by S. M. Smith
“You’re welcome.” He pulls his aviator shades over his eyes, blocking the sun shining through the exposed ceiling.
I pull my feet up under me and try to come up with some type of segue into the questions I’d like to start getting answers to.
“You do yoga.” His random statement makes me choke on my drink.
“I do.”
He nods and picks up his glass, stopping to hold it in mid-air. “And you run.”
“And you play football.”
His lips twitch at my smart-alec remark. “I do.” He takes a sip and finally gets to his point. “What do you like to do for fun? Something not football related.”
I have to stop and think about that. Working out isn’t something I’d say I do for fun, and I’m not sure that there’s anything in my life that doesn’t revolve around football.
“You do realize that if I have to answer my own questions, you do too, right?”
The right side of his top lip curls up in a smirk. “Fair enough, but I asked first. So…”
I think about it for another second and try to come up with something. “I love the beach. I could spend hours just laying out with a good book or finding a group to play volleyball with.”
“Do you get to the beach often?”
“I don’t live far from the Bay, but to get to the coast, it’s about an hour drive. Sometimes more depending where I want to go.” I set my glass down and pick up my phone. Holding it up, I give him a questioning look. He nods and I turn on the voice recorder app and set my phone between us.
“What about you? What do you do for fun?”
He takes a moment to adjust in his seat. “I um…I spend time with my family. My sisters are very active in school.”
I smile, remembering Lucy’s exuberance and wonder if she is a cheerleader. I could totally see her bopping up and down cheering on the boys on Friday nights.
“I thought Emma is in college?”
He visibly swallows and wiggles in his seat. “She, um, she is. Her major is public relations and marketing. She’s also in every club a person could be interested in. She helps organize some pretty outstanding fundraisers.”
I pull over my notebook and jot down a note to check local papers for mentionings of his being present at said fundraisers. He cranes his neck to see my notes and cocks an eyebrow up.
“What? I can do research on the fundraisers you go to tomorrow while you’re working.”
“I don’t go to them.”
“What? Why not?”
He gives me a signature deadpan look and something dawns on me. “You donate, but you stay out of the limelight.”
“It’s not always by choice. I’m not one for stealing the spotlight for causes that need it. Most of the time Emma agrees with my stance. But also, some of them go on while I’m on the road, so.” He shrugs and picks up his glass again.
“So I looked it up, but I didn’t find any organizations that you endorse. What’s up with that?”
He presses his lips together and inhales through his nose slowly. “Same principal. I don’t want to pull the spotlight away from any cause by putting my name next to it. That’s not my style. Doesn’t mean I don’t donate anonymously though.”
“And I suppose you won’t tell me which ones?” He shakes his head and I shake my own, kind of blown away by all the perspectives of that thought process. “Have you ever thought that putting your name on something might actually draw more needed attention to a cause simply because you put your name on it?” I let my fists fall to my lap and pull my feet out from under my knees.
“You sound like Emma.”
“She’s a smart girl. And more likable than you right now.” I jot down another note to look into organizations that could use Logan’s endorsement.
“Your turn.” His clipped voice tells me I’ve stepped on a land mine and at any second this conversation could come to an abrupt halt.
“During the off season I do work with some local projects similar to Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I also…” I swallow, hoping that he won’t read more into what I’m about to admit. “I also do some work with runaway teens.”
He pulls his glasses from his face, narrowing his eyes at me. Yep, he definitely picked up on something. Time to move on.
“So tell me about Cassady. What’s the story there?”
Those glasses go back on his face a moment later and that jaw clenches up so tight, I think his mandible might need to be broken if he ever plans on eating real food again.
“There is no story and if you want to continue, I suggest you move on.”
Oh not a chance there, pal. “So the thorough checking out I received yesterday was totally justified. She watched my every move so intently I was afraid I might have to file harassment charges.”
He actually scoffs. “She has nothing to be concerned about. She lost that right long ago.”
I keep my lips zipped shut, praying he’ll expound. No such luck.
“What about your most recent serious relationship?”
“So she was your girlfriend. Serious then?”
“I asked about yours.”
“You haven’t clarified what Cassady was to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about Cass. I want to talk about your most recent boyfriend.”
“Then we’re done.” I stand, picking up my phone and killing the recording app. Out of the corner of my eye I see Logan cross his arms with a smug look on his face when I pick up my notebook and turn on my heel.
“Struck a nerve I see,” I hear him say just before I slam the french door shut behind me.
***
I’m actually quite surprised that my stuff hasn’t been set out on the porch when I finally get back to the ranch. Setting the plastic bags down on the wooden porch, I say a quick prayer that Logan hasn’t locked me out. When the handle turns and the door gives, my whole body sighs in relief. Picking up the bags, I try not to fumble into the kitchen like a baby goat and wake Logan up. But when I hear his deep voice come from the shadows of the breakfast nook, I nearly jump out of my skin and totally fail to keep the wooden door from slamming shut.
“Where’ve you been?”
“For the love of all things holy! What are you doing sitting in the dark? You scared the snot out of me!”
He picks up the remote to the TV on the wall opposite him and mutes Ross Anders’ husky report on the Bobcats’ let go of Jared Watkins.
“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back and I…I didn’t want to leave things the way they were.” Logan leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, a determined look on his face.
Setting the bags on the island, I brush wayward hair out of my face and turn to him, placing my hands on my hips, ready to hold my ground.
“What’s all that?” he asks, nodding toward the overflowing bags.
“I’m going to make some cookies. Did you know that the grocery store in Walker closes at 6 every night? I had to go all the way into the city to get what I needed.”
“Cookies.” His brow deepens in confusion.
“Yeah, cookies. I bake when I…when I’m frustrated.” Those same brows rise in amusement.
“Frustrated.” He leans back in his seat and rubs a hand over his jaw, trying not to smile. “You’re frustrated.”
Turning away from him, I start pulling out the cookie sheet and silicon mats I bought and turn to wash them in the sink. He doesn’t say anything as I set about drying them and preheating the oven.
“You know, I have all that stuff.” His voice softens as he stands and makes his way beside me. “What can I do to help?”
Scoffing, I toss the bag of chocolate chips down a little harder than I intended. “Well, the point of me baking is to healthily get my frustrations out. On my own,” I add in case he missed my point.
His lips twitch, angering me more.
“What?”
“Cookies aren’t exactly what I would call healthy.”
Blinking slowly, I men
tally count to ten while I debate demanding that he just go to bed already.
“You know what, never mind.” I think I see his shoulders shake as he makes his way back to the table.
I keep working my magic, stealing chocolate chips and trying really hard not to recognize that he’s watching my every move.
“You don’t need to babysit me. I’m perfectly capable of doing my thing and cleaning up after myself.”
“But what if I want some cookies?”
I nearly burn my hand on my knee-jerk reaction. He just…gah!
“You just pointed out that cookies aren’t exactly healthy. And what makes you think that you’re entitled to any of my goodies?”
His brows rise again in surprised amusement, making me wonder what I said now to cause such a reaction. Realization hits me like a snowball to the face.
“I—I didn’t mean it that way.” Curse you, terrible 2000’s hip hop.
“I’m sure you didn’t. And I don’t feel I’m entitled, but I do feel we need to finish our conversation from earlier.”
This time, my jaw cinches up. I have no intention of finishing our conversation from earlier, so I turn to start throwing all my measuring tools into the sink. Ignoring Logan’s ever-present gaze, I turn the water on and run a sink full of soapy water. Just as I’m about to turn the water off, he steps up beside me, a dish towel in hand. I consider glaring at him but when he picks up the teaspoon I just washed and starts drying it, I decide he can talk all he likes. Not like I’m going to share my story to him tonight.
“Cassady and I were pretty serious. I met her when I first got Hank and took him in to get him neutered. She took such great care of him and I was totally smitten for the little guy…we just clicked.” I notice him swallow, but I don’t say anything. “We dated for a couple of years, she never moved in or anything like that, but…I had a ring.”
He stops talking after that.
“What happened?” Irritation still laces my voice when I see his eyes narrow on the bowl he has over-dried.
“I realized she wasn’t someone I could trust.” The finality in his tone tells me that’s all I’m getting.
I pull the plug out of the sink and turn to remove the cookies out of the oven. Grabbing a spatula out of a jar next to the stove, I mull his words over. Trust. That’s what it boiled down to. If I was a betting person, I’d lay down serious money that’s his problem with me. Well with reporters in general, but I’m the one here, in his home, trying to pry details of his life out of him like they’re trade secrets. He doesn’t trust me to not report a scandal that may or may not be there. And judging by the evasiveness with which he’s approached nearly every subject I’ve thrown at him, the possibility of there being one is pretty high.
I make quick work of moving the cookies to a plate to cool and turn to face Logan. His hip propped up against the counter, his chiseled arms crossed over the tight heather gray t-shirt, his eyes dark and hooded. Sighing I lean against the counter.
“I was a freshman in college when I met Danny. He was in my algebra class and we hit it off after a study session. From that moment on, we were practically inseparable. Well, at least until I started working for the paper my sophomore year. When I got on there, I immediately signed up for every game or school event that involved the team. I weathered every game, rain or shine. I thought he admired that about me—my dedication to my field. He proposed after homecoming our junior year and I thought it was truly meant to be. Then I signed on to help some sports medicine majors do an investigation on the school’s team staff. It consumed most of the rest of my junior year, and by the time the article released, I had weeks before summer break. The article earned me a spot interning for a major sports network my senior year. I traveled—a lot. I ended up doing most of my classwork on-line and was home most weeks long enough to do laundry, catch dinner with him, and maybe get a nap in. For three months straight I lived out of my suitcase.”
Running my hands down denim clad thighs, I fight back the memories of the panic attack I had that night. “I was just wrapping up a four-day stretch of games. They were local enough that I thought Danny would have made time to make at least one of them. But he never showed, and by the time I stuck the key in the door to our apartment, I was spent and ready for some time with him. When I opened that door, the place was empty. White walls with tiny pinprick holes in them, dusty carpet that was in dire need of a shampooing, empty cabinets and drawers.”
The slight tensing of Logan’s biceps pulls me from the mental image of walking into the empty apartment. Taking a deep breath, I finish my story.
“The only items in the entire place were a worn football signed by Tom McArden that Walt had given me a few months after I came to live with them and a note.”
Picking up the plate, I offered a cookie to Logan. He glances down at the plate, stormy eyes asking me if I’m seriously going to end my story with that. He reluctantly picks up a cookie and holds it up with a smirk. “I’ll come back to the fact that you have a football signed by the legendary Tom McArden. What did the note say?”
“It said that the football was all I truly cared about and that it was the only thing I really needed.”
Logan stops the cookie from entering his mouth and narrows his eyes. “He took everything else.”
“Everything. Didn’t even leave what clothes that I had left there. Which sounds weird, but…” Shrugging, I stuff a cookie in my mouth. The first time I had to tell that story, I cried all over Walt’s shoulder. He let me too, apologizing for the man who had broken my heart. But now…now it doesn’t hurt at all because Danny was right. The only thing I needed was football. And Walt. As long as I had both them, my life was perfectly complete.
Logan finally takes a bite of his cookie, completely baffled until the deliciousness of the cookie registers. “These are…amazing!” He tosses the rest of the cookie in his mouth and reaches for another, but something comes over me and I smack his hand away. Shocked eyes find mine before an delighted smile crosses his face.
“What? You said yourself that cookies aren’t healthy. You don’t want to lose that exquisite figure of yours, now do you?”
His lips press together in an attempt to suppress his smile. “Alright. I hear you.” He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. He exhales a slow breath, eyes fixed on the ground while he mentally processes everything I just told him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and timid.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” I wipe my hands again, feeling uncomfortable with his genuine sincerity.
“No, I do. I pressed you to talk about something that had to be tremendously painful. I’m sorry I pressed the matter.”
I try to suppress my own smile. “It’s not like I haven’t been doing the same to you. But can I ask, will you ever tell me what happened for you to lose trust in Cassady?”
The storm in his eyes settles, giving him an exhausted look. “Not tonight.” He pushes off the counter and walks past me, giving me a thoughtful smile. “Good night, Allie. Thank you for the goodies.”
As he steps into the living room, his bare feet padding quietly on the hardwood floor, I think I see his smile turn coy. Something about watching him walk away causes a sense of achievement to spring deep inside. I might actually earn enough of his trust to learn the truth behind Cassady. Something else blooms inside me too when I realize that I want to know what happened, but not because I want to report it.
But so that I don’t ever break any trust he has in me.
Chapter Nine
I’m beginning to love the mornings here on the ranch. It could be the overstuffed down comforter that wraps me in its warm embrace. Or the hypnotic way the wide paddle ceiling fan twirls slowly, sending a perfectly cool breeze across my cheeks, making me feel like I’ve fallen asleep on the beach. Or it could be the cheerful chorus of birds that sounds oddly enough like a song straight from Disney’s Cinderella. But each morning I wake up feeling refreshed and
renewed, like I can take on the world.
But then I run into Logan in the kitchen and suddenly I barely have enough patience and energy to take him on. And after our weird conversations last night, I don’t know what mood to expect him in.
Which is why I decide to tiptoe my way into the kitchen this morning.
If I’m being completely honest, I half expect to find him in there stealing a cookie when he should be downing another one of his ridiculously gross looking smoothies. What I find instead is totally not anything I would have ever expected.
“Have you ever seen him leave cookies lying around like this?” Emma whispers to her mother, who is pulling the trash out of a can hidden in one of the lower level cabinets.
“No. Never.”
Emma picks up the plate and inspects the cookies, looking for what, I’m not sure.
“I made them. Last night.” I step out from behind the wall I might have been hiding behind and give the women a shy smile.
“Allie, honey. I hope we didn’t wake you.” Jillian’s surprise catches me off guard. She looks like I’m the last person she expected to see in her son’s kitchen.
“Oh, no. I…I’m still trying to get used to the time difference here. It’s still 6 am back home, so.” I shrug and nod at the cookies. “Please, have one.”
Emma smiles wickedly and picks up a cookie, shoving it in her mouth before anyone can tell her otherwise. A moan escapes her throat and I can’t help but giggle.
“These are amazing.” Emma holds the plate toward Jillian, her mouth unabashedly full of cookie.
“That’s what your brother said. They’re not my best, but they turned out okay for what I had to work with.”
Two sets of brown eyes stare at me with the oddest look of awe.
“Logan ate cookies?” Emma’s shock makes me chuckle.
“Just one. I wouldn’t let him have any more.”
Jillian shakes her head as she picks up a replacement bag for the trash. “I’m surprised he allowed sweets in his house at all.”
“Well, he didn’t know I was going to make them until I just showed up with the stuff to do so.”