2. Logan
LOGAN
M y day had just taken an interesting turn.
I’d planned to get dressed and head down to the diner where most of the guys on my logging crew would be hanging out and throwing back beers. Instead, I was trying to revive some woman who was passed out on my couch.
Was she drunk? On drugs? Either of those would make sense, but she’d seemed sober before she fell to the ground.
I laid her on the couch, covering her with a blanket—mostly because it felt wrong ogling those gorgeous curves under that extremely modest ankle-length skirt and long-sleeved blouse.
It had topped eighty degrees up here in the mountains, so my guess was that hiking down my driveway in all those clothes had given her a case of heatstroke.
I grabbed a chilled, wet washrag and wiped it over her forehead and lips, squeezing a little of the water into her mouth.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked at me through sleepy eyes. It was the sexiest sight I’d ever seen.
Fuck, this woman was beautiful. I had no idea what she was doing here, but I assumed it had to do with Bobbi trying to matchmake again.
The local innkeeper seemed to be on a tear recently.
But I’d made it clear to everyone I knew that I wasn’t getting married.
Not now, not ever. Not even if the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen landed on my doorstep.
Which was exactly what had happened.
“Logan?” she asked, looking around.
My name rolled across her lips like a song. It went straight to my groin. Or maybe it was my heart. Hell if I knew the difference anymore.
“You fainted,” I said.
She nodded and closed her eyes again. “I knew that was going to happen.”
She knew she was going to faint? Did she have a condition? Oh, God. Was she dying? I didn’t know why my mind went to that. And even more importantly, I didn’t know why I had such a visceral reaction to the thought.
“So, you expected to faint?” I asked.
She sighed. “I was hoping you’d know my situation when I arrived so I didn’t have to go through it all.”
Her situation. She fainted a lot. She was dying.
I looked for that cool block of ice that kept everyone away from my heart, and I couldn’t find it. All I could see was this beautiful angel.
“You helped me escape a cult,” she said, eyes still closed. “You saved me from becoming Zachary’s wife.”
Zachary’s wife. The weird attire. My first bizarre thought was that this beautiful woman in front of me was from the past. A time traveler. She’d been brought to my driveway by a horse and buggy.
Yeah, that was ridiculous, so I focused on the first part of what she said. “You were in a cult?”
“Born and raised,” she said with a nod. “I had twelve older siblings. I was the youngest. The last bride. The only reason I didn’t become a wife at the age of sixteen was that the leader and his team had their hands full with the other girls.
I don’t want that life anymore. I never did.
Actually, I was never given the choice.”
I couldn’t believe any of this. But somehow, looking at her, I knew she wouldn’t lie. Especially when she settled those cornflower blue eyes on me.
This was a good, decent person. Someone who deserved far better than what life had given her so far. And I wanted to give it to her, which was against everything I’d told myself all my life.
I searched for words, but none came. I just stared at her, like I’d lost every brain cell in my head.
“I traveled for two days to get here,” she said quietly. “You said there’d be tacos and chips and salsa.”
I stared at her. “You came all the way here for tacos?”
Her eyes didn’t waver. “Yes.”
That was…unexpected. And oddly charming. Obviously, she’d come here for more than food. She ran from a bad situation and landed directly in the most peaceful town on Earth.
“I said I’d have tacos,” I repeated, just to make sure I’d heard correctly.
“You texted it,” she said simply. “You said you’d have tacos and salsa waiting. That you had the best Mexican restaurant in the state right here in Wildwood Valley.”
She was so matter-of-fact, so steady and sincere, it knocked something loose in me.
I didn’t text women I didn’t know. I didn’t make promises like that.
But it sounded like something someone might say if they were trying to lure a scared young woman across state lines into a marriage agreement she didn’t fully understand.
Which meant…
“Bobbi,” I said under my breath. “That meddling?—”
She tilted her head. “Sorry?”
I looked back at her, heart pounding just a little too hard in my chest. “I didn’t text you.”
A beat passed, then, “You didn’t?”
“No. I don’t even have your number.”
She looked down. Her shoulders drew in, folding tighter. She seemed to be trying to shrink inside herself.
“But it was your name,” she said quietly. “You said you were Logan. That you’d be waiting for me. That the cabin was quiet and safe. And that you’d have tacos.”
My jaw clenched. “Someone must’ve sent those messages pretending to be me.”
She swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. “So I came here to marry a stranger. And the tacos were a lie.”
Damn it. I should be running from this mess, but I found myself sprinting directly into it.
“I’ve got food,” I said, softer this time. “Not tacos. Not yet. But I’ll get them for you, I swear.”
She looked up, eyes glassy. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said, already moving. “But you came a long way, thinking some stranger was going to feed you tacos and make you feel safe. That sounds like the worst fairytale I’ve ever heard, and the least I can do is live up to part of it.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t think it was a fairytale. I just thought maybe it would be enough.”
I looked at her long and hard. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, her hair clinging to her neck in damp waves. She looked exhausted, brittle around the edges. But she was trying to hold herself upright with dignity, and something about that damn near split me in half.
I went to the kitchen and gathered everything I could find to tide her over. Luckily, I had some peanut butter and crackers, along with some cheese. I set it all up on a paper plate, trying to organize it in an attractive way and failing miserably.
“You need protein,” I said when I finally handed it over. “And carbs. That’ll help.”
She took the plate like it was sacred. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to drive into town and get you what you came for,” I said, grabbing my keys. “Tacos, chips, salsa, whatever else they’ve got.”
She blinked. “Wait—you’re going now?”
“Yeah. Closest place is about twenty minutes each way. You’ll be fine here while I’m gone.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered.
“You’re not.”
Her eyes darted to the door. “What if someone sees me?”
“No one’s coming,” I said gently. “Nobody even knows we’re here. You’d have to know the turnoff, the drive, and which cabin is mine. Bobbi’s the only person who knows you’re here, and you were just dropped off. Even if she wanted to check in on us, she’d probably wait a few days.”
I expected her to smile at that, but instead, she stared down at the plate in her lap.
I softened my voice. “You can rest while I’m gone.”
Her head came up slowly, eyes wary. “You’re really going to come back?”
That one landed right in the gut. “I’m coming back. With tacos.”
She nodded, and I saw the tears she didn’t let fall. “All right.”
I hesitated at the door, watching her as she carefully took a bite of one of the crackers I’d slathered in peanut butter. Her eyes fluttered shut for a half second, like it was the best thing she’d tasted. I don’t know why that affected me, but it did. More than it should’ve.
I didn’t want a wife. I didn’t want anyone living in my space, breathing my air, unraveling the careful solitude I’d built out here like armor.
But I’d be damned if I could leave her looking like that.
Like the only thing holding her together was the belief that somewhere, someone might actually give a damn.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, rougher than I meant to. “Make yourself at home.”
She nodded without looking up.
I stepped out into the hot mountain air, the sound of the door clicking shut behind me. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I headed toward the truck, every part of me tense.
I didn’t owe her anything. I hadn’t invited her here. But now that she was here, fragile and brave and impossibly lovely in that long-sleeved blouse and modest skirt that probably hadn’t seen a washing machine in months, I was starting to feel like I owed her everything.
God help me.