Chapter 28
Logan
December
“So?” Glen’s chair creaks as he leans back. “How far’d you get in my Top Ten Excellent Shows list?”
“Season two of Breaking Bad.”
“And?”
“It’s okay.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, fine. It’s fucking awesome,” I admit. I’ve had to force myself to turn it off and get to sleep some nights. This whole world of streaming is dangerous.
“Told you I’d steer you right.” He waggles a finger at me. “But don’t get any ideas.”
“Dude. It’s your recommendation list.”
“For excellent television, not goals. So what else is new? How’s life?”
“The same as it was when you asked me two weeks ago. Splitting wood all day, every day. We have a five-year supply of firewood for the house and now the market’s selling cords.
Earned this—” I hold up my hand where a giant sliver gouged my palm, earning Glen’s grimace. “We took the animals in for harvest.”
“And what about when you’re not working?”
My gaze drifts beyond him, to the odd snowflake that falls.
They’re calling for up to twenty centimeters this week—the first big snowfall of the season.
“I’m helping my lunatic of a brother-in-law build a regulation-size ice rink with boards, penalty boxes, overhead lights, and everything.
” It took us four afternoons to set up, and that’s with Jon already prepping the land the week before.
Since then, he’s been out there flooding, day after day, watching with childish glee as the layers of ice form.
There’s even talk of spraying game lines.
“And then there was the Cold River Santa Claus Parade. North Country Bison has a float.”
“Saw it. Big stuffed bison on a wagon. Is that actually real?”
“Yup. Jon found a taxidermy student who wanted to practice his skills. Cost next to nothing.” The float sits in one of the barns and comes out on special occasions.
“And did you go to the parade—”
“Nope.”
Glen’s face flattens. Every time I check in, he pushes me to get out, talk to people who aren’t blood-related. I am a continual disappointment, even if I’m following all the rules. “How are things with Jon?”
“Fine, I guess.” I shrug. “Someone left one of the gates open last week and he blamed me, but I know I closed it. Luckily none of the herd got out.”
He hums. “Anything else exciting?” He pauses a beat, waiting, and then holds up the Cold River Post, showing off the front page. “Nothing else you wanna mention?”
“So you’ve seen it.” I knew the article was coming and I’ve been dreading it.
“Hard not to when your mother drops off a copy with your name underlined in red pen.”
I shake my head, picturing Annie Landry strolling up the steps to the local parole office, beaming with pride. “It was her idea.”
“You diving into a lake and saving this woman’s life? Good idea, I’d say.”
“No. The article. She knows the reporter. Goes to church with her.” When Margie Burgess caught wind of what happened on Lake Temagami, she showed up at the market, asking questions. “The two of them concocted this whole thing.”
“‘Local Hero Saves Woman From Certain Death.’ Oh, and there you are, lookin’ all handsome and contemplative.
” Glen points at the blown-up image of me leaning against the fence, quietly watching while the bison bull grazed nearby.
It’s the closest I’ve gotten to one out in the fields and Jon was there to snap a picture, unbeknownst to me.
When I refused to pose for the newspaper photographer, Jon eagerly offered that up. I wanted to choke him.
“You agreed to this?” Glen sounds genuinely surprised.
“Hell no. Not at first.” Not until my mother and Sarah ganged up on me, promising that it would be a good thing.
Everyone around town has been talking about me, anyway, so there’s no point hiding.
We might as well give them a positive spin.
Then they wrangled Emery over speakerphone and when she pushed me to do it …
I never could say no to her. Plus, Margie committed to letting me give the article my blessing before it went to print.
I did not give that title my blessing, though.
Margie tracked down Carol Roth, who gave a phone interview from her home where she’s still recovering and declared over and over how grateful she is to me.
I don’t know how much Margie told her about her rescuer, but ten bucks says she’s not nearly as grateful once a copy of the paper lands in her hands.
“It’s a good article. Positive, fair, balanced.
Doesn’t hide your past but opens the door to a softer narrative.
” Glen adjusts his glasses to read out loud, “‘Many felt the judge’s sentence imposed on Landry for his involvement in the officers’ deaths was far harsher than necessary.
In speaking with him, he expressed no excuses, only regrets. ’”
The article makes no mention of the added assault charge while inside, which I appreciated.
“Like I said, good article.” Glen tosses the paper onto his desk. “It’s a start for you to earn a place in your community again, but you need to be doing more.”
“More than save a woman’s life? Sure, no problem.”
“Smart-ass.” He smirks. “How about volunteer work?”
“Like what?”
“I can’t give you all the answers. That’s for you to figure out.”
“Yeah … I’ll think about it.”
“You can’t hide on that ranch forever.”
“Watch me.”
Glen shakes his head. “Have you at least ventured over to your family’s market?”
“Sure, I drop off bags of firewood.”
“When it’s open? When you have to actually speak to people?”
“Are you my parole officer or my therapist?”
“I don’t get paid nearly enough to pretend to be a therapist.” Glen snorts.
“All right, then. Anything else or can I go—”
“Any issues with anyone lately?” he asks, ignoring my attempt to leave. “About that missing girl or anything else?”
“Nope, because I don’t leave the ranch,” I enunciate each word.
Which means no questioning my alibi over missing girls, run-ins with Hank Murphy, none of this bullshit over some secret stash that I have no fucking clue about.
How he hasn’t let go of that twenty-year-old bone is beyond me, but it means it must be worth something.
“That’s gonna get lonely, don’t you think?”
“Nah. I’ve got a big family, and they’re noisy.”
Glen harrumphs. “You dating anyone?”
His pivot catches me off guard. “No.”
“You’re allowed to, you know. Date women. Or men,” he adds in a rush. “I never assume.”
“Yeah, I know.” The problem is I can’t be with the one woman I want, and I have no interest killing time with any others.
Glen seems to mull that over before his focus shifts to his desktop. Does he know what happened between Emery and me? The guy seems to know—or suspect—plenty about every other facet of my life. “Fine.” Stubby fingers move over the keyboard as he begins making his meeting summary.
“Just the strong, handsome man we were hoping to find!”
I look up from my task of dashing salt over the market’s customer parking lot to see my mother and Sarah trudge toward me, bundled for the cold.
Over a foot of snow fell yesterday, shutting down schools and adding to the thick base already on the ground.
The thermometer outside the garage read minus nine degrees Celsius when I got up, but with the wind chill, it’s more like minus twenty.
My mom carries a snow shovel like a staff.
“What else do you need me to clear?” I ask, double-checking the front of the Landry Market, decked out with Christmas lights, red bows, and evergreen garlands for the holiday season. I did everything there, didn’t I?
My mother smiles. “A few paths for the fine customers of Cold River?”
“We have some orders to deliver in town to elderly customers who can’t get around easily,” Sarah jumps in. “You know, ready-to-heat dishes like pot pies, soups, and pastas. It’s a thing we’ve been doing.”
“That thing Dad and Jon were complaining about last week that we should be charging for?” Jon’s convinced a ten-dollar delivery fee would be perfectly reasonable.
Mom waves it off, a flicker of irritation in her face. “They can butt out of my business, unless they want me interfering with theirs.”
“Anyway,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes, “we have more orders than normal, and Mom’s stuck here, in the kitchen. Can you drive?” She dangles the set of truck keys in the air like they’re a treat.
I hesitate. “Can’t Jon go with you?”
She shakes her head. “He’s got Egan and there’s an issue with the tractor. He’s trying to get the mechanic in.”
Hell, I’d rather babysit a toddler and wait for the mechanic, but something tells me I’m not going to get out of this easily. My mother has dialed up her mission to get me off the property. “Just driving?”
“And shoveling a path so I can get to their doors.”
I sigh heavily. “Yeah, fine. As long as you’re dealing with these people.” Because there’s no way I’m delivering muffins with a fucking smile.
My mother holds out the shovel, beaming. “This is a good thing you’re doing, helping the seniors. It goes a long way in the community, especially around Christmas.”
She sounds eerily similar to Glen. I wouldn’t be shocked if she paid him a visit while dropping off that newspaper article. “How many houses are we talking here?”
Mom flashes a toothy, nervous grin.
“No, I can’t drop everything and get him.
It’s Thursday … delivery day? … No, Logan’s helping me …
Why? Seriously? How about because I’m pregnant with your twins and the roads are barely plowed.
Turn right up here.” Sarah pauses her fight with Jon to give me directions to the gas station, though I remember where it is.
She’s been directing me all morning. According to Sarah, they normally have five or six stops, but this week the entire back seat of the truck is packed with brown paper bags, and two coolers in the truck bed hold the overflow.