by J. M. Madden
It scared him how much that single touch rocked him.
Pull away, damn it, he pleaded with her, then was almost gutted when she did. Her brilliant green eyes had gone dark and she blinked a few times before she met his gaze. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I don’t know why...”
Marigold sat back in her chair and her hand left his wrist. Logan didn’t know whether to curse or cry in relief. His body was ricocheting from pleasure to fear to pain and excitement. It had been so long since he’d felt a woman’s touch... even before his fiancée had thrown him over, he’d been on deployment for almost a year.
Logan was intrigued in spite of himself. That was desire he’d seen in her expression, he would bet money on it. Did cripples turn her on? Or was she one of those few people actually able to look past the exterior. She was so young...
“How old are you, Marigold?”
She snorted. “Think I don’t know what I’m doing? I actually do. I’m twenty-four.”
Fuck. She was a year older than he was. He frowned, trying to reorder his thoughts. The arguments about her age just went out the window and he wasn’t sure what he was left with.
“If you want to get out of here we can,” she said eventually. “I can take you back to the hotel or we can swing by my apartment building and talk to my landlady.
That had been one of the things he’d been out here mulling. His money wasn’t going to last forever and if he could save a few bucks on the hotel, it might be worth it. “If you don’t mind, can we swing by your place? I’ll pay for gas.”
She waved a hand, her naturally painted nails catching the light. “I’m not worried about that. I’ll charge it to John,” she grinned, leaning in to brush his arm conspiratorially.
Slipping off the stool, she pulled on her jacket. When she struggled a little, he reached out and adjusted the arm for her. That shocked him a little, because he’d been in his own head for so long that other people’s struggles never even occurred to him. Why was he so conscious of her?
Logan shifted from the stool and settled his crutches. He’d never taken his suit jacket off, so he was ready to go. He was glad for it as he walked through the restaurant door the hostess held open for him and he walked into the brisk air. “When does it normally warm up here?” he called as they walked across the lot.
She gave a bark of laughter. “I have no idea. I just know my power bill has been outrageous because I can’t get used to the cold.” She fingered the faux-fur collar of her thick wool coat. “Yeah, we could get cold in Arizona, and even some snow occasionally, but nothing like this. It’s been a shock for my system, too.”
They climbed into the beetle and she cranked the engine. Logan had to laugh when she dragged a blanket from the floorboard of the backseat and spread it across their laps, with the gear shift exposed. “Virginia doesn’t have snow like this either, does it?”
A shudder racked him, and he tucked his hands beneath the blanket. He kind of wished he could wrap the damn thing around himself. “We get cold and some snow, definitely, but not so late in the season. Right now, Virginia has grass growing and flowers sprouting.”
Marigold nodded, blowing into her cupped hands as they waited to pull out of the lot. “Well, you’ll be happy to know she’ll be warm by the time we get to the house,” she laughed. “Sorry. I’ve upgraded everything I can in here but the heater is original.”
Logan wished he had three more blankets piled on him. As she’d predicted, the car was just beginning to get warm when they pulled into the driveway of a charming three-story Victorian. There were whimsical turrets on each corner, and a massive wraparound porch. He leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “That’s a lot of lights. She must love Christmas.”
Marigold nodded. “She does, but those aren’t the Christmas lights. Those are the all-year lights.”
He frowned and squinted. “Is it purple?”
“No,” Marigold told him firmly. “It’s called Magnificent Merlot. You’ll love it even more in the daylight.”
Logan turned his head to look at her, not sure if she was joking or not. In the glow from the dash lights he could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Seriously?”
She shrugged as she pulled into a small paved lot in the back of the house. There were two other cars there, a Subaru wagon and a Ford truck. Marigold turned off the ignition, but before he could get out she rested a hand on his arm. “Listen, Mrs. Marshall is a little... different. But she’s lovely. Really. Just...smile and nod and try to go along with what she says. She’s harmless, I swear, and I love her to pieces. She made my transition up here so much easier.”
Logan was a little alarmed, but he nodded. “Okay.”
They left the car and went up the back steps. The porch was decorated with cute little statuary and furniture, and he had a feeling it was beautiful in summertime. Marigold crossed to a heavy oak door with a stained-glass inlay of tall flowers. He thought maybe they were orchids, but he didn’t know much about plants. It was stunningly beautiful. There was a modern keypad on the door, and Marigold keyed in the code. Pushing open the huge door, she stepped inside.
“Mari, hang up your coat and come in here,” a voice called from the depths of the house. “I could hear that damn car of yours coming all the way down the block.”
Grinning, Marigold hung her coat on the wall near the door, and offered to take his, but he shook his head. It was much warmer in the house, but he was still fighting a bit of a chill. When most of your bottom half was burned, it was hard to regulate body temperature. When too hot, it was hard to cool because sweat glands had been burned. Too cold and the muscles didn’t always contract in shivers the right way. His body was broken and he had to consciously take care of regulating his own temperature. So, the jacket stayed on because he was cold. And damn, he missed his hat...
Logan followed Marigold down a short hallway. It opened up into one of the most beautiful kitchens he’d ever seen, with white granite countertops and dark gray cupboards. There was an older woman standing at the stove, leaning over and looking at a tray of cookies on the stove top. The cookies were flat and a little toasty on the edges. He could only see the woman wore a light purple sweater-set with matching pants, and had bright white hair, a little mussed in the back like she’d been napping in a chair earlier. She turned to Marigold and pointed at the cookies. “What did I do?”
Marigold leaned over the pan and poked at a cookie. “Not sure, Grandma. Did you put baking powder in it? Maybe the butter was too soft.”
“Well,” the other woman admitted, “I did fall asleep in my chair watching the news earlier. So, you think it’s the butter’s fault?”
Logan could see the grin Marigold was fighting. She motioned to him. “Grandma Nancy, this is Logan...”
“Oh, Mari, you found a boyfriend,” Grandma interrupted, her face lighting up. “I didn’t like the last one you had... man-buns just don’t do it for me.”
“No, Grandma,” Marigold laughed, her cheeks flushed. “This is Logan Vance. The Lost and Found group is investigating something for him and he’s in town for a little while. I told him your third apartment space might suit him better than the hotel, even if it’s just for a week or two.”
Grandma seemed disappointed that he wasn’t there as Marigold’s boyfriend, but she moved toward him with a smile, peering up into his face. “Oh, Marigold, he reminds me of my W.C.” She lifted an arthritic hand and Logan made himself hold still as she rested a palm on his scarred cheek. “Look at those eyes. My W.C. had eyes as beautiful as yours. They swept this girl off her feet so fast my mother and daddy didn’t know what happened,” she giggled. “Looks like you got into a tangle with something nasty. Gives you a devil-may-care look.” She winked at him and grinned, a silver crown shining on her canine.
Logan couldn’t help but smile back. He looked at Marigold. Her expression was wary, as if she were worried that Logan would rebuff Nancy’s advances, but he could tell the older woman meant no
harm. And she didn’t mean to be condescending. The memories were there in her expression. He could hear the sincerity in her voice.
“W.C. was your husband?” he asked.
“For seventy years,” Nancy breathed. “He was my partner in everything. A part of me died when he did.”
Logan stared at her, incredulous. “You were married for seventy years?”
Nancy gave a nod of her head. “Married in 1947. We had seven children, seventeen grandchildren and...” she started counting on her fingers. “At last count thirteen great-grandchildren.”
“That’s so impressive,” Logan told her. “I don’t know how you even keep track of them all.”
Nancy grinned and tapped her temple. Her finger was bent with arthritis, but the nail was painted a deep maroon. “Ninety years young,” she told him, grinning. She picked up a tall thermal, glitter-encrusted cup. Ice tinkled against the aluminum on the inside. “Jesus juice. Keeps you young.”
Logan lifted his brows in surprise. The right didn’t work as well as the left, but he thought he pulled off the expression. “That’s incredible, Nancy.”
She waved a hand, then tucked it into his elbow. It was a bit awkward maneuvering that crutch away, but he handed it off to Marigold, then tightened his grip on the other side. He let Nancy lead him from the room.
“Now, this rear apartment gets a lot of sunlight in the morning,” she said brusquely. “You’ll have to deal with some kitchen noise, but it’s cozy and warm. You’re welcome to it for as long as you need it.”
She named a figure that seemed incredibly low. “That’s for the week?”
“Month. I believe it’s fair, because it isn’t a full-sized apartment. You’re responsible for your own space. I have a girl come in once a week to clean the common areas. If you want her to do your space it’s an extra twenty-five a week, but she’ll do everything.”
“That sounds fantastic,” he murmured, looking around.
The rooms were decent sized with hardwood floors, just like what was running through the rest of the house. It looked like there were just two rooms, the bathroom through the far door and this bigger space, sectioned off into areas by the furniture. In one corner was a large bed with a heavy wooden headboard and matching dresser. There was a sitting room area with a decent looking couch and chair, and the two areas could be separated by a folding wall partition if he wanted some privacy. On the far side, near the exterior door, was a compact galley kitchen. The appliances seemed newer. There was literally nothing wrong with the space.
Logan thought about his end goal. When he’d headed west, he hadn’t really had much to live for, merely a mild curiosity about his family history and a need to explain himself to Miller’s family. He wasn’t sure he wanted to invest in this cozy, way too welcoming space. Or these incredible, fascinating women.
Anxiety began to churn in his gut. There was too much coming at him too fast and he needed to back off.
“I’m going to have to think about this, Nancy. I’m not sure how long I’m actually going to be here and I don’t know if it’s worth moving my stuff.”
Nancy looked a little crestfallen, but he made himself turn away, grabbing the crutch from Marigold as he went. He’d known the elderly woman for five minutes. It wasn’t his business to safeguard her feelings.
Then he caught sight of Marigold. Her clear green eyes were narrowed and her berry colored lips that had sent shivers up his body were pursed. Logan made himself walk away. It wasn’t his responsibility to keep them happy. Period.
“Can you drive me back to the hotel?”
Without waiting for an answer, he went through the doorway. He heard her murmuring to Nancy, her voice cajoling, but he left without a backward glance.
The car was unlocked so he climbed in, wedging his crutches in beside his legs. Within a few seconds, Marigold was climbing behind the wheel. She didn’t say anything as she started the car and pulled away from the house.
Logan scowled as he looked into the dark, cold night through his side window. It wasn’t his job, damn it, to ensure their happiness. He didn’t know them. Period. They weren’t his relatives or lovers.
The thought of Marigold as a lover made him pause. Well, he’d pretty much nixed even the chance of friendship, now.
Marigold was angry, but his silence gave her a chance to think about why he had pulled away so sharply.
It had to seem too good to be true, everything that was going on. John was finding Logan’s family and now she was offering him a place to call home, even if it was temporary. Grandma Nancy was amazing, and if he hadn’t had anything like her before, maybe he could feel threatened.
His total aloneness worried her, and she’d rushed in to try to change that for him.
“I’m sorry if you felt like Nancy was too much,” she murmured. “She tends to adopt anyone that lives in her house. And I’ll admit, it’s been kind of nice having someone to worry about me again.”
“She seemed like a nice lady,” he said softly. “Wine and all.”
Marigold grinned in the dark car. Yeah, Nancy was definitely a different kind of bird. “Don’t let the wine or the age fool you, Logan. She’s sharp as a tack. She loved her husband like crazy till he died a couple years ago. They’ve lived in that house all their married lives.”
It was incredibly sweet, the way the two of them had been together. Marigold had seen the pictures, and all the little nick-nacks around the house with their initials together. In all of their pictures, they were sharing love-filled glances. It was so sickeningly sweet.
And she wanted it. She wanted that same devotion she could see spilling from W.C.’s eyes, the way he touched Nancy’s shoulder and held her hand to make sure she didn’t fall. In a way she even wanted the heartbreak she could see in Nancy’s eyes, because it meant she had loved deeply and completely.
Marigold hadn’t felt that kind of love, yet, and she wasn’t really in a hurry to. School would be taking a lot of her time, coming up, and it wasn’t fair to half-ass a relationship. She’d refused to allow herself a pet for the same reason. It wouldn’t be fair to the animal if she wasn’t there to care for it. Her heart ached for something to cuddle and love, but she wasn’t going to allow her need to eclipse another being’s emotional health.
“I can’t imagine being married that long,” he murmured.
She didn’t say anything, though it was the perfect opportunity to bring up the ex. If he wanted to talk about her she would let him bring her up.
For most of the ride back to his hotel she held her tongue. It wasn’t her business if he wanted to rebuff their offers of friendship. She needed to quit expecting more from him.
When she dropped him off at the front entrance, though, she wavered. “If you need a ride anywhere, just let me know. Obviously, I’m just a few minutes away.”
He turned to look at her for a moment, his stunningly bright eyes dimmed in the shadow of the car. “I’ll think about it.”
Marigold knew that he wouldn’t call her, and that hurt her heart. It was his choice though. She watched as he made his way into the hotel, then she pulled away. She couldn’t worry about every guy/client that came through the LNF doors.
10
On Monday, Logan called John in the hopes there had been a breakthrough in his investigation, but there hadn’t been. He’d been hoping that he would have some reason to go down to the office and see Marigold. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms and he’d had a long, boring weekend to regret that. Several times he’d picked up his phone to call her, then changed his mind. What exactly would he say to her?
Oh, hey, sorry I was a dick. You were just too nice and it freaked me out because I don’t want to get attached to anyone in case I decide to kill myself.
How lame, metaphorically, could he be?
If he had any sense at all he would take her up on the housing offer, if it was still available, and hope they didn’t see each other at the house or something. Yeah, right. He’d seen
the look in her eyes. The one that made awareness rattle his bones. If he had any balls at all he would test that look and allow his life to take a different path.
And the kiss on his ear... Fuck. The scene kept replaying in his mind, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that, exactly. All he knew was that it kept him up at night, replaying through his mind. Wondering how far she’d go.
Man, it hurt when it didn’t work out, though.
A relationship wasn’t for him. There was no way he was going to allow himself to stick around and be a burden on someone. He looked down at his legs. Since he was in the hotel room he hadn’t bothered to dress in more than boxers and a T-shirt, though he should have. He hated looking at himself. Scars crisscrossed his legs in every direction, and there were chunks out of his thighs. All shrapnel wounds. Just like the divot out of his right calf and the missing toes on his right foot. His right knee had been replaced because it had been completely shattered. Sometimes he wondered if that wouldn’t have been better to have amputated the damn thing. It gave him more trouble than anything else. The IED had blown up beneath their vehicle, and the same metal that had protected most of his vital organs had destroyed his lower extremities. The doctors had said that they couldn’t do much more for him, although his physical therapy guy thought he could do more than he already was. That was hard to believe just because of the level of pain he dealt with daily.
Pain pills barely controlled the agony. Logan had been trying to wean himself off of them, but sometimes the pain was just too much, and he would have to take one. Or even a few of them. It made him feel weak to need pills, and he hated it.
At least he was here, though. Wasn’t that what they’d told him at Walter Reed? You made it back when others died.
In his mind, the ones that had died had gotten off easy.