“I can see that,” she muses. “If it makes you feel better, I had to have Kinsley help me with my outfit tonight, and she vetoed like ninety percent of the things I have here.” She raises her eyebrows. “Pickings were slim.”
I snort and rest my hip against the counter as I face her. “Thank you.”
“For not being able to dress myself? You’re very welcome.”
“Y’all are gonna make me go gray.”
“Perks of bein’ surrounded by such beautiful women all the time,” Miss Thelma stage-whispers then looks down at Remi and adds, “Your daddy is gonna be in a whole lotta trouble with you, isn’t he?”
“Could you not?” I grumble, pulling a tray down from the cabinet so I can bring in everything off the grill.
“It’s like you don’t know me at all. Besides,” she says with a wolfish grin, “I know all your best stories.”
“Not all of them,” I mumble as I push past Nessa toward the backyard. The sound of both women laughing warms me from the inside out, my house filled with life for the first time in a long time. Opening the grill cover, I pause and look over my shoulder where I can see them through the window.
Miss Thelma had burst into my office and more subtly into my home—but it’s so much more than that. I’d been hiding away, scared of bursting the little bubble Nessa and I had created, as if people in this town wouldn’t welcome me and my daughter with open arms.
The little girl inside will be loved and cherished and spoiled beyond her wildest dreams. Miss Thelma’s presence didn’t eliminate my fears, but she did assuage them.
And now I need to make the effort to manage the rest.
Turning off the grill, I arrange the chicken, corn, and potatoes on the tray and turn to head inside. I feel lighter, the weight of the last several weeks finally fading away like dust on a dirt road.
I can do this.
With the help of my friends and family, I can absolutely do this.
19
JENSEN
The reprieve I’d felt after dinner with Nessa and Miss Thelma had come to a screeching halt my second shift back.
And it’s funny how life changes your perspective.
How quickly it can happen.
I’ve been on my fair share of difficult calls in my time with the sheriff’s department, but tonight just hits differently. Before Remi, this would just have been another call, but my daughter has changed absolutely everything.
My boots echo in the hallway as I navigate the hospital, the familiarity the only thing keeping my heart from beating out of my chest.
“Evening, Sheriff,” Hayden Teal says with a subdued smile. “They’re right down the hall.”
“Thanks, Hayden,” I reply with a tight expression of my own. My steps slow as I approach the open door. The hushed voices are all familiar, and no one is surprised when I cross the threshold.
Damien Walsh, wearing his Blackstone Falls Fire Department T-shirt, looks up and nods at me. “Kade.”
“Walsh.” Taking a step closer, I peek down at the tiny baby in his arms. “What happened?”
“She was surrendered to us about an hour ago.” He rattles off the limited details he has as he gently sways. I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it, but I recognize the move because I do it too—even if I’m not holding Remi.
“Caseworker?”
“She’s here somewhere. I think she’s trying to find a family to place her with tonight.” He chuckles softly. “I was halfway to askin’ my wife.”
And I get it.
There are so many times you want to fix the problem beyond just doing the job. But that’s hard too. Walking the line between empathy and detachment is taxing in a way no one talks about—too far one way or the other and you’ll lose yourself to the job or something worse.
