She shook her head. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You might want to avoid town for a while. Lyle’s got it out for you, been saying all kinds of crazy things. People are starting to talk. He thinks you had something to do with that girl’s death.”

Jax stood straighter, his back rigid. I knew what he was thinking, but I wasn’t about to let some small town gossip bring us down. I willed my face into a mask, though my pulse throbbed at my temples. “What girl?”

Her eyes widened. “You haven’t heard?”

I arched a brow. “Heard what?”

“The girl who sent you to jail, her car was found in the river a few days ago. They said it was an accident, but Lyle thinks you had something to do with it.” She raised her brows, and her forehead creased under honey blond wisps of bangs. “The timing’s kind of convenient though. They found her car just twenty miles from here.” She swept a hand between us. “And now you’re here.”

“You think I had something to do with it?” I dragged a hand through my unruly hair.

“No, I’m just saying I can see why some people might talk.”

Jax folded his arms. “My head is spinnin’ here, guys.” He gave Nikki a slow once-over. “Who’s Lyle, and who the hell are you?”

The first woman to catch his attention, and it would have to be the mother of my kid.

“Jax, this is Nikki.”

“Well that tells me a lot.”

I sighed. “We went to high school together. She’s engaged to…” Fuck, he wasn’t going to like this. “Lyle, the sheriff.”

“Perfect.” He gave me a pointed look, and I hoped Nikki didn’t notice.

She took another step forward. “Can I come in, please? You took off so fast the other night—”

“Let’s go for a walk,” I interrupted as I wedged my feet into my sneakers by the door. I glanced at Jax, and he gave an imperceptible nod. We were good at communicating without words. A dip of the head, a flick of the wrist, a furtive glance. We’d learned to talk in code long ago. He’d keep an eye on the prisoner while I chased off the threat.

I closed the door behind me and followed Nikki down the steps of the front porch. We walked in silence for a while, the hum of the highway and the roar of a freight train blending into one in the distance. “That yours?” I asked, gesturing toward the small fishing boat docked next to my larger form of transportation. It was a stupid question, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“My dad’s.”

“How is he?”

“Not good. He’s been drinking again, ever since Mom left.”