He’d let her down, in more ways than one. He should have handled it so much better. He was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction. Tess Harrison might be a formidable woman, but he knew it couldn’t have been easy for her to ask him what she had. She made a good case, he had to give her that. But despite her confident voice, level gaze, and regal bearing throughout most of it, her sad eyes and shaking hand at the end were what he couldn’t get out of his mind. Every time he replayed that moment in his mind, he cringed. He hated that he’d hurt her in any way. It’d been fight or flight in its purest, caveman form.
On the second day, he moved to indignation as he reminded himself he owed her nothing. They barely knew each other, right? If she was disappointed, that wasn’t his fault. He’d told her flat out, several times, that he didn’t want a family of his own. He did not want kids. He hadn’t even gone into the depths of his reasons for this, but he’d given her enough background that she’d had to know he’d likely turn her down. Yet there she sat, strikingly beautiful and brave as she listed reasons—many reasons—why she’d chosen him as the man she wanted to help her make a baby. The gravity of that decision humbled him when he thought about it, and by the second night, when he lay in bed unable to sleep, it really hit him. He was honored that any woman, much less a woman like Tess, would think highly enough of him to make such an important, life-changing request. It was astonishing and terrifying at the same time.
By the third day, he thought mainly of Tess herself. What a unique woman she was. He was unbelievably flattered that of all the men she could choose to father her child, she’d thought about it at length and chosen him. Him. She must’ve known men with more money and power, higher educations, equally attractive . . . and, not blinded by love or need, had decided he was the one she wanted to father her child. If that wasn’t the most mind-bendingly flattering, touching thing anyone could ever think of someone, he didn’t know what could top it.
And how had he repaid her lovely desire and bravery in asking? By blowing her off in every way. He hadn’t spoken to her, texted her, not a word to her since he’d walked out on their dinner. If he’d wanted to prove to her he was a total fucking asshole, he was doing a fine job of it, wasn’t he.
She hadn’t tried to contact him either. He didn’t blame her.
But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He worked every day, he hit the gym, worked some more, watched movies at night . . . but nope, there she was, in his mind. Her presence had infiltrated him, and he couldn’t get away from it . . . from himself.
She even permeated his dreams. Not the occasional steamy, erotic dreams that had him waking up hard and needy. No, these dreams all featured that crushed look that had flickered in her marine-blue eyes before she’d managed to cover. Some dreams, she was at his house, trying to talk to him, with him rebuffing her, trying to get away from her, feeling like shit about it even as he did so. In one dream, she rocked in the rocking chair at his mother’s house, holding a little pink bundle in her arms. When he went over to take a peek at the baby, she glared at him, stood up, and stalked away from him, slamming the door behind her. That one woke him with a start, bathed in sweat. What the hell had that woman done to him?
At the end of the third day, he knew he couldn’t just avoid her forever, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to talk to her, to reach out . . . He just had no idea what the hell to say beyond I’m sorry. And he had to go over there that evening to take out her garbage . . . Maybe when he did, he’d try to talk to her. If she even wanted to.
But he had dinner plans. He’d go do her trash run afterwards. By the time he pulled into his mother’s driveway at six, the stars overhead had been twinkling for a while already. His breath came in white puffs against the clear, frigid night air.
Annmarie looked up at him from the couch as he let himself into the house. Her smile faded into a frown of confusion. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” Logan shrugged out of his coat and dropped it onto the armchair. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a rotten liar.”
“Good to know.”
“You look down. Or pissed off. Or both.” She grabbed his shirtsleeve as he sat down beside her, and demanded, “Talk to me.”
He shook his head, then mumbled, “I hurt someone’s feelings. Someone I like and respect. I’ve been a total jackass. So I’m just . . .”
“Mad at yourself. Stewing over it.” She sighed and patted his knee. “So fix it.”
“I know. I have to. I’m just not sure if I can.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Yup.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “So, lady? Ready for dinner?”
“I’m not too hungry,” she said. “Just something simple would be fine. I was going to make a can of soup and tell you not to come, but I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“Got that right.” He got back up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make you something simple, and you’re going to eat it.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Bossman, sir,” she joked, and lay down again.
He found two cans of split-pea-and-ham soup in her cupboard and heated them, and sliced some of the thick sourdough bread she had. They enjoyed a quiet dinner.
“Tell me something,” Annmarie ventured. “Any chance the person you’re beating yourself up over is a woman?”
He looked at his mother. The hope in her eyes . . . He couldn’t stand to disappoint another woman he cared about. Not this week, anyway. “Yeah. But it’s not—”
“You seeing someone?”
“No, Mom. We’ve . . . just spent a little time together. We talk. Went skiing a few times.”
“Ah! I miss skiing. Wish I still had the energy.” She ripped off a piece of bread and dunked it lightly into her soup. “Where’ve you been skiing?”
“Ajax.”
“Great runs. She any good?”
“Yeah, she is, which is nice.”
“Of course it is.” Annmarie chewed her bread slowly, then asked, “Any chance you’ll tell me who this is?”
Why not? Let his mom have her thrills. “Tess Harrison. The one who—”
“I know who that is. You went out with her on New Year’s Eve. Pretty girl?”
“Stunning,” he admitted. “In fact, she might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Not kidding.”
Annmarie’s eyes flew wide. “I wanna see a picture then, dammit!”
Logan laughed for the first time all day. It felt good. And the spark of excitement in his mother’s eyes made him feel even better. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. “Here, I’ll show you, all right? Sate your curiosity before it gets out of control.” He typed in the Harrison Foundation website on the search engine. “But Mom, she’s just a friend. Don’t get too nuts, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Gimme!”
He chuckled again and scrolled until he found the picture of Tess from the Harrison Foundation Holiday Ball a few weeks ago. In that knockout red dress, silk and sparkles draped over her long, willowy frame, her long dark curls everywhere. The one that had made him lose his breath the first time he saw it. “Here.” He handed the phone to his mother.
And watched her eyes bug out of her head, making him chuckle again. She gaped at the photo, then looked up at him. “She’s gorgeous! You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I rarely do, Mom.”
“Is she a model? An actress?”
“No. Her mother was, but she’s a businesswoman. She comes from a very wealthy family in New York. Long Island. She runs their charity foundation, and she’s damn good at it, from what I can tell. And she’s a painter on the sly, though most people don’t know that. That’s her real passion, art. She loves to paint.” Logan found himself running off at the mouth and swallowed a spoonful of soup.
Annmarie handed him back the phone, staring hard. “And you’re just friends.”
“Kind of. I mean . . . we’re starting to be.
Or, were.” Recollection slammed him in the gut, the lick of shame washing through him. He shoveled more soup into his mouth.
“So what happened?” Annmarie folded her hands on the table and stared him down. “Come on, honey, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“She . . .” He sighed and put his spoon down. He couldn’t tell her everything. It occurred to him with a jolt that she’d probably be all for his being Tess’s donor, and holy hell to that. “She’s a good woman. A really good one. And she asked me to do something for her that I just can’t do.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.”
“And would that be something like becoming her boyfriend?”
“No,” he said with a wry grin. “I wish it were that simple.”
“You like her,” Annmarie almost purred, her eyes narrowing on her son.
“Yeah, I do. She’s really . . .” He huffed out a breath and admitted out loud, “If I were going to date someone, she’d be the kind of woman I’d want. She’s got it all.”
“So what’s the problem? She’s rich and you’re not?”
“Nah. I thought so at first, but no. She’s not like the others. She’s genuine. Down-to-earth. Kind and unpretentious.”
“So what’s holding you back?” she asked. “I don’t see a problem, other than you’re a grumpy stubborn jackass.”
He laughed and conceded, “You’re not totally wrong on that.”
“You haven’t had a woman in your life for such a long time. When are you going to take another chance?”
“I’m not looking to do that.”
“Why on earth not?”
He sighed again, frustration building in his chest. Telling her only parts of it wasn’t helping after all. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“I bet you’re making it complicated. Just stop overthinking for once. Get out of your head and back into life.”
“I have done that,” he asserted curtly.
“Not enough,” she retorted. “You live a loner’s life. When I’m gone, you’re going to be completely alone, and that saddens me.”
“Well, don’t die, then.” He picked up his glass of ginger ale and chugged.
“Logan . . .” Her gaze turned somber.
His stomach lurched. “No. No, Mom. The doctor said if you keep up with the protocol, you have a shot at beating this.”
“A shot. Odds aren’t in my favor. It’s not going my way.”
“So what.” He pinned her with his gaze now, both glad to turn the topic away from him and needing to talk sense into his bullheaded mother. “You have to keep fighting. I’d do it for you if I could, but I can’t.”
“I know you would,” she said with a soft smile. She reached across and patted his arm, gave his hand a squeeze that he returned. Then she pushed back from the table. “Couch time for me.”
He moved to rise and she held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’m tired, but I’m fine. If I need your help, I’ll ask.”
“No, you won’t, you stubborn mule,” he grumbled.
She fixed him with a look and drawled sarcastically, “Gee, sounds like someone I know.”
“Hey, tree, I’m just the apple.”
She laughed and walked away from the table. “Okay if you clean up?”
“Like I’d let you help.”
“You’re the best, darlin’.” She turned back to look at him, leaning against the door frame that separated the tiny dining area from the living room. “You really are the best, Logan. The best son a woman could ask for, and the best man I know. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and everything you do for me. I love you.”
He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat and managed roughly, “I do know. And I love you too.”
“I don’t mean to nag.” Her smile twisted, turning a little wicked. “Well, that’s not totally true. You need me to nag you sometimes.”
He barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know who you were if you didn’t, lady.”
“Damn right. But when I nag you about dating . . .” She sagged a little against the door frame. “I just want you to find someone, to know you won’t be alone. It’s a big world to be alone in. And . . . I saw what happened to you before when you isolated yourself. I desperately don’t want that to happen again.”
His stomach churned anew. A flash of a memory seared through his brain: When his mom came down to New Orleans, after he’d finally confessed to her he’d lost everything, she’d found him lying drunk as hell on his living room floor. And sprang into action, grabbing him from under his arms and tugging until she got him to his couch. She’d grunted and pushed; he was a big guy, and it took strength she barely had, but she’d picked him up off the ground, literally. God, how scared and sad she must’ve been, finding him in squalor like that . . .
“It won’t happen again,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I swear that to you. I was a different person then.”
“I know you were. You’ve come so far, that guy’s in the rearview.” She reached up to rub her shoulder as she spoke. “But you’ve got a big warm heart in there that you’ve tamped down for a long time. You’re a giver. I want you to find someone to give all that good in you to, you know? And someone who can give it back to you. You deserve that. We all do.” Annmarie’s moss-green eyes clouded over. “I had that with your father . . .” She smiled briefly, a mixture of sadness and pride in her features. “You would’ve been a great father. You’re so much like him. It’s such a shame you never had any kids. They’d have been lucky to have you for a dad.”
Her words hit his chest like she’d kicked him with steel-tipped boots.
“Maybe I’ll stick around long enough to at least make sure you find a solid woman to share your life with. That’s all I want for you, honey. I don’t want . . .” She paused, cleared her throat, and said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear, “I don’t want you to be lonely like I’ve been since I lost your father. After he was gone, at least I had you and your brother. Having you boys . . . that saved me. Gave me purpose, and light, a reason to live on and to live well.” Her eyes locked on him. “When I’m gone? You’ll have no one. You understand now? Why I worry about you? I don’t care how old you are. You never stop worrying about or wanting for your children.” She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture and added, “I’m not sorry for that.”
He stood slowly, his throat too tight to speak, and went to her. Drawing her into his arms for a hug, he could feel the loss of weight on her, feel the bones in her back . . . She’d never felt so fragile in his arms before. “I love you, Mom.” He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. Her short blond hair, which had always been silky, felt coarse beneath his mouth. When it had grown back after the first round of chemo, it’d come back different. It still startled him on occasion. “I’ll be okay, no matter what. I swear it. Don’t you worry about that.”
“I know. I know.” She withdrew from his embrace, patted his cheek. “That beard is so thick. Again, so much like your father . . .” With a smile, she made her way to the couch.
Logan watched her as she went. Her pace was slow but steady. She didn’t need his help. So why did he have to rein in, with everything he had, the urge to help her? She was proud and still okay; he had to stop hovering. When she needed him, he had to trust she’d ask.
“So you never did say what Tess asked you for,” Annmarie said, once she was settled into her usual spot on the sofa. “But whatever it was, I say do it. Because life is short, and you like her, and why the hell not.”
“I want her to have what she wants,” he blurted. “She deserves it more than anyone. I just . . . don’t think I should be the person to give this particular thing to her.”
“Damn, you’re cryptic tonight.”
“I don’t want to betray her trust.”
Annmarie nodded. “I can understand that. You’re always honorable. One of the things I’m proudest of. So I’ll just ask you one thing.” Her tired eyes held his intently. “If you gi
ve her this . . . thing. Do you have anything to lose?”
That made him pause. “Truthfully? No, if I give her what she asked for, even on her terms, I have nothing to lose.”
“Well, then.” Annmarie grasped the woven blanket and spread it over her legs. “I’d say it warrants further consideration, don’t you?”
Something hummed in his core. “Maybe it does,” he murmured.
Chapter Thirteen
Tess stroked Bubbles’s soft fur as they curled together on the couch. With her other hand, she held her e-reader as she read. The fire crackled in the hearth . . . and her stomach growled. She glanced at the clock, then out the window. It was dark outside; she’d missed dinner altogether. Getting lost in a good book had helped make a few hours fly by. And even though she was hungry, she felt serene too. For the first time in three days.
It was nice to have had those few sweet hours without thinking of the ovulation cycle she was wasting, or the profiles of the potential donors she’d combed through again, or most of all, Logan Carter.
While their talk had gone pretty much how she’d suspected it would, she hadn’t been prepared for his total abandonment. Three days now, and not so much as a word. She’d gone through the gamut of emotions: upset, sad, angry, disappointed, offended, heartsick. She was starting to wonder if he’d ever speak to her again, or if he was just going to completely avoid her from now on.
Didn’t he have any idea how hard it’d been for her to even ask that of him in the first place? She hadn’t been that nervous in a long time. She grunted as she thought of the look on his face as he’d bolted from the restaurant. Sheer panic. And nothing since. Well, if that was his stance, he may as well stay away, for a hundred reasons.
Today, she’d called the clinic and made an appointment for the following afternoon. Time to forge ahead. Narrowing it down to three possible donor choices based on their bios, she intended to have a choice made and the process started by the time she left Dr. Fuller’s office. Being proactive in the face of resistance or a setback always made her feel better. There was no more time to waste. She wanted her baby, dammit, more and more with each passing day.
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