This time, though, she drove out to Butternut Lake. “Jax?” Allie said to herself, standing at the kitchen window and holding a just-washed dinner dish in her hands. She put the dish in the dish rack, wiped her hands on a hand towel, and hurried out to meet her just as Jax was sliding awkwardly out of her truck. “Jax,” she said, reprovingly, and she would have said more, but something about Jax’s demeanor stopped her. Maybe it was the way her shoulders were set, or the way her jaw was clenched. But whatever it was, Jax looked determined. Absolutely determined. And not at all like a woman paying a casual social call. She looked like a woman on a mission. “Jax? What is it?” Allie asked, swallowing the lecture she’d planned on giving her again. The one about not driving alone, at night, in the country, at this stage of her pregnancy. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day,”
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