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Folks around those parts said Jake didn’t have a mean bone in his body and the boy had a soft heart. He was the sort who walked old ladies across the road, carried the groceries out for an over-worked mother, set the field mice free from the traps that his Daddy set. On the other hand, Jake had never backed down from a challenge, not once in his life. He took on the bully in elementary school, a little worse for the wear, but came out on top. When it came to sports, he pushed himself to the limit, using his size, his strength or his brain to overcome. He set the bar high for his studies, nearly burning out but reaching his goals in record time.
But this challenge with Dixie…he didn’t know what to do, only that he had to find out and fast. Jake lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, seeing Dixie—her ruined skin, the pain in her eyes, that beautiful smile that she could still put on even with all the hurting. No matter what he did to distract himself, he could not erase the images that had been branded in his memory. Imagine what it must be like for her to have lived through such horrors.
He tossed and turned, running through every possible scenario of what he would do with Owen Granville. He even toyed with the idea of hopping a train up North and hunting the man down. He’d be going into the belly of the enemy. In the Southern state of mind, the War Between the States was still fresh, the wounds barely healed. Wouldn’t take much to rip off those scabs, make them bleed. It would take all he had to go up there but Jake would go in a heartbeat for Dixie. Press flaming cigars all over the man’s body. Set him on fire, a living torch. That turn of thought only chased sleep further away. With no hope of relief, he went to his desk, turned on the light, and began to write. It was a list, a “Honey Do” List of everything he had to do with that sweet honey of a girl.