The muscle in Jake’s jaw clenched as he shook his head.
Emily’s brow furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
Just thinking about what Jessie must have endured incensed Robert. He came here hoping for distraction, so he could get his mind off Jessie, but it wasn’t working. Now that she was back in Providence, he feared she would occupy his thoughts far too often.
“So, you’re supposed to be like her bodyguard or something?” Jake asked after a lengthy silence.
“Something like that. I promised her I’d keep her safe.”
Jake’s voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Can you afford to make that promise?”
Robert raked both hands through his hair, then propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
Why did I make Jessie a promise I’m not sure I can keep?
He’d do his best to protect her from her husband, but it would be difficult to do when he could barely stand to be around her. He couldn’t seem to separate the woman who needed protection from the memories he’d shared with her.
Bolting to his feet, he headed to the door. “I’d better go. I shouldn’t have come here right now.”
“Don’t leave,” Jake said, springing up from the couch.
“Robert,” came Emily’s soft voice. He looked at her, bracing himself for the harsh truth she was likely to speak—he was acting like an idiot. But her words surprised him. “You are a strong, intelligent man. You’re confident and capable. Despite finding this situation difficult, you are not the same person you were five years ago. You are in control of this situation, and you can decide how it plays out.”
Robert absorbed her words like a dry sponge. They were exactly what he needed to hear. Ever since Sylvia walked into his office yesterday, he’d felt his life spiraling out of control. He’d struggled to separate the past from the present, because it filled him with the same old emotions and regrets.
Emily’s right.
He wasn’t the same person Jessie left behind. He was confident and mature. He was the sheriff, for goodness’ sake. He’d dealt with harder things than this. He needed to determine how to control the situation and decide what he wanted the outcome to be.
One thing was certain: he wouldn’t open his heart again. He wouldn’t let Jessie hurt him a second time.
He could be a protector, but that was it.
Chapter 6
Jessie stood from lighting the fire and rubbed her hands on her arms. Despite it being July, the luxurious cabin with hardwood floors throughout was chilly this early in the morning. She couldn’t justify turning the furnace on for only herself. Besides, Robert chopped enough wood to heat the spacious cabin for a month.
She put the kettle on to heat water for herbal tea, hoping it would settle her stomach. Her tummy growled, reminding her she’d skipped dinner last night. She’d been so tied in knots she couldn’t eat anything. Despite being hungry this morning, the anxiety lingered. She’d be lucky if she could get toast down with her tea.
She paced around the large kitchen while waiting for the water to heat. Spotting a sweatshirt on the hook by the back door, she grabbed it. Her hand stilled when she realized it was Robert’s Washington State University hoodie. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled. The scent was faint, but it still smelled like him. Tangy and woodsy.
She slipped it on, trying not to remember the many times she’d borrowed his sweatshirts or jackets and the way he’d warmed her by wrapping his arms around her.
A few minutes later, she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling picture window, cradling a steaming mug in her hands. She stared out at the lake shrouded in the shadows of pre-dawn light.
As she sipped her tea, the sun’s golden rays peeked over the mountain, turning the lake a splendid emerald color. Jessie sucked in a sharp breath at the beautiful scene, wishing she had her art supplies.
She retrieved the black book she’d grabbed on her way out of the house yesterday and searched the kitchen for a pencil. A thrill shot through her when she found one. It was a far cry from the sketching pencils she preferred, but it would have to do. She pushed a comfortable armchair toward the window and sat with her legs curled beneath her.
She opened the book that held her secrets. Her deepest sorrows, darkest fears, and greatest regrets.
Robert’s name appeared more than once early in the book.
At first, she’d used it as a diary, pouring out her heart on its pages. Then when Patrick punished her creativity, this book had become her only outlet. She’d sketched her emotions many times when he wasn’t home, keeping it hidden where she knew he’d never find it—under the kitchen sink, behind the cleaning supplies. He never helped with the cleaning. In his opinion, caring for the house was a woman’s responsibility.
The book was the only place she’d sketched anything for the past two-and-a-half years. Most of the images were dark with heavy strokes. She used the words and the drawings to document the abuse she’d suffered at Patrick’s hands, even adding photos occasionally.
She searched for a blank page and began sketching. With quick, light strokes, she drew the outline of the lake and the stately pine trees surrounding it. The motions soothed her, and she willed herself to relax. For the first time in four years, she didn’t have to worry about discerning Patrick’s mood when he walked through the door.
