Chapter 33 Sierra #2
“Caught?” says Dawson. “Nothing to catch. You misunderstood me, that’s all.”
“We all heard what you said,” Logan says coolly.
His jaw tightens. “It’s your word against mine.”
“Actually,” I say, extracting my phone from my bra. Not my classiest moment, but it still has the intended effect. I stop the recording and hit the save button. “What should I name this? Mouthy Marshal Dawson, perhaps?”
Dawson looks speechless. “You were recording me?”
“It’s legal,” says Ethan. He’s not smiling, but the twinkle in his eye gives him away. “She’s perfectly within her rights to record her conversations.”
“Rick, a word, if you please?” the mayor says stiffly. “Sierra, could you send me a copy of the recording once you have service?”
“Of course,” I say.
“It’s not what it sounded like,” Dawson protests as Mayor Ortiz walks away. “Gabby, please.”
“Oh, man, that was crazy!” Emily says. “Ah! I just came over here because you took the cards that announce the poets, and then to hear that!”
I barely register Emily’s words because Logan is walking toward me, his face dark with emotion. Each step lands in time with every heavy, painful thud of my heart.
Logan carefully pries the emcee cards from me and hands them to Emily. I gasp as the brief touch sparks across my skin like a crackle of electricity. Memories flood in of when we were in this cave before—his gentle touches, his sweet patience with me, and the resulting emotional intimacy we shared.
Panic claws up my throat. What if it’s too late? What if he won’t give me another chance? I can’t stand the thought that I ruined this, that I threw it all away.
The adrenaline, which had started to dissipate slightly after confronting Marshal Dawson, surges back, and I begin to tremble.
“Well, go on,” he says to Emily when she lingers.
With a huff, Emily disappears.
He looks into my eyes, his expression intense. Then the thundercloud smooths out from his face into something soft as he looks at me. “Sierra. Baby, what are you doing here? Why would you meet with that psycho alone? What if he had hurt you?”
Hope twists painfully in my chest at the way he calls me baby. “I’m fine. It had to be done,” I say. “But that’s not why I came back. Logan, I—”
“Logan.” A man hurries into the Blackstone cavern, visibly stressed. I recognize him as one of the vendors we also used for the Candlelight Tour. “Futon Drift’s sound tech needs you.”
“Just a minute,” he says, never taking his eyes off me.
“No, dude,” the man insists. “This guy is anal as fuck. You have to come now and tell him to calm down before he loses his shit.”
Logan groans. “Fuck.” He looks back at me. “Come with me?”
“Yes,” I say. I’d follow him anywhere.
He holds his hand out for me to take, and my heart tightens, painful and pleasurable like stretching a tight muscle. I missed him so goddamn much.
Logan follows the vendor out of the Blackstone gold cavern and to the stage, where another irritated man stands, holding some wires and a microphone. Logan gives my hand one more squeeze before stepping away to address the man’s tangle of wires.
“That was fast!” Emily says when she spots me. She looks relieved. “All made up, huh? Good for you. Here, take these. You’re up, Sierra.”
She shoves the cards and microphone into my hands and disappears.
The first poet stares at me. “Aren’t you going to announce me?” he asks balefully.
Welp. Guess the emotional reckoning with Logan will have to wait.
I click on the microphone. “Thank you, Candice, from Sagebrush Bank! First up, Tomas Ruiz with his poem, ‘Target Practice.’”
Logan reappears at my side. He’s so beautiful it makes my eyes sting.
“Your sister skipped out on us,” I explain as he looks around for backup. “I suppose I deserve it, leaving you guys in a lurch for this event. That was shitty of me. I’m so sorry.”
Almost like he can’t help himself, Logan reaches up and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear—a tender gesture that makes my breath hitch.
It makes me feel reckless in the best way.
“This is chaos, but I can’t wait another moment,” I confess.
“I’m sorry I let my shame outweigh what really matters.
And what really matters is that I love you, Logan.
I’m sorry I let my shame and fear upstage that, because what I feel for you?
It’s so powerful. I’ve been half a soul since we parted.
Look, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. Oh god, a third chance, really.”
“Sierra, I—”
Tomas the poet steps off the stage and hisses at us, “Announce the next poet!”
“Fuck,” Logan mutters. He grabs the mic. “Emily LaSalle, please report back to the stage—we need an emcee.” He glances at the next card. “Our next poet is Izzy McClean with ‘Moonbeam.’”
“Sierra!” Izzy exclaims. Her lavender highlights glow under the strong stage lights. “You’re back! Hopefully for good this time?”
My heart beats heavily as I meet Logan’s eyes. “If Logan will have me.”
“Yes,” Logan says firmly as he wraps his arms around me. “Sierra belongs here with me.”
The microphone picks up his words, and they reverberate through the cave straight into my heart.
A cheer echoes. “Yay, Sierra and Logan!”
“Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “Well, I just made this very public.” He looks at me, softer now. “Sierra, I love you too. I know we can’t—and shouldn’t—work through all our problems at this very moment, but I want us to try. Will you?”
“I will.”
Then Logan is kissing me as another cheer erupts around us.
“All right, you two, find another cave to make out in,” Izzy says as she steps up to perform.
I don’t hear a single word, but it feels like a love poem.