by Beth K. Vogt
“So you and Dad okay? What was the powwow all about?”
“Just catching up, that’s all.” He hated not being honest with his sister—but she knew how he and their father had wrangled over Logan’s job for years. “How goes it, working for him?”
Caron slowed her steps, her bare feet with toenails painted a brilliant blue silent on the carpeted hallway. “Most days, it’s fine. I love my job. In fact, Alex took me out for a celebratory dinner when I passed the real estate exam. And I think Dad appreciates what I do—even if I’m not you.”
Logan pulled his sister to a stop, resting his chin on her head. “I’m sorry—”
“Hey, it’s not your problem that Dad’s old-fashioned. ‘Need my boy to carry on the family business, you know. My daughter will be staying home and having babies.’ ” Caron’s gruff imitation of their dad was lousy. “Too bad you’re the one who went off to Oklahoma chasing storms and I was the one who only wanted to chase a business degree.”
Was his decision going to make things more difficult for his sister? “Are you happy dating Alex?”
His sister narrowed her eyes. “What kind of question is that? From real estate to my love life? Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am.”
“The last I heard you were dating some other guy—what was his name? And it’s just . . . odd to see you and Alex together, you know?”
“No, I don’t know.” Now his sister’s eyes glinted a dark blue, like the Gulf when a storm was approaching. “I dated Kade for half a year. It was nothing. And just because we all grew up listening to that silly joke about our parents betrothing us at birth, well, that doesn’t mean Alex and I couldn’t actually fall in love. We’ve known each other forever. I trust him. I’m safe with him.”
Logan held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I just asked a question. I am your big brother, after all. Come on, you always swore you’d never date—much less marry—Alex. Said you’d become a nun or run away and join the circus before you’d do that. If you’re happy, I’m good.”
“I’m happy—and we’re just dating. But you never know.” She nudged his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Then I’m good. And I’m hungry, too.”
“Food’s this way.”
“Lead on, little sister. Lead on.”
EARLY SEPTEMBER 2003
Logan stashed his books in his locker, shutting the door with a metallic click and then giving the lock a quick spin before heading straight to his motorcycle. No chance of Vanessa getting by him just because this might be the day she broke her after-school routine and didn’t stop to talk to Mindy on the steps outside the high school.
But just like the last two weeks, she exited the school’s double doors, side by side with Mindy. Stood on the steps and talked with the other girl, smiling and sharing a hug. Waved goodbye as Mindy ran for her bus, her curls bouncing against her shoulders. And then Vanessa shouldered her backpack again and moved toward the parking lot—his way—at last.
Logan leaned against his bike, arms crossed over his chest, the afternoon sun warm on his back. Wait. Wait. No need to jump the gun and holler at her across the empty parking spaces, the cars, the other students, attracting unwanted attention.
“Hey, Hollister.” He kept his voice low. Casual.
She stopped, her head turning right, then left, until he raised his hand.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
She gripped the strap of her backpack with one hand, chewing on her thumbnail, seeming to debate his offer.
How could he convince her to say yes? Let her know he was a good guy? Logan shifted to one side and tapped the spare red helmet hooked on the back of the motorcycle next to his black helmet.
“I’ve got an extra helmet—see? One for me, one for you. I like speed, but I’m not gonna hit the asphalt with my head if some driver doesn’t see me. When you ride with me, you’ll be safe.”
Vanessa tilted her head to the side, her gaze going from him to the helmet and back again. “Sure.” Her smile, which lit up her brown eyes, was the reward for all the waiting. “Sounds fun.”
Logan hooked her backpack onto his bike with a pair of worn bungee cords and then helped her with the tricky helmet buckle, aware of how close they stood to each other. Vanessa smelled of something floral. Sweet.
“This thing going to stay on?” Vanessa’s voice had a breathless quality. She kept her arms crossed over her waist, her sandaled foot tapping the asphalt.
“My sister wears it all the time.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah—Caron. She’s a sophomore.”
“You don’t give her a ride home from school?”
“No, usually I have to be at work right after school. But I’m good today.”
And if Vanessa Hollister wanted a ride home from school from here on out, he’d talk to his boss about changing his hours. Today he had already asked another worker to cover his shift—just in case Vanessa said yes.
He backed up, rapping his knuckles twice on the helmet, unable to hold back a grin at the glint of another smile in her eyes behind the visor. “You’re all set. I’ll climb on first and hold the bike steady while you climb on behind me.”
Vanessa nodded, and a few moments after he straddled the bike it shifted beneath her weight. She didn’t touch him, leaving plenty of space between their bodies. And without looking back, he’d bet she was gripping the sides of the seat, too. He couldn’t blame her. They knew each other’s names. Shared a couple of classes together. But if he handled things right, maybe things would change. All he had to do was give her a good, safe ride home so she’d say yes when he offered her a ride again tomorrow.
He wouldn’t confess to gunning it just a bit when he pulled out of the parking lot. But Vanessa slid closer, her hands gripping his waist. Once again, since he was facing forward, his face covered by his helmet, she couldn’t see him smiling.
• • •
Vanessa shifted the small stack of books in her arms, following Mindy to their Honors English class.
“What did you think of last night’s assignment?”
“I’m not crazy about Shakespeare, but—” Mindy clutched her arm. “Here comes Logan Hollister!”
“So?” Vanessa shook off Mindy’s hand, wishing her friend would lower her voice. That she’d calm down. It was just Logan. He’d say hi. She’d say hi. No big deal.
He wore jeans and his black boots, a gray T-shirt that revealed his strong, tanned arms.
“Hey, Mindy.” He nodded to the other girl and then gave Vanessa a smile that made her want to stop right there in the hallway and just watch him walk the rest of the way down the hall. Or maybe skip class and go wherever he was going. “Hey, Vanessa. See you after school, right?”
“Yes. Sure.”
And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd. And Mindy was grabbing her arm again. And giggling. She could only hope Logan didn’t hear how ridiculous her friend sounded.
“Stop it!” Vanessa double-timed it down the hallway.
“Oh, my gosh! Logan Hollister likes you!”
“We’re just friends, Mindy.”
Her comment only made Mindy laugh harder. “Sure you are. Have you seen Logan giving any other girl a ride home on his motorcycle?”
No. No, she hadn’t. And that realization made her slow her steps.
“You want to date him, don’t you?”
Did she want to date him?
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Vanessa, are you out of your mind? Do you know how many girls want to date Logan Hollister? I mean, look at him! That whole leather jacket, long hair, bad boy look—and yet, he’s nice.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Vanessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, I’ve never dated a guy with long hair before—not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that I was on the swim team before, and I went out with one of the guys on the team. They tend to keep their hair short
, if not completely shaved.”
Okay, now she was babbling—and that had to stop because the bell was ringing and they’d just made it to class.
By afternoon, the questions began again—because Vanessa hadn’t figured on Logan giving her a ride home from school becoming an after-school routine.
But she liked it—more and more every day.
As he started the motorcycle, Vanessa slid in closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. He glanced over his shoulder. “All set?”
She nodded, knowing the helmet muffled her words. “Yep. I’m ready.”
She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he was smiling at her, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze before easing the bike out of the parking space. He kept his speed low as he watched for students walking to their cars. Once they got to John Sims Parkway, he’d gun the motor just a bit, an unspoken signal for her to hold on, to rest her head against his back and enjoy the too-short ride home.
Vanessa needed to admit it to somebody—if only to herself—that she was getting used to Logan Hollister waiting by her locker every day after school. It had only been a week, but still, she liked seeing him leaning up against the wall, wearing his jeans torn at the knees, his black boots, his hair skimming his shoulders.
The first few days she tried to convince herself that his “Hey, Hollister, have a good day?” was enough. Just Logan being friendly to the new girl. But every day he asked her if she wanted a ride home. And every day she said yes, ignoring the little voice warning her that her parents wouldn’t like her hopping on the back of Logan’s motorcycle. But her parents’ disapproval was no reason to tell Logan no. Her mom was picking up her little brother from middle school, and her dad? Well, he never got home from work before seven.
And what would her father say? She wouldn’t date Logan just to annoy her father, would she? That would be mean . . . and Logan had been awfully nice, taking her home from school.
She liked having a friend—well, two friends, if she counted Mindy. And she did. In the past she’d be in the pool every afternoon, hanging with all the girls on the swim team. No real conversations, since she spent most of the time in the water, swimming laps. But the thought of coming in as the new girl to an established team . . . no, thank you.
This wasn’t the senior year she’d imagined—or the one she’d been promised.
Make the best of it, her mother said. So far, Logan Hollister was the best thing to happen to her since she rode into town with her mom, right behind the U-Haul van.
SEVEN
The most called-upon prerequisite of a friend is an accessible ear.
—MAYA ANGELOU (1928–2014), AUTHOR AND POET
She was a coward.
Vanessa gripped the balcony railing, inhaling the morning breeze that brushed her hair away from her face. Golden sunlight dappled the waves along the beach. Dozens of sandpipers ran back and forth along the sand, while an occasional jogger ran past the couples out for an early morning stroll.
And here she stood, on the balcony of her hotel room, acting as if she was afraid Logan might appear on the beach again.
Because he might.
Vanessa ran her palm along the smooth metal edge of the railing. Which one of the hotels bordering the beach was Logan staying at? What if they were at the same hotel? What if she went down to the lobby for breakfast and ran into her ex-husband again? But if she stayed in her room, then she was tempted to keep reading her journal—and doing that only pulled her into the past. Their past.
She banged her fist on the railing. Maybe she should call the airport and book a ticket on the first flight back to Denver.
But that would only prove she was a quitter. She’d leave Florida with nothing done for the wedding except having secured Mindy as matron of honor—and handing the wedding to-do list over to her. Seeing Logan for less than five minutes was not going to stop her from marrying Ted.
Vanessa turned her back on the view of the beach, returning to her room and retrieving her cell phone. Nine o’clock here, which meant it was eight in Montana—but surely Rylan was awake. She’d check on her father, then change out of her pajamas, brave the hotel’s breakfast area, and force herself to walk the shoreline. She was not going to live her life afraid of Logan Hollister. She hadn’t done so for the past eight years. She wasn’t going to start now.
“Hey, Rylan, I hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to check on Dad.”
“No, I’ve been up for a couple of hours—already had my run. Sitting here having coffee with Mom and Dad.” Her brother sounded cheerful—too cheerful. “Say good morning to them.”
“Hello, Vanessa.” Her mother’s voice was calm—no surprise there. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”
“Just fine, Mom, but I called to see how Dad was.”
“Everything is just fine here. Don’t worry about us. Rylan leaves tomorrow to head back to Germany, and then we’ll settle back into our routine.”
“Good. How’s Dad feeling?”
“Oh, you know your father. He doesn’t like change. Doesn’t like the way I’m cooking his food now. Says it’s bland. Let me have him talk to you.”
Vanessa waited as her mother handed the phone off to her father. It sounded as if he grumbled about talking to her before he took the phone.
“Hello, Vanessa.” Her father’s voice sounded flat. Monotone.
“Good morning, Dad. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. I wish everyone would stop fussing.”
“Dad, you did just have a heart attack.”
“I’m fine.” But even his protest was weak at best.
“Are you taking your medicine?”
“Of course I’m taking my medicine—don’t need it, but I’m taking it. And your mother is making me walk back and forth to the mailbox twice a day, too.”
“Well, good for you.” Vanessa paused for a moment. Had anyone spoken to her parents about depression following a heart attack? “Dad, I really didn’t get to see you very much when I came out after your heart attack. Would it be okay if I adjusted my trip and came back by? I have lots of unused vacation—”
“No need to do that. We’ll see you for the holidays—or the wedding.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”
“No use wasting your vacation to come see me.” Her father cleared his throat. “I’m going to finish my breakfast now—although I don’t know why. Your mother is feeding me oatmeal. Here’s your brother.”
Vanessa choked back a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Love you.”
Rylan’s voice replied, “Love you, too, Vanessa.”
“Sure you do.” Vanessa paced the room from the bathroom back to the sliding glass doors. “Can you tell me what’s going on? I mean, besides Dad not wanting to eat oatmeal?”
“Yeah. I’m in the living room. Dad’s fine physically. I mean, he’s tired. But he just seems down. He sleeps a lot. When he’s awake, he watches TV. Reruns of Bonanza.”
“He’s probably depressed, Rylan.”
“Dad? Are you kidding me?”
“A heart attack is a scary thing. And while he’s recovering physically, I don’t know if his doctor has talked to him and Mom about the emotional and mental recovery.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“I’m not sure what we can do. He’s not going to let his kids talk to him about how he’s feeling. I mean, he’s the dad, right?”
“Right.” There was a few seconds of silence on the phone. “He’s not supposed to see the doctor for another month. I head back to Germany tomorrow, but I’m here now. I’ll see what I can do. I mean, maybe I can figure out a way to talk to him about how he’s feeling.”
When had her little brother grown up—and what was he doing, being so mature? So brave?
“Will you let me know how things go?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Rylan.”
“No problem. We’re family, even if we are spread out all over the world right now. Ta
lk to you later.”
That settled it. If Rylan could dare to talk to their father about his feelings, she could stop acting like a recluse and go eat breakfast. And then walk on the beach. She’d work her way up to it by showering and getting dressed. And she’d call Mindy, too—see if she wanted to talk about the wedding. But first . . . she removed her old journal from the bedside table, pulled her suitcase out of the closet, and tossed the leather-bound book inside, zipping it shut.
There. Out of sight, out of mind.
• • •
“Mindy, what have I done?” Vanessa buried her face in her arms, which were crossed over the glass-topped table positioned on the porch of the Henderson Park Inn.
“You just planned your destination wedding!” Mindy clapped her hands, laughter in her voice. “Why are you upset? This is fantastic!”
“Because this is not the wedding Ted and I agreed upon!” Vanessa peered up at her friend. “He wants the ceremony at the same hotel as the medical conference, remember? You’re my matron of honor. You’re supposed to be helping me—not encouraging me to do something this . . . this . . .”
“This spectacular?” Mindy shook her head, all the while grasping Vanessa by the shoulders and pushing her back into a sitting position.
“Don’t act like this. You’re the bride-to-be. Be happy.” Mindy caught a piece of paper as it fluttered in the strong breeze coming from the beach. The incoming storm was stirring up the waves, and rain was predicted for later. “Here. Tuck the receipt into the folder the coordinator gave you.”
Vanessa took another look at the total. “I put down a deposit, Mindy. A deposit on the inn—and Ted doesn’t even know.”
Mindy waved aside her concern. “Will you relax? It’s refundable. Remember how horrified the wedding planner looked when you said, ‘Could you pencil me in until I talk to my fiancé?’ Of course the first week in April is the beginning of their busy season. This way you’ve got dibs on the inn. If Ted vetoes the idea when you get back home, then you call and cancel. No problem. But he won’t. Not once you show him the brochure. And the website. And the videos.”