Chapter Twenty-Three
L ogan slammed the truck door shut with far more force than was required. When something metal tumbled in the bed, clanking loudly, he swore under his breath.
His entire morning had gone like this. Hell, it had gone like this since yesterday. Since Tris had turned on her heel and walked out on him.
…an amazing human being like you…
She’d said it with such fierceness there was no doubting she meant it. He’d been called many things in his life. As a kid, a pain in the ass, bastard, pitiful, and countless other slurs. As an adult, at six foot, one ninety and most of that muscle, not many were brazen enough, so if they thought it they didn’t say it. And women didn’t seem to mind looking, even flirting a little. Which made him more uneasy than he could explain.
But he’d never been complimented with the kind of fervor and honesty and uniqueness that Tris had given him. And more than once, if he was honest about it.
And that, he admitted sourly, was likely why he’d spent every hour since she’d left screwing things up. If it wasn’t for the fact that he always got an early start, he’d be late to his first job this morning. And this was a job he did not want to be late for. When Chief of Police Shane Highwater wanted something done, you got it done. Not out of fear but respect. The man was a freaking hero. Even he had seen the dash cam video of him taking down a terrorist in a suicide vest, doing it when they were far enough away that no one else would get hurt, yet from close enough to be sure.
Sure both that the man would go down…and that when that vest exploded he would die too. If it hadn’t been for a malfunction of the dead man switch, that would have been what happened, and Shane Highwater had done it anyway. And Logan doubted there was anyone who’d been in Last Stand any length of time who wouldn’t jump when the man called.
Even if it was to repair a jail cell.
When he got there and found the big, solid metal door hanging by the bottom hinge, he stared at the jailer.
“I don’t think I want to know,” he said.
“A drunk the size of a gorilla. Some idiot from Austin,” the man said sourly.
“Well, that’s a redundancy if I ever heard one,” Logan muttered, then nearly jumped when a laugh came from close behind him. He spun around to see Chief Highwater grinning at him.
“Truer words never spoken,” the man said.
“Sir,” Logan said respectfully, and shook the chief’s hand when he held it out.
“Think you’ll be able to get this done today?”
He looked back at the door, saw where the hinge had given way, and that the metal that held it to the frame looked as if it had originally been two pieces where it should have been one.
“I think so. I brought most of what I’ll need, and anything else Nailed It should have,” he said, referring to the hardware store just a block down the street.
“Good,” the chief said, his tone a little wry. “There’s a private party that rented the saloon tonight, and some folks may need a place to sit and sober up before they hit the streets to go home.”
Logan looked at the man, hesitated, then said, “That must be strange. With the saloon being your brother’s, I mean.”
“We’ve reached an accord. He trades a last free drink for their car keys, and is rarely ever turned down.” The chief studied him in turn. “I hear you don’t drink anything other than the lemonade.”
With anyone else Logan would have ended the conversation abruptly. But not this man. “I don’t drink. I didn’t want to…fulfill certain expectations.”
“Wise choice,” Shane Highwater said. “But then, you’re a wise man.”
That was an appellation he’d never expected, but he prized it coming from this man.
“I just see all the trouble it causes.” His mouth quirked. “And I like that peach lemonade they serve.”
“So do I,” the chief said with a grin.
He hesitated again, then gave in to curiosity. “I’ve heard you and Slater didn’t always get along so well.”
“True—and long—story. Typical family stuff. But things are great now.”
Logan was the first to admit he knew nothing about typical family stuff, but he suspected there was more to it than that, simply because they were the Highwaters and nothing was simple.
He kept thinking about it as he started to work. He knew nothing about families at all, but especially about that kind of family, mother long vanished but a father who stepped up, as Shane in turn stepped up when that father had been tragically killed. A police chief, a saloonkeeper, another brother a detective, a sister who ran their ranch with an iron fist, and a brother who had been gone on his own tragic journey for years before finally coming home.
Home. Was it only where you lived, or was there more? True, he’d built a life here in Last Stand, but was it by choice or because it was where he’d landed? And where Bud had been? He didn’t know. And he doubted he ever would.
He finished the job on the door faster than he’d expected, but he knew that solid, strong hinge he’d built would hold. He’d added a base plate that wrapped around the door’s edge so solidly and deep it would take a herd of those gorillas to tear it down. He did the same with the lower hinge, just in case. Shane assessed the repair at “about five times satisfactory,” which made Logan laugh.
After their talk about the saloon—and the famous peach lemonade—he thought he might stop by before he had to head out to the Baylor place to shoe the newest acquisition for the therapy place. But he wanted to hit the library first. He needed something…engrossing. Something that would corral his mind and keep him from thinking so much about things he couldn’t do anything about. Things like a certain female. Things like his attraction to her. It was hardly surprising, of course. She was smart, kind, generous and beautiful.
And she’s Jackson Thorpe’s sister—don’t forget that part.
He didn’t want to leave the truck taking up a parking space in the police employee lot, so he drove the hundred or so feet to the library lot, though it felt silly. He got out and headed in. He’d ask Joey. She’d know what might work. And he wouldn’t have to go into detail with her, he could just say he needed a serious distraction and she’d understand.
Joey, being still her mentally efficient self even if she was getting a bit more awkward at moving as her pregnancy advanced, had a list for him in moments. He went in search of the titles she’d suggested that sounded interesting and picked the one where he caught himself still standing there reading by the time he hit chapter two. He grabbed another book on the list in case this one fell apart later and started back toward the checkout desk. Where Joey was standing, smiling at someone across the counter. Someone wearing a snugly fitting pair of jeans and a matching sleeveless denim jacket. Someone with a gorgeous fall of hair the color of autumn leaves, going halfway down her back.
Tris.
He knew it the instant he saw her, well before Joey spotted him and said something. It gave him a half-second to brace himself before she turned to look. He had his jaw set and his expression steady by the time he had to look her in the eye. Those deep, blue eyes.
She smiled. Widely. Almost…thankfully? No, that made no sense. Why would she—
She started toward him, walking quickly. So quickly he couldn’t figure out how to dodge. She was still smiling in that breath-stealing way when she came to a halt in front of him. Close. Too close.
“I saw your truck, so I hoped you were here,” she said, library quiet and still with that smile. But now he saw her lips tremble a little, as if she were having to force them to stay in that smile. As if she were covering up her real feelings. Was she still mad at him?
It was crazy. He’d been content with his life, if not happy. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to be happy, or what it would feel like if he was. But he’d felt things he’d never felt before when he was with her, things that had him wondering if maybe this was what it felt like, that happy thing. He didn’t—
“Would you come to Java Time with me and let me buy you a coffee?”
He blinked. What? She wanted to buy him coffee? And then what? Hang around while he drank it? Drink one of her own?
“I really need to talk to you, and—” she gestured at their surroundings “—well, library.”
He blinked again. Started to open his mouth to speak but stopped when he realized he had no idea what to say.
“Come on, so Joey can get you checked out.”
He wasn’t even sure how he ended up outside and strolling down Main Street toward the coffee shop, books in hand. Well, one book, anyway. Tris had taken the other to look at, saying she hadn’t read it and was curious. He found himself watching her intently, only enough attention on the sidewalk to keep from running into anyone.
“Intense,” she said as they reached Java Time and she handed it back to him. “Looks fascinating, but definitely not light reading.”
“That’s what I wanted. I needed to stop—”
He cut himself off before he said something stupid. Instead he opened the door and held it, then followed her in. For the moment they were the only customers, although he doubted that would last long.
“Same as before?” she asked as they reached the counter.
The memory of the first time they’d come in here was blazed into his mind indelibly. What he’d drunk that day was not. He remembered her frothy, creamy-looking drink, but not a thing about what had been in his own cup. He assumed it was his usual plain black coffee so said, “Sure.”
She didn’t speak to him again until they were seated, at the same table they’d ended up at before. And when she did, she once more caught him off guard. “You needed to stop what?”
He should have known she wouldn’t forget. “Thinking too much,” he muttered.
She laughed, gesturing at the books he’d set on the table. “I imagine those would have the opposite effect. That’s some pretty deep history.”
He shrugged it off, not wanting to admit it was thinking about her he wanted to stop. Then he saw her take a deep breath and, oddly, appear to brace herself.
“I wanted to say how sorry I am.” He drew back, surprised. But she kept going. “I had no right to say what I said to you yesterday. Or to say it the way I did. I have no idea how a person would or could cope with the start in life you had, but obviously you’ve done it, and done it well, so I had no business mouthing off as if I had a clue. So, I apologize. Fervently.”
He stared at her. Realized his jaw had dropped and snapped it shut again. His fingers tightened around the coffee cup as if he thought it were going to scramble across the table and escape. Maybe because that’s what he felt like doing. But he could no more leave right now than he could fly.
And then she reached out and put a gentle hand over his tense ones. “I’m not very good at this anymore,” she said, almost shyly, a demeanor he never would have expected from her.
He shook his head. “That was a hell of an apology.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean…I don’t know how…I haven’t…”
He was still staring at her, because now she was sounding like he imagined he did half the time. Uncertain. Unsure. And that was something he never would have expected from her. And she seemed to realize it, because her mouth—that luscious, tempting mouth—twisted slightly.
“I’m very out of practice being around someone I really like,” she said finally. “Someone I could…more than like.”
His breath jammed up in his suddenly tight throat. And suddenly things she’d said were tumbling through his mind. When she’d jokingly called him Hephaestus, and said the Greek god description would fit. When, after the trip to see the Mustangs of Las Colinas , she’d said it was a darned near perfect day. At the cemetery, when she’d said the originals would be proud to have a man like him stand as they stood.
And she’d been the one to tell Rylan he was perfect to do the buckles. She’d praised his rough hands as working hands, the kind they needed more of.
She’d said his mother hadn’t been good enough for him.
…an amazing human being like you.
He was more than a little stunned, and completely without words now. So instead he did the only thing that seemed right.
He turned his hand slightly, and wrapped his fingers around hers.