3. Thea
thea
Having his gaze on me makes my skin warm, knowing what I am about to tell him. Or at least some of what I am about to tell him.
But Logan just sits there and waits patiently, like he’s got all the time in the world to take in my every word.
“I was married once,” I start, swallowing the saliva that builds in my mouth. “It wasn’t a good marriage.”
Logan leans in closer, and I wonder if he realizes that he does it, that his gaze hasn’t once left my face.
“It was after my parents passed away, and I was so stressed out, trying to raise my sisters and making sure I didn’t screw them up, to make sure that they dealt with the grief of losing our parents.
” I let out a slow breath, trying desperately to calm my emotions.
“Ophelia was only twelve. I had no idea what to do with my twelve-year-old sister whose parents just died.”
“Your parents had just died too. I’m sure you all were grieving. ”
I nod. “We were. But it was easier to just…push it aside. Focus on them.” I rub my finger over the rim of my glass, then pour myself another drink.
I take a slow slip, knowing that the warmth in my veins was contributed mostly to the alcohol I’ve already consumed.
“I was in nursing school when my parents died, I was almost done. I met Eric at a grocery store of all places.” I smile ruefully.
“He was kind and sweet and charmed me without even trying.”
I roll my shoulders back and face Logan again.
“I was in a vulnerable spot in life, I had to rely on myself for everything. We didn’t have aunts or uncles who were close to us to help, and everyone thought I could take care of everything.
” I shrug a shoulder. “I was twenty-two, I could handle it, right?”
I shake my head. “Anyway, Eric started coming around. He looked like a bad boy with his tattoos and his motorcycle, but deep down, I thought he had a good heart. He helped me with dinners and helped my little sisters with homework. He wanted to help provide for me and take care of me, and because of where I was at in life, I desperately wanted to let him.”
I wave my hand, getting off on a tangent and leading into some territory I wasn’t ready to venture into yet.
“Anyway, I married him because I thought I loved him, and he loved me. But it turned out that he needed the money my parents left for me, something to do with the motorcycle club he was in with.”
I watch as Logan’s hand subtly shifts into a fist, my eyes stay focused there while I finish. “He did something bad.”
“What did he do?”
My breath comes out in a choppy exhale. I can still remember the moment I saw him do it, when he said we were just going out to dinner but had to make a stop first.
Then I remember running to the police the first chance I had. It was simultaneously relieving and heartbreaking. “He murdered someone. Another man.”
“Shit.”
“Pretty much.” I clear my throat, the fear still lingering somewhere back there. “So, anyway, he went to prison, and I petitioned for divorce. He didn’t want one, though.”
“So, he fought it?”
“He tried. But ultimately, if you go to prison, you don’t have rights to decide if you stay with your wife or not.”
“You’re divorced then.”
I look at him, and his eyes search mine, like he’s desperate for the answer. “Yes. I’m divorced.”
He lets out a breath of relief. “Okay, that’s good. He can’t touch you then.”
“He seems to still have some reach,” I say, getting to the root of the problem.
Logan shifts closer again, his eyes scanning my face. “How?”
“I got this letter,” I admit, rolling my eyes. “I’ve gotten one about every month since before I…”
“Before you what?”
I let go of the lip I was biting. “Before I tried to get you to marry me.”
Despite the heavy conversation, Logan smirks. “Ah. Okay.” Then his mask of seriousness comes back on. “What’s in the letters?”
“Oh, you know, the usual ex-husband drama. Stuff like I didn’t deserve him, how much he hates me for what I did, what he wants to do to me if he gets out.” I shudder and take another sip of my whiskey. “The usual ‘my ex-husband is a murderer and blames everyone else for it’ kind of thing.”
“He can’t hurt you if he’s in prison. ”
“I know.” I shake my head. “But he may go up for parole soon.”
His brows shoot up. “But he murdered someone.”
I shrug. “Something about the prisons being full and not enough evidence—it’s bullshit. They’ve already petitioned to let go of a bunch of people. Thankfully, the ones that didn’t actually murder anyone, but still. If he goes up for parole, he’s going to find me.”
“What’s he really want?”
“The money. All of it. ‘You owe me’ is what his letters all say.”
“Shit. This is all coming to your address?”
I shake my head. “To the bar. He must have done some digging or sent one of his pals to do it for him.”
“Wait, hold on.” Logan reaches up and takes off his hat, setting it upside down on the bar. He then reaches up and rakes his hand through his hair. “His pals? What pals?”
“Probably Bones, or maybe Clyde. I don’t know.”
“Bones?”
“He was in Eric’s motorcycle club.” I set my glass on the bar top and rub at my tired eyes.
“They were pretty bad news. I’ve met some others from different charters who were completely different from Eric’s.
They’d have these big barbecues, and every time I would wonder how he was friends with the others because they were all so vastly different.
I could always tell when a different club was there out of obligation, not because they wanted to be there. ”
“But wait, these guys from his charter are checking up on you?” I notice Logan’s tone goes deeper, darker, and his right hand clenches the bar tightly .
“It’s the only thing I can think of.” I shrug as if this doesn’t keep me up at night. “How else would he know where I work? That I own this bar?”
“So, they’ve been in here. Have they approached you?”
“No,” I admit, biting my lip. “And I’ve been watching.”
“All right.” Logan sighs, and I can tell what I’ve told him is sinking in. “So, what do you need from me?”
I shake my head. “My issue isn’t that he’s wanting my money, it’s that my money is tied up in this bar along with my sisters’. If he comes after me for whatever reason, he’ll come for this bar, and he’ll threaten me and my sisters. I can’t have assets.”
“So, you were wanting to marry someone so they’d take over your assets?”
“I guess.” I rub my forehead, the stress of the situation getting to me. “I’ve been at a loss over what to do. How to handle this.”
“And your sisters don’t know.”
It’s a statement, but I look at Logan and nod. Whatever he sees on my face makes him reach out and place his hand on my thigh, rubbing it in comfort. I ache to inch closer until I mentally slap myself.
Can’t get too close.
“I think you can put your assets under my name. There are ways you can do it so that I’m legally in charge of them.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s do that.”
He lifts his hand up in a slowdown gesture. “Hold on, we need to make sure you’re comfortable with this.”
“I am, Logan. I can’t have my sisters losing everything we’ve built here because of my stupid mistake.
” Embarrassingly, my voice cracks. At just the mention of what I’ve done, of the regrets I still carry with me, I feel the stress of the situation bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to explode.
“All right.” He rubs a hand over his jaw, and I notice that his normally clean-shaven face has a bit of a five-o’clock shadow on it, making him appear more rugged.
Not that he needs help. Logan could sport a full-on scruffy beard, a ripped T-shirt, and hot pink pants, and he would still be sexy as hell.
I shake my head at the drunken thoughts.
“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t trust you, Logan. You’ve been a good friend to me ever since we got here.”
This was a fact.
When we bought the bar, it was just me, Annmarie, and Juniper trying to renovate it to start anew.
My sister Tori went off to explore the world, jaunting from the UK all the way over to Asia and anywhere else she could go.
And while my littlest sister Ophelia lived here for a short time, it was only to finish high school before she set off to college.
The other three of us stuck together, deciding that we wanted just a stable life somewhere where we could live happily without everyone knowing our business.
A fresh start was what we needed.
And some manpower.
Logan and Stetson and a few other townsfolk had stepped in when we needed it most and helped with things like getting the new furniture in the building and helping us get a new roof when we couldn’t afford a roofing company.
Every time I saw Logan after that, he would always check in on me, ask me how I was doing, and ask if I needed help with anything. He brought in Lue all the time for family dinners, and I got to know his daughter as well and to see him as a dad.
I’d come to depend on him kind of just being there for me.
Which was why, after several drinks and irresponsibility, I’d felt brave enough to essentially propose to the man without giving him any other information.
“I’m always here for you, Thea.” His eyes hold mine in an intense gaze. “Which is why I think you should come stay with us for a while.”
“What? Stay with who?” My slow mind was not picking up what he was putting down.
“With me and Lue. I think it’s the safest option.”
“He doesn’t know where I live,” I retort, the idea of living with this man in front of me sounding like the worst possible option. I don’t think I could keep my thoughts—and hands—to myself if we attempted to live together.
“Yeah, well, he might find out,” he replies, gaze locked with mine. “I think for now, you should come live with me. Maybe we do pretend that something more serious is going on between us, that way word will spread, and if he shows up here, he’ll know you’re not vulnerable.”
“I’m not weak, ya know,” I say, starting to feel like I was sounding like some scared little girl. I am worried about the bar, not myself. “I can handle him if he shows up. But I can’t handle him hurting my sisters.”
Logan stares at me for several long moments, and I wonder if he’s trying to intimidate me into something. But he sighs and shakes his head. “All right, fine.”
“Fine,” I reply with a nod of my head. “So, what do we do now? ”
“Well, I think we need to contact a lawyer. Maybe go and talk over some options with them so we do the right thing here.”
“Okay,” I agree and take a moment to stand up. I keep my facial expression neutral, but what he’s doing for me is such a relief that I feel like I can finally breathe a little easier.
I gather our glasses and the bottle of whiskey, placing it behind the bar and washing the glasses.
Then I gather my things, fully aware of Logan’s presence as he watches me lock up the bar.
I start to wave and walk away, but he falls into step with me. Our vehicles are parked next to each other, him with an oversized Ford truck and me with a tiny little two-wheel-drive car. It looks like his truck could swallow my car.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
“Of course,” he says, casually grabbing my arm. He stops me from moving toward my car. “But you are not driving.”
“What?”
The question gets asked, but I allow Logan to steer me to the passenger side of his truck.
“Logan,” I say as he opens the door, and as I step up into the truck, he grips my hips and hoists me in.
“Logan.” I try again as he reaches for the seat belt and pulls it across me, expertly buckling my belt. I allow this to happen. I’m not unaware of the fact that he’s essentially manhandling me.
Even if he is right about the drinking and driving.
“Logan.” I say this with a little more exasperation in my tone.
He finally looks at me and says, “Dorothy, this has been a long night. The last thing we need is you hurting yourself or anyone else.” His eyes feel like they’re gazing into my soul.
It’s a ridiculous statement, but maybe I am a little drunk.
“After what you’ve told me tonight, just…
” He pauses, and I watch his throat move as he swallows. “Just let me take care of you.”
I lick my dry lips and find that I don’t have the usual fight in me to argue with him. “Okay.”