More Than Meets the Eye

by Karen Witemeyer

  But another woman’s image rose in his mind. A woman with graying hair who withdrew inside herself more and more each day. A woman he’d loved his entire life. One he’d sacrifice anything to protect.

  Even his future.

  His hand slid slowly from Eva’s face, and her tiny moan echoed between them. A sword cleaved his heart as he stepped away.

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  26

  Evangeline fisted her hands in her skirt, desperately grasping the fabric to find purchase against the flash flood that had just knocked her sideways and threatened to drag her under.

  He couldn’t?

  More like he wouldn’t. She pressed her lips together in a tight line. He wouldn’t choose love over vengeance. Wouldn’t release the past in order to build a future.

  “You have to understand,” Logan began. His face, usually so stoic, was a picture of torment. Lines etched his forehead. His eyes pleaded. But she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  “No.” Evangeline shook her head. “No, I don’t have to understand. I can’t. A man who says he loves me shouldn’t seek to harm my family.”

  “And a woman who cares for me shouldn’t automatically assume me a villain because I dare to speak the truth about her brother.”

  “A truth that has yet to be determined,” she countered even as her conscience pricked. She had been quick to cast Logan in the role of villain. But only because he was being so unreasonable.

  He took another backward step, his head hanging low. “Whether you believe it or not, Eva, I do love you. But I love my mother, too. I vowed to get justice for her. It’s the only way I know to heal her pain.”

  “This will heal her pain?” Did he really believe that? Lord help him. “Have you even asked your mother what she wants?” Evangeline’s voice rose. She had to make him see the fallacy of this ridiculous plan. Only then could they salvage their future. “Do you think she wants to come back to this house, to the barn where she found your father’s body? To relive that horror? Or do you expect a piece of paper showing ownership will bring her out of her depression?”

  He withdrew another step, and worst of all, he closed his face from her. His eyes went flat. His forehead smoothed. All hint of feeling vanished from his features.

  Maybe she’d pressed too hard. But what choice did she have? She was losing him to a tragedy that happened seven years ago.

  She released her skirt and grabbed his hand. “Vengeance doesn’t heal pain, Logan. Love heals pain. That’s why God tells us to leave the vengeance to him and instead focus on loving each other, including our enemies.”

  He pulled away from her touch. Rejection slashed through her heart like a scythe hacking through sorghum at harvest time.

  She dropped her hand to her side, but her heart wasn’t ready to forfeit its position. “Where is the love in what you’re doing?” she murmured.

  Where is the love in leaving me?

  Logan gave no answer, just kept backing away until he reached the pair of pecan trees that guarded the pond. Then, with a swiftness that dripped lemon juice into every scrape inflicted by this conversation, he turned his back and left.

  Her feet stumbled after him on instinct, but when she reached the trees, she braced her palms against the rough bark and held herself back. Going after him would do no good. She’d chosen Zach; Logan had chosen his mother. They had no middle ground.

  Her arms trembled. Then her knees started quaking. Then her bottom lip quivered as her entire being gave way to grief. Unable to hold herself erect, she slid to the ground as the tears she’d been holding at bay streamed forth unchecked.

  She’d thought Logan was different. That he’d seen past her crazy eyes and ragtag family to the person beneath. But loving her hadn’t been enough.

  Twisting to brace her hunched spine against a tree trunk, she drew up her knees and buried her face in her arms. If you loved someone, you weren’t supposed to leave. Not ever. Not unless death forced your hand.

  Fuzzy, faded images of her parents and brother flittered through Evangeline’s mind. Why did everyone leave? Was she cursed? Destined to be alone?

  “Evie? That you?”

  Evangeline’s head shot up at Zach’s voice. She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. Good grief. How was a girl supposed to wallow in her brokenhearted misery if her brothers wouldn’t leave her be?

  She wiped her sleeve against her runny nose. Yes, complaining about not being left alone while she was bemoaning her lonely state was a ludicrous contradiction, but that was how she felt. Ludicrous. And lonely.

  Now her eyes were pooling again. Get ahold of yourself, Evie.

  “Just saw Logan ride off. Thought we were going to strategize—” Zach’s tone sharpened. “What happened?” It was a demand, not a question. “Did that bounder hurt you?” Harsh, choppy steps brought him to her side in a rush.

  His hands closed around her elbows, and he hefted her to her feet like a sack of potatoes. She intended to bluff, to insist she was fine and simply wanted some time alone—Zach had never been one to hang around when feminine emotions ran amok, after all, gladly delegating that role to Seth—but as soon as her oldest brother’s arms came around her middle to steady her as she tried to stand, Evangeline’s intentions crumpled. Giving up all pretense, she clasped the front of Zach’s shirt, pressed her face to his chest, and sobbed.

  To his credit, Zach didn’t say a word. Just held her as she wept, giving her back an awkward pat every now and again. After all the wrong things she’d had to listen to Logan say, having a man keep his mouth shut and hold her went a long way toward soothing the raw places inside.

  When her crying finally subsided, she lifted her head and surveyed the damage she’d done to Zach’s shirt. “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

  Zach dug in his trouser pocket and extracted a handkerchief. He shoved it at her, which was his version of being sweet. Just because there was a glazed, panicked look in his eyes didn’t mean he didn’t sincerely want to help.

  In truth, seeing the evidence that he wished he was anywhere else, doing anything else—probably including picking cotton—while he stayed steadfastly by her side, lifted her spirits.

  Love stayed. Even when things became messy and unpleasant, love stayed.

  Evangeline wiped her eyes, blew her nose, then smiled up at her big brother. “I love you, Zach.”

  He grunted, which was Zach-speak for I love you, too. “Want me to shoot him for you?”

  Evangeline burst into laughter. “No.” She swatted one of his arms as he crossed them in his don’t-mess-with-me-or-mine stance.

  “’Cause I will, if he got out of line with you.”

  “He didn’t,” she assured him. “Just bruised my heart, is all. I suspect it’ll heal eventually.”

  “Well, if it don’t, my offer stands.”

  She grinned and nudged him with her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Oh, Zach. Tough, curmudgeonly, wonderful Zach. God had blessed her well when he placed her in Zach’s path. But what would happen when Logan carried out his plans? Her smile cratered. Zach might appear rugged and imperturbable on the surface, but deep wounds plagued him on the inside, wounds that would be reopened and prodded none-too-gently when Logan leveled his accusations.

  She had to warn him, prepare him for what was coming. “Zach, there’s something you should know.”

  A sour taste filled her mouth. Ignore it. Your loyalty belongs to family, not to handsome, kind, heroic neighbors with hidden agendas.

  Kind. Heroic. Logan was those things. In the heat of their argument, she had forgotten the good he had done. The way he stood up for her when the town looked down their noses. The way he rescued Christie—continued rescuing her, as a matter of fact. He’d taken on the task of finding her attacker singlehandedly. A task that had nothing to do with his revenge plot and everything to do with his innate sense of justice.

  “Evie?” Zach’s voice interrupted her mental pre
tzel-making.

  She cleared her throat and set her shoulders in a militant line. “It’s about Logan. And the real reason he came here.”

  Zach looked at her expectantly.

  Evangeline sucked in a quick, shallow breath and spilled what she knew. “His last name is Fowler. You won this land off his father in a poker game, and he intends to force you into a new game with him so he can win it back.”

  The color drained from Zach’s face, and he staggered sideways. His arms came uncrossed, as if they no longer possessed the will to hold themselves together.

  “Zach?” Alarmed, Evangeline reached for him. She clasped his arm, but his flat expression didn’t flicker. It was as if he hadn’t even registered her touch.

  “He said you cheated, but I told him you would never do such a thing,” Evangeline said, trying to convince her brother that she believed in him and not in Logan’s wild tale. “You’re honest and hardworking. Dependable and honorable. It was his father who was in the wrong. He wagered something he couldn’t afford to lose, then blamed someone else for his loss and cried foul when it was too late. I know that. But Logan kept insisting otherwise. Telling me I was naïve.”

  “You are,” Zach croaked, finally looking at her.

  She flinched. Her heart thumped in slow, hard beats. “What?”

  “Naïve,” he said. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And I did everything in my power to keep you that way. To protect you from the ugly side of life.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the motion strangely exaggerated. “You’d lost enough. You didn’t need to lose your innocence as well, your gift for seeing the best in people.” He paused, a thickness entering his voice. “For seeing the best in me.”

  “What . . .” The word emerged as barely more than a whisper. She lifted a hand to her throat and tried again. “What are you saying?”

  Color rushed back into Zach’s face. Red, angry color. He drew himself up to his full height and glowered at her. Belligerent. Defiant. “I’m saying Logan’s right. I cheated. Cheated brilliantly, as a matter of fact. Beat the cardsharp at his own game.”

  Evangeline shook her head, unable to believe what he was saying. Yet her action only seemed to fuel his determination to shatter her stubborn illusions.

  “All your clamor about being a woman grown and not wanting to be sheltered—well, here’s some unsheltered reality for you. Life stinks. It’s hard. It’s not fair. And if you want to survive, you gotta grab whatever you can and not look back.

  “I worked, yes,” he said, “but I stole, too. Stole, cheated, fought—whatever it took to fill your bellies and keep a roof over your heads. So yes, when I saw a chance to get a real house and acreage that could support us for the long term, I snatched it.” He thrust his arm in front of him and grabbed at the air with a fist. “And what’s more,” he declared, “I don’t regret it. Not any of it.”

  Zach stormed off, and Evangeline reached for the nearest pecan tree to steady herself.

  Dear Lord. It was true. All of it. Every horrid detail.

  Except that last bit. Her brother might claim to have no regrets over his actions, but the agony in his tortured gaze proved otherwise.

  27

  Logan urged Shamgar to greater speed, blurring past the cutoff that would have taken him home. The last place he wanted to be was at his cabin, where every room reminded him of her.

  Why did she have to be so stubborn? So closed-minded? Did the time they’d spent together mean nothing to her? He’d told he loved her. Did she think those words came cheap? They’d been wrenched from his heart. He’d exposed his soft underbelly, and she’d kicked him. Called him a liar. A thief. Accused him of seeking revenge when what he sought was justice. Demanded he abandon his quest to heal his mother’s pain without even considering the role her brother had played in the wounding.

  Shamgar’s hooves pounded the road with the same force that Logan’s anger pounded through his veins. Harder. Faster. He leaned over his mount’s neck and raced, sensing that if he allowed his pace to slow, the pain would catch him from behind.

  Betrayal. Rejection. His.

  Hers.

  For that was what he’d seen in Eva’s eyes when he’d refused to forfeit his plans. When he’d chosen his mother over her.

  Gritting his teeth, Logan sat up in the saddle and gently eased back on the reins, slowing Shamgar to a walk.

  “Sorry, old boy,” he murmured.

  Sorry to you, too, Eva. For everything. For using her to gain information on Zacharias. For destroying her illusions. For asking her to choose.

  He never should have gotten involved with her in the first place. He should have kept his distance. Kept his heart locked away in his chest where it belonged. Then his resolve wouldn’t be weakening. His mind wouldn’t be fixated on the way she’d looked as she pleaded with him to let the matter go, the tears that had glimmered when his refusal stole the last vestiges of hope from her expression.

  Maybe he was a thief.

  A farm wagon approached from the opposite direction, and Logan guided Shamgar to the right side of the road, taking stock of his whereabouts for the first time.

  Good gravy. He was nearly to Ben Franklin. He’d pushed Shamgar harder than he’d realized.

  He tipped his hat to the farmer and grinned as if he were simply out for an afternoon stroll, but the moment the wagon rolled past, the fake smile fell away.

  “Let’s get you to the livery,” he said, leaning forward in the saddle to pat the chestnut’s neck. “You deserve a good rubdown, some water, maybe even a feed bag of oats for putting up with me. What do you say?” The last thing Logan needed was a second coat of guilt painted onto his still-wet conscience. He might not be able to smooth things over with Eva just yet, but by thunder, he could make things up to his horse.

  Logan counted at least five men lounging about the livery by the time he trotted into Ben Franklin. Kids draped themselves over the paddock fence, trying to coax a horse or two near enough to pet. Women bustled along the boardwalk across the way, shopping and visiting and whatever else town females did in the afternoons. The hum of a distant sawmill added a buzz to the air that didn’t quite drown out the yipping dog that had decided to dance around Shamgar’s hooves.

  As if Logan’s head didn’t already pound enough.

  He ignored the ache throbbing behind his temples and dismounted. Shamgar deserved some pampering. No yappy dog was going to dissuade him.

  “Little early in the day for you, ain’t it, Logan?” Jack Simmons stepped out of the shade of the livery to greet him. A pair of graybeards playing checkers on a board balanced atop an old pickle barrel paused their game to stare.

  “Didn’t come for cards this time,” Logan said, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “Just out for a ride. Pushed Shamgar a bit harder than I intended. Thought I’d give him a good rubdown and maybe a few oats if you’ve got some to spare.”

  “Don’t have any to spare, but I got some to sell.” The livery owner smirked as the old men guffawed. “Though it sounds like you might be the one needing the extra treat. Of the two of you, you’re the one looking like you been put through the wringer, not yer horse. That chestnut’ll be right as rain after a little water and a good brushing, but you, my friend, look like you could use another dose of that liquid refreshment I procured for you.”

  Chuckles broke out around them. Apparently the men who frequented the livery in the afternoon were well acquainted with Jack’s moonshine connections.

  “Sounds like quite a jovial gathering,” a more cultured voice said from behind Logan.

  “Howdy, Lawrence.” Jack nodded a greeting to the newcomer. “Checkin’ on that bench spring you ordered for yer buggy?”

  Logan pivoted, a polite smile in place. A smile that nearly curdled when he caught sight of the man behind him. Bald pate. Heavy build. Familiar black suit. The schoolmaster.

  “Indeed,” Benson said. “I hoped to have the repair completed before my trip tomorrow.”

/>   Trip? Logan’s interest piqued. If he knew for sure the teacher would be away, he could search the schoolhouse ahead of time. They’d still have to wait for the second ledger to come into play, but knowing the hiding place of the first would simplify matters a great deal.

  “Where’re ya headed?” Logan kept his voice nonchalant.

  Benson raised a folded white handkerchief to his forehead and dabbed at the moisture glistening there. “Down to Cooper for the weekend. I’m meeting with some investors. We hope to gain sufficient funds to purchase new schoolbooks for next term. The children will be out for the harvest in another month, and I want to be able to promise them there will be new books when they return this winter. Our current materials are sadly outdated.”

  So he’d be gone the next two days. Good.

  Logan fiddled with Shamgar’s bridle strap. “You’re the schoolmaster, then?”

  Benson offered a reserved smile while something intelligent and guarded flashed in his eyes, like a cardsharp who suspected a skilled player had just entered the game. “That I am.” He held out his hand. “Lawrence Benson. And you are?”

  “Logan Fowler.” No need to keep his surname hidden any longer. Holding it back would only cause suspicion.

  Jack pounded Logan’s shoulder blade as he invited himself into the conversation. “Logan’s from Pecan Gap. Comes by every few nights for a game of cards.”

  Wishing he could muzzle the chatty liveryman, Logan restrained the glare itching to burn a hole in Jack’s forehead and shrugged. “The Gap’s a little too tame for my taste. I prefer the entertainment in these parts.”

  “Yeah, he’s taken a real shine to us.”

  One of the graybeards at the checkers table snickered. “Good one, Jack.”

  Logan bit back a retort. He was seriously regretting striking up a friendship with this yahoo.

  “Well, Ben Franklin certainly has more to offer an enterprising young man like yourself than Pecan Gap.” Benson sold the town as if he were the mayor. “And speaking of enterprising . . .” He nodded toward Shamgar. “You wouldn’t be interested in selling that animal, would you? We don’t see too many beasts of his size in Delta County.”