Page 16 of Homicide in Water Creek

“I’m not going to hurt you, Jacks.” His hand rested on the door, and he wore a look of utter despair.

“You already have.” The words came out with less anger than she’d hoped, their timbre saying she was hurt—crushed, actually—and that there was no going forward from where they were. Ever.

Jacks 0

King 0

Stalemate.

Chapter Eight

The shower helped, but when Jacks opened the door to let the steam escape, it was clear King hadn’t left as she’d asked. Knowing he was out there, she had no choice but to strap her brace back on so she could walk. Then she slid into a warm pair of fleece pants and an extra-large sweatshirt, pulled her hair back in a scrunchie, and stared at herself in the mirror.

“You’re pathetic, Jacks,” she said to the woman in the mirror.

“You’re not pathetic, Jacks,” King said from the doorway. She didn’t have to turn. She could see his reflection in the mirror. “You’re the strong one. You’ve been through so much, all because of me. I’m the pathetic one. I’m the one who will never forgive himself for this mess we’re in. Please tell me you understand I didn’t want any of this. Tell me you understand I didn’t and don’t feel the same way our granddaddies did.”

Jacks turned toward him slowly and took a long, good look at King. He was tired. She could tell by the way his lids drooped lower over his eyes than usual and by the crow’s feet at the edges, which were more pronounced. He’d had enough of today, the same as she had, maybe even more. After all, it wasn’t her mother she’d found stuffed into a trunk just a few days ago.

“The way our granddaddies do feel.” His head twitched in acknowledgment. “I know you don’t feel that way, and I don’t blame you, King. I don’t. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. I thought I was doing the right thing when I pushed you away. I was being a good girl, doing what I was told, even though it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Could you use a hug?” he asked as she paused in the doorway. “I know I could.”

Her eyes closed when she wrapped her arms around his waist to hold him. He encircled her tenderly, holding her close but not too tightly. “Where’s your vest?” she asked, resting her head against his hard chest. It was a rare occasion when he wasn’t dressed in his body armor. Hugging him without it was so much better. She could feel the heat radiating from his muscled chest. She found a hollow to rest her cheek in, and the sensation felt like coming home after a long day.

Did she just think that about Dean King? Yes, but in her defense, she needed a lifeline right now. Even if that lifeline was Dean King.

“I took it off while you were showering. Sometimes it’s nice not to be Sheriff King and to be Dean, or King, or whatever you prefer to call me.”

Jacks laughed softly, nodding against his chest. “As long as you’re safe.”

“I’ll put it back on before I leave. I promise.” He kissed the top of her head. “Are you hungry? I made some soup.”

She looked up at him from where her head rested against his chest. “I’m starving, but you didn’t have to do that.”

King curled his arm around her shoulder and walked with her to the kitchen, then sat her at the table, which was only big enough for two. She’d picked it up along the side of the road on the way back from Wellspring one day. After lovingly sanding it down and adding a new coat of stain, it was perfect for her little house. King ladled soup into a bowl for Jacks and carried it over, along with some crackers and a warm mug of tea. “How long were you out there?” He pulled the chair out opposite her and sat down. “We realized you’d taken off when Dexter was gone.”

To avoid answering, Jacks shoveled the chicken and rice into her mouth. She was ready to spoon in more when King grasped her hand and lowered his brow. She let the spoon fall back into the bowl and sighed. “I lost track of time. I got back right after dark and had barn chores to do. The lights were on in the barn. Everyone knew I was in there.”

He lifted his hand and leaned back, his gaze fixed on her as she finished the soup. “Going out on the trail in only a barn coat wasn’t exactly smart, Jacks.”

Rather than answer, she just shrugged, then brought the bowl to her lips to drink the warm broth. When she lowered it, she noticed he was still waiting for an answer. “You’re assuming that I was thinking things through. I wasn’t. I was running. It’s the only thing I’m good at, King.”

“You’re wrong, Jacks. Running is an emotional response to feeling overwhelmed. You’re not alone in that response, either. The only thing I wanted to do was run after you, but I knew it was smarter to give you time to figure things out on your own for a bit. You’re so focused on the idea that you’re good at running that you’ve missed the point.”

“What’s the point, King?” she asked, biting into a cracker with anger.

“You always come back.”

Jacks shoulders deflated. “I don’t know if that’s the point or if it just makes me even more pathetic than previously defined.”

King shook his head and stood, holding out his hand for her to take. She did, and he walked backward, pulling her toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll get your tea.”

“I’m fine,” she promised. “Thanks for the soup. It did the trick.”

He lowered himself to sit beside her and rested his hands on his knees. “I’m just…” King rested his forehead against his hand and sat there, looking more vulnerable than she’d ever seen another human being. Jacks rubbed his back, understanding that what they were both dealing with was a lot to grasp.

“None of this was your fault, King,” she whispered, her hand splayed across his back.