Chapter 37
“I don’t think this is a good time for a chat,” I tell Logan over my shoulder as I lock the front door. “I’m not exactly in the greatest of moods.”
His cell phone rings, and he stops at the bar to take the call while I go grab my shotgun plus two six-packs of Lone Star beer from the liquor room.
Not wanting to hear his phone conversation if it’s with his fiancée, I head for the gun range behind the bar, the unclaimed piece of property that divides The Cowherd from Wild Ranch.
I’ve worked hard to become four-time target champion of Hunt County, and I don’t plan on losing my title anytime soon.
But right now, I just need to get out my aggressions. Logan, the hero of a made-up legend? Please.
But what if Mama’s right and that torn-out page from Vivian’s diary really is about me? Then my future is locked up with the ghost of Jane Austen.
Which would mean I need the couple to be discovered this summer. And if Logan and his fiancée are the ones…
Stupid Mama using the legend to make me worry about imaginary threats. My only threat right now is the man chasing me outside. I know why Logan stayed behind. He wants his divorce papers. Well, he can sweat it out another day.
I toss off my heels and load my shotgun.
Before I can set up my targets, Mr. Bingley, the long-haired black cat The Cowherd unofficially adopted earlier this year, walks toward me and meows. When I bend down to pat him, he digs his claws into the bottom of my dress until I hear a tear.
“Oh, no!” I step back. “Mr. Bingley, you just ruined this dress!”
“Looks like it was already a pretty mess.” Logan grins as he pockets his phone and takes a seat on top of the outdoor picnic table about ten feet away.
“Shut up. This is my bridesmaid’s dress. I know it looks horrible.”
“You always look good, Mace, but it’s not exactly your style.”
I flush at his compliment. “No, not my type of dress.”
“Who picked it out—Mrs. Rattles?”
“Of course.”
“Fancy dress and a shotgun,” he teases me. “Somehow I don’t think this is the bridesmaid look Ginny’s mama was going for.”
“Probably not.”
I shoo Mr. Bingley back inside the bar then close the door so he can’t come back out.
I pace fifty feet through the hard-packed dirt and burnt grass to the target box. I set up my pyramid of beer cans in front of the bullet-ridden wall that remained after the last jailbreak and right before the prison was retired.
I return to the hash marks, take aim, unlock the safety, and shoot four perfect shots in a row. I hear Logan’s cheers, and I turn to face him.
As the hot sun beats down on our heads, Logan and I stare at each other.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” I say slowly. “All awkward and shit?”
“No. Put the gun down and come have a drink with me,” he says.
I lock down the gun. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask him as I walk inside and go behind the bar.
Logan follows me inside and takes a stool as I pick up a dishcloth and start to clean the taps.
“You looked good shooting out there,” Logan says. “How’s practice going for this year’s county fair?”
“Great,” I say. “I hate to brag, but…”
“Oh, come on, you love to brag.”
I break into a real laugh for the first time since he told me he was engaged hours earlier. It already feels like a lifetime ago.
“So where’s your fiancée?” I ask. “Can I meet her?” I don’t know what possessed me to ask that. I have no interest in meeting this woman. And yet, part of me feels like I have to.
Logan flushes. “Sure,” he says noncommittally. “Someday.”
“It better be someday soon,” I say, hating how sharp my tone is but not able to calm my pulse enough to speak normally. “You’re marrying her in a couple months.”
Logan grabs my right hand, which is now soaked with beer and water. “You’re sure you want to meet her?”
I pull away from him and stare down at the counter in front of me. Thank God for this dishrag. I go vigorously after a large stain.
“Is that wipe down a yes?” Logan says. “Or just polite country slang for ‘no, thank you?’”
I exhale and look up at him with a friendly face I find somewhere inside of me. This must be how Hollywood stars manage to always look happy for the camera; even if something horrible happens they can pose with a million-dollar smile.
“Of course I want to meet her. She’s going to be your wife. I’ll be seeing her for the rest of our lives.”
Logan exhales. His mouth turns up in a smile that looks forced. But I can’t read him for shit right now, so I stick out my tongue and grab two canned beers. As I go to open the first one, the beer fizzes and comes out too fast, soaking my dress.
“Shit!” I hold the can away from me too late.
Logan grimaces. “You may have to change.”
“You think?” I look down at the enormous wet stain all over the front of the dress.
“You have clothes in your office?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. But…”
“But what? Just go change.”
But…I can’t take this dress off without help.
It has no zippers and is one of those irritating gowns that have to be lifted over the head. Oh, why is this happening?
Logan’s watching me. And, like always, he proves to be a Macey Henwood mind-reader. “You need some help?”
“No.” I squeeze my hands around the wet fabric, trying to wring it dry somehow.
“Oh, come on. I know Eloise and Helena Rattles are already fit to be tied that you walked out of the store in that thing. Don’t give them another reason to be mad at you.”
“How do you know I came straight from the store?”
“Besides the fact that you don’t normally walk around town in a God-ugly bridesmaid’s dress?”
I give him a look.
“Ginny texted that you were coming. Like a warning.”
He’s trying to lighten the mood between us, and it’s working. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I’ll be right back,” I say as I grab my gun and head down the hall.
But Logan follows along behind me, and I don’t stop him. When we reach the liquor room that doubles as my office, his gaze stops on the divorce papers on my desk. I watch as he scans the blank line where my signature should be.
And if I’m reading him right, he hides a smile but doesn’t say anything.
I lock my gun safely away in its case. I pour some cat food into the customized “Mr. Bingley” food bowl that Mama ordered for him, and I make sure his kitty bed on top of the corner cabinet is fluffed and ready for him when he wants it.
When I can’t think of any other way to avoid the inevitable, I slowly turn back to Logan, who’s leaning casually against my desk. He’s got one hand in his jeans pocket, and his gaze is on me steadily.
I hurry to break the silence. “Ginny told me the good news. That your daddy finally caved on his ridiculous demands and let you be.”
Logan nods. “Yeah. Pretty surprising, huh?”
“I’d say so.” I smile at him. “I’m happy for you. You know that.”
Our eyes lock. “I know. Thanks.”
With the way the sun hits his face through the window behind my desk, the long white line on his cheek shines almost like a badge of courage.
I’ve always loved Logan’s scar because I know what he went through that day, and I know what he saved by being willing to get it. He saved his soul. That’s what I told him that cold spring in Hill Country when it rained so hard and so long nobody warmed up for days.
“And I’m proud of you for speaking your mind.”
“Appreciate it, Mace.” His eyes are lasers on me now.
I clear my throat.
“Anyway...no peeking. Just…” I reach for the hem of my dress to try and lift the fabric off myself, but the cut is too snug around my torso. “I’ll lift it up to my waist, and then you’ll have to take it from there.”
Logan nods, and I add, “But once you start, don’t stop halfway or else it will get stuck, and that really freaks me out.”
There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, and normally one of us would make a point of calling it out. But not this time. This time, we both freeze at my unplanned sexual connotation and avoid eye contact.
“Don’t worry,” Logan says finally in a strangled tone.
The last time we slept together is coming back to me in hot and heavy flashbacks, and as Logan comes closer, I can smell his cologne. That manly moss scent just about covers up—but not quite—the equally intoxicating aroma of hay and horse and cattle that’s a part of any cowboy.
“Let’s get this over with.” I raise the hem to my hips, and then I feel Logan’s strong hands on me as he gently touches my waist and takes hold of the dress.
The gown comes off far more easily than it did the last time Eloise helped me, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of Logan in a bra and underwear.
I feel immediately vulnerable, but my self-consciousness fades because he’s staring at me, first at my lips, and his gaze doesn’t stop there.
His eyes wander down past my neck before he drags them back up to my face.
“I’m sorry.” He sucks in his breath and turns his head away.
I reach behind me for some covering, but I clearly didn’t think this through before we started because my clothes are still somewhere in a drawer.
I step to the side of my desk and manage to reach into my top drawer while I watch Logan’s chest moving in and out as he breathes. That solid chest I’ve leaned on for comfort so many times before. I get hold of my jean shorts and wriggle into them before grabbing a tank top. Finally, I look up.
“All set.”
He shifts back to face me.
My gaze meets his, and my body tightens and sways in response to the undisguised heat in his eyes.
I have the urge to sweep the desk clean with my arm before pulling Logan on top of me and tearing off his clothes. Or maybe turning around and leaning over the desk while he comes up behind me and makes me feel better than I’ve felt since he was last inside me.
But Logan squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, all the heat is gone.
I try to play it casual, but my damn legs are trembling. I reach out and put one hand on his chest for balance before I lean my ass against the desk and cross my arms over my heart.
“So-o.”
Oh God—my voice comes out scratchy and weak. I try again.
“So. Tell me how you and Gigi met.”
“Sh—” Logan swallows and then starts over. “She was in Fort Davis with her father. They flew there on a private jet. He’s an oilman among other business ventures. He’s a self-made billionaire.”
“Oh…wow,” I say slowly. “The reporter said he was wealthy, but…”
“Yeah. Different worlds and all that.” His expression goes blank again, and I can’t read it.
“Pretty cool.” I unconsciously straighten my ponytail and smooth back the hairs that have fallen out from the humidity. Pretty cool to be able to flit around the country just for fun. Pretty cool to not have to worry about working, ever.
“I mean, it’s not like she has a perfect life,” Logan continues after looking at me more closely. “She mentioned her mother has struggled with prescription pills in the past. That’s just between us, of course.”
“Uh-huh. That’s sad.” I glance away. “I’ll look forward to meeting her.”
Long pause.
“Do you want to meet here?”
I exhale in relief. Here would be easiest for me. “That works.”
“Tomorrow at seven?”
We stare at each other, and I thank God for the background buzz of the air conditioner, or else I know I’d be able to hear him breathing. I’d probably be able to hear his heart beat, too.
“Sure,” I say as I go to walk him out. “Tomorrow at seven.”