Logan's Woman

by Avery Duncan

He groaned.

  “Logan? Are you listening to me?” Claire leaned down, peering over his face, her hair casting a curtain around them. He swallowed and nodded, flexing his hands on her hips, forcing control over himself.

  “Yeah. Perfectly fine. Keep going,” he said roughly, eyes dropping from her eyes, to her mouth, to her breasts — which were conveniently outlined by the thin material.

  Her arms quickly cross over her chest and she laid down on his chest, effectively hiding herself from. Logan groaned again, but wrapped his arms around her tightly.

  “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” she asked quietly, nuzzling her face into his chest.

  “Nope.”

  Carl crawled out of the bushes, wiping leaves and branches off of his shoulders. The agents and the Senator were gone by now, and Logan’s help had returned to their little barn area. The second they’d left their place to search out the intruders, he’d taken a moment to snoop around. It hadn’t been hard, creeping his way in there.

  In fact, it had been surprisingly easy.

  He’d learned all of the places where camera’s were stashed, what they were stacking with weapons, but hadn’t found any form of ID. Of course, he knew who they were without having one. It was just nice to know names and addresses.

  Carl stood up lowly, out of the view of the cameras that he knew were placed just at the edge of where he was. He’d been lucky when he’d showed up here undetected. Showing up another time wouldn’t be a problem.

  He fully planned on killing Ms. Campbell. There wasn’t anyway he couldn’t. It had been Joey’s original instructs and they would be carried out as promised. But killing Logan? Or, rather, trying to kill him? Another matter completely.

  His big feet carried him swiftly through the yard. It’d be another ten or so minutes before he reached the rickety cavalier that was some blocks away from the property.

  Making an even bigger out of Logan Marshal would be the last thing he ever did. The man might be a big lump of goo in the face of Ms. Campbell, but when it came to revenge? Killing? The man was as cold as the arctic and barely had a shred of mercy. That was expected, of course. Carl knew all about the man -- he’d made it his goal when Logan had sent him to prison.

  What he hadn’t managed to find out, he’d quickly learned upon showing up here. Some of the people here were hard to get talking -- except for the gossipping group of ladies. He’d been walking by casually, head bowed, to hear them talking. About the wedding, about Logan, about his ex-wife. What a good stroke of luck he’d had that day.

  The cavalier was in view now, partially hidden behind a clump of tall bushes and a small fence.

  As he opened the door to the car, he realized something.

  If he didn’t kill Logan, Joey wouldn’t give him the freedom he needed. And, without realizing it, he’d found the solution.

  Ms. Campbell.

  He could kill two birds with one stone.

  A small, happy grin came over his face at the thought.

  Using Ms. Campbell to get Logan? Genius! Then Joey would give him the freedom he deserved and no one would be the wiser. In fact, if he took care of the problem now, no one would know what happened to them. Maybe an elope. Her father had stormed out of the house in a fuming rage, so it would make sense.

  He turned the car on, making sure the lights were off.

  Carl had a brilliant plan in store for them, he just had to plan it out more precisely.

  Chapter 25

  Claire rolled over in the bed, searching for the warmth of Logan. The sheets were silky soft and -- he wasn’t there.

  She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. He’d probably started on his cowboy deal early, she thought, yawning softly.

  Logan’s room was nothing but man. As she looked around, feeling content, she took in the scene and laid back in the bed, relaxed. He had dark brown curtains hanging from the large window, just barely brushing the ground. A leather couch was pressed up against the wall, and in front of it was a flat-screen TV. The carpet was a pale cream color. His bed, the one that she was laying in now, was king-sized and low to the ground, with black silk-sheets and matching pillow-cases. Not a speck of clothing was on the floor and she found it endearing how neat he kept everything.

  Her man liked control, she thought, a smile lifting her lips.

  She stretched her arms above her head and then climbed out of bed, deciding she should at least shower.

  Claire went to the bathroom, turning on the shower. She looked at herself in the mirror.

  Curly blonde hair was everywhere, make-up was smeared down her cheeks, and she was wearing a...

  She picked at the hem of the shirt, confused --

  Oh god. Last night.

  Logan. The guns. Her father.

  It all came rushing back like a tidal wave, clearing every bit of content thought she had. God, her father... How could she have done that to him? How could he have done that to them? Logan had been right. About everything. He cared more for her than her father did, or he wouldn’t have acted the way he had last night.

  Couldn’t he see that leaving her with Logan was the safest route? Besides the blinding fear, Logan had been in control of everything. They had more reliable help than she would at her father’s house. The cowboys, Logan’s trained men, Logan himself.

  Claire opened the shower door, climbing in gingerly, feeling her chest tighten as the emotions of last night came back to her. Her father had never really been there for her -- she could at least admit that much. He’d rather be Senator than drop out for her safety.

  Before, the fact had never bothered her and she’d felt selfish for even thinking it... but her life was on the line. What had they been thinking, sending her away, on her own? Finding Logan had been a stroke of luck -- she was sure she’d be dead by now without his help.

  Water sluiced over her dirty body, clearing away the remnants of last night. It relaxed her muscles, had her eyes closing, and letting everything she had felt from last night attack her mind with a ragged knife. Her tears mixed with the water, but her sobs were silent. She promised herself that it would be the last time she cried.

  The danger was still present. Her father, despite him losing his daughter, was still running in the election. She had no idea what would happen after – would she have to live her life in hiding? She’d been pronounced dead. If she actually came back, what would that say about her father? Telling the public that Joey had threatened her life would only make her father’s credibility lessen. And what would Joey do in revenge if her father actually won the election?

  She had no doubt that he would. Joey might be a heartless ass, but he still had a good front to the people of Iowa. Yet they loved her father more… It wasn’t just between them two though. Whereas they’d had five Senators before, they were dropping a seat. But she knew that none of the other Senators cared enough to try to kill someone – the possibility of someone finding out was too high – and not only would they lose their spot, they would be put into jail.

  Claire had no real proof that Joey was after her – her aunt had somehow found out and Claire trusted her enough to do as she said. What if this whole thing really was to gain sympathy for her father’s side, and they’d made a ploy to get Claire to play along… She shook her head. Thinking like that was pointless. Her father had made a spectacle about it, and her aunt was too much of a hard-head with stern morals to go along with something like that.

  She turned off the water slowly, her mind reeling. It was hard to stand there and just accept what was happening. Her life was changing. And not as she’d thought it would. She no longer had the illusion that her father loved her and she now had a husband. A husband with a questionable background.

  “Claire?”

  She jolted at the sound of Logan’s voice outside of the bathroom. Some of the worry washed away – Logan was there for her. She opened the stall door and stepped out, grabbing one of the plush white towels. She opened the door and peeked into the room
.

  A smile lit her face at the sight of him.

  “I took a shower,” she said, opening it fully and stepping into the room. He had mud and other questionable substances leading up to his thighs. His face was brown with dirt and he had his Staton in his hand. The worry in his eyes touched her.

  “Your eyes are red,” he said abruptly, walking over to her and lifting a hand to her cheek.

  Her cheeks flushed and she ducked out of his hands. “I got soap in my eyes. And you’re all dirty, Logan!”

  His hand dropped to his side and he laughed. “I had to give one of my heifers her meds and she didn’t like it too much.”

  Claire laughed, looking him up and down again. “No, she really didn’t.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, sobering.

  She moved from her spot by the bathroom door and walked to his closet. She grabbed one of the black T’s and dropped the towel, sliding it over her head. A low sound came from behind her and she turned around, arms crossed over her chest. “I just need something to walk around the house in. Once I get to my room I’ll get my own clothes on,” she defended.

  The shirt reached to just above her knees, which she was grateful for.

  “Throw a pair of my shorts on, too,” he commanded, a second before drawing in a quick breath and turning his back to her. “I’m going to take a shower. When I get out, I’ll make us breakfast.”

  He closed the door in her face, leaving her standing there with a very deep frown. “Okay, then, Mr. Grumpy.”

  She wasn’t going to dwell on his weird attitude. Logan was a stormy man and she wasn’t going to fool herself in thinking that they’d ever have a completely perfect day.

  Picking up the hem of her shirt and letting it float back down, she opened the bedroom door and ran to her room, getting ready for the day.

  Claire made her way down the sweeping stairs, entering the kitchen. The backdoor was open and she could hear the quiet sounds of nature from outside…and the roar of a motorcycle.

  She frowned. Why would someone be using a motorcycle on farmland?

  Claire walked through the door, watching as a big black Harley rumbled it’s way over the gravel. The rider had on black leather with a sleek helmet on. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching the rider with a curious disposition. A friend of Logan’s?

  She hoped so. No one would be dumb enough to attack in broad daylight – especially with such a loud beast. The motorcycle came to a stop several feet away from where she stood, and she watched with apprehension as the rider swung his leg over, simultaneously taking off his helmet.

  The second it was off, his dark head turned. Even from this distance, she could see the familiar grey eyes.

  One of Logan’s brothers. She remembered what he’d said when they’d been in his truck the first time. I just hope that while you’re here, they don’t show up. You’d run screaming for the hills. For some reason, she felt like that was exactly what was going to happen.

  First her father runs out of her life, then Logan’s brother, who looked like he should be locked up in jail, was walking in.

  She stood there as he got closer, just watching him.

  He had a scar down the side of his face. It went down his right temple to his lower jaw. The skin looked like it had healed as best it could, but the scar was still stark against his dark skin. Unlike Logan’s eyes that were prone to softening, his grey eyes were like slate. Cold. Unfeeling. As they ran down her body and met her face, a shiver shot down her back.

  He wore jeans and his leather jacket, and it didn’t really help with the fear that was making the hair on the back of the neck raise. Didn’t guys in gangs wear leather jackets? Or something? The mental image of Grease-gone-bad flickered through her mind, and in that small interim, he was standing in front of her.

  “Logan here?”

  The voice was deep. Deeper than Logan’s. Scarier, too.

  She stepped back, shaking her head. “Ah…No, he’s in the shower.”

  Scary, dark, and dangerous pushed his way past her, walking arrogantly into the kitchen. For some reason, she felt like “arrogant” was the wrong word. No, he stalked into the kitchen – like a panther or something hunting their prey.

  He sat at the bar, looking at her with unreadable eyes.

  “It’s breakfast. Where’s the food?”

  Claire gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Well you’re in the kitchen. Shouldn’t you be making food?”

  She breathed deeply, trying to keep herself calm. “I’m not a maid,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “You aren’t?” A dark brow rose.

  Her eye twitched.

  “No. I’m really not.”

  Darkie stared at her for a moment. He took in her casual jeans, the cream tank-top, and the brown leather jacket she wore with a scarf that was just a tad lighter than the overcoat.

  Then he stood up, walked to the door, and held it open, his hand pointing to the outside.

  Claire could just stare at him. This man was related to Logan?

  “Please leave this house. If you don’t work here, then you have no business being here. And I’m assuming you aren’t a ranch-hand. So allow me to escort you out,” he said sardonically, waving his hand out the door in a sweeping gesture.

  “Oh my... you have got to be kidding me,” she scoffed.

  “I’m really not,” he said with a cruel twist to his voice.

  “That’s too bad,” she retorted, glaring at him.

  Just then, Logan’s guests came into the kitchen. They took in the scene between her and Logan’s unnamed brother, and then moved in front of her like a barricade. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  There was a tense moment of silence, and then she heard the pair of thumps that came from the stairs.

  Logan.

  She glared at the lot of the men, who stood-off in tense silence, and met Logan at the door. His hand immediately found her waist. “What’s...”

  “Yeah,” she hissed as he finally took in the scene. “Too much testosterone and your brother is such a charmer!”

  Her sarcastic reply went to deaf ears. Logan was staring at his brother as if he was a ghost come back to life. Claire pressed her lips as they stared at each other. His brother gave on outward reaction except for his eyes flickering over to Claire and then back to Logan.

  “Alright,” she sighed, fed up. Her hands lifted into the air helplessly. “This is getting pretty redundant. How about instead of staring at everything,” she suggested with a pointed look to each men in the room, “we actually make conversation and introduce Mrs. Confused Claire to the stranger!”

  She planted her hands on her hips, waiting.

  Logan looked back at her. Though he was unsmiling, she could tell by the light in his eye that he was happy.

  He held his hand out to her and she took it. Luke, Eric, Blake, and Nathan all melted into the back of the room, silently observing. She did notice, though, that Blake reached for one of the apples on the counter.

  “My brother, Chase,” Logan introduced, twining their fingers together. She couldn’t help but eye the tall, dangerous looking man as his eyes snapped to their fingers. “Chase? This is my wife. Claire.”

  “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathed. For the first time, he showed some emotion. Anger, disbelief, horror. She grimaced.

  “Well I sure feel welcome,” she murmured, pressing closer to Logan’s side.

  “Chase…” Logan warned, stepping in front of her slightly.

  His brother only stared between them. His face, which had been a becoming tan, was no pale and tense.

  “No. You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled. From behind her, she could feel the men stirring, straightening, getting ready for something. “Again? You married another sleep-over again?”

  His eyes flashed hate in her direction.

  Claire felt déjà vu as she watched his reaction. Hadn’t her father been th
e exact same way? She backed away from Logan, crossing her arms over her chest. She’d let her father walk over her and make her cry, but this was different. This was her new family. And she would be damned if she let him be so disrespectful in front of her.

  Feeling her aunts training kick in, she ignored Logan’s warning touch on her arm as she moved forward, fisting her hand. Chase, at least, had the decency to back away.

  “You’ve been here for five minutes, at the most,” she said quietly, feeling a coolness wash over her. His eyes narrowed as if he noticed the change. “And already you think you know my situation and who I am, and how I’m like.” Her laugh was like a cold melody. “I’m very sorry that I am not like Christina. I’m also very sorry that you haven’t even given me a chance. You want to think I trapped your brother into marriage? Okay. Fine. I don’t care. I just hope that when a woman comes into your life, you don’t treat her with so much disrespect off the bat. It’s going to be hell when she kicks you where the sun don’t shine.”

  She turned on her heel, passing Logan with a sweet smile. “I’m going to go outside and walk around.” She actually planned on sitting in the garden until she was calm enough that her hands stopped shaking, but she couldn’t say that without her voice cracking.

  Logan nodded at her slowly, his eyes holding a certain light. He kissed her temple and, smoothed her hair. “If you want to ride anywhere, just have Frankie go with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said lightly, leaving the group of men with a relieved breath.

  Chapter 26

  “I didn’t know,” Chase started, raising his hand.

  “Yeah, you sure as hell didn’t,” Logan growled, running a hand through his hair. “I thought mama raised you better than to ever talk to a woman like that-- or about her.”

  “In my defense, you don’t really know what I said...”

  “I have a pretty good idea. Claire only gets like that when she’s offended -- and you really did a number on her. Calling her a sleep over? Really, Chase?”