Montana Creeds: Logan

by Linda Lael Miller

  The answer was uncomfortable. Vance was married, and presented no competition for Briana’s attention. Dylan was another matter entirely.

  Dylan’s eyes sparkled; he’d always been good at reading Logan. “Finished the stunt job early,” he said. “I had some time on my hands, so I came to see what exactly you plan to do with this ranch.”

  The coffee wasn’t finished, but Logan brought the carafe to the table and filled their cups anyway.

  “What’s going on, Logan?” Dylan asked quietly. “If Briana were here, the ruckus would have brought her out of hiding a while ago.”

  “She’s at my place,” Logan said. “With her kids and the dog.”

  “Why?”

  Logan shoved a hand through his hair, sat down.

  Dylan joined him at the table.

  And Logan told his brother about the intruder.

  Dylan listened intently. “You thought I was him,” he said.

  Logan smiled. “Yeah. And, frankly, I’m kind of disappointed that you aren’t. Because I really wanted to get this yahoo by the ears and bounce his head off the floor a couple of dozen times.”

  Dylan took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, made a face at the taste. Logan had forgotten that his younger brother fancied himself a natural-born barista, and a natural-born everything else, too. “Cheap stuff,” he muttered.

  Logan leaned back in his chair. “Your tenant,” he said, “isn’t exactly rich. You expected the finest Colombian beans, personally delivered by Juan Valdez?”

  “Man,” Dylan said, “you are really on the peck. Are you sleeping with Briana?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “A reasonable one. You’re pretty touchy about her, it seems to me, and what’s with the X-rated nightie hanging out there on the clothesline?”

  Logan’s jaw tightened of its own accord. “I told you what happened. I figured it might attract the pervert.”

  “It certainly worked on me,” Dylan drawled.

  “I rest my case,” Logan said.

  “Very funny.”

  “Oh, I’m a hoot.”

  “No, you’re not,” Dylan said. “You’re still the same old tight-assed, judgmental son of a bitch you always were.”

  “Are we actually going there?” Logan leaned forward in his chair, arms folded, biceps quivering for action. “Because I’ve still got pissed-off to spare.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Why didn’t you come to my place?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Logan spread his hands. “When you found out you couldn’t get a room in Stillwater Springs, why didn’t you come to my place?”

  “I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I’d get,” Dylan answered, weary humor flickering in his eyes, along with the usual fuck-you. He rubbed the back of his head, winced with pain. “Joke’s on me. I had no idea how right I really was.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I jumped you. I thought you were a pervert.”

  Dylan chuckled, drank more coffee. “Like that’s something new,” he said.

  “I never said you were a pervert.”

  “Yes, you did. When you were seventeen and you had all those naked Polaroids of your girlfriend—what was her name? Cindy? Suzanne? I posted them on the Internet, and you chased me halfway to the next county, yelling that I was a sick SOB. Translation—pervert.”

  “I still can’t believe you did that.”

  “Believe it,” Dylan said. “You stole that girl from me. Manly pride demanded reprisal.”

  “Her father would have killed you if Jake hadn’t stepped in.” Too late, Logan realized that mentioning their dad had been a mistake. After all, Jake was the sore point between the three brothers, and his death had sent them storming off in separate directions.

  Dylan’s face took on an expression of sorrow, and for a few moments, he looked much older than his thirty-two years. But his words surprised Logan. “What do you think made him so damn crazy?”

  Logan didn’t answer right away. This was ground he meant to tread lightly and besides, he wasn’t sure he knew the truth. “You think he was crazy?” he finally countered. He’d learned that technique in marriage counseling, when he and Laurie still thought they could keep the ship from going down. It had some stupid psychobabble name he couldn’t recall at the moment.

  “Don’t pull that lawyer shit on me, Logan,” Dylan said. “What was wrong with Dad?”

  Logan raised his shoulders, lowered them again. It wasn’t a shrug, but a gesture of resignation. “He was an alcoholic, Dylan,” he said carefully.

  “But what made him that way? Was he abused as a kid or something?”

  Logan sighed. Looked everywhere but directly into his brother’s eyes. “Some people are just wired wrong, that’s all. Maybe Jake was manic-depressive. Maybe he was just nuts. I really don’t know and I’m tired as hell of trying to figure it out.”

  “So am I,” Dylan said, after a long time. He stood. Stretched. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll crash on the sofa.”

  “Wait a second,” Logan said.

  “What?”

  “You might own this house, but right now, it’s Briana’s place. And she’s got trouble enough without her landlord hanging around, eating up all the yogurt.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Okay,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll move into my old room at the main ranch house tomorrow.” So Dylan was staying, at least for a while. Logan’s feelings about that were decidedly mixed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WE FED THE HORSES!” Alec announced proudly, when Logan arrived at the main ranch house the next morning, driving Briana’s old beater. Dylan followed in his gleaming, bright red pickup.

  “Excellent,” Logan said, grinning as Sidekick and Snooks jumped out after him and ran to greet Wanda and the boys.

  Briana, looking like a rancher’s dream, standing there by the corral fence, with the half-finished barn towering in the background, glanced uneasily at the other truck, then smiled in a way that made the pit of Logan’s stomach clench when she saw Dylan spring to the ground.

  Instant age-regression. Suddenly, Logan was fourteen and gangly, still catching up with the latest growth spurt, not quite filling out his hide.

  Shit, he thought. She likes him.

  Briana went to Dylan and hugged him—actually hugged him—and, being nobody’s fool, Dylan hugged her right back. The old devilment shone in his eyes as he looked at Logan over the top of her head.

  “Dylan!” both boys yelled in chorus, and raced toward him as Briana stepped back, smoothed her blouse and glanced, sidelong, at Logan.

  Logan unclamped his back molars and managed a smile as she started toward him.

  “Any luck?” she asked.

  All of it bad, Logan thought, watching as Dylan chatted with Alec and Josh. They’d probably only met once or twice, Dylan and the boys, but you’d have thought they were old friends.

  Dylan had that effect on people.

  Briana touched his arm. “Logan?”

  “Oh, you meant the pervert,” he said, feeling like an idiot. He shook his head. “He was a no-show, but I half killed Dylan when he came in last night.”

  Briana bit her lower lip. “I suppose he wants his house back,” she said, looking worried now. Logan might have been comforted by that remark if he hadn’t known how hard it would be for her to make ends meet if she had to pay rent.

  “For now,” Logan said, “he plans to stay right here, with me.”

  “Oh,” Briana said, looking as though she thought she ought to say something more, but didn’t know what it would be.

  “Look,” Logan went on, in a low voice, “I still don’t like the idea of you living over there alone. Maybe you should stay here, and let Dylan bunk in at your place.”

  She smiled wistfully. Shook her head. “Impossible.”

  He frowned.

  “The boys,” she reminded him.

  Dylan was zeroing in; Logan had to hurry i
f he was going to make his case. “You could have your own room.”

  “How long do you think that would last?” Briana asked, running the tip of an index finger down his right bicep, a sure formula for spontaneous combustion.

  He sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he said.

  “I’m going to work today,” she told him. “I’ll take Alec and Josh with me.”

  “They hate hanging out in the coffee shop at the casino,” Logan argued. “Why not leave them here?”

  “Yeah!” Alec yelled.

  “Yeah!” Josh added.

  “Yeah,” Dylan agreed, with a grin. The bastard. “After I say howdy to old Cimarron, we could hit the swimming hole.”

  Logan watched with some satisfaction as a frown furrowed Briana’s brow. “What swimming hole?” she asked.

  Dylan glanced at Logan, well aware he was getting under his skin, big-time. “You didn’t tell them about the secret swimming hole?”

  “No,” Logan said tautly. “I’ve been a little busy.”

  Briana didn’t roll over, God bless her. Maybe she was immune to Dylan’s charms, though few women were. “Alec has a cast on his arm and—”

  “Please, Mom!” Alec pleaded.

  “A garbage bag and some duct tape,” Dylan said, “and we’re good to go.”

  “We’re good swimmers, Mom,” Josh reminded his mother.

  Logan was still looking for a place to jump in when Briana suddenly cut loose with another dazzling smile. For Dylan.

  Damn it.

  “Okay,” she said. “Go inside and fetch my purse, will you, Alec?”

  Alec and Josh raced to do her bidding. Dylan hesitated a few moments, then followed them into the house.

  “You’re sure about this? Keeping the boys for the day, I mean?”

  Logan was still watching Dylan.

  “Logan?” Briana said, giving him a nudge to the midsection.

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  Tiny vertical lines formed between her eyebrows. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Are you?”

  She sighed, looked away, met his gaze directly. “I’m not really going to work,” she confessed.

  Logan frowned. “Where then?”

  “Over to Choteau, to the clinic. I need to get on birthcontrol pills, and if I fill a prescription here, it will be all over town in five minutes.”

  Logan blinked, felt a smile widen his mouth. Then it faded again. “You’re planning on sleeping with somebody?”

  She grinned, but her cheeks turned pink. “Yeah,” she said. “You.”

  The smile came back. “Oh.”

  Briana leaned in, lowered her voice. “What were you thinking, Logan Creed?” She glanced back toward the house, and her expression changed again. To a glower. “Dylan?”

  “He’s death to women,” Logan said ruefully.

  “Not to this woman, he isn’t,” Briana replied, poking his solar plexus with her finger again, this time harder.

  Alec came out of the house, lugging Briana’s purse. He hurried across the yard and handed it over.

  “You behave now,” Briana told him. “Don’t get that cast wet.”

  Alec rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’m not stupid.”

  She kissed his forehead, but nearly missed, because he immediately turned to Logan.

  “Dylan says he’s hungry enough to eat the north end of a southbound skunk. He wants to know if you’ve got any bacon.”

  Logan chuckled, shook his head.

  Yes, indeed. Dylan was back.

  Be careful what you wish for, Logan thought, because you damn well might get it.

  WHEN BRIANA showed up at the casino around lunchtime, she had a packet of birthcontrol pills in her purse and a load of worries on her mind.

  She might already be pregnant.

  Dylan Creed might want his house back.

  Alec or Josh might drown in the “swimming hole” on the ranch.

  Aliens might arrive in a giant spaceship and take over the governments of Earth. Well, there was one cheerful thought in the bunch, anyway.

  The slot machines were doing their usual brisk business, with no less than three senior citizens’ buses parked in the side lot, when Jim, who must have had eyes like the proverbial eagle, appeared out of nowhere.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Do I still have a job?” Briana asked.

  Jim gave a slanted grin. “You can have mine if you want it,” he quipped. He looked especially spiffy that day, in a new suit, obviously tailored to his impressive frame.

  “Hot date?” Briana teased, heading for the office to clock in.

  Jim straightened his tasteful tie. “I’m formally announcing my candidacy today,” he said, keeping pace with her. “Somebody from the Courier is coming by later.”

  “Congratulations,” she said, with a smile. “You’ve got my vote, for what that’s worth.”

  “There is something I wanted to ask you,” Jim said, sotto voce.

  Briana stopped at the office door, one hand poised to push it open. “What?”

  “I was wondering… well, if I get elected—”

  “Jim,” Briana said. “Spit it out.”

  “I’ll need an office manager. It’s a county job—lots of security, and benefits and—”

  “You’re offering me a job as your office manager?”

  Jim nodded. “Of course, I have to win the election, but… yeah. Angie Wilson has held down that job through three administrations, but she wants to retire when Floyd does.”

  Briana put her hand out. “Sheriff Huntinghorse,” she said, “you have a deal. Why, I’ll even campaign for you.”

  He flushed slightly. Straightened his tie again. “There’s something else,” he said.

  Here it comes, Briana thought. Working at the casino was going to represent some kind of conflict of interest. By the end of the day, she’d be unemployed and homeless, the way things were going.

  Where the heck was that alien spaceship? Maybe she and the boys could hitch a ride to some planet where single mothers didn’t have to juggle jobs and bills all the time.

  “You worry way too much,” Jim told her, evidently reading her face, taking her elbow and ushering her into the office. It rarely happened, but the place was empty except for them. “I was hoping you’d get my ex-wife to pose for some pictures with me—her and our son, Sam. You know, publicity shots for the newspaper and a few posters.”

  Briana blinked. “Jim, I don’t know your ex-wife. Why would I have more sway with her than you do?”

  “Everybody has more sway with Caroline than I do,” Jim said. “This is important, Briana. Freida Turlow is going to file her candidacy today, and Mike Danvers, from Danvers Chevrolet—”

  Briana held up a hand. “Wait. What do Ms. Turlow and the owner of the biggest car dealership in the county have to do with my talking to your ex-wife?”

  “Freida’s the last of a dynasty—the name Turlow still carries some weight around here, despite her bum of a brother. And Mike has a family—smiling blond wife, two-point-two winsome children and even a threelegged dog rescued from the pound, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Her brother?” Briana echoed, feeling a little left behind.

  “Brett,” Jim said.

  “Oh,” Briana said. “He’s bound to be a political liability.”

  “Freida’s different—not like Brett at all. Everybody likes her. And Mike—”

  “Jim,” Briana broke in. “Think. Shots with your son are one thing, but dragging your ex-wife into the campaign might come off as… strange. Even deceitful.”

  “I’ve got to do something.”

  “You’d be a great sheriff. That will be enough.”

  He craned his neck, so they were practically nose to nose. “I’m Native American,” he whispered.

  Briana grinned. “Yeah,” she said. “I noticed.”

  Jim straightened, took a slip of paper from the pocket of his immaculate suit ja
cket and shoved it into Briana’s hand. “First duty as my future office manager. Call Caroline at that number and get her on board for the campaign.”

  “Jim—”

  “Please?”

  “Okay,” Briana huffed out. “I’ll call her. But she’s probably going to tell me to take a flying leap.”

  “Call her now,” Jim said. “I’ll cover for you out on the floor. You can use the phone in my office.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Are you going to argue with me like this when I’m sheriff?”

  “Clock me in,” Briana said, resigned. “If I have to do this, I’m getting paid for it.”

  Jim grinned, watching as she ducked into his office.

  Caroline Huntinghorse answered on the second ring. “Jim?”

  Briana cleared her throat. “Er.no. My name is Briana Grant, and I work for your… er… exhusband—”

  “Oh,” Caroline said. She had a nice voice, but she didn’t sound too thrilled to get a call from a stranger. “I see.”

  Briana closed her eyes for a moment. Every button on Jim’s phone was blinking. She sank into his desk chair, then immediately jumped out of it again.

  “As you probably know,” Briana began, wondering if she’d have to do things like this a lot in the if-I-win job Jim had offered her, “Jim’s running for sheriff. I’m helping him with the campaign, and—”

  “I’ll just bet you are,” Caroline interrupted.

  “It isn’t like that,” Briana said.

  “Are you telling me you never went out with my—With Jim?”

  “We had dinner, went to the movies. It was nothing—”

  Caroline let out a sigh. “Sorry,” she said. “I still get possessive sometimes.” There was something heartbreaking in the little laugh that came next. “So, Ms. Grant—what is it that Jim is so afraid to ask me that he put you up to it?”

  I like this woman, Briana thought. “He wondered if you’d pose with him, for some campaign photos, with your son.”

  “Being divorced is a political advantage these days?”

  Briana smiled. “My question, exactly,” she said. “But Jim seems to think it’s a good idea.”

  Caroline was quiet for so long that Briana thought she’d hung up, or they’d been disconnected somehow.