Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Logan
I t had been a long day for Logan West. He should have been home hours ago, but he had wanted to finish the demolition job he’d been working on for his cousin. He hadn’t taken this unseasonal storm into account and wanted to get home before the water rose over the road. There was one low point that always flooded when it stormed like this, and he’d rather be on the other side of it than sleep in his truck.
He cursed himself for working so late. He knew he had a reputation for being a perfectionist, not wanting anything but the highest quality of work to be associated with his business, Cape Wilde Construction. But it could have waited a few days.
Logan knew that, but as far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter if the job was a small maintenance task, or if he was building a house. The West name meant something in these parts, and he’d get it done.
People waited for months to get onto his books, so squeezing in a job for his cousin, Rhett, had to be done outside of his usual work hours. But Logan didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if he had anyone to go home to.
That was if he could get home.
Sheets of rain washed over the road. Logan slowed as visibility got worse, and cursed himself again for not leaving earlier.
Over the past few months, he’d helped Rhett turn a pair of old hunting cabins into luxury retreats. The cabins had been so successful they’d begun work on renovating another of the run-down, but solid, buildings that dotted Rhett’s property. That’s where Logan had been that day; ripping out kitchen cabinets that had long since outlived their usefulness.
He was tired, dirty, and longed for a hot shower and something to eat.
Lightning lit the sky as he took the turn toward the waterfront house he called home. Surrounded by woods and granite boulders leading down to the shore, it was quiet. And as far as Logan West was concerned, quiet meant perfection.
Rain battered his windshield, and he was deep in thought about what to eat for dinner, so he barely managed to avoid the lone figure walking down the road.
“Hell.” He hit the brakes, wincing as he accidentally hit a puddle, spraying the walker in water.
Nobody in their right mind would be out in this kind of weather.
He backed up and wound down the passenger window.
“Are you alright?”
She—for there was no doubt the walker was a woman, with the curves her wet clothes clung to—clutched a muddy bag to her chest. Her hair was stuck to her head, water streaming over her face.
What was she doing, walking around in a storm?
“Are you alright?” He asked again and was concerned when she started laughing.
“You just sprayed me with mud! No, I’m not alright,” she said, her laughter turning to a sob.
Logan grimaced. He put the handbrake on and grabbed the blanket from behind the seat. He always kept a blanket in the truck in case he came across injured wildlife on the side of the road. In a rural area like this, he’d used it often, wrapping up all kinds of critters before taking them into town to his sister Cassie, the local veterinarian.
The blanket might be old, but it was clean, and she looked like she needed it more than he did right now.
He stepped out of the truck and rounded the hood, the headlights briefly blinding him as he approached her.
“Here.” He held out the blanket. “I didn’t see you until I’d passed. Sorry about the mud.”
She looked from him to the blanket and back. She had stopped laughing, much to Logan’s relief. She clearly didn’t trust him, judging by the way she continued clutching her bag to her chest and took a step back as he moved the blanket toward her.
She reminded Logan of a wounded animal; reluctantly, she reached forward, grabbed the blanket, and then quickly stepped back.
“I didn’t see a car. You need a lift somewhere?” He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring and opened the passenger door for her.
She hesitated, glancing down the road in the direction she had come, as if weighing her options, before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and climbing inside.
“Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible above the sound of the rain.
Logan closed the door and rounded the hood to climb into the driver’s seat. Once they were both safely inside the warm, dry cab, he turned to face her. “Not many people come out this way.”
She stared straight ahead through the windshield. The headlights cut through the rain, illuminating the road as far as the torrent would allow. Water rushed across the road in a sheet.
Logan glanced back at the woman sitting next to him. She stayed silent, and he didn’t move the truck. Something told him she needed a little time. If the road flooded over, well, he’d deal with that when it happened. Right now, this woman was tired, soaked through, and scared. He could take a little time if it meant helping her feel safe. “What’s your name?”
Her head whipped toward him and her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He didn’t answer, waiting patiently instead. She looked down at herself, tugging at her soaking wet sweater, then pulling the blanket more tightly around herself when she shivered.
“It’s Harper,” she said, though she didn’t offer a last name.
Logan offered his hand, and she hesitated briefly before sliding her much smaller one into his. Her palm was smooth, but her fingertips were callused. What kind of work did she do to cause that?
Her hand felt perfect in his, as if they had touched a thousand times before.
“I’m Logan,” he managed to say, his heart thumping in his chest harder than it had any right to. She nodded and pulled her hand back, making him realize he had been holding on longer than necessary. He let go with an embarrassed cough.
“My car is back there,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.
Logan didn’t recall seeing a car—he would have remembered if he had. The only houses along this road belonged to him and old man Weatherley, and he was sure this woman wasn’t related to his neighbor.
Either way, she was soaking wet and needed to get warm and into clean, dry clothes.
Putting the truck in gear, he turned around on the narrow road, heading back the way he had come.
“Where are you going?” Harper asked, gripping the blanket tightly.
“To see your car.”
She glanced at him and then gave a small nod.
“Alright.”
Logan smiled. At least she was talking now.
“Who were you looking for?”
“Why do you think I was looking for anyone?”
He noticed how she was avoiding his questions but decided not to push. She’d talk when she was ready.
“There are only two houses on this road,” he said. “Mine and my neighbor’s.”
She chewed her lip, indecision clear on her face.
“Stop!” Harper cried. “There it is.”
She pointed off the road to where a gray hatchback had slid into a tree. No wonder he hadn’t seen it—a car that color was nearly invisible in the storm against the dark trees.
Logan parked the truck and jumped out. “Stay here. I’ll see what I can find.”
She nodded, clearly happy to remain in the truck’s warm, dry interior.
He slid down the small slope, his boots finding purchase on the wet ground. Logan was thankful he didn’t land on his ass in the mud—he was already soaked through.
“You’ve done well, princess,” he muttered under his breath as he surveyed the damage.
The car was a complete write-off. There was no way she was driving it anywhere. He noticed a rental company’s sticker on the back window as he tried to open the trunk.
He managed to retrieve a suitcase and a small duffel by pulling down the back seats and reaching into the trunk from inside the car. Logan heaved the bags up the slope, clambering up after them. He opened the rear door of his truck and tossed the bags onto the seat.
Climbing back into the cab, he ran a hand over his head, slicking back his wet hair.
“How did you know I had bags?”
“You’re not from around here, and that’s a rental. I figured you wouldn’t have come empty-handed.” He shrugged. “No use leaving them there. The ditch might flood by morning, and your stuff would be ruined.”
She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Hey.” Logan reached over to pat her shoulder awkwardly. “It’s going to be okay.”
Harper’s bottom lip wobbled, and her eyes overflowed. Logan’s heart clenched. He had always hated seeing people suffering. She took a ragged breath in and let out a sob.
“It can’t be all that bad,” he said. “I’m sure you can get another rental and get where you need to go.”
She shot him a look.
“Okay, it can be all that bad.”
Harper laughed through her tears, and something squeezed in Logan’s chest at the sight of her watery smile lighting up her face, even a small amount.
She took a shuddering breath and turned a little to face him. “I was—I mean, I’m looking for West.”
Logan froze, the smile falling from his face.
Nobody called Logan by his last name. Not since he stopped playing football. So there’s no way she meant him.
That left only one other person in his family—in the West family—who had ever gone by the name West.
What did she want with his brother?
“I was given this,” Harper dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wet piece of paper. She handed it to him.
He took it and unfolded it. The paper was damp, and the ink had run, but he could still read the words.
“West. Beaver Lane. Cape Wilde.”
He frowned. What did this woman want with Mason? He’d never known Mason to have a girlfriend that he’d liked enough to bring home since he’d discharged from the Marines.
Logan stared at the note, something twisting inside him at the thought that Harper might be his brother’s girlfriend.
“Do you know him?” she asked, and he realized he had read the note aloud.
He looked slowly from the paper to the woman sitting beside him. “Yeah. He’s my brother.”