Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1)

by S. M. Smith

  His jaw tightens once again and he shakes his head no. “They don’t need our drama. They have this incredible relationship that people only dream about, and telling them that one of the second-most important relationships in our lives—the one they exemplify so beautifully—has failed us both…it would break their hearts.”

  The compassion he has for his parents nearly undoes me. The anger that was boiling inside me moments ago has quickly evaporated, understanding and sorrow suddenly taking its place. “You’ve been carrying this load all this time completely by yourself.”

  “My parents spend every weekend from August to February praying for physical protection over the both me and my brother. They’ve never once told us that we need to reconsider our lifestyles or asked us to quit because of their concerns for our safety. Their hope is blinding when it comes to our social lives, and it nearly broke their hearts to see Nadine, and even Cassady to some extent, leave this family. The last thing they need to worry about is why.”

  “You don’t want this getting out.” I swallow, realizing that the moment Mac or the editors at The Report realize I know this story and don’t report it, my career is over. My knees start to wobble so I carefully sit down in the crunchy grass and try to fill my lungs as much as I can. Logan crouches down and pulls my chin up so I’ll look him in the eye.

  “I know what I’m asking of you, I really do. But I cannot let this get out. It will destroy my family.”

  Too blinded by my own concerns, I can’t read his stare. So I ask the only thing that keeps running through my mind. “Why did you even tell me, Logan?”

  The tip of his tongue darts out and licks his lips, and for a split second I think he might try to kiss me. Oddly, the anticipation that he might takes over and completely rejects the idea of how inappropriate of a time a thought like that is.

  He doesn’t kiss me, but his fingers don’t leave my face either. “I need to know what you know and…you need to know why I’m so…”

  “Pig-headed?” I offer, bringing a small smile to those lips I now can’t stop thinking about.

  “We’ll go with that.” A full smirk crosses his face. The warmth of his fingertips creeps down my neck and over my shoulder, effectively melting me in the middle of his parents’ back yard. “I do want you to write the article, Allie. I don’t think I can trust anyone else with this.”

  He finally removes his hand and I feel like I can finally inhale again. “You trust me?”

  He stands and holds his hand out to help me up. I take it, and this time I know that it’s him that doesn’t let go when he squeezes my hand.

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m up before the sun the next morning, not because I’m supposed to meet Logan to go to the cattle auction, but because our conversation from last night keeps playing over and over in my mind. The reporter side of me immediately came up with about nine million questions that the other side of me, the side who wants to just be Logan’s friend, kept brushing off.

  Logan trusts me. Enough to know a secret that not many know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Logan over the last week, his trust is not an easy thing to earn and somehow, even after my volcanic eruption last night, I’ve earned a super-special, elite spot on his board of trustees. I feel like I’ve worked so hard for it and now that I have it, part of me is chomping at the bit to get as much information from him as I possibly can. The other part of me says that the sooner I get that information, the sooner I have to leave. And something about leaving now, after I’ve worked so hard to get here, settles in my stomach like a pebble tossed in a muddy river, kicking up feelings and emotions I’m not entirely familiar with.

  I’m on my third cup of coffee, only sort of watching a documentary on the earliest form of my favorite game—half staring out at the early morning, navy blue sky—when Logan enters the kitchen.

  “Morning.” His gruff voice pulls me from my inner musings. I feel like I’m seeing him through new lenses this morning, although he looks exactly the same. Same fitted jeans that show off his trim waist. Same cotton t-shirt with the same well-defined arms and wide shoulders. Same scruffy face with a firm jawline, thin lips, and gorgeous ocean blue-green eyes. I guess knowing what all he can carry on those wide shoulders of his and still be able to keep his chin up gives him a totally new appeal.

  “Morning,” I greet him, my voice all too breathy. Clearing my throat, I pick up the remote and turn the television off.

  “You weren’t kidding about being ready, were you?” He opens the fridge and pulls out a couple bottles of water. He holds one out as an offering to me. I nod, not trusting myself to simply just say yes and not ask the questions that keep reeling through my mind like a broken record. I unfold myself out of the kitchen seat and stand to stretch my back out. I’d somehow managed to fold myself into the smallest ball I could and balance in the wooden chair for over an hour. The moment I try to stand, every joint screams at me for it.

  “I promise I’m not trying to be a bad guy this morning, but you’re going to want jeans today. And some sturdy shoes. It can get really dusty and dirty out there.” He gives me an apologetic look.

  I pick up my half-full coffee mug and down the rest. “I’ll be just a second then. You don’t mind waiting?”

  He shakes his head without looking at me. Just as I walk around him, I feel him turn and every nerve in my body jumps at the idea that he’ll reach out for me. When his fingertips press into the soft skin inside my wrist, they start to sing songs of Hallelujah and I have to inhale a lungful of air to keep from swooning.

  What is wrong with me this morning?

  “Allie. What we talked about last night…”

  “Your secret is safe with me, Logan.”

  He squints just a bit before his face relaxes into his signature indifference. “I know, but…I just don’t want you to look at me like that anymore, please.” His hand slips down and his fingers interlace with mine. Shocked, I glance down, wondering what on earth he’s doing.

  “Logan.” His name sticks in my throat, thick like syrup. “I…um…I need to go change.” I try to pull away, but he holds on tight.

  “Allie, I’m not broken, injured, or sick. So please, stop looking at me like I’ve just told you I only have a few days left to live.”

  Swallowing, I nod. “I have questions.”

  “I figured you might. Grab your notepad, we can talk on the way there.” He finally lets go of my hand and the air fizzles out of my lungs in relief. I quickly walk back to my room and exchange my khaki chino shorts for jeans and slip on my white Chucks, all the while trying to sort through the confusion now clouding my thoughts. I grab my purse, making sure it contains my notebook and a working pen, and quickly make my way back into the kitchen. The warmth from his touch still searing my skin, I absentmindedly rub my fingers together, wondering why he felt the need to be so handsy. The moment I step back into the room though, taciturn Logan hands me a protein bar and I take it and retrieve the water bottle before stepping out into the early morning light.

  We don’t talk as we walk out to the truck, Logan continuing with his manners and opening the door for me. I don’t take his hand this time when I climb in, trying to convince myself that we need to start creating some boundaries in our…relationship. He closes the door for me and I remind myself that he’s been doing this—acting like a perfect gentleman—since the first time I ever rode in his truck. I’m only creating reasons to question his intentions now…now that he’s put me in his circle of trust and is freely reaching for and holding my hand. No need to be concerned, right?

  Once we get on the road, Logan adjusts in his seat and lays one arm on the console, clearly getting comfortable. “So, you have questions.”

  I smile to myself. “Is it weird of me that I don’t want to ask any of them?” He glances at me and grins knowingly.

  “A little.” His brows bow in amused suspicion. “Or a lot, actually.”

 
I shrug and make no effort to reach for my phone or my notepad. “It’s just…I won’t report the…incident with Cassady and Drew, but it goes a long way into explaining you.”

  “I don’t think I’m following.” I adjust so I can watch him.

  “Well, I understand why you’re so vehemently against interviews now.” He snorts.

  “I’m not vehemently against interviews.”

  “You’re vehemently against talking about your brother, or any topic that could lead to talking about him. Or Cassady.”

  He grins. “Yep, pretty much.”

  Shaking my head, I do lean down and pull my notepad out of my purse. As much I am loving this open dialogue, I need to make the most of this opportunity, as much as I can anyway.

  “And it explains why you don’t want your name associated with philanthropic work.”

  “You lost me again.”

  “Well, any attention drawn to you could open a can of worms that could lead to what we’re just going to refer to as ‘the incident’.”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment, the morning sun peeking up over the horizon, shining like a spotlight on his handsome face.

  “Nah, I was like that before…the incident.” He gives me a small grin before reaching into the console for a pair of shades.

  “Oh. Why?”

  “I just don’t like the attention.” Thinking back to the pictures his mom showed me before dinner, I realize that he just might have always been like this.

  “Hmmm. Okay, so why professional football then?” His cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink before he answers.

  “Because it’s what I’m good at,” he says humbly, his shoulders rising in defense.

  “Not full of yourself in the slightest, are you?” He gapes at me and I can’t help but chuckle. His modesty is a new character trait that I’m only just now realizing in the light of this new day. “I’m kidding.” He presses his lips together and adjusts to switch hands on the steering wheel so that his free arm can rest on his door instead. His body language suggests that teasing him is probably not the route I want to take if I want to get any more information out of him this morning.

  “Okay, so if you weren’t able to take the field, what would you be doing instead?”

  He glances at me, clearly not wanting to answer my question. “Running the ranch, same as I do off season.”

  “You love the simple life, don’t you.” I may have to remind him that he needs to keep his eyes on the road when he glances at me again.

  “The ranch isn’t all that simple. There’s a lot that goes into running it.”

  “Like attending cattle auctions at the crack of dawn every Saturday morning?” I yawn. He doesn’t look at me when he grins.

  “Yep.”

  Shaking my head, I think about how little of him working on the ranch I’ve seen this week. I’ve slacked off so much, treating my time on the ranch more like a retreat than the work it really needs to be. Quickly, I jot down a list of things that I need to do in the coming week to make sure that I can be as efficient as possible with the time I have left.

  “What great idea did you just have?” Logan asks.

  “No great idea. Just realized I have so much more to do and I have limited time left to do it.”

  “You’re writing your bucket list?”

  “What? No, I need to take some photos of you working around the ranch, and I need to get quite a few quotes. Your coaching and training staff, your family, your high school and college coaches. Then there’s the photo shoot for the cover and—”

  “Whoa. Hold on there. Why do you need to talk to all those people? I thought the article was about my life now and—”

  “Well, these are the people who have influenced you on and off the field, helped mold you into the player you are today. I’m sure they all have great things to say about you, so why are you scowling like that?”

  He shakes his head and his jaw tightens up. “I’m not scowling.”

  “Tell that to your face.” He glances at me, the skin above his shiny aviator shades crinkled up. “Keep your eyes on the road, pal.”

  He turns back to the road and his knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white. “Do you honestly need to talk to so many people?”

  “Yep.” I’m sure if the shades were MIA, I’d be dead thanks to his glare.

  He exhales through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare. “You’re not as cute as you think you are.” Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the inconsistency of his tone and words hits me. He thinks I’m cute.

  And apparently I’m still stuck with a fourteen-year-old’s mentality because that makes me giddy. Then I remember the way his touch sent butterflies swarming in my stomach this morning and there goes all rational thought.

  ***

  When we pull into the stockyards, I immediately understand why Logan had me change into jeans. A single row of the largest farm trucks known to man with matching trailers lines a seemingly endless fence that runs the length of the road we turn off of. An odd combination of partially set mud and dust makes up the rest of what would be considered a parking lot. A formidable covered building provides the only shade to the property and the sounds of mooing cows and scraping metal can be heard even from a mile or so down the road. Logan parks and I start to open my door, distracted by the sights and sounds around me, but Logan holds me off.

  “Let me come around and help you out. Trust me, if there’s one place you want to watch your step, it’s here.” So I wait, watching as a truck backs its trailer up to a stall off the side of the building. A guy helping guide the driver waves a hand and bends over to pull a little ramp out from under the trailer before reaching over to pull the door to the trailer open. Immediately cow after tiny cow starts hustling down the ramp and into an enclosed pen. My door opens and I turn away from the captivating scene of cattle being dropped off.

  “Here.” Logan holds out both hands as if he wants me to jump out at him.

  “Um, I can get down.”

  “It’s really muddy right here. I should have parked somewhere else,” he muses as he stares at my white shoes.

  “It’s fine, Logan. I’ll just jump.”

  He glances up, frustration all over his face. “Allie.”

  “Logan.” I cross my arms. Him picking me up, touching anything other than my hand, is something I don’t think I can handle. But before I know what he’s doing, he reaches out and does just that, holding me up so high that I nearly fall over his shoulder. “Logan, put me down!”

  He takes a couple steps and sets me down by the back fender of his truck, straightening to stand way too close to me as he holds my hips steady.

  “Believe me when I say you do not want to fall into that.” He looks to the ground a few feet behind me, an expression that tells me he’d find it totally amusing if I fell into a pile of cow manure.

  “Noted.”

  Nothing about him moves as he looks down at my face, the shades mirroring my own flushed cheeks back at me. Cool it, Allie. He’s just a man. Standing too close. And smelling like a dream.

  Shaking my head, I start to step to my side and out of his grip. He shakes his head, pulling himself out of whatever thoughts were garbling his brain, and turns to close the door to the truck behind him. Returning to face me, he places a hand on the small of my back, nudging me around a mud puddle and toward the entry. Travis and the young man from the other night are propped up against the thick metal railing just outside the entrance, pointing at a few different cows when we walk up.

  “Morning, boys.” Logan reaches up and pulls his shades off and hangs them from the V neck of his shirt, and for some reason that little movement captures my attention and holds it.

  “Well, well. Looks like the princess made it after all.” Travis ogles me. Thankful that I haven’t removed my own shades, I roll my eyes at him. Mid roll, I think I see Logan’s chin tighten.

  “Good morning, Travis.” I smile sarcastically at him.

&
nbsp; “I’m not gonna lie. I did not expect to see you this morning. Thought you’d need extra beauty sleep.”

  “That’s enough.” Logan’s clipped tone merely shuts Travis up. It does not, however, wipe the smug look off his face.

  “I think she’s pretty enough, don’t you, Logan?” The young kid gives Logan a knowing look, but Logan’s face straightens into his normal expressionless manner.

  “Let’s go.” He turns, placing that hand on my back again to guide me the direction the rest of the crowd is flowing.

  “I can handle Travis just fine, you know,” I tell him when we have to stop to let a couple of men ahead of us. They both stop to shake Logan’s hand and he’s polite enough to be cordial, but his focus is clearly on getting inside and getting through this auction.

  “You shouldn’t have to. I’ll talk to him about keeping his professionalism around you.” He nudges me forward again.

  “It’s fine, really.” I step out of the way and let him take the lead, mostly so he’ll stop touching me. With every contact, my insides start flipping around, and mix that churning with the scent of mud and manure, and well, I can’t be sure I won’t get sick.

  Logan steps around me, but stops so close that he has to look straight down to look me in the eyes. “No. It’s not.”

  He leads us around down a cemented walkway covered in muddy bootprints, stopping at a couple different pens and making comments about various animals to Travis. He nods and makes comments that go way over my head and the kid next to me smiles.

  “You’re not understanding any of this, are you?”

  “Not a word.”

  The kid nods to the group of grown cows we’re standing in front of. “See the green tag there? These heifers are ready to breed.”

  Turning to Logan, I lay a hand on his arm, unknowingly interrupting Travis. “I didn’t know you breed cows.” He glances down at my hand before giving me a less than patient look.

  “What do you think we do at the ranch?”

  “I don’t know. Cattle drives and stuff.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Rolling his head around he starts explaining that his ranch specializes in breeding and raising cattle for auctions like this. Travis brought in those ready for slaughter and we’re here today to look for heifers to breed and for calves that either need a place to graze and grow or that would make for good breeding later on.