Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2)

by Snopek, Roxanne

  But what did it say about her mothering skills if Eliza, practically a stranger, could achieve something with Jade that she herself could not?

  Logan reached across the bench seat, peeled her hands apart and trapped one in his steady, warm grip.

  “Don’t worry, honey.”

  The endearment landed like gentle rain on her parched heart, a painful and dangerous relief. A little rain was worse than none at all, bringing life to dormant roots, sending tender sprouts through hot, cracked earth, only to wither when the rain stopped.

  “Samara.”

  Logan turned off the engine without letting go of her hand. He waited until she met his gaze, simply holding her.

  Calm flowed from him like a river, clear and smooth and unending, catching her up like a fallen leaf.

  “You’ll meet Sage and Savannah,” he said. “You’ll talk to Jade. If she’s happy, you’ll have lunch with me. If not, you’ll stay there.”

  *

  It wasn’t lunch, thought Samara, as Logan held the door of Grey’s Saloon open for her.

  It was dinner.

  Which was much, much worse.

  Hours earlier, when she and Logan had arrived at Bramble House, she’d found Savannah and Jade in the garden, surrounded by a collection of dolls. Sage and Eliza had convinced her not to rush down to Jade, but to observe the girls from the window for a bit.

  Mabel, more irritable than usual, had snapped at her to stop hovering but Samara had been too fascinated to feel scolded.

  They were having a tea party. Savannah was chattering away and while Jade didn’t appear to be responding much, she was clearly engaged. In fact, it appeared that Jade was studying the older girl. When Savannah straightened up a slouching doll, Jade adjusted her own doll’s posture. When Savannah added imaginary sugar to a cup, Jade did the same.

  Normal play behavior, thought Samara, pressing her fingers against her lips. A few years late, perhaps, but it was coming.

  “Smells good, doesn’t it?” Logan said, breaking into her thoughts.

  He’d agreed to give her the afternoon, if she’d come to Grey’s with him later on.

  Sage, Eliza and even Mabel had insisted she accept. Well, Mabel insisted she unknot the stranglehold of her apron ties and give her child a chance to breathe, but it meant the same thing.

  Logan’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back, a touch she felt all the way to her toes.

  It was just a casual pub meal. They wouldn’t be here long. And it did smell fantastic.

  “My stomach’s growling,” she confessed.

  “Good.” Logan gave her the private smile she remembered, the one that made her feel like she was the only one that mattered. “I can’t wait to feed you.”

  Heads turned as they entered and several calls of “Hey, Staff,” drifted toward them. A small group of men were watching football on the big screen mounted in the corner, feet propped on chairs, arms loose, comfortable.

  Logan’s expression changed from the smile he gave her to his everyone-else smile, but he tightened his arm around her.

  A couple of women sitting at the bar preened, their hungry eyes traveling up and down. When he ignored them, they took momentary measure of her before turning back to their drinks.

  She’d seen that desire aimed at him before. Logan was the cutest boy in high school. The intervening years had added height and bulk, a touch of silver in his hair, a few lines around that easy grin, until that cute boy had turned into the full-grown, hard-bodied, breathtaking male who was standing in front of her, holding out a chair.

  And he was with her.

  “Don’t worry about those two. They’re buckle-bunnies, on the hunt for cowboys.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said, quickly taking her seat.

  Besides the football fans and the cougars at the bar, the place was full of couples.

  “You probably don’t remember Skye Wolcott.” He gestured discreetly. “She was a year behind us. She’s the secretary at Marietta High. But I’m sure you recognize Chase Goodwin, the guy she’s with. Every girl in school was after him.”

  “I wasn’t. I don’t recall him at all.”

  There were no other guys in school, where she was concerned.

  “Well, don’t you just know the right thing to say?” The private smile was back. “Goodwin played pro ball until, oh, not long ago, I guess. Baseball, though, not football. His kid brother, Flynn, plays for the Marietta Grizzlies. Flynn’s also working on your house. You met him earlier.”

  The bell over the door tinkled and a woman came in, headed straight for the bar where she grabbed the man behind it and planted a big kiss on him.

  “Hey, Lorelai,” called Logan. “Let the man work.”

  Lorelai Grey, he explained, and the bar owner, Reese Kendrick.

  “He owns the place, inherited it from her father. Long story.”

  With an obviously happy ending, thought Samara.

  Logan pointed out other Marietta residents.

  So many couples.

  Some new hopefuls, their faces shining with anticipation, holding hands across the table, heat smoldering between them. Others obviously established, deep in conversation, comfortable enough to spear tastes from the other’s plate.

  One couple in a booth cast only tight-lipped, careful glances at each other. He had two empty beer glasses in front of him.

  “Who are those two?”

  “Noelle Winslow, from a big spread north of town. Her father passed away recently. That’s Matthew Locke, who managed the place. She never much liked him, but she’s going to need him now.”

  Sam wondered if there was more tension between them than a simple like or dislike relationship would warrant. They looked deeply connected but deeply conflicted about it.

  Or maybe she was imagining things.

  Loneliness struck hard and fast, as if she hadn’t had years to adjust. She missed it, all of it. The heady excitement, the comfortable togetherness, even those horrible times of feeling so far away from each other you don’t know how, or even if, you can find your way back.

  Practically, she missed having someone at her back, knowing that it didn’t all fall on her, every hour, every day, every month, every task.

  But it was the everyday intimacy that left a gaping hole. The teasing you-wear-the-black-teddy-I’ll-kill-the-giant-arachnid and the I’ll-clean-the-shower-drain-if-you-drape-your-hair-over-my-belly negotiations. Samara swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat.

  The Spider-Killing Factor. You didn’t appreciate it until it was gone.

  She bet Logan would be a great spider-killer.

  “You okay?” He looked at her quizzically.

  She dragged her attention back. “Yeah. Just trying to remember all the names.”

  “You’ve got lots of time for that,” said Logan. “We should order. And before you ask, everything’s good here. I have a weakness for the meatloaf but you would love the chicken pot pie. It’s crammed with vegetables, and I’m guessing you like your veggies.”

  A waitress walked past then, leaving a wake of aromas drifting over their table. Oh, sweet merciful heaven, that was food.

  Maybe she was getting emotional simply because it had been so long since she’d eaten in a public place, or with anyone other than Jade. Or dined on anything other than Jade’s ever-so-slowly-widening list of acceptable foods.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with being here with Logan, or the air of coupledom surrounding them.

  Right.

  Suddenly her stomach was filled with butterflies.

  “Soup and salad will be lots for me.”

  “Please.” Logan shook his head at her. “I can hear your stomach growling from across the table. And you’ve been licking your lips, did you know that?”

  She jerked her head. “I have?”

  “You have. Enough to draw attention from the football corner over there; keep that lip thing going and they’ll be lining up for your phone number.” />
  Samara laughed, surprising herself. “I highly doubt that.”

  But even hypothetical attention felt so good.

  “Hey Logan,” said the waitress with a smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Who’s your new friend?”

  The young woman turned to her, bright-faced with curiosity.

  “Hey Mardie, meet Samara,” said Logan. “Sam’s actually an old friend. And I’m happy to say that after a long absence, she’s made her way back to… Marietta.”

  He held Sam’s gaze the whole time he was talking and beneath his polite words ran a powerful undercurrent, a warm, intimate subtext meant only for her. He said Marietta. But she’d swear that he almost said me.

  Mardie and Logan began chatting about Homecoming and the rivalry between the Marietta and Livingston football teams.

  She hadn’t come back for Logan. She hadn’t even thought of him.

  Had she?

  Her good memories of this place were tied up with Logan, of course, but that’s not why she returned. She wanted to walk down the street and say hi to people, by name. She wanted to know her child would grow up without sirens at night, or neighbors screaming through the walls, or being in a classroom with different kids each year. She wanted that sense of calm and stability that came with an old town that held onto its heritage without getting stuck in the past.

  She came here to find a home and make a life.

  She’d never even thought of Logan.

  Except that Logan was part of everything she loved about Marietta.

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” said Mardie.

  “Um. Drinks?” Sam’s cheeks grew hot.

  Logan grinned. “You jumped time zones briefly, so I ordered for you.”

  “You did not!” Shock at his presumption was accompanied by an unexpected sense of relief. Presumption was a privilege of coupledom, but it was so luxurious to let someone else take the wheel, even briefly, in something as small as a pub order, she couldn’t be annoyed.

  Plus, they were here together, weren’t they?

  “You need more than soup and salad. Plus, I want to see if I still know what you like.”

  Logan’s eyes drifted down over her body, and the little hairs on her arms lifted, as if he’d drawn a line down them with his finger.

  “And here we are.” Mardie swooped in and set a frosty sleeve in front of her. “For the lady. And for you, Logan. Enjoy!”

  “Wait,” protested Samara. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order beer.”

  With one hand, Logan sent Mardie off to handle a fresh wave of customers.

  “Come on. Surely New Yorkers drink beer.”

  “Of course,” said Sam. “But I haven’t had alcohol since-”

  Since Michael died. No, before that. Since Jade was born. Actually, since their honeymoon, when she couldn’t figure out why she was so queasy.

  But Logan wasn’t listening to her protest.

  “I’m sticking to soda so you don’t have to worry about my driving, and you’re going to enjoy this golden ale guilt-free. With any luck, by the time we leave, those tight shoulders of yours may have loosened their stranglehold grip on your ears.”

  She punched him lightly across the table, annoyed and delighted in equal measure. “That’s a horrible image!”

  He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “Truth hurts, lady. Drink up.”

  She took a tentative sip. The chilled liquid slipped over her tongue, smooth with a slight bite. She took a second sip, feeling the cool drift down to her stomach, then turn to the tiniest whisper of warmth.

  She heard a little moan of appreciation from the back of her throat.

  “Good, huh?”

  She looked up from her glass to find Logan watching her intently. His smile was gone and in its place was an expression of such longing, such sadness, such concern that she was instantly back in high school, telling him that her father had lost yet another job. That she was moving away. Again.

  “Yeah,” she answered, her voice hoarse. “Logan, are you okay?”

  With one quick gesture, he shook off whatever he’d been feeling and his face settled back into his usual comfortable, friendly expression.

  “Apparently not, if I’m out with a beautiful woman and not following the conversation.”

  She flushed at the compliment but wondered what had triggered that brief moment of emotional nakedness.

  Their food arrived just then.

  Samara watched with amazement as Mardie set a heaping plate of chicken pot pie in front of her, the gravy still bubbling through the top of the pastry. The aroma, rich and comforting, hit her nose and instantly, her stomach growled so loudly that she pressed her hand into it, certain that the whole room must have heard it.

  Mardie wasn’t done. She set down a second plate with salad, then a basket of bread for them to share, then pickles and finally, Logan’s plate.

  “Make sure he gives you a taste of his meatloaf,” said Mardie. “It’s to die for.” She winked at Logan and left before Sam could even respond.

  “Eat up, honey,” he said, gesturing to her plate. “We’ll talk more once your plate’s clean.”

  Honey? Warmth stole over her, completely unrelated to the oven-hot food in front of her.

  “This is far too much,” she said.

  He looked at her thoughtfully, then speared a small piece of meatloaf and held it out to her across the table.

  “Try this.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’ll have enough trouble eating my own.”

  His eyes dropped to her neck, then lower, ranging over everything visible above the table top. Again, like a fiery finger, his gaze scorched every cold part of her.

  “Eat.”

  She opened her mouth and he put the bite of meat onto her tongue, then sat back and watched, his eyes hooded and dusky, as if anticipating her pleasure gave him even greater pleasure.

  Flavor burst onto her tongue. She moaned as the tiny tease of satisfaction made her hunger roar to life. She wanted more, much more.

  “Oh my God,” she said when she could speak. “We should trade.”

  “I knew you’d like it.” He grinned. “Now try your pot pie. If you still want to trade, fine. Otherwise, we’ll switch orders next time.”

  Next time?

  “You seem pretty sure of yourself, Logan Stafford.”

  He enjoyed another forkful of meatloaf, a satisfied smile on his face.

  Samara gaped at the mouth-watering abundance before her, then pierced the flaky crust with her fork and took her first small bite.

  And moaned again.

  “Don’t tell the meatloaf,” she said, speaking through her food and not caring, “but this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Good. I’m making it my personal challenge to get some weight back on your bones.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Who died and made you king?”

  “Don’t you mean to say ‘You’re not the boss of me’?”

  It had always been so easy to be with Logan, she remembered. Years ago at school, he found a way to bring her out of her shell and here he was again, helping her feel comfortable again, making her feel special.

  Loved.

  She remembered kissing him under the bleachers.

  “Getting warm?” asked Logan. “A good meal will do that.”

  She nodded, but it wasn’t only the food. He was the first boy she’d ever explored physical intimacy with. They talked about going all the way, but both being virgins, agreed to wait until their one-year anniversary. To make it really special, a night to remember.

  Only she was gone by then.

  Logan waved down their waitress. “Another beer for the lady, when you have a moment.”

  With shock, Samara noticed that her glass was empty.

  “Did you drink my beer?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “You did it all by your sweet lonesome. Just like you polished off the pot pie.”

  He was right. The chicke
n pie was gone. A single piece of lettuce lay wilting on the salad plate. There was a breadstick in her hand and the most wonderful feeling of satiation in her belly.

  “My goodness, I’m like a hog at a trough!”

  “Now, don’t even start with that,” said Logan, reaching across to touch her hand. “I enjoyed watching you eat almost as much as you enjoyed eating. There’s nothing a man likes more than to see a woman happy. Especially if he can take the credit.”

  *

  Logan watched Sam stack their empty plates, nestling the knives and forks, folding the crumpled napkins. Her fingers were long and elegant, the nails unpolished, short and smooth. She’d been organized and tidy as a teen, a way of coping with a life filled with upheaval and uncertainty.

  But there was more to it now, and he had a feeling he knew why. He remembered the way she touched the carpet, how she checked for parallel lines and right angles, her distress at finding a rough patch on the banister.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, “but what’s the deal with Jade?”

  She jumped. “Nothing. She’s fine. She’s unique. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

  “Whoa, there,” said Logan. “No offence intended. I’m just trying to figure things out. You have to admit, you’re a little overprotective.”

  He waited. Parents of special needs kids had to be highly organized and schedule-oriented. They were often frustrated and highly-defensive, too. Sadly, the desire to do the best for their children often pitted mother against father when they needed each other the most.

  But then, he’d seen that in parents of ordinary kids, as well.

  A muscle in her jaw flickered. “I don’t like labels.”

  “Has she been assessed?”

  Samara sighed heavily. “Over and over and over. She cried so much, you see. Some days it seemed like that’s all she did. We weren’t prepared, especially Michael. As she got older, the crying stopped, but they still never bonded. I was the only one who could hold her. He thought something must be wrong with her. So we went from doctor to doctor. But they all said she tested ‘within normal limits.’ We were told to take parenting classes.”

  He heard the humiliation behind the words.

  “Rough start.”