“Uh-huh.” Jade, engrossed in her project, didn’t look up.
Samara remained at the window, her hands twisted tightly together. The tension in the room was palpable. As Logan watched, she made a concerted effort to compose herself.
“I’m sorry you were hurt, Aunt Mabel. Are you all right?”
“I broke my wrist!” snapped Mabel. “Of course I’m not all right. But Eliza and the tadpole took care of me.”
She shot Sam a pointed glare and Sam turned away, her shoulders tight, her hands gripping her elbows.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” whispered Eliza as she passed him. She was near tears. “I never meant to scare her. I don’t quite know what happened here.”
He squeezed her arm. “You look after your great-aunt, okay? I’ll take care of Sam and the chipmunk. Everything will be fine.”
But from the tempest on Samara’s face, he had a feeling that he might be wrong about that.
*
There was no longer any need for it, but the adrenaline powering Samara continued to race through her system. And now, it was joined by guilt.
As soon as Eliza and Mabel left, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket with shaking hands and checked her text messages again.
Don’t worry. Minor fracture only. In casting room.
But before that:
Taking forever. See you here or at home.
Then:
Aunt M getting x-rays. J fine. Waiting in family room.
A missed call, then:
Sorry, must leave now, bringing J. Call when you get these msgs!
Another missed call, followed by:
Samara? Wrist swelling badly, must go now. Happy to bring J but no car seat!
And finally, after two missed calls, the first message:
Sorry to interrupt! Can you come home? Aunt M slipped, hurt wrist. Nothing serious but should go to ER.
Eliza was right; she’d tried to contact Sam. She’d done everything right and how had Sam reacted? Leaped down her throat, blaming her when it was all Sam’s fault. She’s the one who accidentally muted her phone. She’s the one who didn’t check for messages.
She’s the one who was too busy fooling around with Logan that she’d forgotten all about her daughter, the most precious thing in her life.
How could she have done this?
“Sam?” said Logan.
She whirled around. He’s the one who distracted her, made her think of herself as a woman again, stirred up desires she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long. He knew that Jade was her one and only priority, and still he pulled at her, selfishly.
And then there was the episode in the ER exam room. That was a bell she wished she could un-ring.
But maybe if Logan knew just how messed up she was, he’d finally understand that getting involved with her wasn’t worth it.
Then she noticed Jade, her dark eyes wide, following them closely.
Sam clenched her fists and took a deep breath, willing the storm of emotions to stay inside, instead of spilling out where it could frighten her child and probably destroy any chances of whatever friendship she and Logan might still have.
“We need to get home, honey,” she said. “Get your pictures together, okay?”
“No,” said Jade. “I’m not done.”
“Let me drive you two home,” said Logan. “You’ve had a bad scare and shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”
“It’s five blocks,” Sam said tightly. “I’m fine.”
He tipped his head pointedly at Jade and pasted a smile on his face. She could see the muscles in his jaw twitching.
“Sam, if she rides with you now, while you’re this upset, she could end up actually hurt, instead of imagined-hurt. Don’t put her at risk just because you’re too proud to admit you were wrong.”
Sam stepped back as if slapped, but before she could react, he turned to Jade, squatting down by the coffee table where her pictures were in careful piles.
“Time to go, chipmunk,” he said. He made no move to touch her things, or make eye contact. Jade frowned, her fingers tightening on the card in her hand, and Sam braced herself for a fight.
Good, she thought, knowing it was petty of her but unable to stop the feelings. It’s easy to be a hero when it’s all piggybacks and ice cream. It’s not so much fun when you have to be the tough guy.
“Eliza and Aunt Mabel are waiting for you at the house,” he said, more firmly this time. “Shall I collect your cards, or will you?”
“I’m not done!” said Jade, her body tensing protectively over her collection.
Samara crossed her arms. This was going to be quite the show. She’d been through this too many times, herself.
Before Jade knew what was happening, Logan swept the cards up into a neat pile, wrapped the elastic band around them and slipped them into his pocket.
“No! No! No!” shrieked Jade.
Samara stepped forward. Logan was way out of his depth. Jade lashed out, knocking one small fist against her mother’s chin, where it was still bruised from the bungee cord.
“That’s it,” said Logan. Calmly, but with complete authority, he gathered her screaming child in his arms, pinning the flailing limbs as best he could. “Let’s go.”
She had no choice but to follow. They garnered much attention as they made their way through the corridors and out the front doors, but as they walked to the parking lot, Jade’s cries had begun to fade.
By the time they reached her car, and Logan lowered her into her car seat, she was down to hiccupping sobs.
By the time Samara had her properly buckled in, she was asleep.
“Get in,” said Logan, pointing to the passenger seat.
“Logan,” she began.
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Sam.”
He slid awkwardly behind the wheel, then adjusted the seat to fit his frame. She got in and immediately turned around to check on Jade.
“She’s fine.” Logan started the engine and moved the mirrors. “Just like she was two seconds ago.”
“You’re way out of line, Logan,” she said quietly.
“Maybe,” he said, turning onto the road. “But so are you. You had no right to go off on them like that.”
Guilt squirmed hot and uncomfortable inside. She had no response and they traveled the short trip to Bramble House in silence.
She was suddenly exhausted beyond measure. Logan shut off the engine and got out, closing his door carefully. Before she could get to Jade’s door, he was already there, undoing the buckles and gathering her into his arms.
“I can take it from here, Logan.”
He ignored her weak protest. “Get your things.”
With one big hand stroking her hair, Logan cradled Jade’s head gently against his shoulder and strode down the walkway ahead of her.
The image triggered something in Samara, a yearning so powerful, so unexpected, that it nearly felled her.
Logan had no right to take over the way he had.
But the sense of having someone else to rely on, to let herself feel tired, without feeling either guilty or terrified that she was indulging herself at her daughter’s expense…
Tears choked her throat. The rush of emotions that had flooded over her in the space of a single day left her feeling weak and off kilter. And through those doors, were two women who’d befriended her, and were now undoubtedly regretting it.
She’d barely remembered to ask after Mabel.
She’d come to Marietta to find a forever home, to hopefully join a community and learn what it meant to be a part of something.
And within a week, she’d alienated the first people to be nice to her.
“Come on in, honey.” Logan stood under the porch light, holding the door open for her. He held Jade against him with one arm, managing the weight far more easily than Sam herself could.
“Sam,” he said gently. That beautiful blue-green gaze was so soft, so full of compassion. She walked forward, hardly feeling her legs, bypassing the kit
chen and leading Logan to her suite.
Bob greeted them with quiet concern, snuffling insistently at whatever part of Jade she could access. The dog had probably been almost as worried as she’d been herself.
At Jade’s doorway Samara stopped. “You can put her down on the bed. I’ll get her into her pajamas.”
But Logan pushed past her. He flipped back the coverlet, lowered Jade onto the sheets and slipped off her shoes. “She can sleep in her clothes.”
She didn’t have energy to argue. She could always get Jade settled properly once he was gone.
But Logan turned off the light, pulled the door almost but not completely closed, and turned to her.
“Now,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Your turn.”
*
He wanted her.
Logan looked down at Sam, standing in the dim hallway light, her posture still tight and determined, despite the mixture of emotions he knew she was feeling.
Almost a decade and a half since high school, and she was as beautiful as ever.
More, in fact.
Back then, he’d wanted to gather her under his arm and be her shield against the world, or her entry ticket into it. He was the big-man-on-campus and he wanted to prove it to her. He was the guy who got the new girl. The ice queen who wouldn’t give any of them a second glance hadn’t been able to resist him and oh, how he’d loved that.
Shame rippled through him.
He thought he’d loved her, but it had all been about him.
“Thank you, Logan.” Sam took his arm as if to lead him away from their rooms. “It probably doesn’t seem like it, but I appreciate what you’ve done tonight.”
“I know.” He stood still. “But I’m not finished.”
“I’m exhausted, Logan,” she said. Her eyes, black in the soft lighting, were wide, not frightened, but wary, watchful.
He touched the back of her neck and felt a shudder run through her. Electricity arced between them, as if her neck and his hand were charged, waiting for connection. Whatever had been stirred up mere hours ago, alone in that house, flared to life, as if the intervening years, and the recent hospital scene, hadn’t even happened.
“Your muscles are like concrete,” he said, moving his fingers over them lightly. “Let me give you a massage.”
“Logan.” She turned her head. But she did not step away. “I can’t. We can’t.”
Was it his imagination, or did she lean into his touch?
“A massage,” he said. He swallowed to moisten his dry throat. “That’s it.”
She wilted against him then, letting him put his arms around her slight frame. Lust roared through him, but he tamped it down. If they ever went there, it would not be now and it certainly would not be here.
And it definitely would not be until she wanted it as much as he did.
He swooped her into his arms and held her tightly. “In here?”
She nodded against his chest and he carried her into her bedroom.
“Give me a minute,” she said, slipping out of his arms. Without looking at him, she hurried into the bathroom connecting her room to Jade’s.
He stood awkwardly in Sam’s rented bedroom, wondering what exactly he thought he was doing. A lamp in the corner made shadows flicker and dance, concealing, then revealing, then transforming.
He’d let this woman tear out his heart once. Was he letting himself in for that same pain, all over again?
She bought a house. This time, she won’t disappear.
But would that make it better or worse? If they were in the same town, and he had to see her at the grocery store, or the theater, or the school, without ever getting close to her again, would he be able to stand it?
The bathroom door opened and Sam stood there, in baggy pajama bottoms and a snug tank top. Nothing the least bit sexy or seductive, yet she might have been wearing a black silk teddy, for the effect it had on him.
She was ready for bed.
And he was there, poised to touch her… without touching her.
“Logan,” she began, her voice unsteady. “Maybe you should go.”
Maybe.
“Yeah,” he said. “I probably should.”
But neither of them made a move.
“We’re not kids anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest, without taking her eyes off him. His gaze slipped. Her nipples were clearly visible beneath the thin fabric.
“I’ll go if you want me to.”
She swallowed, then took a step toward him. “Do you want me on the floor or the bed?”
His knees nearly buckled.
“Never mind,” she said, pulling the blankets back. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
She stretched out, face-down, and tucked a pillow under her. The loose pants stretched tight against her bottom, round in spite of her thinness, and when she wiggled to get comfortable and gathered her hair away to expose her neck, he knew he was in serious trouble.
He perched on the edge of the bed, not touching her.
“You want to give me a massage,” she mumbled against the sheet. “So climb on and give me a proper one.”
Lord have mercy.
But he straddled that round bottom, felt it rub up against his thighs, and higher. He leaned forward, feeling that exquisite flesh against his aching body and put his hands on her upper back.
She moaned. The sound sent a vibration through her body, straight into his groin.
“There’s lotion on my bedside table,” she added, then tugged the sleeves of her tank top down, just enough so he could touch her whole upper back.
He was going to die.
He forced himself to think clinically, focusing on anatomical structures, then rubbed lotion on his hands, pressed his fingers into the tight, rock-hard muscles.
Trapezius, locked up like a vault. The deltoids, knitted and knotted, the little muscles running along her spine jumping in protest beneath his fingers.
He rubbed in long, slow movements, giving them time to recognize what was happening. Up, down, then across and back, picking out the worst spots and applying gentle, relentless pressure, feeling her body warm and soften beneath his hands.
“Oh, Logan.”
Sam arched herself up, pulled her arms out of the tank top and shoved it further down, still on, but exposing that whole, lovely expanse of creamy flesh.
So much for clinical.
He flattened his hands now, using his palms in wide, spreading motions. Even in the dim light, he could see her skin becoming rosy. His hands felt like they were on fire.
But still, he kept them moving.
“That feels so good,” she mumbled. “Don’t stop.”
As if he could.
“You needed this.” He struggled to find words. “You’re really tight.”
God. Someone, please shoot him.
But Sam didn’t seem to hear. He moved his hands lower, his palms spanning her ribcage, his thumbs working into latissimus dorsi muscles narrowing toward her lower spine.
Traps, delta, lats. What else could he remember?
His hands were mere inches from that round bottom. She shifted to give him better access. He slipped his fingers beneath the tank top bunched at her waist, to get at the small of her back. She was so slender that when he opened both hands, his fingers crept around the curve, touching that delicious dip beneath the ridge of hip bone.
She quivered.
Gluteus maximus. Pelvis.
He pressed his thumbs into the tiny divots at the base of her spine, moving them just under the waistband of her pants.
She’d softened under his touch, her muscles were loose and long now. He could go now. He should go now.
He should lift himself away, climb off her bed and leave. That’s what he should do. Instead, as if disconnected from his brain, his fingers crept lower, ever so slightly further beneath the elastic, feeling that rise of firm, yielding flesh, mere inches and a few thin layers of fabric away from the contact he craved.
So much for the inches. Now it was just fabric.
“Sam,” he croaked.
“Shh. Don’t stop.”
His hands were still on her hips, his fingers now further into the dip of her pelvis, his thumbs on the other side. He held her tight against him, making sure she could feel the length of him against her, know what she was doing to him.
She reached behind herself, feeling for him, but he caught her hand.
“No.” He ground out the word.
“Logan.”
Everything inside him was at war, screaming at him to take this, lose himself, grab the pleasure she offered, to hell with the consequences.
Only he’d promised.
Not here. Not now. Not like this.
But.
His fingers crept lower. Another shudder rolled over her. He could feel her heart thudding almost as hard as his own.
He shifted until he could touch her bare breasts, so warm, so soft. When he stroked first one, then the other, he felt the tight nipples scrape against the rougher skin of his palm, heard a short, sharp intake of breath.
He edged his fingers beneath a thin bit of elastic, until he touched silky hair, then crept lower still, and lower.
Again, she moved to give him access. He continued his relentless probing until he found her hot, slick center and the tight bud hidden inside.
He circled it with a fingertip and she arched against him. He stroked deeper, finding a well of liquid heat at her core.
She was making tiny mewling sounds now. Slowly and lightly, he moved his finger over the slippery folds, feeling that bud swell and open.
Then, she was thrusting against his hand, and the sounds coming from her muffled by the hand she held against her mouth.
Harder and harder she bucked and higher and higher her small cries until she clamped her thighs tight on his hand, quaking as the climax rolled over her.
She collapsed, letting her hand fall away from her face, her body limp against his. For a few moments, she lay there, gasping as her breath returned to normal.
Logan’s was nowhere near normal.
Then she shifted onto her back and threw one arm up, her elbow over her eyes.
“Logan,” she said.
But whatever she intended to say, he didn’t know because right at that moment, a scratch sounded at the door, followed by a whine.
Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2) Page 9