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desk yesterday, she reminded herself, so the sexual images that sprang to mind at the something he offered were one-sided.
    “Why?” she asked, instead of giving suggestions.
    He was quiet for a moment. “I’m a nice guy. At least I try to be,” he said gruffly.
    She pulled over to the side of the road two miles from the Nelson’s driveway and shifted into park. Her hands were shaking but she wasn’t really sure why.
    “Brooke, are you there?” he asked.
    She started at his use of her first name. Until that moment he’d been calling her Ms. Donovan. Which kept things nicely distanced between them. But when he said her name, she was instantly jolted back to how it felt to be in his arms, with his mouth doing decadent things to hers.
    “Yeah.”
    “I feel terrible about what happened to Mike. I want to help you out in some way. I have a check for you.”
    His answer was out of sync with what she’d been thinking and it took a moment for her mind to discard her assumptions and understand what he’d said.
    “A check?”
     
     
    Jack sat on the edge of his bed, his morning coffee churning in his gut as he plodded his way through the conversation he’d resigned himself to having over the phone. At least for now.
    He’d tried three times now and still couldn’t get the words out that explained his part in Mike Worthington’s death. But at least she knew why he was here, mostly, and what he wanted to do for her.
    “A check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “It’s what’s left of the life insurance policy on Edward Movey.” He waited a heartbeat for her to recognize the name.
    “Edward Movey?” she asked hoarsely. “Two hundred and fifty thousand… But…why?”
    “If anyone deserves the money it’s you, Ms. Donovan. Mr. Movey’s beneficiary wants you to have it.” That was the absolute, unadulterated truth.
    He could have said, “I’m the beneficiary and I want you to have it.” But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t say I caused the accident that killed your husband.
    It probably made him a selfish bastard but he just couldn’t admit his guilt.
    Besides, what did he really expect from confessing? Forgiveness? He didn’t deserve forgiveness. Would he feel better? He didn’t really deserve that either.
    He was used to fixing things. He didn’t save everyone, but he could always tell the family that he’d done everything in his power. In this situation, he hadn’t done everything in his power and Mike Worthington and Jack’s uncle Ed were dead. And Brooke Donovan’s life had been turned upside down.
    She was truly the only one left behind. Ed hadn’t been married, had no children, so his passing had affected the bartender at his regular hangout and his poker buddies more than anyone.
    But just because no one was blaming him didn’t change the fact that Jack had failed.
    He despised that.
    He wasn’t used to be anything less than a hero. He spent his days in the ER where he didn’t always win, but where he always fought the good fight and got credit for trying.
    Something good had to come out of this. He needed to fix it. He needed to fill in the gaps that he’d created for this woman.
    “Surely his family could us it or donate it or something,” Brooke said, sounding a bit dazed.
    “You are aware Mr. Movey was drunk when he hit your husband.”
    He heard her pull in a long breath. “Yes.”
    “His beneficiary…his nephew,” Jack said, trying to be as truthful as possible without exposing himself, “feels that because Mr. Movey’s recklessness directly impacted your life, perhaps the money can help you with some needs that may have come up since your husband’s death.”
    “The family should consider giving the money to an alcohol education or prevention program,” she said. “They could impact a lot of lives that way.”
    He barely avoided swearing. That sounded great, but it wouldn’t be enough . He needed his help to be more direct.