Chapter 3
Luke stood with his back to Jenna and waited.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for.
Part of him wanted to keep walking—to get in the truck and drive back to Refuge Cove and do something useful, something he could measure and nail down and make sense of.
That’s what he did when things got to be too much. He worked. He threw himself into projects where he could take a pile of lumber and nails and make something out of it.
But his feet didn’t move.
“I know you’re angry.” Jenna’s words sounded careful and quiet. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking you for anything except to talk. Sometime. When you’re ready. Please.”
He stared at the row of storefronts across the street without seeing any of them.
Twelve years. He’d known this woman for twelve years. He’d built a life with her, had children with her, had stood in a church and made promises he intended to keep.
He’d spent so much time not knowing what happened to her.
He’d sat across from a grief counselor for six weeks because Liam had stopped talking at school and his teacher was worried.
He’d learned to braid Cora’s hair from a video, badly, three times over, because some things a father was supposed to know how to do, and braiding hair had never been one of them.
He’d done all of it alone.
And now Jenna was asking him if they could talk.
She didn’t deserve a conversation. She certainly hadn’t given him that choice when she left. Why should he treat her any differently?
Finally, he turned around. Breathe, Luke. Breathe.
Jenna stood where he’d left her, watching him with those big eyes he’d always found impossible to say no to. But he couldn’t let her get to him now. He had to keep his emotions in check. If not for his sake, then for his kids.
He remembered what she’d said, the words he still needed to respond to. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking you for anything except to talk. Sometime. When you’re ready. Please.
“I don’t know, Jenna.”
It was the most honest answer he had. Luke didn’t know if he wanted to hear what Jenna had to say. Didn’t know if any explanation would make things better or if it would simply tear open something he’d spent months and months learning to manage.
All he knew right now was that his chest had tightened until he could hardly draw a full breath.
Jenna nodded as if she’d expected exactly that response. Then she strode closer and handed him a slip of paper. “This is my number. I’m staying at Hollow House Bed and Breakfast. You can call me or find me there—but only if and when you’re ready.”
He stared at her, trying to read her expression. She sounded sincere—maybe even sorry. But this situation was entirely more complicated than an apology.
“How long are you planning to stay?” he finally asked.
“As long as it takes.”
He absorbed that revelation.
She wouldn’t disappear again—that was what she was telling him. She was planting herself in Blue Ridge Hollow, and she would wait him out.
But she’d made promises before that she hadn’t kept. He couldn’t let himself believe this time would be different.
He gave her a short nod but said nothing. Instead, he walked to his truck, climbed inside, and pulled the door shut behind him.
As silence surrounded him, he sat with his hands on the wheel and stared through the windshield at nothing. At the pale spring sky. At the storefronts across the street. At a bird as it fluttered to a stop on top of a lamp post.
Jenna was alive. She was here.
He pressed the palms of his hands against the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. Then he let out a slow breath through his nose.
In the side mirror, he saw Jenna still standing where he’d left her, watching him.
He forced himself to start the engine.
He had three kids who needed him to be stable. He had cottages to build and a schedule to keep. He had a life that didn’t stop just because Jenna King had walked back into it.
Without looking in the mirror again, he pulled out of the lot.
He needed to think carefully about his decision.
Jenna watched Luke’s truck disappear around the corner.
That hadn’t gone well.
She hadn’t expected it to go well. Probably a hundred times in the past month she’d told herself their first conversation would be terrible. She’d tried to brace herself for Luke’s anger, for his coldness, for the words he’d had every right to say.
She’d thought she was prepared.
She wasn’t.
She walked back to her car, which she’d parked in the same lot but around the corner. As it came into view, she sucked in a breath.
The driver’s side front tire was flat.
She stopped and stared at it. How had that happened?
She crouched and studied the tire.
A nail would have left the tire soft, slowly losing air. This one was fully flat, the sidewall sitting flush against the ground like the air had left all at once.
She straightened, and her gaze moved across the lot.
The dark sedan she’d seen earlier was gone. When had the driver left? Was the vehicle even connected with her and her past?
Maybe. But maybe not. Any number of people could have a legitimate reason to sit in a running car for a few minutes and then leave.
That didn’t make her feel any better, however.
Before she could stand, footsteps sounded behind her.
“Well, I’ll be. Am I seeing things or is that Jenna King?”
Dread filled her as she turned.
Dale Harding crossed the lot toward her, a bag from Hartwell’s in one hand and an easy smile on his face.
Dale was Richard’s older brother—Richard, the man who’d married Luke’s sister Sarah and was now in prison for killing her.
Her throat swelled at the memory.
Dale was broader through the shoulders than Richard, with the same dark hair and the same way of acting like he was a little better than everyone around him.
She’d never liked Dale, though she’d never been able to pinpoint a specific reason. He’d always been perfectly pleasant around her. But something about the man put her on edge.
“Dale.” She stood to better face him. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Just picking up a few things.” He stopped beside her, looked at the tire, and frowned. “That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You got a spare?”
She hesitated. She’d bought this car used, but she was pretty sure there was a spare in the trunk.
“I think I do. But I can—” She stopped as she remembered she had no idea how to change a tire. Then she tried again. “I could use some help, actually. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He set his bag down on the asphalt parking lot without hesitation. “I’d be happy to be of assistance.”
She opened the trunk then stepped back and gave him room to work. As she did, she kept her eyes on the street. On the entrance to the lot. On the spaces along the far edge of the area where the sedan had been idling earlier.
Nothing—no signs of trouble—caught her eye.
She exhaled slowly.
Beside her, she heard the clank of the jack and the rhythmic turn of the lug wrench as Dale loosened each bolt. An image of Richard filled her mind.
Dale reminded her so much of him. She didn’t care for either of them.
She pushed the thought away. Dale was changing her tire. That was all this was.
He glanced up at her as he pulled the flat off. “Haven’t seen you around in a long time.”
Her throat tightened. Great. He was getting personal. But she’d known that was the risk when she came back to the area.
“I’ve been away.” She crossed her arms, trying to look casual instead of guarded.
“Mm.” A pause stretched, then the lug wrench resumed. “Luke know you’re back?”
Her stomach tightened. That wasn’t Dale’s business. Yet he was helping her right now. A little small talk couldn’t hurt.
“We ran into each other this morning.”
He threw another glance over his shoulder as he grabbed the spare. “Is that right? Well, what do you expect in a small town, right?”
“Right.”
More time passed, and she watched him working, thankful he didn’t ask more questions.
A few minutes later, he stood and brushed his hands on his jeans. “All done. It looks like your old tire got a nail in it.”
“That’s unfortunate.” A nail? Was that all this was?
Maybe she was seeing danger and threats where there were none. She wanted to laugh at herself but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“It is unfortunate, but these things happen. I just need to put this one back in the trunk. You can take it to Freddy’s, and he can either patch it for you or recommend a new one for purchase.”
“Perfect.”
He smiled at her—the same warm, open smile he’d been wearing the whole time—then picked up the tire and placed it in her trunk.
He slammed it closed and turned toward her.
“Thank you for your help,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” He held her gaze a beat longer than necessary. “You take care of yourself, Jenna.”
He turned to walk to his truck, and she watched him go.
Why did she feel bothered? Why did she feel like Dale knew something she didn’t?
It was her imagination. It had to be.
But if that were true, why did she still feel on edge?