Chapter Nine
T he whole plaza looked tidier, newer, after the renovations and cleanup, including all of the tall buildings around it. Also a bit greener, Logan thought. Some of those trees were new.
But the centerpiece of Williams Square, Robert Glen’s brilliant rendering of a small herd of mustangs on the run through a stream, was just as magnificent as ever. Half again bigger than the real creatures, he’d captured the movement and flow, from stallion to mare to frolicking foal, they practically vibrated with life, and that they were bronze didn’t matter at all.
And he felt surprisingly relaxed. Once they had gotten past the awkward moment about her late husband, the drive had been pleasant, and they’d found they had many things in common, from the love of reading and history to values. But he was glad they’d had that moment about David Carhart, because he’d needed the reminder again. He told himself he was just intrigued, that’s all. Intrigued because they had so many similar interests, because despite what she’d been through she still had a sense of humor, and because they could practically finish each other’s sentences.
But that’s all it was.
He glanced at her now, liking the way she wanted to see every angle of the horses, the way the little one made her smile and the leader made her shake her head as if in awe, even the way she crouched down and tilted her head to look at the fountain structure that made the water splash around their hooves exactly as if they were real and racing across the stream.
Because that’s the way you look at them? Because she’d lingered over the baby of the herd the same way you did?
He liked even more that she spent a long time simply appreciating, before she got out her phone and started taking the photos Nic had asked for. He left her to it, going back to his own perusal and enjoyment of the incredible little herd that seemed so alive to him. And fighting off the other thoughts that wanted to intrude.
Tris was, no doubt, an amazing woman. And not just beautiful. Being Jackson’s sister, that was only to be expected, he supposed. But there was so much more to her, so much depth and inner beauty…
He shook his head sharply. Decisively. Because he had to believe her grief, the fact that she was one of his employers’ sister, and the obvious fact that she still loved her husband, created enough of a barrier that he could spend time with her like this, enjoying their conversations. Because it would never turn into anything else.
Even if he wanted it to.
And that last sentence that formed in his mind nearly put him on his ass right there next to the edge of the fountain. He didn’t want it to. He couldn’t want it to. For so many reasons, not just the ones he’d just carefully gone through in his mind.
You’ve never pushed yourself on an uninterested or unwilling woman before, and you’re not going to start now, Fox. You’re no comparison to David Carhart anyway.
Besides, he was content with his life the way it was. It had taken him years to accept that this was what he liked, that solitude gave him comfort, and that whenever he spent time dealing with a lot of people, he needed time to recharge. There were a few exceptions, of course. He found that he could take being around the kids at the therapy riding center, maybe because he could almost feel their inner pain and turmoil and it overcame his natural reticence. And Nic, who had the best way with horses he’d ever seen, yet wasn’t above calling him when something wasn’t working. He didn’t mind Jackson, either, because he admired the courage it had taken to do what he’d done, walk away from a career most in his business would kill for.
And Jackson’s sister?
He couldn’t just take being around her, he enjoyed it. A lot. He could actually talk to her, as he’d seen other people talk together.
Normally, you mean?
He smothered a sigh. His quirky personality had been both the bane and the bedrock of his life. He had resigned himself to it, to the way his brain worked and didn’t work, and thought it would never change. Yet with Tris, he felt…different. As if it didn’t matter that he wasn’t a guy who could charm total strangers, unless they were the equine variety.
Not that he wanted to charm her. He thought he’d successfully built that wall. But he couldn’t deny that even more than he liked being with her, he liked that she apparently liked being with him. Of course it was entirely possible he was reading her wrong. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d misread a woman. After all, he’d actually believed Gretchen had cared about him. And she—
His train of thought derailed abruptly as Tris came up to him and slipped a hand around his arm. “It’s official,” she said, grinning in that almost crooked way that charmed him.
He was almost afraid to ask. “It is?”
She nodded. “My stomach just growled so loudly it distracted me.”
He relaxed. Hungry, he could deal with.
As long as it’s for food.
He bit the inside of his lip, needed the sharp chastisement to rein in his unruly thoughts. “One of the places here?” he asked, knowing there were several eateries close by. “Or do you want to go someplace else?”
“Here’s fine, and just might be close enough,” she said, and he thought he heard the growl then. “I think some of the Cork and Pig’s decadent mac ’n’ cheese might just do it.”
He smiled back at the mention of the tavern that was his usual stopping place. “I have a weakness for their barbecue chicken pizza.”
“We could share, then. I love that too,” she said.
Share. Love.
He had to shake off the odd feeling the words gave him, even in that innocent context. He tried to focus on how he’d expected her, in her lingering grief, to be quiet and grim most of the time. Yet she was smiling, laughing, enjoying. So his expectations obviously needed some work.
“Fair warning, I like the cilantro.”
Her smile widened. “That’s okay. I don’t have the soap gene.”
He somehow knew she would know about that, that those who had a quirk in the olfactory receptors strongly sensed the soapy aldehydes in the leaves of the herb that made the flavor—which was tasty to him—too strong for them to ignore.
They walked the short distance to the corner the tavern was on in companionable silence. That too was strange for him, the lack of that overlay of awkwardness that he would usually have felt with someone so new to him. Especially someone like Tris.
The food lived up to his memory, and clearly Tris hadn’t been kidding about the cilantro, she obviously savored even the heavy application he asked for. And in between bites they talked, about a little bit of everything, and he found himself wishing this casual meal could just go on and on.
An older couple, graying and just a bit slow-walking, passed by the window. He watched them go, feeling the same wistfulness he always felt, wondering what it must be like to be together for decades, to have such a bond with that one person that it withstood…everything. What it must be like for the one person you had to have in your life also had to have you. What it must be—
“Hey, Hephaestus, where did you go off to?” He blinked and snapped back to the present. She was giving him that grin again, and he was very much afraid he was gaping at her. “I meant that name in the blacksmith sense, of course.”
He scrambled to get back in the game. It obviously did not pay to let his mind wander around this woman. “And here I thought you were calling me a Greek god.”
“Well,” she said, looking exaggeratedly thoughtful, “that would fit too. But the lame part, definitely not. Not with those legs.”
He had no idea what to say to that, so he tried for something she would interpret as an answer to her question, rather than the truth that he’d been sitting here stupidly musing about lifelong connections. “I was just wondering if you’ve ever seen the mustangs at night, when they light it up from below.”
“No, I haven’t. I didn’t realize they did.”
“It’s really something. Gives it a whole different feel, almost makes them look even more real, yet at the same time almost eerie. And with lights on in the buildings around the square, the whole thing is like a crashing blend of then and now.”
She was staring at him so intently it was making him edgy. “Have you always had this amazing talent for summarizing something so perfectly in so few words?”
He had no idea what to say to that, either. It was strange that while he often chose not to speak, he usually had the words in his head. And here she was, on an occasion where he’d actually gotten them out, calling it a talent. But there didn’t seem to be any words in his mind at all at the moment. None that would form a response to what she’d said, anyway.
Finally he just muttered his go-to excuse. “Less I say, less chance to mess up.”
“I’d say it’s more that you just cut to the chase.”
The smile she gave him then melted away the tension inside him. Tension she’d built, without even trying. And the easing of that tension enabled him to say, almost casually, “We could hang around until the lights come on, so you could see it. We’d be late getting home, but…”
“It would be worth it? I think you’re probably right.” The smile widened. “And anyway, that’s what weekends are for, isn’t it?”
Logan sank back in his chair, a little stunned both at what he’d done and how she’d answered. And that he’d actually committed himself to spending even more hours with her.
Until dark. Dark, when other urges crept in.
He gave himself a mental shake and shored up that wall he’d been so proud of, that wall built of her grief, her being his boss’s sister, and the immutable fact that she still loved her late husband.
He wondered if he would be able to keep that wall standing long enough.