Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1)

by S. M. Smith

  “Me too.”

  ***

  A shower after lunch did little to wash away the reminders of the sins of my past. I stood under the steaming stream until the water ran cold and still, the ache was there as if I’d bench pressed 200 pounds of past heartache and guilt. But Logan had been right. Spending the afternoon around the Lassiter family table had done me a world of good and although I was still trying to stretch away the disgrace, I couldn’t help but let the excitement and anticipation for the ceremonies bubble up inside me.

  A knock at my door makes my heart skip a beat. Pulling the towel tighter around me I clear my throat. “Um, one sec.”

  Clearly paying no attention to my shaky voice, Lucy bops right through the door, pulling an apologetic looking sister behind her.

  “It’s just us,” Lucy chides.

  “Yeah, your friendly neighborhood privacy violators.” Emma turns her back to me to dump her armload of cosmetics onto the bed.

  “Oh good! You didn’t wash your hair.” Lucy takes a couple steps my way before I can put my hand up to stop her.

  “Um, I’m…I’m just going put something on.”

  Dear, clueless Lucy looks confused as I retreat to the closet and pull out a shirt and shorts. Quickly dressing, I make sure I’m fully covered before anyone else decided to crash my room. When I step out, the top of the chest of drawers has been converted to a vanity with about twenty different bottles of creams and about twice as many compacts. Colors I’ve never even seen before lay spread out across the top of the dresser next to a small Mason jar full of bobby pins.

  “Why do you look like a deer caught in headlights?” Lucy asks when she turns around and pulls out another half dozen canisters of hair products.

  “Um. Well.”

  Emma chuckles as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “A little overwhelming? I would have thought you’d be used to stuff like this?”

  Eying the entire MAC line stretched now displayed in my room, I can’t help but chuckle with her.

  “Let’s just say that you two make my stylists at the studio look like amateurs.”

  Lucy beams as if if just told her she has won an Oscar for best make-up artist. I can’t help it, my heart swells from the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Okay, let’s start with hair.” She looks around the room and frowns. “One sec.” She rushes out of the room and a few minutes later returns spitting out instructions at ninety miles an hour. “And you have nothing to be worried about. We should be ready at about five thirty, so no tapping on the door asking if we’re done yet a second before. Oh, you can put that right here.”

  Logan enters the room, carrying a dining chair, eyes just as wide as I’m sure mine are by the array of beauty products that have exploded in my room. I try really hard not to give him a look that pleads for him to save me from his littlest sister, but the “You’re on your own with this one” look he sends back to me tells me I failed to hide my worry.

  “Okay, you two. Stop with the telepathy.” Lucy places a tiny hand on her brother’s taut chest and makes a visible, albeit worthless, effort at pushing him back through the door. “She’ll be fine, just leave us be and remember, five-thirty. Not a—”

  “Second before. Okay, I’m out.” Logan throws his hands up and turns to placate his sister. Before pulling the door closed behind him, he send me one last look over his shoulder that’s reminiscent of that scene in the Hunger Games where Katniss throws up two fingers in the air after Rue dies. Thanks a lot, pal.

  As soon as the door is closed behind him, Lucy rubs her hands together, a sly grin playing at her lips. “Let’s get his party started, shall we?”

  ***

  Two hours later, all three of us have flawless updos that would put my hair stylists to shame, makeup that would rock the red carpet, and are putting on the final touches to our outfits. I’ve never had sisters, or even girlfriends close enough that I could share makeup or jewelry with, but this time with Emma and Lucy has been almost therapeutic. At some point, Emma turned on some country tunes and since then not one of us could sit still. The room was electrifying and all my nerves for this dance completely gone. That is until the first knock comes at the door.

  “Who is it?” Emma calls out, running a hand over her navy dress. Her coppery red curls have been braided to wrap down the side of her head and into a delicate bun at the nape of her neck, a few whisps falling tenderly over her ears.

  “It’s your knight in shining armor.” Owen’s ever happy voice trails through the thick wooden door, sparking a blush so uniquely pink that only Emma could rock it to coat her cheeks.

  “Oh puh-lease!” Lucy rolls her eyes as she dabs a final coat of mascara.

  “I might have your date here, too,” Owen sings, and instantly Lucy lights up.

  “Carter!” Lucy abandons her mascara and starts frantically jumping up and down.

  “Calm it down, sis, we have a little mess to clean up here.” Emma reaches for a couple of bags and hands one to her sister. While Emma starts gingerly packing up all their beauty products, Lucy, in her exuberance, throws out an arm and shoves as much as she can into the one bag. These two girls are such polar opposites at times, it amazes me how they always seem to be getting along.

  “Just text me if we left anything,” Lucy calls over her shoulder as she throws the door open and practically runs right over a cleaned up and snappy looking Owen. His white and navy plaid shirt makes him look all the all-American country boy he is. He finds me first, clearly checking me out, but lacking any sign of lewd appreciation. He gives me a polite nod.

  “You look great, Allie.”

  “Thanks. You don’t clean up so badly yourself.”

  A cute blush creeps up to his ears at my compliment, but when he turns to Emma, that blush fades away and his eyes can’t pry themselves away from her. Clearly this boy has been struck by Cupid’s arrow and there is no force on this planet that could draw him away from her.

  “You look dashing.” Emma draws up in front of him, pulling at his collar and eying him with a look of pure love.

  “You…” he sighs and all the poetry in the world couldn’t hold a flame to what his eyes are speaking to her. Emma rewards his speechlessness with a lingering kiss, each losing themselves in the moment. Until a very distinct throat clears itself behind us. We all three whirl around guiltily to find Logan shooting arrows at the arms around his little sister.

  “Um, sorry, Logan.” Owen lets go of Emma’s waist but immediately grabs her hand. “We should get going. Allie.” He nods politely before turning around, his chin high. Logan watches the two of them as they leave, his gaze lingering on the door a few moments past their departure, giving me a chance to take him in.

  A pair of square-toed gray boots I’ve never seen peek out from under the hem of his medium wash jeans. His snug pants wrap around his long legs and trim his waist, no doubt defining his backside perfectly. The deep purple dress shirt has been tucked with perfection into his jeans and outlines every sinew of his physique. He turns and I can’t stop the slow ascent of my eyes. He left the top button unbuttoned and shaved off his perpetual five-o’clock shadow. The contours of his smooth face accentuate his high cheekbones and his strong, square jaw. When the corners of his lips pull up in an appreciative smile and shallow dimples indent his cheeks, I think my heart just melted into a puddle on the floor.

  “Wow.” The sigh slips my lips before I can stop it.

  He bows his head shyly, his modesty finishing the task of taking my breath away. He looks up at me through long, thick lashes.

  “I could say the same about you.”

  I look down at the dress the girls picked out. The fitted bodice holds the girls in place but shows off the Californian tan that is starting to fade. A wide, dark gray belt wraps around my stomach, making me a little self-conscious at how slim it makes me look. The full skirt flares out though, the floral print in various shades of purple stopping a few inches above my knee. The braid that Lucy de
licately tugged and pulled at to make it look lazy and loose falls over my right shoulder, and the brushed silver chandelier earrings Emma insisted I borrow tickle my neck as they dance with every move of my head.

  “This old thing?”

  The flame in Logan’s eyes comes to life and he has to look away, as do I. I reach for the denim jacket and wrap it over my arm nervously.

  “Well, shall we?” I shift from one booted foot to the other nervously, trying to keep all the butterflies threatening to make some weird supernatural appearance at bay.

  Logan waits for me to exit the room first, and the second I get too close, the heady fragrance of his cologne and his unique scent mix to lure me even closer. When I trip over my own toes, his strong hand snakes out and catches me around the waist, pulling me up and into him.

  “Whoa there. You okay?”

  Being so close is enough to knock me to my knees again, but I brace myself and try again. Reaching up, I grab his hand and carefully remove it from around me.

  “Yeah, just still getting used to these.” I glance down at the pretty purple boots. I go to give him an innocent smile, but the fiery look in his eyes tells me to back away slowly. Trying to keep my head, I swallow, turn and reach for my purse off the bed, and exit the room as quickly as possible, throwing decorum to the wind.

  When there’s enough space in between us for me to breathe again, I stop at the kitchen island and ready myself for the effect I know being near him all night will have on me. His gaze to the ground, he follows, only stopping to grab the punchbowl full of salad out of the fridge. He finally looks up, the blaze in his eyes all but extinguished for the time being.

  “What?” he asks, a guilty smile playing at his bare lips.

  “No cowboy hat?”

  He gives me a smart grin and nods at the door, indicating it’s time to go. I can tell I’ve broken a bit of the icy tension when his grin doesn’t leave his face the entire trip to the truck. That is until I stop short and he gets a little up close and personal with my backside.

  “What’s wrong?” He peers over my shoulder, searching the ground for whatever danger has me stopped.

  “Did you wash the truck?” I ask, glancing back to find an incredulous look on his face.

  “Um, yes.”

  “Why?” I don’t know why this is such as pressing matter, but my need to know his reasoning peaks when his impish grin turns bashful.

  His broad shoulders rise and fall. “It’s tradition.”

  “Tradition?”

  His silky smooth cheeks darken to a wonderful shade of red. “It’s a…guy thing.”

  “A guy thing?” Something about his evasiveness makes him look all that much more adorable.

  “Yeah. A guy tradition.”

  “Logan.”

  He sighs. “Whenever there’s an important event, like a dance or a first date kind of thing, guys go all out and wash their trucks.”

  The sweet way he beats around the bush makes me all mushy on the inside.

  “I see.”

  His nervous energy is charming as he tries to sober himself. “You will. Twenty bucks says there isn’t a speck of dirt on a single truck there.”

  “Fair enough. Sorry I asked.”

  He shakes his head and reaches around to open the door for me. I climb in and he hands me the bowl of salad. I busy myself with buckling up, not really paying attention to him until he picks something out of his seat and places it on his head as he slips in. My jaw hits my lap when he tips his off-white cowboy hat at me and winks.

  “Satisfied?”

  My cool, calm demeanor fades into my own uneasiness as I drink in his full image. Swallowing back the lump that gets caught up in my throat, I nod. “Yep.”

  Smugly, Logan turns the truck on and a sweet song by Dan and Shay comes on. Their sleek voices croon together, talking about showing off their girls and making me feel like a country princess stepping out for her first date with her cowboy. I feel the tug to glance at Logan, but I resolve myself to shove that fairy-tale feeling away and drift on back to reality.

  Research and observation. Tonight needs to be about watching Logan interact with his family and the people of Walker in a celebratory manner. Tonight needs to be about—

  “So are you nervous?” Logan reaches out and turns down the melodies of the hunky country duo his sisters introduced me to earlier today. His question catches me off guard, breaking my concentration.

  “Yeah. It’s almost time for your two-stepping debut.”

  “Um, yeah, about that.”

  A toothy grin flashes my way before turning back to the road in front of him. “Nobody is going to judge you, Allie.”

  I shift, suddenly very uncomfortable in my short dress and fancy hair. “It’s not that. I just think I probably should just stick to the sidelines tonight. You know, wield my powers of observation and all that.” Even I have to admit my confidence is clearly waning.

  Logan reaches over and lays a warm hand over my trembling one resting on the console between us.

  “You’re not a bad dancer.”

  “It’s not that. I just think you and I should…”

  “Should what?” The truck coasts to a stop at a stop sign just outside the cluster of houses that make up Walker city limits.

  “Well, I think…we should probably…”

  “Just spit it out, Allie.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  He narrows his eyes at me before focusing back on the road in front of us. The truck jerks forward, telling me I’m a little too late for that.

  “And what feelings are you not wanting to hurt, Allie?”

  Cold, distant, and clearly pissed off Logan is back. “Forget it.”

  “Nope. Can’t forget it.”

  “I don’t want people getting the wrong impression about us.” I sigh, exasperated.

  My blurted words land in the air between us and stay there the rest of the way back into town. He backs the truck up against the line of other shiny farm trucks and turns off the ignition before turning to me with eyes shut off and clear of any emotion. “I hate to burst your bubble there, Miss Mooreland, but tonight isn’t about you or me. It’s about this town and its rehabilitation. It’s about celebrating another day of life. It’s about standing as one nation, under God, and celebrating our freedom and independence. It’s about letting loose and having some fun. Think you can turn that constantly analyzing brain of yours off and have some fun and celebrate with us for a few hours?”

  Feeling thoroughly put in my place I nod my head and swallow back my pride. Without another word, Logan jumps out and carefully closes the door before swiftly making his way to my door. I take the moment to embrace his words and let them sink in. Maybe tonight, just for one night, I could let myself have a little fun, enjoy the time with my new friends, and try not to make a complete fool of myself on the dance floor.

  Still in my head, I jump when the door opens and nearly dump the bowl of salad all over Logan. He catches it in time and places it on top of the tool box before coming back to stand at my door. I reach out for his hand again, knowing that these hefty boots will be the death of me if I don’t and do a darn good job of getting to the ground without needing a safety net. But after my feet are planted firmly on the ground, Logan’s grip on my hand tightens just the slightest, drawing my attention up to his baby-smooth face. With heated eyes, he leans in so close I can feel the tickle of his breath on my neck.

  “And even during all this celebrating should someone get the wrong impression of us, I wouldn’t care.”

  He steps back, leaving me in complete shock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  This Fourth of July celebration is clearly the event of the year. Streams of couples, dressed in their finest western wear, stroll down the wide sidewalks that line Main Street hand in hand. Cowboy hats as fancy as some of the cowgirl boots out for the night on the town.

  “I’ll be right back.” The moment Logan steps away,
the warm touch of his hand leaves my back and sends a shiver over my bare shoulders. I scan the tent, hoping to find a friendly face sooner rather than later, but just as I think I’ve spotted the Lassiter table, a tall, dark, and noticeably handsome cowboy steps in front of me. The determination in his eyes tells me exactly what’s about to go down, but like a bad movie, you just can’t stop it in time to save yourself.

  “Lookin’ mighty nice there, Miss Mooreland.”

  “Thank you.” I grasp at just about anything to say to this nice young man, but all words escape me.

  “My name’s Cody. Cody Gentry.” His hand floats in the space between us as he flashes a sparkling white smile. I barely get enough time to assess that the man is pretty enough to be a Wrangler’s model before I feel an ominous presence behind me.

  “Cody.” Logan’s deep tone makes me jump. Embarrassed, I try to give both men a kind smile.

  “Oh, hey, Logan. I was just telling Miss Allie here how pretty she looks. Doesn’t she look real pretty?”

  The awkwardness continues to grow as Logan glances my way. Politely, he doesn’t look away from my eyes when he nods his agreement.

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Thanks, boys, I think I—”

  “Miss Allie, if you would, I’d love the honor of a dan—”

  “I’m sorry, Cody,” I rudely interrupt him and place a hand on Logan’s arm. It immediately sneaks around me, his fingers finding my waist and applying just enough pressure that I feel the need to lean into him. “I think I see Emma and Owen.” I give Logan a “help me” look and the faintest of smiles tugs at his lips.

  “You’re right, shall we?”

  I turn back to find a shocked and slightly irritated Cody gaping at us. His eyes dart down to the arm that wraps behind me to both mine and Logan’s faces before he closes his mouth and nods.

  “It was really nice to meet you, Cody.”

  “Yeah.” He pulls tips his hat, and when his face comes back into view, the irritation has considerably grown. “You too.”

  The moment he steps aways, I move toward the table, feeling Logan not get further than an arm’s length away. We squeeze through the maze of round tables and chairs until we get close enough to the Lassiter family table that Jillian jumps up with open arms. Surprising me, she pulls me to her first.