Chapter 16 Logan #2
"More than worth it." She's quiet for a long moment, staring down at the valley with an expression I can't read. Her breath creates small clouds in the frigid air, and snowflakes catch in her auburn hair like tiny diamonds. "You brought me here the night you told me you loved me."
The memory hits like a punch to the gut, bringing back everything I've been trying not to think about. "Savannah..."
Her voice is steady, but her vanilla bourbon scent is sharp with old pain. “You told me that we were too young, too complicated. That you needed space to figure out what you wanted."
She turns to face me, and the late afternoon light filtering through the snow clouds turns her skin pale and ethereal. Her brown eyes are bright with unshed tears and eight years of accumulated hurt.
"Is the universe fucking with me today?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly on the words.
"What's up?" I ask, though I'm starting to understand where this is going.
"You took my heart out and ripped it and then fucking stamped all over it," Savannah says, her voice gaining strength as the words pour out. "We're acting like it didn't happen. That you never broke my heart."
The words hit me like physical blows, each one carrying the weight of guilt I've been carrying for eight years. "I did and I'm sorry."
"I'm not sure you really are, Logan," she replies, shaking her head.
Snowflakes are catching in her hair, melting against her flushed cheeks.
"Otherwise the first day you saw me, you would have been begging for forgiveness.
You would have acknowledged what you did instead of pretending we're just old friends catching up. "
"Let me make it up to you," I plead, stepping closer despite the warning in her eyes. “You’re right. I’ve been a shit.”
I drop to my knees, pride be damned. This isn't weakness, because without her, I'm nothing. I've buried this guilt for too long, afraid of what her rejection might break in me. But she deserves better than silence. I don't deserve her forgiveness, but I'm going to fight for it anyway.
She shakes her head, stepping back from the railing and wrapping her arms around herself like armor. "I want to do the rest of this tour alone. This is too much too soon."
"Savannah..." I jump up. Not knowing what to do.
"Please," she says quietly, her voice breaking on the word. "Just... give me some space to think."
The drive back down the mountain starts in suffocating silence.
I can feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on us like the snow-heavy clouds overhead.
Savannah has pressed herself against the passenger door, as far from me as the confined space allows, her arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold the pieces together.
My hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have gone white, and my cedar and leather scent probably reeks of guilt and frustration.
The mountain road winds through stands of pine and aspen heavy with snow, the trees creating a tunnel of white that feels claustrophobic rather than beautiful.
As we round the final curve before the main road, Savannah suddenly straightens, her hand shooting out to grab my forearm with surprising strength.
"Stop," she says urgently, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
I slam on the brakes, the truck skidding slightly on a patch of ice before coming to a halt on the narrow shoulder. My heart hammers against my ribs as I follow her gaze to where a small orange tabby cat is clinging to a branch about fifteen feet up in a massive pine tree.
The cat is mewing pitifully, a sound of pure distress that cuts through the mountain air. Its tiny paws are scrabbling for purchase on the snow-covered bark, and I can see it trembling with cold and fear.
"Oh my God," Savannah breathes, already opening her door. "That's Mrs. Patterson's cat. Mr. Darcy."
She's out of the truck before I can respond, her boots crunching in the snow as she hurries toward the tree. The crisis seems to have snapped her out of her emotional spiral, giving her something immediate and concrete to focus on.
Sure enough, the cat is wearing a tiny blue collar with a silver bell that jingles pathetically with each desperate movement. Its orange fur is fluffed out with cold and fear, making it look like a small, terrified puffball against the dark green pine needles.
"How the hell did he get up there?" I ask, getting out to assess the situation. The tree is ancient and massive, its trunk easily three feet in diameter, its lowest branches still a good ten feet off the ground.
"Probably chased something up there and then got scared," Savannah says, tilting her head back to study the problem.
The afternoon light catches in her hair, and there's something about the way she's biting her lip in concentration that makes my chest tight with memory.
"Cats are great at going up, terrible at coming down. "
Mr. Darcy lets out another pitiful wail that echoes off the surrounding trees, and I see Savannah's expression immediately soften despite everything that's happened between us in the last hour.
"Mrs. Patterson is going to be beside herself if anything happens to him," she continues, already shrugging out of her expensive peacoat and tossing it onto the hood of my truck.
"What are you doing?" I ask as she starts examining the tree trunk like she's planning to scale it.
"Someone has to get him down," she says matter-of-factly, testing the bark with her hands.
"Not you." The words come out more forcefully than I intended, my alpha instincts flaring at the thought of her in danger. "That tree's got to be forty feet tall."
She turns to look at me, bown eyes flashing with something that might be annoyance or might be amusement. "I've climbed higher trees than this, Logan Pierce."
"Yeah, when you were sixteen and had more flexibility than sense."
"Are you calling me old?" There's a spark of her old fire in her voice, the first real emotion I've heard from her since our confrontation.
"I'm calling you smart enough to know that climbing a pine tree is a good way to end up in the emergency room."
Mr. Darcy chooses that moment to let out another desperate cry, and both of us look up at the small orange form clinging to the branch. Snow is starting to accumulate on his fur, and he's clearly getting weaker.
"We can't just leave him," Savannah says, and I can see the internal war playing out across her features.
"We're not going to leave him. But we're also not going to risk breaking your neck trying to be a hero."
I study the tree, noting the spacing of the branches, the way the snow has made everything slippery and treacherous. "I'll go up."
"You?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "Logan, you're twice my size. Those branches won't hold you."
"They'll hold me better than they'll hold a cat and you."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it as Mr. Darcy lets out another pitiful sound. The cat is clearly weakening, his grip on the branch becoming more precarious with each passing minute.
"This is insane," she mutters, but she steps back to give me room.
"Completely insane," I agree, grabbing the lowest branch I can reach and testing its strength.
The bark is rough and cold under my hands, made slippery by the snow that's continuing to fall. I pull myself up, feeling the branch flex under my weight but hold steady. The next branch is easier to reach, and then the next, until I'm climbing steadily toward the terrified cat.
"Be careful," Savannah calls from below, and despite everything that's happened between us today, I can hear genuine concern in her voice.
Mr. Darcy watches my approach with wide yellow eyes, pressing himself against the trunk as I get closer. He's shivering violently, his orange fur matted with snow, and when I reach for him, he hisses but doesn't try to scratch.
"Easy, boy," I murmur, gathering him against my chest with one hand while maintaining my grip on the branch with the other. "Let's get you down from here."
The descent is trickier with a cat in one hand, especially when Mr. Darcy decides to dig his claws into my flannel shirt for security. But I make it down without incident, dropping the last few feet to land heavily in the snow.
"You got him," Savannah says, and there's something soft in her voice that makes me look up sharply.
She's standing close enough that I can see the relief in her brown eyes, the way her vanilla bourbon scent has shifted from sharp distress to something warmer. For a moment, the tension between us dissolves into shared concern for the small, frightened creature in my arms.
Mr. Darcy is purring now, a rusty motor sound that vibrates against my chest. He's warming up quickly, his fur starting to dry and fluff out properly.
"We should get him back to Mrs. Patterson," I say, and Savannah nods.
"She lives just down the hill," she tells me, pointing toward a cluster of houses visible through the trees. “It’s not far from here.”
We head to the car with Mr. Darcy in my arms like some kind of feline royalty. Then, Savannah holds him in the back, for the short drive.
Mrs. Patterson's house is a small Victorian cottage painted cheerful yellow, with a wraparound porch and flower boxes that are currently buried under snow.
"Mrs. Patterson!" Savannah calls as we approach the front door. "We found Mr. Darcy!"
The door flies open before we can knock, revealing a small, elderly woman with silver hair and worried eyes that immediately light up at the sight of her cat.
"Oh, thank heavens!" she exclaims, reaching for Mr. Darcy with obvious relief. "I've been looking everywhere for him. He must have gotten out when I brought in the groceries."
Mr. Darcy purrs louder as he's transferred to his owner's arms, clearly happy to be home and warm again.
"Logan climbed up a tree to get him down," Savannah explains, and I catch the note of something that might be pride in her voice.
"A tree?" Mrs. Patterson looks at me with new respect. "How wonderfully heroic of you, dear. You must both come in for hot chocolate. It's the least I can do."
"That's not necessary," I start, but Savannah surprises me by accepting.
"That sounds lovely, Mrs. Patterson. Thank you."
And as we follow her into her cat-filled house, I catch Savannah looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. Something has shifted between us during the rescue, some small crack in the wall she's built around her heart.
Maybe it's enough to build on.