Chapter 4
Two days had passed since Martha’s bombshell confession, and Logan’s thoughts remained a tangled mess as he hefted a sack onto the sorting pile at the mine.
The morning sun beat down on his broad shoulders, dust clinging to his sweat-dampened shirt, but the gritty routine of his work could not quiet the storm in his mind.
Sabotage gnawed at him. Charles Hammond’s shadow seemed to lurk behind every cracked beam.
And then there was Sophia Walsh, too. He had not asked her to travel halfway across the country on his behalf, and yet she was now waiting in town, all thanks to his mother’s meddling.
Guilt tugged at him, sharp and persistent.
He felt guilty for his mother’s deception, but his own reluctance, too, caused a nagging sense of responsibility to pulse in his heart.
It was not Sophia’s fault that his mother had written her a lie.
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, glancing toward Jerry, who was barking orders at a pair of miners wrestling with a cart. Logan stepped over, the crunch of gravel under his boots a familiar, steadying sound. “Jerry, I need to head into town for a while. Got… a meeting to sort out.”
Jerry turned, his weathered face creasing into a knowing look that made Logan’s neck heat. “Sure, boss. I’ll keep an eye on things here. You go handle your business.” His tone carried a faint tease, but he did not press the issue, for which Logan was grateful.
The ride into Aspen Creek was quiet. The clop of his horse’s hooves against the dirt path gave him too much space to think.
He should have met her at the station—should have been there when she stepped off that train, uncertain and uprooted.
Instead, he had buried himself in the mine, dodging the inevitable.
Now, two days later, he felt he couldn’t stall any longer.
His mother had made this mess, but it was his to face.
At Mrs. Beauregard’s boarding house, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, a warm, homey contrast to the dust of the mine that still clung to his clothes.
The plump, cheerful woman greeted him at the door, her apron dusted with flour.
“Logan! Good to see you, dear. Miss Walsh is in the parlor. She’s been expecting you, I reckon.
” She ushered him inside with a smile that crinkled her eyes.
Logan stepped into the parlor, his boots scuffing the polished floorboards, and paused.
Sophia Walsh stood by the window, sunlight streaming through the glass, illuminating the delicate braid of jet-black hair trailing down her back.
She was taller than he had imagined, her slender frame straight and composed, her tan skin glowing softly in the light.
Near her, a young girl—her sister, he assumed—sat on a small stool, clutching a rag doll, her small hands moving it in a quiet, private game.
Sophia turned, and her hazel eyes met his, polite yet guarded, sizing him up as he crossed the room.
He cleared his throat and extended his hand. “I’m Logan Perry. Welcome to Aspen Creek, Miss Walsh.”
She inclined her head in greeting before taking his hand, her grip surprisingly firm for someone so slight. “Sophia,” she replied with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Heat crept up his cheeks as he fumbled for words, his rehearsed apology coming out as a jumble. “I, uh—I owe you an apology, ma’am. My mother—she told me what she did, and I’m sorry for the way this all came about. I didn’t know about any of it ‘til about a week ago, and I?—”
Sophia raised a hand slightly, cutting him off. “I understand the difficult position she’s placed you in, Mr. Perry. Please don’t worry. I harbor no ill feelings toward you.”
Relief flooded his chest, loosening the knot that had been tightening since his mother’s confession.
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Still, I should’ve been at the station when you arrived.
I was tied up at the mine with some pressing issues that came up.
I know it’s no excuse, so I want to apologize for that, too. ”
Her expression softened, and she glanced briefly at the girl—Clara, he remembered—before meeting his gaze again.
He saw something in her eyes then, a quiet strength that stirred his curiosity and caused his heart to do a strange little flutter.
Feeling a sudden obligation and need to rectify his mother’s impulsive actions, he straightened.
“Listen, Miss Walsh, I’ve been thinking.
I could use some help at the mine. Paperwork, accounts, general office tasks.
It’s piling up, and I’m no good at it. It’d give you an income while you…
decide on your next steps.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck again. “If you’re interested, that is.”
Sophia listened intently, her head tilting slightly, her expression thoughtful.
After a moment, she nodded slowly. “I’m grateful for the offer.
I can assure you that I am a capable worker and that you wouldn’t just be taking on a charity case.
And I cannot deny that my sister and I will require provision if we are to stay here in Aspen Creek, so I’d like to consider it. ”
Logan blinked, surprised by the shift in his perception of her.
He had braced himself for someone desperate, clinging to the promise of a husband she had been misled into expecting.
But this? This was a woman of quiet dignity and practical strength.
This was a woman who could speak for herself with clarity and intelligence.
Sophia Walsh was nothing like he had imagined her to be.
He nodded. “The job is yours if you want it,” he said.
“You could start Monday if that suits you. Mrs. Beauregard’s place is comfortable enough, but if you would rather have more private lodgings, I can see about arranging something else in town. ”
Sophia offered a small, genuine smile this time, and Logan felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. “Monday sounds just fine. And the boarding house will do for now—thank you.”
Before Logan could respond, Mrs. Beauregard bustled into the parlor, her cheeks rosy from the kitchen. “Logan, Sophia—sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Charles Hammond is here to pay a call.”
Logan’s stomach tightened as Charles Hammond stepped through the doorway, his presence immediately dominating the small room.
The man’s tailored coat and polished boots screamed money.
His dark hair was swept back with a practiced flair.
He greeted Logan with a hearty, almost overly familiar clap on the shoulder that made Logan’s jaw twitch.
“Perry! Good to see you out of that dusty hole for once.” Then he turned, his charm dialed up full force as he faced Sophia, his eyes lingering on her with blatant interest. “And you must be Miss Walsh. I heard a beautiful woman had arrived in town, and I wanted to swing by and welcome you to Aspen Creek… personally.”
Sophia inclined her head politely, but Logan caught the faint tightening of her lips.
Charles flashed a grin, oblivious to the woman’s wariness.
His voice was as smooth as honey as he added, “I hope you are finding our little corner of the territory… hospitable.” His gaze flicked toward Logan, a subtle glance loaded with condescension.
Logan watched the exchange, a prickle of unease stirring within him.
But there was something else there, too.
It was something sharper, something akin to…
jealousy. He swallowed the feeling and told himself it was just a byproduct of being in the same room as his business rival.
After all, Charles had been a thorn in his side for years, always scheming, always pushing.
Still, deep down, he knew it was something more because as Charles’s predatory charm zeroed in on Sophia, an unfamiliar protectiveness flared in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn’t known since Rebecca, and it returned with a vengeance, burning hot.
He shifted, crossing his arms, his voice cutting through the tension.
“She’s settling in just fine, Hammond. There’s no need to fuss. ”
Charles chuckled, unruffled, his eyes still on Sophia.
“Oh, I’m sure she is. I just thought I’d offer a friendly hand if she needed it.
” He tipped his hat slightly, the feature dripping with calculation and fiendish intent.
“I’ll be seeing you around, Miss Walsh. Perry.
” With that, he sauntered out, leaving a charged silence in his wake.
Mrs. Beauregard muttered something about tea and scurried off, but Logan barely heard her. He glanced at Sophia, who met his gaze with a raised brow, as if gauging his reaction. “Friendly sort, isn’t he?” she said dryly, a hint of humor in her tone that caught Logan off guard.
“Too friendly,” Logan muttered, then caught himself. “He’s… a businessman. Runs a rival mine. Likes to throw his weight around.”
Sophia nodded, her expression thoughtful, but she didn’t press. Clara looked up from her doll, her small voice piping up. “He talks loud.”
Logan’s lip twitched, a rare flicker of amusement breaking through his tension. “That he does, little miss.” He turned back to Sophia, protectiveness still simmering, though he had shoved it down deep. “Anyway, I will let you get settled. See you Monday, then?”
“Monday,” she confirmed, her steady gaze holding him for a moment longer than necessary.
As he stepped outside, the mountain air hit him, sharp and cold, but it did not cool the unease—or the unexpected spark—Charles’s visit had ignited.
Sophia Walsh was no longer just a complication.
She was something else entirely, but Logan wasn’t sure he was ready to admit what that something else was or whether he could face what it meant.