Chapter Twenty-Eight
H e’d known it would be good. Hell, he’d known it would be great. But he hadn’t known just how great, because he hadn’t known that level of hot, that level of searing, flying pleasure was even possible.
It wasn’t until he looked in the mirror in his bathroom that he realized he was grinning. He should have noticed just from the muscle strain, since it wasn’t exactly his normal expression.
That she’d even wanted him like that, that it had been her idea, and she’d been so certain every step of the way despite him giving her—dreading it every time—chance after chance to change her mind, was hard enough to accept.
What it had become, that firestorm of sensation that had peaked at a height he’d never been to before, was unbelievable. Even now it didn’t seem possible.
A slight smile curved his mouth. I guess to be sure we’ll just have to do it again. And again. And again and again and again…
He wished they could have done that today, but as one who tried to always honor prior commitments like the one Tris had said she had today, he understood. He didn’t like it, but maybe tonight they could make up for the missed hours today.
I wanted our first time to be at your place…
The words that had so stunned him—both because of her wanting to be at his remote, isolated home, and because she was clearly considering this only the first time—rang in his head again. So maybe tonight, they could manage that. Come back here, where there would be no distractions of any kind, either traffic on the street or noisy neighbors only a wall away. Endless hours of just them, touching, learning, discovering…
He headed out to the shop to pick up the next buckles for Rylan Rafferty. He’d been glad to have the task to do last week, when he’d been psyching himself up for yesterday.
He was grinning again when he realized that, given how little sleep he’d had last night, he should be exhausted. But instead he felt as if he’d pumped a triple shot of espresso, revved up and ready. And his mood was heightened by the response to the test-run buckles, which had already sold.
“I knew you’d get it right,” Rylan said when he delivered the new ones. “I’ve already got the designs for more. Now, we just need to work out how much I owe you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Like hell,” Rylan said with a wide smile.
“Just supplies, then. I don’t need—”
“Shut up, Fox. You don’t give away that kind of skill and talent.”
Logan was still processing that unexpected compliment when the man who had become famous came back from his studio and handed him a check he thought had an extra zero on it. He was about to protest when Rylan’s mother came out of the main house. She came over to them, welcoming Logan with a wide smile.
“Off to the ceremony at Creekbend?” Rylan asked.
She nodded. “I want to be there, if only for Trista.”
Logan blinked. Processed the words. Ceremony. Creekbend, the high school. For Tris. It hit him like a multi-car pileup. He’d known about the commemorative ceremony, he’d just forgotten what day it was. It was hard to miss anything of such significance in Last Stand, thanks to that damned grapevine. He should have put it together with Tris saying she had something on her schedule she couldn’t skip today, but he hadn’t.
Maybe because she shorted out every circuit in your brain last night? Maybe because she fired up nerves you didn’t even know you had? Maybe because she nearly blew the top of your head off in her bed?
“So, you off on one of your history jaunts today?” Rylan asked, and it took Logan a moment to realize it was directed at him. He went with the easiest answer.
“I…maybe.”
“You should stop by the high school first,” Maggie said, in that commanding way of hers that no one in Last Stand could ignore. “To show support. Then you can be off to…where is it this week?”
“Don’t know yet,” he muttered.
He wasn’t even sure how he escaped. Or why, when he reached the T-intersection that would have taken him back home, he went the other way. And ended up on the Hickory Creek Spur headed toward the school.
By the time he got there a sizeable crowd had gathered around the temporary podium that had been put up. A lot of people had turned out to, as Maggie had put it, show support.
But Tris hadn’t even told him this was what she was doing today. Let alone ask if he’d be there.
He stood on the outer edge of the crowd. The mayor, in his usual blowhard style, was yammering about being a part of this project. He probably would have gone on forever if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Valencia, the history teacher who at the time had been a big part of lobbying for this project to be done. She may have retired to help her grandson, but she’d lost none of the authoritative vibe that had made her the most respected and sometimes feared teacher on the staff. And when she walked over to the microphone, the mayor shut up.
She began with clearly genuine praise for David Carhart, for being the other force of nature that had gotten this done. By the time she was done, Logan couldn’t help admiring the guy. But then she introduced Tris, and that admiration soured fast. The two women hugged on the podium, and then Tris turned to face the gathering.
She was crying. He saw her swipe at her cheeks, but she couldn’t wipe away the tremor in her voice as she spoke to the crowd.
“David was one of a kind,” she said. “He wasn’t just the love of my life, he was brilliantly talented, unstoppably determined, and he loved this town. He went to this school, and he wanted it to be the best it could be. He said once, before he was…diagnosed, that if he never accomplished another thing in his life, this would be enough.”
She had to stop, and swipe at her cheeks again. The pure love that had echoed in her shaky voice stabbed Logan to the core. She sounded like what she was, a woman who loved her husband with all her heart.
Like a woman who would never love anyone else.
She went on, with more praise for a dead man. He felt a slight queasiness in his gut. Was this why she hadn’t mentioned this to him, or suggested he come? Did she not want him to know that there was no room in her heart for anyone but her dead husband?
Well, he knew now.
The queasiness developed into outright nausea. Was this why last night had happened? Had she wanted to maybe put this out of her mind for a while, and he was the handiest way? Or had she needed to verify she still loved her husband by trying with someone else to be sure it wasn’t enough?
He didn’t want to believe last night was…not a lie, but not what he’d thought—okay, hoped—it was. But he knew too well that not wanting to believe something did absolutely nothing to change the reality.
But even that reality felt like more than he’d ever had in his life. Maybe he should just be satisfied with that, with what she had left in her to give. He’d never in his life expected to be loved, so couldn’t he live with simply being liked a lot, as she’d said?
Especially when it came with sex like last night?
Then another thought hit, a horrible one. Maybe…maybe the sex hadn’t been as good for her. Maybe he’d been the only one who’d had every circuit blown last night. Maybe it had been nothing special to her. Because nothing could replace what she’d had with the star of today, the man who’d built this.
Especially not a rough-edged, rough-handed guy like him.
He turned away, unable to bear listening to her anymore. He started back toward his truck, threading his way through the gathered observers, there also to salute this man he’d never known but who had managed to shipwreck his life anyway.
No, it’s your own fault. You should have known better. A woman like Tris is not for you. You should never have even thought—
His last dodge missed the woman who’d swerved into his path, but it made him thump pretty solidly against the man standing to one side, watching the goings on. The man barely moved despite the collision.
“Sorry,” he started to say, then, when he realized who it was added respectfully, “Chief.”
Police Chief Shane Highwater nodded in understanding. “Mrs. Morrow’s like a running back in a crowd. Speaking of which, you look in a bit of a hurry yourself.”
“I…am.” And please don’t ask why. There was just something about the man that made it almost impossible not to answer when he asked you something. No doubt came in handy, in his position.
The chief’s steady gaze seemed locked on him, and Logan had the sudden wild thought that maybe he didn’t have to ask. And in the end, he didn’t. He asked something else.
“What historical site are you off to today?”
Relieved that this was the question rather than why he was scampering away from this tribute ceremony like a frightened rabbit, Logan said the first thing that came into his head.
“I’m thinking the Alamo.”
The chief’s gaze flicked in the direction of the podium, then back to Logan. “Different kinds of heroes,” he said quietly, “but all brave when it came to the end.”
Braver than he would ever be, Logan thought as the chief touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment and went back to watching the crowd. While he not quite ran for his truck. And when he was in the driver’s seat, breathing more calmly again, he thought of the irony of his own answer.
He’d heard David Carhart had been brave. Had faced his personal fight with courage. But he at least had had a chance, and the battle had bought him more than a year with the woman he loved. Those men at the Alamo had never had a chance. Yet they, too, had fought. For thirteen days they had held off a force fifteen times their size.
He remembered an old country song about the place, about going there to breathe the mighty dust of heroes lost. And in that moment his impulsive answer to Chief Highwater made sense, as if on some level he’d already decided.
He started toward home, to grab a few things before he headed south to San Antonio. And as he went he thought about the other bit from that old song that had struck him, the bit about wondering if something in the air at the place made the timid braver there. He could use a little of that right now, to face the apparent fact that he’d misinterpreted everything with Tris.
Those who had fought there had likely known they had no chance, and had paid the ultimate price for their bravery. Maybe that’s what he needed to be around, to remember.
Because compared to their fight, his own simple case of being a fool, of reaching for something he never had a chance at, didn’t seem to matter much.