Chapter 9
Micah stood with his notepad open and his pen ready. “Walk me through what happened.”
Luke kept his story straightforward. He went over where he and Jenna had been standing, the direction of the shot, the sedan pulling away east on Fourth. Jenna added that she thought she’d seen the sedan before, though she couldn’t be sure.
Micah wrote down all the details without looking up. Two deputies had already gone to check out the house on the corner of Main and Fourth. A third was working the street, talking to the woman who’d been on the opposite sidewalk when the shot fired.
Then Micah turned to Jenna. “Name?”
Micah, who was dating Naomi, didn’t know Jenna. Didn’t know about Luke’s history with her. But he was about to sense their unspoken past.
“Jenna King.” She said the words evenly, though her expression was still tense.
“How long have you been in Blue Ridge Hollow?”
“About a month.”
Micah’s pen slowed for a fraction of a second before he kept writing. “Any reason someone might want to take a shot in your direction, Ms. King?”
“No.” She met his gaze without flinching. “None that I know of.”
She was telling the truth. Or a version of it. Luke was becoming increasingly aware that Jenna understood the difference between those two things better than most people did.
He kept scanning the street. The sedan was gone. The deputies hadn’t radioed anything back yet, which meant the shooter had moved fast.
That shooting wasn’t random. That was someone who’d had a plan.
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.
“Yeah.” He slid the phone into his pocket. “Just a problem at the construction site.”
She looked at him. “Construction site?”
“Refuge Cove is expanding. We’re adding cottages for the women who come through.”
She remembered sitting with the Kings right after Sarah was killed and listening to them talk about what the property could become. They wanted it to be more than a house or a shelter. They wanted it to be something that could give women real space to breathe and rebuild.
She hadn’t known then how far they’d take it. But she’d deeply admired their vision.
“I think it’s wonderful what your family has built there,” she murmured.
He nodded as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her words. The silence between them stretched into something awkward and full.
“Do you need to go?” she asked. “To the construction site?”
“I’ve still got a few minutes.” He glanced toward the street then back at her.
The alertness was still there. Jenna could see him cataloguing and assessing everything around him the same way she often did.
“I know somewhere we can go and talk privately.” He glanced around once more. “And it’ll be safe.”
“Where?”
“Blue Ridge Hollow Community Church is two blocks over. Pastor Dave won’t mind. It’ll be empty this time of morning.”
Jenna nodded, tension gripping her as she realized there was no turning back.
Instead, she murmured, “Okay. Let’s go.”