Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2)

by Snopek, Roxanne

  “Michael wouldn’t take them without me, and we’d already scared off every sitter we could find, and then suddenly,” she paused for a shaky breath, “he was gone.”

  “How old was she when Michael passed away?” he asked, as gently as he could.

  “Not quite three.” She looked down at the breadstick in her hand. “I pretty much shut down for a while after that. My poor baby.”

  Poor Sam, he thought, knowing how much she despised pity.

  “Bob’s trained for autistic kids, isn’t she?”

  She froze. Had he gone too far?

  Then she began pulling off crumbs and putting them in rows.

  “She’s not certified,” she answered finally. “But, yeah. She’s had some training.”

  Jade seemed immature in some ways, and she had definite socialization issues, but that could be said about some of his students, too. And none of them were autistic.

  “Seems to me she’s everything Jade needs.”

  He suddenly remembered a day from that one summer they had together. He’d convinced her to join a group of them who were hanging out by the cookhouse on Yellowstone River, swimming, sunning, sharing a few purloined beers. She was excited until they insisted – not unkindly – that they drive across town so she could grab her contribution to the snack pool.

  A buzz sounded from Sam’s bag.

  She pulled out her smart phone and scanned the screen, her eyebrows furrowed.

  On that long-ago day, when they bumped over the tracks to the tumble-down rented cracker-box where she lived with her parents, the truck grew quiet. Two men sat on the concrete steps leading to her front door, a couple of empty six-packs littering the dead grass around them. Her father, he knew without being told, and old man Goodwin, Flynn’s dad and the town drunk.

  Samara returned, stepping over the intoxicated men with an opened box of saltines and three soda cans in her hands. As she walked between house and truck, her flaming face tight and hard, she’d been more alone than anyone he’d ever seen. His friends adjusted their smiles, tucking her into the not-our-kind-but-we’ll-be-nice-for-Logan’s-sake category.

  An almost-forgotten guilt twisted hotly in his gut. He should have leapt off the back of the truck and walked beside her, proudly, to the truck full of shallow, immature, self-absorbed people he’d thought were his friends.

  He’d loved her then, or thought he did, but he’d been a shallow, immature, self-absorbed boy, himself.

  A boy with a boy’s love.

  All Sam had wanted was to be included. To fit in.

  No wonder her daughter’s uniqueness triggered such fear. By definition, unique meant alone.

  “I have to go,” said Samara, stuffing the phone back into her purse. “Jade’s tired. She needs me.”

  Logan held out his hand. “Can I read the text?”

  It was from Eliza.

  Jade said Bob needed to go to bed. Figured it meant she was tired herself. :) Aunt Mabel just tucked her in. All fine. No need to rush back.

  “No need to rush back?” He raised his eyebrows at Samara. “I’m not sure what subtext you read into it, but to me, it sounds like there’s no need to rush back.”

  “You don’t understand-,” she began.

  “Here you go,” said Mardie, writing up their check.

  “False alarm,” said Logan. “In fact, can we see a dessert menu?”

  “Logan,” said Sam, getting to her feet, “this isn’t your decision. I need to go and thanks to the beer, you need to drive me. No dessert, thank you, Mardie.”

  The waitress looked between them.

  “Give us a minute, will you?” he said gently. Mardie left, shaking her head.

  Their interaction had drawn a few eyes, which wasn’t helping calm her.

  Logan touched her arm and she grew still. “Samara.”

  Tension like steel wires ran just beneath her skin. He remembered sixteen-year-old Sam’s determination to stay with him at that party, despite the thinly-veiled pity from the other girls, the special voice they spoke to her with, different from how they spoke to each other. How the boys followed her with a bit more familiarity, winking at Logan as if the fact that she was a pretty girl from the wrong side of the tracks, poor as dirt, automatically made her an easy lay.

  He tugged her back into her seat, gently.

  “If Eliza says Jade is fine, then Jade is fine. Hell, Mabel tucking her in is the headline here.”

  That tendon in her neck was jumping again, and she didn’t return his smile. But now she looked torn.

  “I think the only one who’s not fine, who hasn’t been fine in a very long time,” he said softly, “is you. But if you need to go, we’ll go.”

  He kept his hand on hers, stroking lightly.

  “I’m enjoying getting acquainted with you all over again. How about you?”

  Her head dropped forward then, just slightly, and Logan knew he’d won.

  “A half-hour longer,” she said. “That’s it.”

  He grinned and stuck his hand up in the air. “There’s a chocolate volcano cake here that will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven. And I, for one, don’t share dessert, so you’ll have to order your own.”

  “You don’t play fair, do you?” she said.

  “I do whatever it takes, honey.”

  *

  Sam beheld the empty plate in front of her with disbelief, marvelling that somehow, she’d managed to put away that entire, huge, luscious chocolate volcano cake. And after everything she’d already eaten.

  “I think I just gained five pounds,” she said, putting her hand on her stomach. She felt sated, as if a long-term deficiency had been filled.

  But it wasn’t just the food; it was Logan. Who else could make her leave her daughter with near-strangers just so she could spend an hour or two with him?

  “Five pounds? Then we’ll have to do this at least four more times,” said Logan. He’d had the cheesecake and it was fantastic too. She knew because he’d insisted on giving her a taste.

  “Twenty pounds?” She tossed a paper napkin at him.

  “At least.” He stood up. “Half-hour’s up. Time to go.”

  “Right. Of course.” She shook her head. It was as if she became someone else in his presence. Someone who was more than a mother.

  She took out a couple of twenties. “Here, this should cover my portion.”

  “When you ask me out,” he said, pushing them back into her bag, “you can pay. When I ask, I pay.”

  He lifted her sweater off the back of her chair and held it out for her. “Besides, I never got to treat you the way I wanted to, way back when. Let me do this now.”

  He looked regretful, she thought, though for what she couldn’t imagine. He’d been such a wonderful boyfriend. Her first, which may have colored her memory, of course. But still. He’d been sweet, funny, courteous… and the chemistry between them.

  Well.

  It had been ferocious. The kind of heat you look back on years later with fondness, knowing it was wrapped up in hormones and youth, nothing that could last.

  Nothing real.

  He unlocked the passenger door of his truck and held out his hand.

  She needed his help like ducks need a map to the lake, but she couldn’t resist the chance to touch him again. She’d always loved his big hands, his long fingers, the elegant curve of his thumb. Even though he spent his days working with wood, there was nothing rough or crude about his hands. If anything, he had the touch of an artist.

  The solid warmth flowed from his skin to hers and it felt… right. Familiar. Comfortable.

  Hands didn’t change, she thought.

  Logan walked her to the door. For a moment, they stood on the porch, the last golden streaks from the dying sun slanting through the trees.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For making me have dinner with you.”

  He laughed. “Next time maybe I’ll really torture you and take you to a movie.”

  Next
time.

  Then he took a step closer to her. She backed up but the rough stone façade stopped her.

  “Goodnight, Sam,” he murmured. Then he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. Her hands went to his chest, as if to push him away, but when he deepened the kiss, they crept up, up to his neck until she was clinging to him, dragging him closer, unaware of anything but the need to be touching, every bit of them, with no stopping, no barriers.

  Logan chuckled, breaking the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers. They were both breathing hard.

  “Wow,” she said. Her voice shook. And she thought the kiss this morning had been crazy.

  “Yeah.” His eyes met hers and a current charged between them, sizzling and dangerous, jolting, binding and unbreakable.

  “I guess,” he said, “some things never change.”

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  On Tuesday morning, as Sam walked up to the house, nerves tightened all her movements. But for once, it wasn’t because she was worried about Jade, or moving, or her house.

  This jumpiness was entirely due to that mind-bending kiss they’d shared yesterday. It was amazing how her lips recognized his, how his chest and shoulders and back were still familiar to her fingers, even though he was broader and thicker everywhere now.

  What did it mean? Did he still have feelings for her?

  Did she still have feelings for him?

  In truth, she’d locked her memories of him down so tight, that she didn’t even know.

  Though it appeared her body had no such reservations.

  Her face burned at the memory of her response. She’d responded like a cat in heat, rubbing against him as she had. Only later had she remembered she hadn’t yet addressed the granny-panties situation, so first thing this morning she and Jade had driven into Livingston and found a department store. She smoothed her hand over her hip. Jade had enthusiastically approved of the “pretty, pretty panties” and she had to admit, it was fun to dress like it mattered again.

  She wasn’t doing this for Logan, she told herself.

  She was doing this because it was time to stop mourning. That phase of her life was over. Time to start anew.

  And if it so happened that Logan ended up seeing them, well, hopefully he’d approve as well.

  Samara! She heard her mother’s voice. Have you no shame?

  It appeared she did not. At least, it wasn’t slowing her feet. She pushed open the door, her heart skipping a beat as Logan’s eyes met hers.

  “Good morning,” she said, feeling a grin spread across her cheeks.

  The answering smile didn’t last long, though.

  “Small glitch,” he said, brushing his gloves on his jeans.

  “A glitch?”

  It took her a moment to change gears. There was no time for glitches, of any size.

  “We had to open up a couple of walls upstairs, around the outlets, to check the electrical. There’s no problem, the wiring is great,” he hastened to assure her. “And the holes are small. We could even fix them after move-in. But if it was me-”

  “It is you. You’re the project manager.” Sam swallowed. It wouldn’t do any good to snap at him.

  “If Jade was my daughter,” he corrected, “I’d want it done.”

  And with those words, her annoyance slipped away. He knew exactly where her priorities lay and he was working to make sure her daughter was cared for, even when she didn’t realize it.

  “My guys have already been evaluated on drywall,” he continued. “I need them with the plumber now, to finish the sink and dishwasher install. But there’s no reason you and I can’t fix the holes.”

  The two of them, working upstairs again, just like yesterday. With the painting. And the kissing.

  The kissing, which had led to dinner and dessert and more kissing.

  Which had led to a sleepless night.

  “I know nothing about drywall,” she said.

  “Prepare yourself, then, sweetheart.” Logan slung an arm over her shoulder. “Do I know how to show a girl a good time, or what?”

  *

  No point bemoaning the set-back, thought Logan. But when your high-school sweetheart comes home and kisses him the way Sam did, and you give her bad news in return, a guy can’t help but want to punch something.

  Her house was supposed to be ready. He was supposed to have made that happen. She had every right to be upset with him.

  And she had been upset, he’d seen it. But then she shuffled it off and threw herself into the tasks he gave her. You had to admire that.

  “What do you think?” she asked, snapping him out of his reverie. “How am I doing?”

  She was crouched on her knees in front of the outlet, focusing intently on smoothing just the right amount of plaster onto the seam patching the sheetrock. Her bottom lip caught in her teeth, making it impossible for him to look at anything else.

  “Logan?” She raised her eyebrows innocently.

  He squatted down beside her. “You did a good job.”

  Their knees touched but instead of pulling away, Sam held her position, pressing ever so slightly against him.

  “Really.” Her voice took on a teasing tone. “Or are you just saying that because I’m a drywall virgin and you want me to have good memories about my first time?”

  A very teasing tone. His pulse quickened.

  “A drywall virgin, huh? I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me.”

  “Is that so?” She sat back against the wall, her knees bent, her hands resting lightly on them. She watched him, a small smile on her lips. “I thought my work would give me away. I must be a natural.”

  He sat on the floor and stretched one leg out until it reached her foot. He gave it a nudge.

  “Or you had a great teacher.”

  She nudged back.

  “Or you’re just so grateful that someone’s doing it with you, you’re overlooking my deficiencies.”

  He tipped his head. “Gratitude plays a role, true. But on second thought, you could use a little more practice.”

  She scrambled to her hands and knees, mock outrage on her face.

  “Oh!”

  Laughing, she pushed him until he fell over halfway and before he knew it, she was straddling him, arms up as if she was about to give him a pounding.

  Without thinking, he flipped her over. She shrieked as he pinned her arms to the ground.

  “No back talk,” he growled. “Or I’ll have to keep you after school.”

  Her pupils were so big her eyes looked black, and her cheeks were flushed. Her breasts rose and fell quickly and her t-shirt slipped up just enough to see a strip of creamy skin above her jeans.

  He’d never seen anything so completely sexy in his life. He pressed his pelvis against her to let her know that her little game had consequences.

  “What will you do with me?” she said in a breathy whisper.

  But before he could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  They sprang apart, fumbling to rearrange their clothing.

  Flynn Goodwin stuck his head in the doorway. “Plumber wants you to go over the sink installation with us, Mr. S.”

  “Of course.” Logan put down the trowel. He’d just slapped a pile of spackle on a perfectly fine section of wall. Idiot. “Right. Sam, you can keep working on, uh, what we were… working on.”

  She blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Absolutely. It’s harder than I expected, though. I’ll need your help to finish.”

  The twitch of that full lower lip sent a rush of blood straight to his groin. She was killing him.

  He turned Flynn around and sent him back downstairs. Then he stuck his head around the corner.

  “We’re not quitting until I’m satisfied you know what you’re doing,” he said in a low voice.

  “Until we’re both satisfied,” she corrected.

  Killing. Him.

  *

  Logan was gone longer than she expected. Which was good, g
ave her a chance to let her brain start working again. What was she thinking, flirting with Logan like this, while his students were steps away, and so much work for each of them that they barely had time for lunch, let alone fooling around like kids.

  Samara heard hurried footsteps approaching, and composed herself.

  One look at her and Logan’s face fell. He walked to her side and took both her hands in his. She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Sam, you’re overthinking this,” he said. “It feels like it was just yesterday we were necking out under the bleachers. I want to be with you like that again.”

  He drew her in and put his arms around her. No teasing this time, no pushing the boundaries little bit by little bit, in that irresistible and inevitable dance.

  “No you don’t,” she whispered. “I’m still the new girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Logan. I’ve got better clothes now but inside, I’m even more broken than before. You’re still the hometown hero, the guy everyone loves. Don’t let me mess that up for you. Not again.”

  She waited for his reaction. He had every right to be angry. Hurt. Disappointed.

  The heat was still there, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice, but banked for now, comforting, soothing and soft.

  But to her surprise, he chuckled.

  “You’ve just spent way too much time alone, is what I think,” he said. “Stop analyzing everything, Sam. Just for a moment.”

  Then he leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet and lingering, his tongue running lightly against her lips, the kind of kiss that made a girl believe she was good and beautiful, worth loving, and that everything would be okay.

  She couldn’t help herself, she clung to him as if he was the only thing that might keep her from disappearing, resisting his love with everything in her.

  His love.

  “You feel it, too. I know you do,” Logan murmured against her hair.

  “Don’t, Logan,” she whispered.

  “Getting a second chance together is a miracle, Sam. It’s a gift.”

  It took all the strength she had to turn her face away from his. They’d loved once already – and lost.

  “It’s not a gift, Logan. It’s a gamble.” A tear dripped onto his shirt, a small, spreading mark. “And I can’t afford to gamble.”