Three months ago, the church sent me a letter advising they had purchased a new building and would be moving, with the additional overhead of a mortgage, they needed to raise the rent, again. This time to nearly three times what I had paid in the past, an amount I had no hopes of meeting. My lunch with Mr. Woods would center on helping the clothes to find a new home.
Amanda had fluttered in and out as the morning progressed, sharing her grand plans for the new flowerbeds Ross promised to dig for her while he was home next week. I avoided her, not intentionally, but my heart was too full of sadness to embrace her joy. As the clock struck noon, I turned the sign to closed and wished the girls a good afternoon.
The mood was somber as I met with Mr. Woods. He extended the church’s regrets in not being able to continue the charity, but gave me forty-five days to have all of the clothing out of their back room. He offered to hire a crew of men and a truck to take the items to the local thrift store, but I declined. I started Horizons with a hope and a prayer, needing to help women who were in a position not of their own doing. I would collect every article of clothing and see it through to the end.
After the meeting, I was lost as to what to do next. Preparations were going on in the local park, the gazebo in the center already coming to life with an area to meet the Easter bunny.
As I rounded the edge of the park, I stopped at the site of the memorial statue dedicated to Alex. I allowed my eyes to drift up, squinting as the midday sun glistened off the bronze statue. Alex always seemed larger than life, and the people of Chesapeake immortalized him as such.
The number seventeen stamped on his chest, his arm pulled back as he threw the winning touchdown, clinching the state title and the hearts of this community. The memorial had been built over the old bus station, ironically the last place I saw him alive.
Emotions gripped me and I hurried back to my shop. There would be no one there to see me cry, allowing the bitterness of the day to claim me. When I was younger, I would seek out my father when I needed a shoulder to cry on. But as an adult, I had scolded myself, demanding I grow up and handle things on my own.
Today, however, the need for rational thought called to me. As I closed and locked the door behind me, I dropped my purse to the floor and ran to my waiting laptop.
A few clicks later and the sound of Skype ringing had my heart pounding. Glancing at my watch, the anxiety coursing through my veins confused me too much and I gave up on try to configure the time difference. Relief washed over me as the bright smile and loving eyes of my brother came on the screen.
“Hey, Harper. I didn’t expect to hear from you until next week.” His voice full of laughter, matching the thrill written on his face.
“Hey,” my voice cracked from the emotions and I watched his smile fall and the crease in his brow form.
“I know you’re coming home next week, but I needed to—” I swallowed the tears clogging my throat, threatening to burst from my chest.
“Talk with you and I didn’t want to pull you away from Amanda and the kids just so I can cry on your shoulder.” Closing my eyes, my chin finding refuge on my chest as I allowed the sobs free.
“Harper?”
My breath caught in my throat as the husky voice called my name. Embarrassment filled my chest, kicking out the sadness and forcing my head to rise. Wiping the tears from my face with the edge of my sleeve, I tried hard to recover.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would be busy.”
Turning my head to the side, as the last of my unshed tears blurred my vision. I hate to cry, as I’m not one of those people who are blessed to be a pretty crier with glassy eyes and a watery smile. I am a full on red faced, body jerking, and a distorted smile crier.
“Please don’t hide from me.” My reaction is involuntary as the voice pulls every ounce of embarrassment out of my body, filling it with a strange calm and need to hear it again.
“Never hide from me. I want to know what’s going on in your beautiful head.”
The face belonging to the voice was of course not my brother’s, but a man who snatched my breath away. Dark brown hair, that appeared to be wet from a shower, and eyes a pale blue, which sparkled mysteriously. His features formed hard edges and shouted sex appeal. I can’t pull my eyes from the definition of his arms, the muscles flexing as he leans into the screen, his white tank allowing me a glimpse of the tattoo on his left peck.
“Harper did someone get hurt?” I found myself unable to open my mouth and answer, too lost in admiring the man staring back at me.
“Harper?” My brother’s voice pulls me from the inked skin beside him. My mouth still refusing to connect to my brain, as all my motor skills are trying to engage. Shaking my head, the best I can offer, as my senses begin to return to me, and the shock of my behavior surfaces.
“Did somebody do something to you? Did Lance show his face?”
This beautiful man knows who Lance is, which leads me to believe this could be Logan, or someone Ross has confided in.
“No, everything is fine. Lance has kept his distance since the police came by and I made a complaint.”
“Are you sure, beautiful? I can have a friend of mine to your house in a matter of hours.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Sir.” Leaning back in his chair, those massive arms of his dropping to his side and I can see his dog tags dangling between his pecks.
“My apologies, Harper, seeing your beautiful face again made me forget the advantage I have over you.”
My heartbeat quickens, and I try with all my might not to dwell on his use of the term beautiful.
“I’m Logan.”
The way he says his name, the tone of his voice dipping to levels that make my body quiver. Logan is a dangerous man, one who has the potential to melt a few hearts, and awake the naughty girl in a few more.
“Oh, Lieutenant Forbes.”
Trying my best to recover and steer the conversation into neutral territory, no reason for him to hear about my personal tragedy.
“Uh-uh, I’m Logan to you. Only these guys over here have to call me Lieutenant. You’re special, Harper, and someday you and I will come to an agreement on another name you will have for me.” His commanding tone was a little unsettling, but immensely erotic.
“Now, how about you tell us why you were crying, so I can get busy finding a way to kick somebody’s ass.”
Swallowing thickly, I shift my eyes to Ross who has his arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked.
“I’m sorry, Harper. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, it’s the situation I find myself in today. I met with an adviser friend of mine,” swallowing my pride, I told them the story of my morning. The anxiety, which riddled me earlier, slips from my body, allowing me to feel lighter and less pessimistic.
“So, now I have a little over a month to get about a thousand pieces of clothing out of a church basement and into a few thrift stores.” Logan had listened intently, his eyes squinting when I mentioned Mona Jackson’s decision.
“Let me ask you,” Logan moved closer to the screen, his muscles flexing as he rested his forearms against the desk. “If you could find a new benefactor, would you be willing to help men as well as the women?”
“Of course, the idea originated from an article I read one day. I had the resources at the time and tagged on to someone else’s idea. Like I said, I have the option to keep the charity open, but I can't see paying three times the rent I charge the girls next door. Not to mention the insurance and small amount of overhead.”
“So you’re talking about a building and operating expenses.”
“There isn’t really any overhead.”
“Who hands out the clothing, keeps track of stock?”
“Well, I have the volunteers at the church.”
“You had them, sweetheart. Now you need to think bigger, hire at least three staff members to keep the doors open. Give someone, or a few someone’s, a p
ermanent day job.”
“I can't even dream about something so wonderful.”
“No guarantees, love, but I do know a few people who may be interested. I'll give them a call here in a little while and see what they have to say. For now, I’m going to make sure you have a way of contacting me. I want you to feel free to call me anytime you want, and I mean it.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“I’m not being generous, Harper. I’m trying to make you understand I’m being honest in my attempt to get to know you better. I want you see what we could have together, if you would allow yourself to believe in the possibility of an us.”
Easter Sunday came with the sun shining and the weatherman predicting seventy-degree temperatures. Sarah had a customer come in a few days ago with a lavender and yellow dress, I couldn’t say no to. I had assembled my nephew’s baskets the other night after I got off the phone with Logan. Finding myself in need of a distraction, I invited Mitch over to set up the new television and additional internet speed. Using the excuse of him being here as a reason to stay away from my email. Logan both thrilled and scared me shitless. I had lied when I said he didn’t make me uncomfortable. He made me question things, dissecting moments in my life I had accepted and tucked away as a learning experience.
Yesterday, as I spent time rearranging a few displays, Mr. Simpson from across the street brought me a crystal candy dish filled with my favorite candy, along with a beautiful lily. The note attached was an email sent to Mr. Simpson, folded and sealed with a gold sticker.
Harper,
My aunt sends her apologies as she found herself in short supply of this seasonal flower. In a recent discussion with Ross, he led me to believe you had a fondness for this chocolate confection. Easter back home in New York is celebrated with mass at midnight, followed by brunch at Tavern on the Green. Next year, I hope to start a tradition of our own.
Waiting patiently and ready to be yours,
Logan
I watched mesmerized as the rays of sunlight danced through the prisms of the crystal. I sat on the couch watching until well after the sun had fallen behind the buildings and the shadows stretched, covering the room in darkness. My upbringing dictated I contact him and offer a thank you for his generous gift. But something deep inside kept me from sending the email, or using the number and Skype user name he gave me. I would try later, after lunch was served and the kids had crashed from their sugar highs.
Ross and Ashton were scheduled to call after we got back from church so they could wish the kids a happy Easter. It was planned for me to be included in the call, as the other night had been a moment of weakness. I considered skipping the phone call, but I hadn’t spoken to Ashton in almost a month.
“Harper!” The panicked voice of Amanda cried out from her side of the shop. I hurried over to the back door, worried something bad had happened to one of the boys.
“Oh my, God, please tell me you have internet over here?”
My heart settled back in my chest, and I wanted to fuss at her for scaring me. “I should, Mitch was here and worked on it the other day.” I hoped she wouldn’t question why I hadn’t used it.
“Maybe he’s the reason mine isn’t working.” Amanda pushes past me, Hudson babbling on her hip, Jason and Adam running behind her.
I barely turn around when Stacy comes jogging by her tight skirt keeping her stride short and bouncy.
“Thirty seconds, Manda.”
Her voice is tense as she heads toward the television. I’m confused as Amanda picks up the oversized remote, pointing it at the television, but I assume she is turning it on to keep the kids occupied as we wait for Ross to call. Jason is whispering in his mother’s ear and shooting me an excited look.
“Happy Easter, Mrs. Kincaid.” My eyes shoot to the television as the sultry voice echoes through the speakers overhead. Logan’s face and torso fills the screen of the massive television. His smile seems bigger and he is dressed in his uniform, his hair, which was as a dark brown is lighter now, a slight wave to his thick locks. His skin is sun-kissed golden, making his eyes seem so much brighter.
“It’s been awhile since we visited. Did you enjoy the flowers my aunt sent over?”
Jason is pointing to Logan, his eyes wide and his legs jumping up and down.
“Yes, Logan, we did thank you. I plan to put my husband to work planting them next week.”
“I wish I could be there to help,” sliding his eyes toward me. “And get a chance to take my girl out and show her off.” Jason tugs his mother’s skirt, pulling her attention back to him.
“You look beautiful in lavender, makes those eyes of yours call to me.” Finishing his compliment with a wink. He is such a mystery, confidence exuding from every pore, yet I feel as if I know him and can anticipate his next move.
“Logan, Jason is about to bust if he doesn’t get to do his job.”
His eyes leave mine and settle on my nephew, who has a blue bag in his hand and his patience wearing thin. Adam, his older brother, has his hand on the handle of the bag, his smile broken with his two front teeth missing.
“Go ahead boys, give your Aunt Harper her present.”
Two happy faced boys cross the room, the blue bag dangling from their outstretched hands. The bell above my door jingles, but I refuse to take my attention away from my nephews.
“This is for you.” They say in unison, and I laugh at how adorable they are. “Uncle Logan said you get two presents because you’re so pretty.”
Taking the bag, I pull them close and kiss each of their cheeks. “If you look under the counter, you can check and see if the Easter bunny came by last night.” The two take off, rounding the counter, squealing as they find the baskets tucked under the cabinet. I’d ignored the uncle reference, words and titles don’t solidify anything.
“Come on, beautiful, open your present.”
Shifting my attention to the blue bag, the white tissue crinkling under my fingers.
“This is unnecessary, Mr. Simpson brought me the candy yesterday. I should have sent you an email thanking you, but—”
“But I took you out of your comfort zone.” My hand stills as my eyes flash to his and his cavalier tone.
“I showed you an example of a strong Alpha male, and not the lap dog you had up until recently.”
Leaning back in his chair and crossing those massive arms across his chest, the evidence of all his many hours in the gym rippling in the corded muscles flexing with his movement. My breath catches, and I pray he doesn’t hear me.
“Harper, you need a strong man. One who can challenge you, pulling you out of this shroud of doubt you’ve dressed yourself in. Someone who will treat you like a lady, and not a girl from around the corner.”
Lacking the courage to retort his words, I lower my eyes and continue examining the signature blue bag. Inside, wrapped in white tissue paper was a small wooden box. Setting the paper and bag on the coffee table, I take the lid of the box between my thumb and index finger, tugging until the latch releases and allows me to see the single charm resting on the pillow of cotton.
“Ross mentioned you suggested he start a charm bracelet for Amanda, something he can add to on special occasions and holidays. He said you spend a great deal of time admiring them in the store, but haven’t pulled the trigger and started one.” The silver package, designed to look like same ones I used to mail all of those soldiers over the years.
“I have nearly a year before my obligation with the military is over. During this time, I will send you a charm to place on your bracelet. Giving you tiny reminders of who I am and what we can be.”
“Lieutenant!”
“Name’s Logan, beautiful, we’ve had this discussion.”
The look on his face fueled the fire in my chest, motivated me to remind him I had not agreed to anything he has proposed.
“Lieutenant Forbes, you had this discussion, I listened. I never agreed to anything.”
Carefully placin
g the charm back into the box, I would send it back with Ross when he came next week. I neither needed, nor wanted, a man to buy me trinkets.
“And there’s the fire I wanted to see. I knew it was in there, trapped behind all the bullshit you’ve swallowed over the years.”
I want to scream at him, tell him he is wrong and knows nothing about me, no real idea of who I am. But I can’t, because he is right.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” A delicate voice sounds from behind me and I turn abruptly to find a petite woman and tall man standing just inside the door.
“I’m Meredith Forbes, and this is my husband Weston. I would ask if I found you at a bad time, but I have a feeling I’ve arrived in the nick of it.”
Not waiting for an invitation, Meredith crosses the room, winding her way around the racks of clothing, and takes a seat next to me. I glanced around to find Amanda, Stacy, and the kids have disappeared.
“Harper, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” a tiny hand shot out to mine. “As I said, my name is Meredith and I am here at the insistence of my son.” Tipping her head in the direction of the screen, a look of annoyance crosses her slender face. “Who is more and more like his father every day.”
A throat clearing behind her belongs to the tall man who Logan favors, with the same hair and eyes, a little worn from age and wisdom. Placing a single hand on her shoulder, he leans over and places a kiss to her head.
“Oh, my love, you forget how much you love the strong side of me.” I feel wrong to have heard him, like a voyeur peeking into an open window.
“He’s right, I do love his strength.” She admits with a smile, the love between them filling the space around me and I crave the warmth it brings.
“Logan,” Meredith turns to the screen, reaching her hand to her shoulder where Weston hand rests, intertwining their fingers together. “Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?”
“Go ahead, this is technically your project. I’ll finish what I have to say when you’re done.”
Operation SEAL: Book Two Trident Brotherhood Series Page 11