Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1)

by S. M. Smith

  “There would. Here.” She reaches in and pulls out a sandwich from one bag and bag of potato chips from the other and hands them to me.

  “I think I just fell in love with your mom,” I tell Emma. She smiles brightly, beaming at Jillian.

  “Hey, I helped too.” Lucy pouts as she tears the plastic holding the water together and hands me a bottle. I take a seat on the sidewalk a few feet away from her and try not to look like a pig when I pull the sandwich out of its bag with lightning speed.

  “Well, I fell in love with you the moment I met you. There was just something about the bounce in your step and your open mind.” I wink at her.

  She shrugs in faux indifference. “What’s not to love?”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Logan grumbles as he takes up a seat on the sidewalk next to me. I try not to choke on my food as a lump forms in the back of my throat.

  “But seriously, you have the best family.”

  He glances up at his mother and sister, who are passing out sandwiches and chips to some of the other guys we’ve been working with all morning. “Yeah, they’re not that bad.”

  I playfully lean into him, intending to just nudge him, but I misjudged how far apart we really are and practically fall into his lap.

  “Whoa. You okay there, honey?” He helps me back up and I try really hard not to get embarrassed.

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” I think out loud. His ears turn a dark red color. “I think I’m starting to grow on you.”

  He refuses to look at me while he takes another bite of his sandwich. “You’re not that bad either.”

  This time I do choke on my food. He reaches over and pats my back a few times before resting his hand on the small of my back. “Man, you’re a walking disaster today. You sure you’re okay?”

  Heat spreads from where his palm is pressed against me and that’s when I know. This attraction to Logan could get me into quite a bit of trouble if I don’t get it under control. Without any playfulness left in me, I hop up and look for a place to discard my trash.

  “Yeah, I’m just fine.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Okay, Allie. I think we’ve got enough footage if I understood what you’re looking to do correctly. Are you ready to head back to the ranch yet?” Emma closes the screen on the camcorder and starts to hand it back to me, but Logan’s shouts stops us all.

  “Hey, I think I’ve got something over here. Can I get one of those bags, Mom?”

  Lucy dumps the trash from one of the paper sacks into the other and takes Logan the now empty one. I nod to Emma to signal her to keep the camera rolling as I walk over to where Logan is pulling stuff out from under a pile of boards. When I see him pull out a pale blue, cloth covered photo album I jump in to help hold up the boards. He pulls out a few other photo albums and even a handful of framed photos. Wiping the dirt and dust off the slightly cracked glass, dated pictures of a chubby faced baby come into view.

  “I bet there’s a momma out there who would love to have these back.” Logan looks up at me and smiles.

  “I bet there is. Come on. Can you help me get the rest of them out of here? Be careful, I don’t want you to get scraped by these nails or anything.” The rusty nails look like a one-way ticket to some sort of clinic for a tetanus shot and I have no wish or desire to be stuck with any needles today, so I watch where I stick my hands and arms while Logan digs out the rest of the photos. When Owen says he thinks he knows who they might belong to, Logan hands him an album and Owen takes a second to look through the first couple of pages before confirming that the pictures do very much belong to the Tuckers who were taken to the Baptist church for shelter for the time being.

  “We should take them to the Tuckers,” Emma calls out from behind the camera.

  Logan looks up at me and I nod in agreement. This would make a great story to tell, but I know that he’s hosting a battle between returning them anonymously and returning them personally. “It’s okay to do this. You found them. They should know that you’re out here, doing what you can to help them piece their life back together.”

  He exhales slowly before nodding, too, and picking up the bag. Emma, Lucy, and Jillian all wear matching smiles when we turn to head back to Logan’s truck. Logan puts the bag in the floorboard behind my seat before opening the door for me to climb in. He’s exceptionally quiet, but unnaturally fidgety as we make the short trip to the church. Owen and Emma follow in Owen’s pickup and pull up beside us, recorder ready.

  The church is much larger than I would have expected for the small town, but when I really think about the amount of farming land surrounding the area, I realize I shouldn’t be all that surprised. The parking lot is littered with cars, some stuffed so full of belongings that you can’t see through the windows. Another short line of cars is parked beside the building, people getting out and unloading covered dishes and stacks of blankets and pillows for the people needing someplace soft to lay their heads tonight. My heart clenches as I think of all the families now without homes and decide that I should make good use of Logan’s oven tonight and bring some delicious treats out to these poor people in the morning.

  And that’s what I consider the victims of last night’s storm to be. Poor people. Boy, am I sadly mistaken when we enter the gymnasium.

  Cots very similar to the one in Logan’s safe room line the walls, but only a few children are actually laying on them. Everyone else is working together setting up the casseroles buffet style or taking donated blankets and distributing them to the cots that are bare. Some people sit at a table with laptops and cell phone, words like “insurance” and “replacements” shot out like bullets through the air. A small group of ladies is taking donated clothes and organizing them into sizes by gender, while another area is sectioned off with two nurses wearing stethoscopes and carrying blood pressure cuffs to a group of people who look pale and weary.

  “Wow. They organized all this in just a few hours?”

  “You’d be surprised what people can do when a need arises.” A short, squatty looking woman with the curliest black hair I’ve ever seen steps in front of us and gives Logan a kind smile. “Logan, it’s good to see you. How’d the ranch fair?”

  “Just fine. Hardly a scratch. Justina, this is Allie Mooreland. Allie, this is—”

  “Justina, it’s an honor to meet you.” I reach out my hand, surprised by her firm shake and her air of professionalism.

  “And you, Miss Mooreland. Welcome to Walker.”

  I thank her as Logan stretches his neck to look for the Tuckers, I presume. “Hey, Justina, have you seen Jolene or Marty? I have some stuff here they’d probably be very interested in seeing.”

  Justina just then notices Emma and the camera attached to her hand, giving it a weird look. “Um, yeah. They’re over helping with the food.”

  Logan politely thanks her for her help without explaining the camera crew and takes up my hand. It feels weird walking hand in hand through a shelter with Logan, especially on camera. I’m so thrown off by his gesture that I’m sure it probably looks like he’s dragging me along. Nonetheless we gather the attention of nearly everyone we walk by, and when I finally catch up with Logan’s long legs his hand is squeezing my own tighter and tighter.

  “Logan.” He stops abruptly and looks at me wide-eyed.

  “What?”

  “I can’t feel my hand.” He looks down at our joined hands and lets go as if he didn’t realize he was holding mine.

  “Sorry,” he mutters as he turns to face the couple who have stopped working to watch us. The older couple exchange a look before the man turns to face Logan.

  “Mr. Lassiter. Is there something we can help you with?”

  Logan swallows and shakes whatever fog his head is in away. “Actually I was hoping I could help you. I—” He looks back at me and I give him my best encouraging smile. “We found these and wanted to return them to you. Owen said he thought they belonged to you.” He hands the bag to
the gentleman, who lays it on the empty end of the table and peers inside. His wife, curious as to what it could be, joins him and gasps when she gets a good look at the items.

  “Where…where did you find these?”

  Logan swallows again, looking like he doesn’t know what to say, so I answer for him.

  “Under some debris just off Main Street. This is all that was there, I’m afraid.”

  The woman lays a hand over her mouth, holding back the swell of emotions that seeing something she thought would be lost forever brings. I want to ask who the pictures are of, who the baby is, but watching the joy cross her face, I find myself wanting to cry for her.

  “Thank you.” She looks up at me with pale, glossy eyes. “You don’t know how much finding this means to me. Thank you.”

  With only a few steps she engulfs me in a hug, squeezing me so tight that I can feel the love and appreciation to my bones. When she pulls back, she places her chilled hands on my cheeks. A single tear escapes one eye and I lose all control to hold my own tears at bay.

  “It’s not me you should be thanking. Logan really found them. I just helped him pull them out.”

  Her lips tremble as she tries to contain her sobs. She pulls me back in for another bone squeezing hug. Through her tears, she whispers in my ear, “Well, thank you for being here to help him.” My arms snake around the woman, squeezing her with as much enthusiasm as she is me. Over her shoulder I see Logan accept a hand shake from Mr. Tucker. When Mrs. Tucker steps back, she wipes a tear from her cheek and turns to swathe Logan in his own hug. A peaceful smile fills his face as he hugs her back, pulling at every single one of my heartstrings.

  There is no doubt in my mind. America should have no problem falling in love with Logan Lassiter.

  ***

  The floor at the end of my bed has become my spot to work when work isn’t wanting to go as I need it to. The footage is exactly what I need, but figuring out how I want to piece the story together is starting to give me a headache. Rubbing my temples, I hear voices in the kitchen and decide I could use something to drink. I kind of feel ridiculous walking in with styled hair, a fresh, beige colored sleeveless blouse and running shorts, and when Logan and his right hand man on the ranch, Travis, turn to me and see my attire, they give me curious looks.

  “Don’t ask.”

  Logan does that hiding his smile thing again while I ignore him to get my glass of water.

  “And all the fencing on the south side?” I watch as Logan gets this update from Travis.

  “Withstood the storm. All heads are accounted for, well with the exception of that calf.” Logan nods and glances back to me, giving me a look akin to an headmistress who just realized she was being eavesdropped upon. I look away, and gulp down the last of my water.

  “Okay, prep both trailers for tomorrow, but don’t hook up mine. I’ll need the truck tonight.” I feel Logan’s eyes trail me through the kitchen as I start to make my way back to my room, so I keep my head down and try not to show that I’m still very much listening.

  “Oh, so you’re going to the auction then?” Auction? I stop in my tracks. This sounds promising. Looking up, I see Logan sigh and shake his head.

  “You’re like a dog on a trail, you know that?” He props his hands on his hips. It’s distracting.

  “I’ve seen what you’re like with Hank, so I won’t take offense to that.” Travis chuckles to himself until Logan glares at him.

  “Do not encourage her,” he echoes his own words from this morning, letting me know that he’s just as amused with me as he was Lucy this morning.

  Travis smirks at me. “Oh, come on, Logan. Let her tag along. We can show her what the real world is like.”

  I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at Travis. “Now that I will take offense to. I know what the real world is like.”

  Travis gives me a challenging smile but I see it in Logan’s face. “Do you even know what a cattle auction is?”

  Cattle auction? Whoops. “Not really, but it will be a learning experience and I have plenty of time to research it. Besides, I can just observe you in that ‘world’ as Travis just put it.” I use my air quotes like a petulant teenager. “You know I can do that and still get some of what I need.” I add, reminding Logan of my outstanding powers of observation. His jaw tightens but he ends up nodding anyway.

  “I’m leaving at 6 a.m. sharp, and I won’t be waiting for you to finish getting ready.” Logan’s tone is firm, almost challenging.

  “I’ll be ready and waiting by 5:55. Don’t you worry your pretty face none.” I give them my most obnoxiously patronizing southern accent and about-face before one of them says something else to annoy me. Although, Travis’s words did give me just the inspiration I needed for the video, so I rush back to my room and record the necessary opening and closing shots to tie it all together. It takes me no time at all to splice all the footage together, and just as I’m about to click save and post it to the appropriate websites, Logan knocks on my door.

  “Come in. I’m almost finished.” He pushes the door open but doesn’t enter.

  “How’s it coming?”

  “Great, actually. Do you want to watch it before I post it?” I ask, looking up to find him leaning into the door frame, one arm propped up against the jam above his head. His dusty jeans and smudged t-shirt do little to take away from his beauty.

  “No, but thank you.”

  I eye him. “It’s really good. You should watch it. It would make you feel better about having to do it in the first place.”

  “I don’t need to watch it to know that it’s great, Allie. Besides, I don’t watch any reports on me. Or read them, either.”

  I scoff. “None? Well, that explains a few things.”

  “Like what?” his turn to scoff.

  “Like the fact that you stink at interviews.”

  “I do not need to watch my interviews to know I stink at them.” He pushes off the door jam and crosses his arms. “Listen, I didn’t come back here to argue with—”

  “We’re not arguing,” I interrupt, matter of factly. “ This is probably one of the healthiest conversations I’ve had with you thus far.” And there’s that trademark Logan look. It’s almost too easy to push his buttons lately.

  “What did you come back here for, Logan?”

  “We’ve been invited to dinner at my parents’ house. I’m going to shower now. You have an hour.” Without another word, he turns and retreats.

  I quickly post the video and set about putting on clothes that don’t make me look like a fashion nightmare. Luckily I had already cleaned up and fixed my hair and makeup for the blog post, so by the time Logan descends the stairs from his loft with towel dried hair and donning khaki shorts with a coral button up, I’m patiently waiting with Hank in the living room contemplating what to expect for the evening.

  “You look nice,” Logan tells me when I stand to join him. Surprised, I look down to remember which pants I had chosen to wear. Royal blue pixie pants.

  “Oh, I um…I wore this the day I arrived in Walker.”

  He tilts his head to the side and squints as if he’s trying to remember this. A second later, he straightens and nods. “Well, it’s nice. You ready?”

  As we walk to the truck, my mind starts running away with how this all feels. The invitation, so uncomfortably given. His dressing in something other than the jeans I’ve seen him in all week. The compliment. It feels personal, almost intimate. As if able to sense my unease, Logan starts to open the door to the truck for me, but he stops with his hand on the handle, his focus out on the pasture behind me.

  “Listen, Allie. This…dinner tonight. This isn’t a business dinner,” he says slowly, his timbre and penetrating gaze trying to convey some hidden message I’m probably over analyzing.

  “Okay,” I answer just as slowly.

  “So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to get quotes from anyone or anything. I promise you there will be a time and place for that. Just�
�� not tonight, okay?” He glances down at his dark gray Sperry’s before meeting my eyes. There’s a humility in his request and I can tell he’s not asking because he doesn’t want me to start interrogating his family, but because he wants to enjoy the evening.

  “I promise to keep it casual.” He nods solemnly and pulls the door open. I climb in, even more confused but keep my mouth closed. The silence on the drive over starts to get uncomfortable and the thought that this is starting to feel like my very first date makes me squirmy. The tension in the truck keeps escalating until he turns onto a paved country road and shifts in his seat.

  “So, I um, I watched the video post.” He glances at me with his set jaw and aviator shade-covered eyes. It’s in that moment that I understand how to better read him. The man is a pro at schooling his expressions to hide what he’s feeling, but his eyes. They give everything away. And right now they’re covered up.

  “And?”

  “It was great. Just like you said.” The corner of his mouth pulls up in a lazy, half-smile. “You made me out to look like a saint.”

  “That’s kinda my job.”

  His jaw tightens and I see the fight that is about to ensue. “I thought your job is was to report the truth.”

  Mentally counting to ten, I get to fifteen and find my patience to keep this from escalating. “You know what, you’re right. My job is to report what I see. And do you know what I’ve seen since I’ve arrived in Walker? I’ve seen everyone’s loyalty to you, whether it be your sisters or mom, or the sheriff, or little old men at the local Mexican restaurant. They hold you with the utmost respect and believe you to be a good man, because you are. All I did was document you the way we all see you.”

  He shifts in his seat again just before he pulls over the cattle gate at his family’s farm. When he parks the truck, he turns to me and lifts the shades away from his eyes. The intensity in them hits me like a ton of bricks and I have to look away.

  “Thank you for saying that.”