up, her hands clutching his sides, her heart still thumping painfully. If she could have lost herself in him, she would have. If she could have climbed into the comfort of his arms and never left, she might have, but the bell above the door rang, and cold air swept in.
“Excuse me!” a woman said loudly, and Willow jumped back, nearly stumbling over one of the tables. Jax grabbed her arm, steadying her as she turned to face the customer.
Millicent Montgomery. Tan skin. Blond hair. Forehead so tight from Botox, she couldn’t manage a scowl.
She was completely capable of shooting daggers out of her eyes, though. If looks could kill, Willow would be dead and buried.
“Millicent,” she said, offering a smile that was almost as fake as Millicent’s double-D breasts. “How are you today?”
“I’d be better if I hadn’t had to witness your PDA,” she huffed, her gaze sliding from Willow to Jax.
“Hello, Jax. It’s been a long time.”
“We spoke yesterday at church,” he responded, offering a kind smile that probably made Millicent’s heart sink, because there was no interest in it. Nothing but a simple, polite gesture that couldn’t be construed as anything else.
Poor Millicent!
Her fourth husband had died nearly two years ago, and she was still looking for number five. At forty-two, she’d hit a wall in the romance department. A new thing for a woman who’d always had a man on the back burner. At least, that’s what Addie and Brenna were saying.
“Yes. Of course. You’re right.” Millicent blushed, and Willow couldn’t help pitying her. She’d made a laughingstock of herself—bleaching her hair, plumping her breasts, Botoxing and waxing and wearing clothes that were a few sizes too small. In a town like this one, that was noticed, and what was noticed was talked about.
“Are you here for some of our fudge, Millicent?” Willow asked, moving behind the counter and lifting one of their prettiest boxes from a shelf.
“I’ll let you know what I’m here for after I decide,” Millicent barked, and then sighed. “What I meant to say is, I’m not sure yet.”
“Take your time.”
“Thank you, dear.” Millicent eyed the candies displayed in the case, her fingers tapping against the glass. “I wanted to buy something for my housekeeper. She’s been feeling a little under the weather the past few days. I thought chocolate might cheer her up.”
“What does she like?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t really know. She usually doesn’t stay with me, but I’ve let her spend a few nights, because she looked so exhausted.” Millicent speared Willow with a hard look. “Don’t spread that around. I don’t want people to think I’m getting soft.”
“I’m sure no one would think that,” she responded.
Jax coughed, and Willow met his eyes, saw amusement gleaming there.
“I should certainly hope not. I wouldn’t want people trying to take advantage of me. Now, about the chocolate . . .” Millicent pointed to a tray of peanut butter fudge. “How about a quarter pound of peanut butter. A half dozen chocolate pretzels. Are those almond clusters on the bottom rack there?”
“Yes. Made fresh this morning.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’ll take three of those. One for me. Two for Phoebe. She’s such a skinny little thing. She needs the calories.”
“Did you say Phoebe?” Jax asked, something in his voice making Willow look up from the fudge she’d been weighing.
“Yes. Phoebe Tanner. She’s been working for me for a couple of months. Very hard worker, that girl. My house has never been cleaner.”
“Does she live around here?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“There’s a woman named Phoebe who lives out on the Bradshaws’ farm,” he offered, and Willow’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been wanting to meet her.”
“If you’re thinking of adding her to your list of conquests,” Millicent growled, “you can forget it. She’s married. Happily. And she’s very young. Innocent. I simply would not approve—”
“I don’t make conquests,” he cut in. “I’m interested in speaking to her about a case I’m working on.”
“She’s not a criminal.”
“I’m sure she’s not.”
“Then what in the world do you want with her?”
“Is she the woman who lives on the Bradshaws’ farm?”
“As a matter of fact, she is.”
“And she’s currently staying with you?”
Millicent pressed her collagen-enhanced lips together and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Millicent,” Jax said, his gaze hard. “I know you don’t want to stand in the way of an investigation. I also know that you don’t want to be charged as an accessory to a crime.”
“What crime? You said you didn’t think she was a criminal!”
“Is she at your place?”
“Yes.” Millicent’s face was red, and Willow thought she might be about to cry. “But I just can’t stand the thought of you dragging her off to jail. She’s such a sweet girl. Like the daughter I always wanted and never had.”
“I just want to speak with her.” He untied his apron, handed it across the counter. “Sorry to do this to you, Willow, but I really do need to talk to her. I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll head to the hospital together.”
“Okay,” she said, before she realized what she was agreeing to.
She thought about calling him back, telling him to forget it, that she was afraid her heart was getting too involved and that her head was taking a lunch break. That she didn’t want to fall for someone who would never let himself fall for her, but he was already heading into the back for his coat, and Millicent was actually crying, tears sliding down her face and leaving tracks in her foundation.
“It’s okay,” she said, setting the box and the fudge aside, and pulling Millicent into her arms.
“No. It isn’t. He’s going to take her to jail, and then I’m going to be in that big old house, all alone again,” she sobbed.
“He’s not going to take her to jail.”
Hopefully.
But if she was Miracle’s mother?
All bets were off, because if there was one thing she was learning about Jax, he was as keen for justice as she was, as driven to make things right. He might feel sorry for Miracle’s mother. He might sympathize with her, but he wasn’t going to ignore the fact that she’d left her baby out in a storm that could have taken her life.
Willow didn’t say that to Millicent. She just patted her back and told her everything would be okay.
* * *
She was a kid.
That’s what got to Jax most.
A scrawny kid who looked like she hadn’t eaten a good meal in months, her floor-length dress sagging to the floor, covering her from neck to toe. Not a hint of skin showing anywhere except on her hands, her neck, and her face.
Her very pale face.
“Can I help you?” she asked, peering out at them from behind Millicent’s storm door.
He met Kane’s eyes, glad that he’d asked his boss to come along. He’d didn’t want to be too hard on the young girl, but he didn’t want to be too soft on her, either. If his suspicions were correct, she was Miracle’s mother.
“We’re looking for Phoebe Tanner,” Jax said, and the girl flinched.
“This is Millicent Montgomery’s house. She’s out,” she murmured. “You’ll have to speak with her when she returns.”
She started to shut the door.
“Phoebe,” Kane said, and the girl froze, her hand on the door, her eyes wide. “We know who you are.”
“And?” she said, brushing strands of long black hair over her shoulder, the nervous gesture making her look even more vulnerable.
“We’d like to speak with you.” Kane opened the storm door, and now there was nothing for Phoebe to hide behind.
She looked . . . tired. Worn down. Like a person who was carrying a burden that was much too heavy. “What if I don’t want to talk to you?”
“Then we’ll obtain a warrant and bring you down to the station.”
“On what charges?” She might be young, but she was well-spoken, and she wasn’t stupid.
“Child abandonment.” Kane said it before Jax could, and Phoebe blanched.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” Jax took a picture from his wallet, one he’d been carrying since after Miracle’s surgery. The hospital had provided copies to the press, and he’d taken one. “She’s doing pretty well for a little one who’s just had her heart operated on.”
He held out the photo and wasn’t surprised when Phoebe didn’t look at it.
“I’m glad she’s doing well, but she’s not my baby.”
“You live on the Bradshaws’ farm, right?” Jax changed tactics, tucking the photo away.
“Yes. With my husband and a couple of friends.”
“Is there some reason why you haven’t been back there in a few days?”
“I’ve been back. Just . . . I spent the last couple of nights here, because Millicent needed me.”
“She said it was because you were sick.”
“I’ve been . . . under the weather, but it’s nothing serious. I just thought she seemed lonely lately, and I felt bad leaving her every night.”
“Leaving her to go to your husband made you feel bad?” Kane asked, and Phoebe blushed.
“Elias understood.”
“How long have the two of you been married?” Kane pressed for more information, and Jax hoped to God it would lead somewhere other than another dead-end.
“Six months. We got married the day I turned eighteen.”
“Was there some reason for that?” Jax asked.
Her lips tightened, and she looked like she was going to cry. “I loved him. He loved me. That was reason enough.”
“I spoke to your family.” He pressed his advantage while he had it.
“Elias is my family.”
“Your father. Your mother.”
“Family keeps loving you. No matter what. The people who raised me aren’t family.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but legally, they are your folks. They said you ran off.”
“And?”
“Why?”
“To marry Elias. They weren’t going to approve it. He was too modern for them. My . . . father doesn’t think we need things like electricity and running water. Elias is smarter than that. He doesn’t see anything wrong with a few modern conveniences. God gave us brains, and there’s nothing wrong with using what we create with them. That’s what he always says.”
“I couldn’t agree more. God expects us to use the gifts He’s given us,” Kane said, offering a warm smile that seemed to put Phoebe at ease.
“We still are very careful to not be worldly,” she said earnestly. “We make our own clothes. We don’t have TV. We believe that God heals. Not doctors. We worship in small groups rather than big, fancy churches.”
“You have a small group meeting?” Jax asked, but he didn’t really care. He was thinking about what she’d said about doctors. About letting God do the healing, and he was thinking about Miracle, born with a hole in her heart. About the little bow in her hair, and the way she’d been wearing clean footy pajamas. She’d been dressed and cared for before she’d been put in the fruit crate.
By a mother who’d loved her?
Who’d been afraid for her?
Who’d thought she had no choice but to leave her with someone who would seek the medical treatment that her husband would not allow?
“Well, just me and Elias. Clementine and Josiah. We have Wednesday night prayer meeting and Sunday morning worship. We never miss.”
“Do you believe in infant baptism?” Kane said casually, and Phoebe frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It seems to me,” he responded, “that might be important if you had a baby who . . . say . . . had a heart defect.”
“I . . . don’t.”
“Then I guess you won’t be opposed to letting us bring a DNA kit to your place? It’s just a swab of the inside of the cheek.”
“Why would you want that?”
“You don’t have TV, but you can’t have missed the news about the baby who was found in town.” Jax watched her reaction carefully, saw the slight clenching of her fists, the subtle shifting of her shoulders beneath the huge dress.
“Everyone is talking about it.”
“And I’m sure you’ve heard them say that we’re looking for the mother.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“We’re just ruling people out, Phoebe. DNA testing is the easiest way to do it. So how about we come back in a half hour? We’ll bring the kit and—”
“That’s not legal.” She didn’t sound like she believed it, though. Which might work to their advantage.
“It is if you agree to it.”
“I’m not going to.”
“You do understand that we can get a warrant for that, too, right?”
She bit her lip, grabbed the edge of the door.
“If you want to talk to Millicent,” she said, “you’ll have to come back.”
She closed the door with a quiet snap.
Left them standing on Millicent’s wide front porch.
“She’s the mother,” Kane said before Jax could.
“I know.”
“So let’s go put our case together and present it to the judge. We should have the warrant by tomorrow.”
“That’ll be great. If she hasn’t skipped town by then.”
“Where would she go?”
“Far enough away to make things difficult.”
“She’s got no phone. Very little money. And she loves her daughter. She might have done something stupid because of that, but love was the motivation. I think she’ll stay, because I think her heart won’t let her make another choice.”
“You’ve got more faith in humanity than I do, Kane.”
“Maybe just a little more hope in it. Come on. The sooner we get everything to the judge, the sooner we can get the warrant.”
Jax followed him to his cruiser and climbed into the passenger seat. They were pulling out of the driveway when a curtain in a lower window shifted, the movement catching his eye. Phoebe was there, watching them drive away.
Jax couldn’t be sure, but he thought she might be crying.