Read Justified for Free Online

she giggled.
    I ran my hand across my forehead. Maybe someday I would be more like Pamela. Maybe someday I would stop calling people names like jerk and start loving them right where they were, even if they fell asleep in the pew. Maybe someday I would be as good a Christian as I used to think I was.
    No wonder Pamela confused my prayer for a party-girl’s nap. I hardly recognized myself.

Chapter Eight
    JohnScott would have kept an eye on Fawn Blaylock even if his parents hadn’t insisted he do so, but he never intended to repair her steps with her away from the house. She might view it as too familiar. Or an invasion of her privacy. Or poor manners. But if he was honest with himself, he had to admit another reason he regretted not catching her at home.
    He unloaded lumber onto a bare spot in her yard on Sunday afternoon, and then he set to yanking the three boards off the front steps. They were so rotted, he could have done it with his bare hands, but he used a crowbar instead, enjoying the work.
    He pulled the last board loose and tossed it onto a pile behind him, then peered into the shadowy crawl space beneath the house. Daylight shone through an uncovered opening at the back corner of the building, and he made a mental note to cover it later. No need to invite wildlife to nest beneath Fawn’s feet.
    He chuckled. Fancy little Fawn was out of her element living here. Sure, she’d been raised in the country, but not alone. Neil Blaylock ran his ranching business like a well-oiled machine, with hired hands doing most of the labor.
    JohnScott retrieved a circular saw from the cab of his truck and unrolled an extension cord before scanning the porch. He groaned. Of course the old place wouldn’t have an exterior outlet. He gripped a post and pulled himself up onto the porch. Maybe she’d left a window unlocked. He tested two by the front door, but from the looks of it, they were cemented shut with layers of house paint. The panes had recently been scrubbed clean, though, in stark contrast to the rest of the house.
    Fawn and her view.
    He turned to survey the landscape. Jagged uplifts, shallow ravines, and choppy fields created a crazy patchwork quilt of muted earth tones far below. And through it, Highway 84 snaked down the Caprock, curled through the low-lying buildings of Trapp, and slinked away into the distance.
    He shook his head. Maybe the girl had a point. He might consider living in harsh conditions if it meant he could wake up to that panorama every morning.
    As an afterthought, he reached for the doorknob, growling softly when it turned in his hand. “Fawn …” He swung the door open and stepped into her living room, scoping the walls for outlets. In the end, he scooted the loveseat away from the wall to access a plug behind it.
    Surveying the room, he realized she needed a rocker for the baby, but then he smiled. He couldn’t picture Fawn in a rocking chair.
    She had made the place homey since he’d dropped off the garage-sale furniture, though the temperature inside the house still made him sweat. An oval rug partially covered the worn hardwood floors, and one of his mother’s crocheted afghans rested on top of the loveseat where the stuffing fluffed through the upholstery. He could tell Fawn burned scented candles to mask the stale odor from the house being shut up so long.
    The bedroom was just as plain. Fawn and Ruthie found a mattress at a garage sale, but with no frame or box springs, the bed rested right on the floor. Fawn covered it with a not-too-ratty quilt, but the pillow looked as flat as a pancake. She probably had to fold the thing into a ball just to get comfortable.
    His chest tightened in shame as he realized he was snooping. He turned and tossed the end of the extension cord across the porch and closed the front door behind him, having no trouble maneuvering the cord beneath it. He cringed as a tiny mouse followed him outside.
    Swinging down to the