by Cat Johnson
“Stop. I would never betray your trust. You know that.”
“Mmm, hmm. I also know you can’t seem to keep your nose out of my love life.”
“I seem to be married to a cowboy and living in Oklahoma because you couldn’t keep your nose out of my life or your hands off my laptop keyboard.” Becca raised a brow in challenge. “Remember?”
“Yes.” Emma couldn’t deny she’d been the one to secretly send Becca’s résumé to OSU for the teaching position, but she could remind her sister that it was all for the best. “You’ve never been happier. You’re welcome.”
“Whatever. Now where did Tuck’s mom put the wine? I went to the store and stocked up when I heard you were coming. Ah, there it is.” Becca headed for the kitchen counter where at least half a case of wine bottles were lined up in orderly rows, like little glass soldiers.
As much as Emma needed a drink about now, she couldn’t drink. Not for many more months. “Wait, Bec. You know what? No wine for me. I think I’ll just have some water.”
“What?” Her sister spun to face her, the bottle in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. “What do you mean you don’t want wine?”
Uh, oh. This could be the thing that outed her. Emma had never said no to a glass of wine, and after all these years, Becca damn well knew that. Emma pressed one hand to her belly. “My stomach isn’t feeling that great.”
Becca’s frown deepened. “You always said wine was good for an upset stomach.”
“Not this time.” She crinkled her nose as if in pain. “I think I might be getting that acid reflux thing. Wine seems to make it worse.”
Her sister’s eyes opened wider. “You’d better go to the doctor. Fix it before it becomes a real problem.”
“I will, but I bet he’ll just tell me to lay off the wine.”
“Probably.” With a scowl, Becca put the bottle back.
“You can still have a glass.”
“No. It’s no fun without someone to drink it with.” Becca’s lips formed a definite pout.
“Sorry, Becs. Want to have a cup of herbal tea with me instead? You like that.” Emma counted on how well she knew her sister to get her out of this jam. It was the ritual of sitting down together that Becca enjoyed most. It didn’t matter if it was wine in a crystal glass or tea in a porcelain mug.
Looking moderately happier at that suggestion, Becca turned toward the stove and reached for the kettle on the burner. “Okay. That sounds good.”
Crisis averted. Emma breathed in relief.
“Hey there, darlin’. What’re you doing here?”
Or maybe not . . . What more could the universe drop on her shoulders?
Emma turned to see Jace striding across the kitchen, his end goal obviously her. After knocking his ever-present cowboy hat back a few degrees, Jace wrapped his arms around Emma in a big hug, followed by a kiss planted dead on her lips.
Now he wanted to get romantic with her? Of course. Given Emma’s luck it was expected, really. Why wouldn’t Jace be all over her now that she was carrying Logan’s baby? His ex-girlfriend must be busy elsewhere. Emma stifled a sigh.
“Hello, Jace. I’m visiting my sister.” And my baby-daddy. God, how in the world had her life gotten so complicated? “What are you doing here? Don’t you live in Stillwater near Tucker and Becca?”
“I do, but it’s rodeo season. I’m here to steal my compadre away from his new bride and take him to Elk City for a competition.”
“Ah.” As if Emma knew where Elk City was. “Got a lot of elk there, do they?”
He grinned. “Can’t say I ever saw one there myself.”
“Tuck’s just out back, Jace.” Becca glanced over her shoulder as she stood on tiptoe and stretched toward the shelf in a cabinet far above her head.
“Thanks.” Jace reached past Becca to grab one of the mugs that were just an inch out of her arm’s length on the second shelf. “This what you want?”
“Yes, two please.”
Jace took down two as Emma watched, baffled. His persistent gentlemanly behavior had been one of the things about Jace that had gotten to Emma in the first place. Back before she knew it also extended to being a doormat for his ex’s every whim, no matter how inappropriate.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that the problem with Jace had been his past long-term relationship, and the current issue she had with Logan was his lack of one. Having a very Goldilocks moment, Emma had to wonder if maybe there was no man alive who was just right.
“Anything else you need here? Stepstool?” Jace grinned as he joked with Becca.
“No, thank you. Go get Tuck. He’s expecting you. He’s got his overnight tote all packed and ready.”
“Overnight tote?” Jace’s brow drew comically low. “Jeez, woman. It’s a gear bag. You make it sound like he’s got, I don’t know, silk pajamas and an eye mask in there or something.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “All right. I stand corrected. His gear bag is in the truck, packed full of extra manly, bull rider things, I’m sure.”
“Damn right, it is.” Jace gave a single enthusiastic nod as he put one hand on the doorknob. “And we won’t be gone overnight. We should be back late tonight, unless we’re both too tired or broken up to drive.”
“Too broken up. Great. Good to know.” Becca looked less than thrilled with that information. As Jace opened the back door, she said, “Hey, Jace? Please tell Tucker he’d better come inside and kiss me good-bye before you two leave.”
“As if he’d ever give up a chance to kiss you. But yes, ma’am. I’ll tell him.” Jace turned and winked at Emma. “I’ll see you when we get back. Maybe you’ll save a kiss for the winner?”
“Okay, I will. Just make sure to bring him home with you.” Emma smiled at her own wit as Jace grinned and, after a tip of his hat, was out the back door and out of sight.
“I don’t understand this thing between you and Jace at all.” Becca shook her head. “You two seem to get along so well.”
“I thought you already had me married off to Logan.” Emma’s brows shot high. “What happened to you and me being army wives together? Now you’re back on Jace? What the hell, Becca? Fickle much?”
Emma joked with Jace. She could even joke with Becca about being with Logan, but secretly, she never forgot how serious her situation was.
“You need to go to the doctor, Em. I can see your stomach is bothering you.” Becca’s focus dropped to where Emma had once again pressed her hand to her belly without realizing it.
“I will.” Emma swallowed hard. She had to stop acting pregnant. At least the upset stomach story was holding. “And you really have to stop pushing me at Jace.”
“I will.” Becca sighed. “I know he was a jerk to you at the wedding.”
Emma held her hands in the air. “Finally. Thank you.”
For the first time, Emma felt vindicated. Becca had admitted the truth about that night and didn’t act as if Emma had exaggerated the whole thing with Jace and Jacqueline.
Standing next to the kettle on the stove, which was taking its time boiling, Becca drummed her fingernails on the countertop. “I bet Tucker’s mom knows about Logan’s past. I mean their parents are good friends.”
And now it seemed Becca was back on the subject of Logan, and back to her meddling. Trying to follow her train of thought was enough to give a person mental whiplash. Emma eyed the bottles of wine on the counter, wishing she could have some. She’d never needed it more.
For the first time in the past month, Logan walked into the rehabilitation facility that had become his father’s home with a spring in his step. He knew it wasn’t from the old cowboy boots he’d taken to wearing again now that he wasn’t at campus and in combat boots every day.
His energetic pace was all due to Emma showing up out of the blue. That was as unexpected and as welcome as a cool breeze on a hot summer day.
Logan pushed through the doorway of his father’s room and stopped dead mid-step. His father was standing. One sh
aky hand was braced on the back of the wheelchair supporting his weight, but he was standing on his own two feet nonetheless.
“Dad?”
His father turned at the sound of Logan’s voice, and that upset his delicate balance. He pitched forward, grasping for the chair with the hand on the side most affected by the stroke. It was useless in preventing his fall, and Logan felt just as useless as he reached for his father.
“No. I can do it.” The older man tried to push Logan away.
With a hand beneath each of his father’s arms bearing all his weight, Logan had to disagree with his father. “Not right now, you can’t. You’ve done enough. You have to rest.”
The only reason the man wasn’t lying flat on the floor, with a few less teeth, was because Logan supported him.
His mother walked through the door just as Logan attempted to single-handedly get his father into the wheelchair. How did the nurses make it look so easy? Some of them weighed far less than Logan did and yet they moved patients bigger than his father all day long and made it look almost effortless.
“What happened?” She rushed into the room, putting the water pitcher down on the bed tray as she passed it.
“I found him in here standing up.” Logan glanced at his mother. “Since when can he stand on his own?”
“Since yesterday.” She unlocked the wheels of the chair and moved it to behind his father. “He walked a few steps with his physical therapist on those parallel bar things.”
“That’s great.” Logan meant what he said, but it didn’t relieve his main concern. “But that doesn’t mean he’s able to walk, alone, on his own with no bars or nurse for support.”
He’d said the last while looking at his father. Logan knew him well enough to know the man would push his body so hard and fast, he’d end up doing harm.
“Have to get better.” His father’s speech had improved dramatically. Another good sign.
Logan would be happy if he stuck to just practicing speaking for now. That he could practice all day long without risk of doing bodily damage.
“You will get better, dear. It takes time.” His mother smiled. “But you’re improving every day.”
“No. Now.” His father’s zeroed in on Logan.
The look was so intense, Logan got the feeling there was more going on here than just the older man’s stubborn willfulness. “Dad, I’m staying here to help you and Mom for the summer. I don’t have to go back to Stillwater until right before the fall semester starts.”
“Then sell?” The words were stilted from the stroke, but not the meaning or the concern behind them.
That was it. His father didn’t want the store sold. Through all of this, Logan had never sat down with his father to discuss the future of Hunt’s. Sure, he’d talked about it with Layne and their mother. Hell, it seemed as if he’d had the discussions with everyone, including Tuck and Tyler. Everyone except his father.
In Logan’s defense, that had been to protect the man. He needed to concentrate on recovering, not worry about the shop. But meanwhile, worry had been eating him up inside. That was obvious now.
Logan pulled a chair over close to the wheelchair. He sat so they could talk eye-to-eye. “Maybe not, Dad.”
His speech might be affected, but his father still managed a derogatory snort.
Logan’s mom rested one hand on the back of the wheelchair. “I can help. I did used to work there too sometimes, you know.”
“I know, Mom. I remember. Tuck had an idea. I haven’t acted on it yet, but I think it’s a good one. He thinks some of your friends at the VFW would help us out. He might be right. Most of the time, they sit around the bar and complain how their wives drive them nuts at home.” Logan shrugged. “Maybe they’d enjoy a day or two a week at the shop.”
A slow nod from his father told Logan he liked the idea, though he wasn’t so sure of the reaction to this next part. His father hated change. “And Becca’s sister is in town. Remember Becca, Dad? Tuck’s new wife? Well, her sister, Emma, works in advertising or something in New York, and she’s offered to design a few new signs for us to help spruce up the shop. It can’t hurt, right?”
Another nod followed. Logan breathed a sigh of relief.
His mother squatted next to the chair and took his father’s good hand in both of hers. “See, honey. We’ll make it work somehow. The store will be there, waiting for you when you’re recovered.”
Logan only hoped his father would recover enough to be able to enjoy it. But as he watched the scene before him, his mom’s devotion, his father using what little strength he had to cling to her hands, it hit Logan how hugely important they were to each other.
His father, as debilitated as he was right now, had something Logan didn’t have—a wife who’d been totally dedicated to him for forty-five years. Yes, he had two sons here to help when he needed them most, but just as Layne had left to go back to his responsibilities, so would Logan soon.
Logan had let forty years pass him by without finding the kind of love his parents had. He’d been so focused on his career, he never bothered looking too hard for it, always thinking there’d be time later. He should know better. Military or civilian, no one knew when his or her time would run out. His father was the perfect example of that.
It was past time for Logan to correct the situation. And maybe he wouldn’t have to look very far, either. It was possible his love was right there—at least for the next two weeks.
Would Emma consider a serious relationship with a man half a country away? Could they get serious enough that maybe she wouldn’t want it to be long-distance anymore? It would have to be Emma who moved. Logan couldn’t relocate right now. Not only was he stationed in Oklahoma, but his family was here, and they needed him close now more than ever.
It was a lot to ask her, to move to Oklahoma for him, but her sister was here. That was a point in his favor . . . And what the hell was he doing, jumping to all these conclusions? Talk about putting the cart before the horse.
He had two weeks to determine if the reason he shook like a schoolboy every time he saw Emma was love or lust. Two weeks for them both to get to know each other a whole lot better, and not just in bed. It was all he had. It would have to be long enough.
Wars had been won and lost in less time. Hearts, too. Logan knew he was well on the way to losing his already. He had been since that one fateful weekend when life had stepped in, knocked the happiness he’d found with Emma aside, and demanded all he had.
It was time to take it back.
Chapter Fifteen
The air inside the dimly lit VFW swirled with thick smoke. It took Logan aback when he walked in. No wonder his mother always knew when his father had stopped by here on his way home from the store. His clothing would have reeked of smoke.
Logan guessed that even if no one was smoking inside, the building itself would still retain the odor. The wood paneled walls would probably ooze the combined remnants of all the cigarettes, pipes, and cigars smoked inside it for over fifty years. Good thing it was a warm night and someone had propped the door open so there would be some fresh air coming in.
The moment Logan walked through that open door, Mack the bartender spotted him. “Logan Hunt! About damn time you came and joined us old guys here.”
Grumbling by the older members about how today’s servicemen didn’t bother with veterans’ organizations and how things were different in the old days was a constant. Looking around, Logan had to admit the old guys probably had a point. The age of the patrons made Logan the youngest in the room by at least thirty years.
“It’s a bit of a haul to drive here from Stillwater just for a beer.” Logan pulled out an empty barstool and took a seat between two vets he’d known for years.
“Yeah, well, while you’re here visiting your parents, I expect to see you around once in a while.” Mack continued to wipe down the ancient wooden bar top with his rag.
Harry O’Neil swiveled on his barstool toward Logan. “How’s
your dad doing?”
Logan turned to the old man to his right and shrugged. “Good days and bad, but we’re hopeful. He’s progressing in the right direction, so that’s positive.”
Harry adjusted the baseball hat he wore. The embroidered insignia named the vessel he’d served on in Korea. “Good to hear. Send him my best.”
“Will do.” Logan nodded. “That’s what I came to talk to you all about. My dad. More specifically, his store . . .”
As Mack poured him a beer, and the rest of the men seated at the bar listened, Logan explained what he hoped would be a viable plan to keep the store up and running after he left for Stillwater, and while his father continued to recuperate.
When he’d finished, Harry leaned in to slap Logan on the shoulder. “Of course, we’ll help you out in the store. Your father has been a member here for as long as I can remember.”
“And since Harry’s been here since at least the Civil War, that’s saying something.” Rod, a Vietnam-era air force veteran, snorted at his own joke, then pushed his empty beer mug across the bar. “Another one here, Mack.”
“You need another?” Mack eyed Logan’s mug as his hand grabbed the empty one from Rod.
“I shouldn’t. I wanted to get back to the shop and finish up some stuff tonight.”
Harry let out a wheeze sounding like half laugh, half cough, and Logan began to fear for his health thanks to all this second-hand smoke. “Whatever it is will wait. Do it tomorrow. Have a drink with us tonight. You young kids never come in here. Act like we’re just a bunch of dinosaurs. Well, I’ll tell you something, kid. You could learn a lot from us old-timers.”
Logan was sure he could. And it didn’t hurt to be called a kid, since lately Logan had been feeling every bit of his thirty-nine and three-quarters years.
“All right. One more. But then I’m going.” Logan could walk home from here if he felt he needed to after drinking the beer.
It would be a hike, but that was fine. He’d been real lax in his PT since he’d been here. He could use the exercise. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had left their vehicle in the parking lot overnight and came back to get it in the morning.