Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2)

by Snopek, Roxanne

  Against what? Disappointment?

  “This is the best room in the house,” he said, touching her back lightly. They’d combined two small rooms into one to allow for the ensuite bathroom. They’d salvaged the original tin-tile ceiling. They’d installed a much larger window, complete with a hinged window seat running the length of it, and flanked on either side by built-in bookcases.

  It couldn’t have been designed better, even if they’d known it was for her.

  “You always were such a bookworm-”

  She waved away his words, her fingers now pressed against her mouth, holding herself very, very still. She hadn’t stepped forward, and now they were standing close enough that Logan could feel the warmth coming from her body.

  “I’m sorry we’re behind schedule,” he began desperately. “I’ll get everyone in first thing in the morning. We’ll work night and day to make sure it’s ready for you. And if you don’t like the bedroom-”

  “I love it.” Her voice was hoarse. She walked into the room, finally, as if entering a cathedral.

  He had no idea what was going on. Was she mad? Happy? Disappointed?

  Ten minutes with her, and he felt like the only task that had any importance in his life was to make her smile. To hear her laugh. To see the tension ease from her body. To feel her soften against him. To earn her trust.

  “Anything you want changed, we can change. I’ll do whatever you want, Samara.”

  She gave her head a little shake. “It’s perfect, Logan. I’m thrilled with the house. I’m overwhelmed, to tell the truth. I’m just disappointed it’s not ready. It’s been a long week.”

  Relief flooded through him. She did, in fact, look exhausted. Perhaps it was the hollowness of her cheeks. A thought occurred to him suddenly.

  “I know it’s early, but have lunch with me.”

  His kids would be working here all afternoon but right now, he had time.

  She lifted her eyebrows and glanced pointedly at his left hand. “Surely your wife or girlfriend would object.”

  Surely the fact that she wanted to know meant something.

  “I’m divorced.” He swallowed. But for once, the bite of the hated word, metallic on his tongue like rusted chain, wasn’t so strong.

  “Oh. Well,” she said, pulling her hand back. She checked the time on her cell phone. “I can’t anyway. Jade’s going to need a nap soon. She was up late last night.”

  “A quick burger, that’s all.” He wanted to get to know her again, a desire that now he’d recognized it, was surprisingly strong. “Surely the chipmunk could eat?”

  He gave himself a mental slap against the hope that leaped up at the thought. What are you doing, dude? You think you can just pick up where you left off? She’s not the same person.

  How she must have suffered, to be a widow so young, left with a child to raise on her own. The long-ago months they’d spent together, in such an agony of young love, were so far gone that they may as well be strangers to each other.

  Yet, when her eyes met his, he felt as if a deep thirst he hadn’t even been aware of was finally being slaked. Perhaps this unexpected overlap in their lives was a gift, an olive branch, an opportunity to rebuild their friendship, if nothing else.

  Perhaps they were being given a second chance.

  “Come on, Sam. You look like you could use a good meal.”

  She appraised him slowly, her hand on the doorknob. Fatigue and sadness etched her face. “I’m fine, Logan. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not the same person you used to know.”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  Did she sound disappointed? Or was it his imagination?

  “I mean,” she clarified, “you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I don’t need rescuing. All I need is to have my house ready for move-in next Friday.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “I am glad to know someone here though, after all these years. I hope we can be friends.”

  She walked away, her back straight, her head held high, as if they’d never been anything to each other. She had her life under control, tightly contained.

  If this was a second chance, it was pretty damn slim.

  A sharp woof sounded from below. Samara’s head jerked, then she hurried down the stairs.

  The front door, that Logan knew he had closed behind him when they’d entered, was standing wide open. Bob was hovering on the threshold. At their arrival, she barked sharply, then dashed down the front steps to where Sam’s daughter was hunched over a patch of dandelions on the lawn.

  “Jade!”

  There was little traffic on Collier Avenue, but Samara leaped in as if the kid was playing hopscotch on the interstate.

  She tugged her child toward the front door, but the kid started kicking and screaming, bludgeoning Sam’s arms and legs. Logan sympathized with the girl, but Sam was taking a beating for it.

  “Hey, hey now,” he said. He stepped in and gently scooped Jade around her waist.

  For a second, she stopped. Then a fresh spate of screaming began, wilder, higher and more frantic than the first.

  “It’s okay, I can handle her,” said Sam, reaching for her daughter.

  Bob barked wildly at his feet, as if to emphasize the point.

  “I’ve got her.” Logan collected all four limbs and brought them in tight to his body, holding them immobile, understanding now the wiry leanness of Sam’s arms.

  “It’s okay, little one,” he crooned, watching Sam as the girl’s shrieks turned to sobs. “She packs a good punch, doesn’t she?”

  “Give her to me,” Sam said, her arms open and waiting.

  “She’s settling down,” said Logan, continuing to hold and rock the distraught child. “I guess you were right about that nap.”

  “I shouldn’t have left her,” muttered Sam, holding her elbows in her hands, bouncing from foot to foot. “I got distracted. I know better than that.”

  “She’s a kid, Sam.” Logan continued stroking the girl’s hair. Her small body was relaxing. “Kids like to play outside. It’s a safe neighborhood, I promise.”

  “We definitely need a flip lock on that door.” Sam took a deep breath. “Way up high so she can’t reach it.”

  Then she squatted down and gathered the dog into her arms. “Good girl, Bob. You’re such a good girl.” She dug around in her pocket and brought out a small square treat, which Bob took politely, while keeping her eye on the damp bundle in Logan’s arms.

  Samara had always been wound a little tightly, but the screw had tightened dramatically over the years. Looking at her now, feeling the tension slide out of her almost-sleeping child, Logan sensed she was only a turn or two away from the breaking point.

  And that this interaction with him had made it worse, not better.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Second verse, same as the first.

  A little bit louder, a little bit worse.

  The old cheering song popped into Samara’s head as she and Jade walked back to the house on Collier Avenue that afternoon. No big surprise, considering the weeks she’d spent rah-rahing in the bleachers with the rest of the students.

  Way back.

  When she and Logan were a couple of kids, imagining themselves in love.

  Her legs felt wooden, yet weak. Logan Stafford! Not just still in Marietta, but working on her house. She hoped her face hadn’t revealed the shock and, yes, the thrill, of seeing him again after all this time but she suspected it had been clear as a billboard.

  Their love story had ended long ago, and yet one smile from him brought it all back, the joy, the heartache, everything.

  True love stories never have endings.

  The line from a book on their junior year reading list popped into her head, instantly transporting her back to the sun-dappled lawn behind the school, where she and Logan were cramming for their lit exam, deciding that the author had written the words just for them.

  For a few months, she’d believed tha
t.

  Well. Theirs had been a short story, as it turned out, with an abrupt and very clear ending.

  She glanced down at Jade, holding onto Bob’s harness like it was her mission in life. Samara was done with short, tragic stories. She’d never survive another one.

  As they rounded the corner, the house came into view, lifting her thoughts out of the past. This was their future, building a home for her daughter. So Logan happened to be there; so he happened to be single; so he happened to still have the ability to stir her flagging heart like a sweet autumn breeze.

  Their love story was long over. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends.

  He’d always been a great guy.

  After the meltdown, Logan had driven them back to Bramble House so Jade could take her nap. Samara was determined to create a positive association in Jade’s mind about the house, so here they were again.

  This time, as they walked up the sidewalk, she could hear voices and banging sounds. A saw revved up, chewed through something, and faded.

  It was no surprise when Jade lifted her arms.

  Samara swung her onto her hip, and went around to enter by the kitchen door. “One day soon, kiddo, you’re going to be too heavy for this. Maybe you’ll have to carry me then. What do you say?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  Jade’s grip on her neck grew tighter and Sam steeled herself for optimism. Maybe the house was closer to ready than it had appeared in the morning.

  This time, the first thing she saw was the oversized, cast-iron kitchen sink, situated beneath a large window overlooking the garden.

  Instantly, she imagined Jade and Bob playing outside while she washed dishes. It was perfect!

  Or it would be, when the sink was connected to that big pipe lying on the slate floor. Beside a pair of denim-clad legs ending in work-boots.

  The legs pushed out, revealing a young man with a shock of wavy hair and a dark smear on his cheek. He was wearing gloves and a mask.

  Jade buried her head in Sam’s shoulder.

  Logan came around the corner just then, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes lit up when he saw them and her heart gave an answering leap.

  “I was hoping you’d be back,” he said, his smile big and warm. “Come on in so I can introduce you around.”

  He gathered his crew, a small cast of characters, some of them appearing almost as uncomfortable as Jade in the sudden social arena.

  “Guys and gal,” he said, nodding to the lone girl in the group, “this is Samara Davis and she’s the one who’ll be living here when we’re done.”

  Samara’s irritation at the delays evaporated. The students before her were kids who needed encouragement, not criticism, she could see that immediately.

  And it was clear they admired Logan. He’d always had a way of bringing people together, of making them feel included, on the same team. He’d done it with these kids, some of whom had likely experienced more than their share of ostracism.

  He lowered his voice. “Now, you can’t tell, but there’s an invisible chipmunk on her back. This chipmunk will materialize when she’s ready but until then, she’s not here. Got it?”

  Sam felt Jade’s head lift. Gratitude rushed through her. She could just kiss Logan for understanding Jade’s discomfort. People tended to either want to jolly her out of it – definitely not a good plan – or comment on her immaturity, implying or outright stating that Samara should be tougher with her.

  “As it happens, Ms. Davis is an old friend of mine, so treat her right, okay?” Logan’s smile was like a ray of sunshine peeking through a cloud.

  “Mr. S,” said a handsome boy leaning against the doorframe. “Good job!”

  To her surprise, Logan colored, ever-so-slightly. “That’s Flynn,” he said, pointing to the boy. “That’s Robbie, that’s Josh, James is under the sink and Carter’s the one in the red coveralls.”

  There were several more, but after seeing Robbie and James, she lost track. They’d been part of the group across the street that witnessed her panty-drop. But if their red faces and shuffling feet were any indication, they felt worse about it than she did.

  “And this is Gabi.” Logan gestured to a short blonde girl who had a carpenter’s square slung over her shoulder.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Gabi, reaching forward to take her hand. “Finally, I’m not the only girl in the group.”

  “I’m happy to meet you all,” said Samara.

  But would this crew be able to get everything done in time?

  Finally, he gestured to the tow-headed boy in red coveralls. “Carter, show Ms. Davis the powder room, where you helped put in the linoleum. You did a great job.”

  As Samara passed Logan, she whispered, “Invisible chipmunk thanks you.”

  He touched her arm, being careful to avoid Jade’s leg. “You’re welcome.”

  The casual touch sent more warmth streaking through her and she smiled.

  *

  If he didn’t already know how anxious Samara was about moving in on time, he’d never be able to tell from her behavior among his students.

  Logan watched with amazement as she wandered among them, Jade clinging to her like a little monkey.

  “You’re doing a lovely job on this,” she said, patting James on the shoulder. “You should be very proud.”

  The boy’s face, still softened with baby fat, went incandescent. He ducked his head, mumbled a thank you, and nearly impaled himself on a length of baseboard.

  Huh. Logan’s praise had never affected him that way.

  Then again, Samara wasn’t being paid to encourage him. She’d be dynamite in the classroom. There was a quiet nurturing sincerity about her. It wasn’t motherliness, exactly. More like a kind and very hot aunt.

  Frighteningly hot.

  She needed a bit more weight on her bones, but every pound she had was in exactly the right place. His fingers tingled. He could still remember how she felt in his arms, that silky skin pressed against him, their awkward, urgent, desperate high school fumbling.

  How they’d managed not to go all the way, he couldn’t imagine.

  What would happen, if they got another chance?

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  “You’re the one who designed the project in the first place, Logan.”

  Frank Stern had been the principal of Livingston High School for twelve years, during which time he’d lost his smile and his marriage, replacing them with forty pounds and a jaundiced attitude.

  “If you change the rules now,” he continued, “forget about getting approved for next year.”

  Frank considered Logan impassively from across his government-issued desk. Except for a pen, a single sheet of paper and an oversized computer monitor, the desk was empty. No photos of his kids, no potted plant, no coffee mug, nothing. He’d once done great things for the school. But he’d had concerns about Logan’s pet project from the start.

  “It’s an administrative hoop, Frank. I’m simply asking that we request parental approval for extracurricular work hours. The kids know that completing a job within an owner’s time frame is essential in this business; so do their parents. Rubber stamp it and let’s go.”

  Frank went on as if Logan hadn’t even spoken.

  “I’m surprised you’d jeopardize this after you lobbied so hard to get it in the first place. You ran the fundraisers. You’re the one who secured the arrangement with the city. You’re the one who talked to the local Trade Association about taking these boys on after graduation. You promised that the students would fulfill the tasks laid out as stipulated.”

  “Which they have,” said Logan. “But since we are running behind schedule, and this is causing the purchaser great inconvenience, it’s reasonable to have them work extended hours to make up the shortfall.”

  Frank shook his head. “As long as they’re working under the LHS umbrella, we stick to school hours. That’s non-negotiable. I’m sorry, Logan. I’m sure you can work something
out with the purchaser.”

  He turned back to his laptop and Logan understood he was dismissed.

  “I’ll make it work.” He got to his feet, extending his hand. “I appreciate your time, Frank.”

  The principal glanced up, as if mildly surprised. “Of course. Of course.”

  The man had engaged the cooperation of his staff, but not their love, and it saddened Logan that the ordinary niceties of social interaction were unexpected.

  He walked down the hallway, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet. The shiny floors, the walls full of colorful notices, posters, art projects, murals, trophy cases. So much pride here.

  The upcoming football game between Livingston and Marietta high schools featured heavily on the walls. Working in Livingston while living in Marietta had never been a problem for him. He cheered until he was hoarse for his school team. Then, when he went home at the end of the day, he lifted a glass in congratulations or commiseration or defeat with whoever happened to be at the bar. He had good friends on both sides of the rivalry and he liked it that way.

  Now, however, he had to find a way not to let one house in Marietta ruin a Livingston project that spanned both towns.

  He wouldn’t let his students down.

  But he couldn’t let Samara down, either.

  *

  Early that evening, Samara lifted the key to her new house with shaking fingers. She was already feeling anxious about leaving Jade asleep in her room at Bramble House, under Mabel’s crusty supervision. Now, finally able to make an undistracted progress check, alone, she was anxious about what she’d find.

  But as she unlocked the kitchen door, she noticed the scent of something tangy wafting up. Looking down, she saw a hose attached to the side of the house, and on either side of it, herbs.

  An herb garden, gone wild!

  She’d grown basil in her Manhattan windowsill, but this, oh this was the real thing. Dill grown tall nodded at her and thyme crept between the broken paving stones at her feet. She bent forward and let her fingers drift over the soft spikes of fragrant rosemary and on to a stand of leafy bee balm, inhaling the scent of tea and sweet spices.