Chapter 5
Heather
The doorbell rings just as I slide a casserole in the oven and set the timer. Cookie yips, jumping from her bed in the living room and runs for the front door. She twirls in three circles before jumping through the doggie door.
It has to be Violet and Logan ready for that walk I promised.
Cookie jumps back in, barks at me—obviously telling me to hurry the hell up—then jumps through again.
I chuckle, snagging her leash off the wall, and walk out, coming to a sudden halt.
Violet and Cookie are in a joyful heap on the porch, which is not unexpected.
But what stops me in my tracks is the very virile man lounging on my swing, his muscled arms splayed along the backrest and one ankle propped on a knee.
Logan is almost too big for it, but somehow he makes it work.
My eyes hungrily run over his physique. He's so much more impressive now in his thirties than he'd been at eighteen, when he'd just been a lanky teen with gorgeous blue eyes, a toe-curling smile, and a curveball that had all the baseball scouts drooling.
After several seconds of silence as I practically eye him like a dessert, he asks, “Is this a good time?”
“Oh!” I blink, coming out of my lustful stupor. “Yeah. It's perfect timing, actually. I just put dinner in the oven, and it'll be an hour before it's ready.”
I hand the leash to Violet. “Would you clip this to her harness?” With a nod, Violet hooks her up. I grin at the way Cookie holds herself perfectly still for the little girl she obviously adores.
“Do you want to walk her?” I ask, noticing the way Violet has wound her hand through the leash's end loop. “I think she prefers you over me right now.”
“Yeah!” She and Cookie are off like a shot, making a beeline for the sidewalk.
“Hold up!” Logan shouts. He and I follow close behind. “You need to stay on the sidewalk, Vi. And don't get too far ahead of us, okay?”
“Okay, Uncle Logan.” Violet and Cookie are several steps in front of us, and it's adorable watching how they match steps. I'd swear those two were made for each other.
“How was your first day?” I ask.
“As good as can be expected,” he answers.
“Uh oh.” I glance at him. “That doesn't sound good.”
“No, it was good. Just a lot of meetings.” Logan smiles at me, and I notice the way the skin around his eyes crinkles. On a woman, it would highlight her age. But on him, it only makes him more attractive and distinguished.
Men could be so annoying sometimes.
“It's just an adjustment.” He lifts his arms to the side. “All of this is, really.”
“I can imagine.” It must have been devastating to have a career-ending injury like he did and lose his sister within the same year.
Then becoming the guardian for his niece and moving back home to take over a struggling baseball team.
It’s mind-boggling how much change he's experienced in such a short amount of time.
“How's Violet handling everything?”
Logan barks out a laugh and points at the two in front of us. “Much better now. Just look at her.”
“Yeah, I think I've lost my dog.”
“Either that or I've lost my niece.” He grins at me. “Who knows, maybe they'll run off together.”
I snort. “Don't worry about that. Cookie would be back before dinnertime. She has her priorities straight. Love is great, but treats are forever.”
He lifts his chin at his niece. “She made a drawing in school today of her on the swing with Cookie. She put it on our fridge and declared it was the first day of their friendship.”
I gasp, holding a hand to my heart. “That's adorable! I want a picture of it, please.”
“Why don't you just ask her to make one for you? She's a pretty good artist.” The corner of his lip lifts in a half-grin. “I think you'll be impressed.”
“I'm sure I will.” We walk several more minutes in companionable silence.
“Cookie moped for about an hour after Violet's class left. At first I thought she was just wiped out from all the attention because she usually takes a short nap after the preschool visits. This time, she just sat on a cabinet in my office and stared out the window with a pouty look on her face.”
“I think it's official then.” Logan chuckles. “They're in love.”
Thirty minutes later we arrive back at my house. I can tell from the slow, small steps Violet is taking that she doesn't want to go home. And judging from the way Cookie paces her steps, it's safe to say that my dog feels the same.
“I made a huge chicken broccoli casserole for dinner. Would you two like to join me? There's no way I can make a dent in it by myself tonight. If I don't have some help, I'll be eating leftovers for a week.”
Logan's lips part as he hesitates, his eyes dropping to Violet and then back to me. A strange look passes over his face, and I can't tell if he's interested or searching for a way to say no.
“Are you sure? I kinda feel like we've taken over your evening.”
I smile at him. “Logan, I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it.” I nod toward Violet and Cookie who are currently snuggling on the porch steps. “Besides, I think there will be some objections if we separate them right now.”
He huffs a laugh and scratches his chin. “You make a good point,” he says, turning to his niece. “Violet, do you want to have dinner with Heather and Cookie?”
“Yeah!”
I hold back a laugh as the pair jump to their feet simultaneously. “Would you like to help me feed Cookie? I'm sure she'd be thrilled if you put a little chicken in it.”
“Uh huh!” Her little head wobbles like a bobblehead.
“Good.” I stroll through the door and unhook Cookie's harness. The savory, decadent scent of comfort food fills the air.
Logan stops in the middle of the living room, closes his eyes and inhales. “Damn! It smells amazing in here.”
“It's my grandmother's recipe, so I hope you like lots of cheese. I normally use enough to constipate a donkey.”
Logan barks a laugh. “That's a great mental image before we eat.”
I chuckle as I grab the television remote. “Violet, you get to pick the first show. What's your favorite?”
She settles on the couch, and Cookie hops up to drape over her lap. I bite back a snort—my dog is such an attention whore.
“The Little Mermaid,” Violet answers before shoving her thumb in her mouth.
“We can do that.” I click to the movie and head to the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?” I ask Logan.
“Just water for both of us,” he answers, his hands in his pockets. He glances around, looking visibly uncomfortable, as if he doesn't know quite what to do. “This is a cute place. A lot roomier inside than it looks.”
“I like it. It’s plenty of room for me and Cookie, and we're close enough to town that we can usually walk anywhere we want to go. Unless we're going to the grocery store, of course.”
Violet appears in the kitchen doorway. “Uncle Logan, can I have chocolate milk?”
Logan looks to me, his brow wrinkled.
“Of course, you can!” I reply. Because every little girl needs chocolate in her life.
And Violet has certainly earned some spoiling sessions.
“I made chocolate milk last night for myself.
But make sure you don't give any to Cookie, okay?
It'll make her sick, but she doesn't care.
She'll try to steal it from you anyway.”
Violet giggles, and Cookie shoots me a glare, as if she resents that I'm giving away a trade secret.
Moving to the oven, I point at the fridge. “The milk and chocolate syrup are in the door. And the glasses are in that cupboard. Spoons are in that drawer.”
With a nod, Logan gets to work. Then, without me having to ask, he also sets the table.
“It'll be at least another twenty minutes before it's ready,” I comment. “Are you sure you don't want a beer? I picked up a six-pack from that new brewery in town, The Salty Siren. They're really good, if you haven't tried them.”
He pauses for a moment, his brows lifted. Finally, he shrugs and grins. “Actually, that sounds great. Sometimes I have to remember I'm not training anymore.” There's a tinge of sadness in his voice that belies the teasing expression on his face.
The rumors of his accident had been all over town, but I haven't seen any of the videos that had flooded the internet. Apparently, it had been a brutal crash on first base with Logan’s arm moving in a direction it wasn’t designed to.
My stomach twists at the thought.
No thank you…
I pull a beer from the fridge and hand it over. “Can I ask what happened?” I nod toward his right shoulder. “I mean, I know it happened in LA. But I don't really watch the news and haven't seen any of the videos.”
Logan winces, and for a moment, I wonder if I messed up. He rubs his shoulder as if it's sore. “It was the eighth inning and my arm was already aching like a bitch,” he starts, his voice almost monotone.
“At that point, there had been no runners on base, and I was looking at a shutout. Then Sanchez hit a line drive through the midfield. I ran to cover first base when that son-of-a-bitch slammed right into me like a freight train.”
I grimace, knowing how that must have hurt. Hell, it makes my own shoulder ache in sympathy.
“Among other bumps and bruises, the collision tore my rotator cuff and two tendons.” He swigs a gulp of beer.
“I was lucky enough that the surgeries were successful.
But my range of motion was altered and I couldn't throw the way I used to. So after six months or so into my rehab, management retired me.”
“I'm so sorry, Logan.” I sit down across from him. “That had to suck.”
He nods, frowning. “That literally came on the heels of Tracy's accident.”
“It's been a rough year.” I glance toward the living room, where Violet and Cookie are in snuggling on the couch. “For both of you.”
“Yeah.” His eyes roam over my face, taking on a glint. “But I have to say it's getting better by the minute.”