Chapter Sixteen
H e had, Logan was sure, done stupider things in his life, but right now he couldn’t remember any.
What had possessed him to invite, of all people, this woman inside his hideaway? This woman of class, style, used to much better things than she’d find in his home, which was a step or two below humble. He couldn’t even look at her when, after he’d flipped on the lights, she stopped just inside the door and started to look around.
He’d lived here for several years now, and it had everything he needed or wanted. But now he was looking around, trying to see it through her eyes, and he had no doubt she would find it lacking. One large, long room, a basic but fully functional kitchen across one end, and a table on a side wall next to one of the large windows.
Against the opposite wall was the couch where he did a lot of his reading, a small coffee table piled with books, and a couple of chairs. In a few feet of space not occupied by windows and the wood stove hung a flat-screen TV, which didn’t get used nearly as much as the reading lamp at the end of the couch. At the far end of the oblong room, opposite the kitchen, was his sleeping area, not even a bedroom, just his king-sized bed tucked into the alcove created by the wall of the bathroom that took up the rest of that space.
It worked for him, alone, but for someone no doubt used to the finer things, to more space and conveniences, it had to look rather Spartan and perhaps even pitiful.
Especially when that someone had been married to an architect, who would no doubt have laughed at the simple, barn-like lines of the place.
“This is wonderful!”
Her exclamation caught him completely off guard. And now he not only looked at her, he stared at her. “What?” he said, blankly.
“The wood on the walls and ceiling, I would have thought it would be too much, but it blends so well with the just slightly different flooring and the cabinets. And the wide-open space…it reminds me of Jackson’s place.”
He’d only been in the place where Jackson and Jeremy now lived once, back when it had been Clark, the Baylors’ foreman’s place, but he remembered enough to see her point.
“He’s got a better kitchen.” Well that sounded lame, Fox.
She turned that way. “You have a fridge, a sink, a stove with an oven, a microwave…and a coffee machine. What else do you need?” She turned back, and she was smiling at him so genuinely he couldn’t doubt she meant what she’d said. “Well,” she added, the smile becoming a grin, “assuming you have an indoor bathroom.”
It was so obviously teasing he found himself smiling back. “No bathtub, though. Just a shower.”
“I imagine there are times you might miss a good long soak, after a long day of wrestling horses and iron.”
There were, in fact, days like that. Days when his weary muscles protested after exactly the exertions she’d described. Enough that he’d thought about putting in a hot tub out on the deck, as silly as that seemed for a place that got as hot as Texas did.
The thought reminded him of the whole point of bringing her in here, and he led the way to the door out onto the deck. He opened it and paused. “Close your eyes for a minute.”
Her brow furrowed at the words, but almost as quickly her expression cleared, as if she’d already figured out why. He wasn’t surprised. He put a hand on her elbow as she took the suggestion and closed her eyes. He guided her out onto the deck, and the moment they were clear of the doorway he reached back and flipped off the interior lights, leaving the deck in darkness.
He gave it a few more seconds, then said only, “Up and just to the right.”
She opened her eyes and looked where he’d told her. And he heard her quick intake of breath, then the small sound of wonder. It was enough of a reaction that he led her to the lounge that was set up at the perfect angle. She didn’t protest—she was still staring upward at the amazing sweep of their galaxy overhead and kept doing so even as she dropped down onto the canvas of the chaise lounge.
He sat in the single chair that was also out on the deck, one each since he was usually the only one who was out here. He watched her watch one of his favorite sights in—or off—the world. It was a long time—a silent stretch he didn’t mind at all, in fact was thankful for—before she spoke.
“How,” she said, not taking her eyes off the array of stars, “do you not spend all night out here?”
“It’s been known to happen,” he admitted. And it was true—sometimes he had drifted off while lying where she was right now. They were some of the most peaceful nights he could remember.
Of course now, he’d just be remembering her long, slim, shapely body stretched out like this, and probably wouldn’t be able to sleep here or anywhere else.
She lapsed back into silence, still looking, clearly savoring. He had no words for how much he appreciated that she seemed to have no problem with the silence, no problem with just…being.
He was so content with the view—and not just of the starry sky—it took him a while to realize what that gnawing feeling was. Actual gnawing of his stomach, from hunger. He belatedly realized that the quick snack they’d grabbed before starting home had long since given its all.
“Are you hungry?” He blurted it out before he thought, since the next obvious question was what to do about it if she was, and he had no idea.
“Starving,” she admitted, but then gestured at the sky. “Although this feeds a lot more than my stomach.”
He lapsed into silence again as she once more put into words what he’d thought and felt many times while out here during this season.
“You know, I can’t imagine even Enchanted Rock has a better view than this,” she said, referring to the designated Dark Sky Park near Fredericksburg, dedicated to exactly this activity.
He agreed with her, pleased anew. But then his stomach complained again, and food moved up on the priority list.
“I’m not sure I have anything you’d want,” he said as they at last moved back inside. In more ways than one. He mentally slapped down the errant thought as he closed the door behind them, but when he turned back, she was looking at him in a way that made his gut clench for entirely different reasons.
Now he wished he’d never mentioned food at all.
“We could go get something, but that seems a waste since you’re already home. And I’m guessing delivery this far out is iffy.”
“I’d have to tip as much as the gas would cost to go myself,” he said, his nerves eased by her ordinary tone. Obviously he was the only one who was wound up here.
Of course you are. You think her mind went where yours did?
“A practical man, too,” she said, and he told himself he was imagining an approving tone in her voice. He didn’t know what her financial situation was, but he doubted a man like David Carhart would leave his widow in need.
She was looking around the cabin—that’s what he usually called it, since it didn’t seem big enough to him to be a house—and he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking of his simple space. True, she’d said she liked the wood, and that it reminded her of her brother’s place, but she could have been just being nice. She would be, kind person that she clearly was.
“I know it’s not much,” he began, but stopped when she shook her head.
“I told you, I think it’s lovely. Only thing I’d miss would be someplace to hide things.” He blinked. She laughed. “I have a tendency to leave things I’m using, or books I’m reading out, until I have to clean up in a hurry. Then I run for the spare bedroom to hide it all if someone’s coming over.”
“And I don’t even have a bedroom.”
She looked toward the end of the room, where his bed—which he’d thankfully made this morning—sat, in full view. “You don’t miss that? Privacy and all?”
His breath jammed up in his throat. “Privacy,” he said, his voice rough as he forced the words out, “hasn’t been an issue since I moved into this place.”
Her gaze went from the bed to his face in a split second. For an instant he thought he saw something there, an answering heat, but he told himself it was wishful thinking. Again. And then she proved it by going on in the most normal of tones.
“I lived in a studio apartment for a while, in college. I missed the privacy of an enclosed bedroom, and it was a small space, but I did it to avoid a roommate, so essentially it was all mine. I thought it was worth the tradeoff.” She gestured around the big room. “But this feels huge. And I’ll bet in the daylight when you can look outside, it seems even bigger.”
“It…has a great view,” he admitted. And stopped just short—barely—of saying she should stay and see it in the morning, as the sun rose over the hills with lingering pockets of bluebonnets here and there.
Get her out of here. Now. Before you do something unforgivably stupid. She’s Jackson’s sister and a widow who clearly still loves her dead husband. Don’t be an ass.
Mental lecture concluded, he spun on his heel and walked over to the fridge, trying to remember what he had. “I really don’t have much in the way of food,” he admitted when he sensed rather than saw her come up behind him.
“What did you plan on having?”
He shrugged. “Probably scrambled eggs and hash browns.”
“I love breakfast for dinner,” she said.
And the next thing he knew they were both working at the kitchen counter, him on the eggs and her shredding the two potatoes he had left for the hash browns. He spared a moment to be thankful his kitchen was wide open and not one of those enclosed rooms that would have them bumping into each other all the time.
And as they sat down to eat, he stared more at his plate than anything. Because he didn’t dare look at her. It was too much, and he’d say more stupid things, or worse, do something far beyond stupid.
Something she’d said, benignly and unrelated to his thoughts popped into his head, and all he could think was how apt they were.
Tell me if I make a wrong turn…
You did , he thought, his jaw tightening. The moment you turned up my drive.
She didn’t seem to know that. But he did. So it was up to him to make sure that turn wasn’t something she would regret forever.