by Carter Ashby
Maggie heard her shout at the children to come inside. A moment later, everyone filed in and headed to the bathroom to wash their hands. Logan was introduced to Spencer’s girlfriend. Spencer hugged Logan like he hadn’t seen him in forever. Which, Maggie supposed, he probably hadn’t.
“How’s Montana?” Spencer asked.
Maggie didn’t hear Logan’s answer as two of her rugrats came running through the kitchen, screaming playfully. Izzie and Levi were four and two respectively, and beyond energetic. Her six-year-old, Gracie, had found a friend in her cousin Dominick, who was five. They came in from washing their hands and plopped down at the children’s table, which Eleanor and Charlotte had set up in the space between the dining room and living room.
Maggie’s oldest son, Nate, was eight and nothing like his younger siblings. He was somber. Thoughtful. Quiet. Even before he lost his father, he tended to be a quiet child. Now he was downright solemn. He sat at the head of the kids’ table and ignored the chatter of his siblings and cousins.
“Maggie, you sit there by Logan,” Charlotte said. “Brandon and I are here. Spence, you and Jill sit there. Mom and Dad at the ends.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Frank said good-naturedly. Charlotte was the only girl. His little princess. She tended to get away with things that Josh and Spencer never had.
Maggie found herself squeezing into a chair with her back to the wall next to Logan, who took up a lot more space than she’d expected. Maybe it was the tight quarters and him having to fold his large frame into such a short chair. No one else in the family shared his height. He must have gotten it from his biological father.
He shot her a quick, nervous smile before bowing his head for grace.
Frank prayed, but Maggie used the time to take in Logan’s profile. As she’d driven home, she’d thought perhaps she’d exaggerated his looks in her mind. He was just a regular guy, of course. No better looking than anyone else.
But as she studied him, she could see he was a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. His skin was tan and his muscles hard. He almost glowed, like the sun had seeped into him for so long that he carried it with him, now. Truly, he was a beautiful man.
And he was her husband’s brother.
So coffee was out. For sure. Probably.
After the prayer, plates were passed around and food was dished.
More than once Maggie found her fingers brushing against Logan’s as they moved the food around the table. She felt what she felt—electricity. It wasn’t as though she could help it. Nothing to feel guilty about. He’d flirted with her and she’d flirted with him. She’d accepted an invitation of coffee. A small moment. Maybe even a mundane one. It wasn’t as though he was Humphrey Bogart and she was Ingrid Bergman. They hadn’t said anything particularly witty or earth-shattering.
And yet the moment had been so big—so perspective altering—that it seemed deeply unfair for it to be over like this. Just…over.
“Spencer says you’re a real live cowboy.” This came from Jill, the twenty-two-year-old girlfriend.
“Jill, come on,” Spencer said.
“He says you drive cattle and can lasso and ride and shoot and all that cowboy stuff. He talks about you like you’re a real hero.”
Logan let out a laugh. “Really?”
“No,” Spencer said. “I do not. I just told her you’re a ranch hand.”
“He did not,” Jill said. “He practically worships the ground you walk on.”
Logan was grinning all out, now. “You want me to teach you how to lasso a steer, little brother?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Spencer said, red to his ears. It was a funny look on a thirty-two-year-old man.
“Is that what you do for a living?” Maggie was shocked at herself. The question wasn’t inappropriate or anything; it was just that she hadn’t intended to engage with him anymore.
And now he turned his eyes toward her, and she found her heart racing again.
“It was. Worked for an old cattle rancher up there the past fifteen years or so.”
“Did you like it?”
“Loved it. Good, hard work. Beautiful country.”
She felt suddenly very relaxed. And if only she could have kept facing him and asking him questions, she might have felt comfortable for the rest of her life.
But Frank interrupted. “How long you here for?”
“A while.” Logan picked up his fork and knife and stabbed at his pork steak.
“Guess you’ll be anxious to get back up to Montana.”
“I’ll be here awhile.”
“I’ve invited him to stay with us,” Eleanor interrupted.
Frank stared down the table at her. She stared back. Logan kept eating, as though there was no tension at all. “I guess if that’s what you want,” Frank said.
“I insist on it,” she replied.
“Fine. Fine and dandy,” he said, his face brightening with one of the smiles Maggie was so familiar with.
Logan washed down his steak with a big gulp of tea, his throat muscles contracting with each swallow.
Maggie had to look away.
The conversation bounced around, everyone sharing bits and pieces of stories from their lives. They were all there for Eleanor, after all. And she wanted to hear all about her children.
After dinner, Spencer and Frank took over the dishes. Maggie, Charlotte, Eleanor, and Jill went outside. Logan and Brandon, Charlotte’s husband, went out into the yard with the kids. Brandon played hide-and-seek with them. Logan and Nate seemed to have fallen into a rather rhythmic game of catch with an old football.
Maggie watched the large man and the small boy throwing the ball back and forth, not talking. Just playing. Josh had played catch with Nate whenever he was home. But Josh would try to talk with him. Make jokes. Nate rarely participated, but once in a while, he would fall over laughing at something his father had said.
It was nice seeing him play catch again.
“That’s who Nate reminds me of,” Charlotte said.
Maggie didn’t take her eyes from her son and his uncle. She rocked gently in her chair. “Who?”
“Logan. Nate’s so quiet and serious. Not at all like Josh. And I was always thinking how he reminded me of someone. And of course…he reminds me of Logan. We’d all be at the table playing Sorry, and he’d be off in the corner reading a book. Or we’d be outside playing tag, and he’d rather be off by himself, chopping firewood or something.”
“Nate’s the exact same way,” Maggie murmured. She didn’t mention how it worried her not to know what was going on in his head. How she worried about his ever making any new friends, considering he hadn’t made any friends in his old school. And now, with his father gone, he’d only retreated into himself even more.
Logan caught the ball and held onto it a moment. Somehow, without saying a word, the two of them seemed to communicate. They each took several steps away from each other and resumed their game. Logan was throwing the ball harder and faster, now. Nate was keeping up fine, though he wasn’t able to throw quite as fast.
Again, Logan paused. Held the ball up like he was showing something to Nate. He did a slow throwing-motion once. Then, he threw the ball back to Nate. Nate repositioned himself and how he held the ball. This time when he threw it, it flew into Logan’s hands with a satisfying pop.
Logan nodded and they resumed their throwing rhythm.
“Does my heart good to see it,” Eleanor said.
Maggie glanced over to see she was watching the game of catch.
“Maybe I’ll invite him to stay with us,” Charlotte said. “That way he’ll be with family. And nearby.”
“He’s staying here,” Eleanor said. Her insistence and urgency were uncharacteristic. Eleanor had always been an agreeable person. A non-confrontational sort.
“It’s just that I’m not sure he’ll be comfortable,” Charlotte said.
“Charlie, he’s my son. I’ve already said he’s staying with me, and I mea
n it. I haven’t seen him in ten years. He’ll just go on to his hotel and get his things and take back his old room upstairs. That’s that.”
Maggie’s stomach felt suddenly unsettled. This was a relatively drama-free family, under the circumstances. With Eleanor’s diagnosis had come a lot of emotions, but everyone had come together beautifully—pitching in with chores, making meals, driving Eleanor to and from appointments.
She wanted to ask why Logan might not be comfortable staying in his parent’s home, but she got the feeling she oughtn’t. Maybe she could corner Charlie on it, later.
For now, she would just watch as her oldest child played a game of catch for the first time since his father had died.
CHAPTER TWO
EVERYONE THOUGHT IT would be fun to have a bonfire and make s’mores. Maggie dreaded it, at first, just thinking of the three of her four children who would require large amounts of one-on-one assistance getting their marshmallows roasted.
But with all the family around, she barely had to lift a finger. She ended up plopping down on a stump at the edge of the ring of light. Cool night air at her back. Heat from the fire on her front. Her children happily eating sweets and licking sticky fingers. For a moment, everyone was busy and she was alone. It was good. Good to have moments of quiet.
Logan came toward her and sat on the stump next to her. He didn’t look at her as he leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “I won’t bid against you for that house, Maggie,” he said.
She’d forgotten all about it. All day, watching him with her son, thinking about her first impression of him, and reconciling that with what she was learning…
“I—I hadn’t thought about it,” she said. “But if you want it—”
“I’m just looking for a project to keep busy. You’re looking for a place to live. So you go on and take it.”
She wanted to argue but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was right, anyway. She would keep the house and make a home of it once it was finished. “I could hire you,” she said.
He chuckled. “You need any help, all you gotta do is ask. I’m not taking money from Joshy’s widow.”
She stared at him. It seemed safe to do as he was quite deliberately avoiding looking at her. In the dark with the firelight playing over his features, he was hard to read. “Then…would you let me pay for coffee tomorrow?”
He covered his face with his hands and laughed. “Jesus.”
“I thought it was nice, Logan. That moment before I knew who you were, and you knew who I was. I haven’t felt that good about myself in a long while.”
He let his hands drop as he stared into the fire and nodded.
“I’m not embarrassed,” she said. “Are you?”
He shook his head. “Not embarrassed. Just…”
“Disappointed?”
He let out a breath and dropped his head before nodding.
“Me, too,” she said. It was hard to know whether she would regret admitting that, or if it would make her feel better. Time would tell.
“Anyway,” he said, sitting taller. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
He shifted, and she knew he would get up and leave. What more was there to talk about? They both knew that after this morning, they would have to keep a certain distance for a while. Just because they couldn’t be together, didn’t mean there was no attraction, after all. So it would be good to avoid each other until they could each put that feeling into a box and bury it deep.
But she didn’t want to. So, she searched for a reason for him to stay, and she asked the first question that came to mind. “Why don’t you want to stay here? At your parents’ house?”
“My mom’s house. Frank isn’t my dad.”
He corrected her so quickly she lost her train of thought.
Fortunately, he turned and smiled sadly at her. “I’m just used to my own space, is all. I’m more comfortable in a hotel.”
“Eleanor has her heart set on it.”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment. It felt like at the dinner table when all her anxiety drained away, and she found herself almost mesmerized. Charmed into a state of pure contentment.
“Your oldest boy…looks just like Joshy,” he said, ignoring her last statement. “Got a good arm.”
“It was nice of you to play catch with him.”
He gave a light shrug. “Anytime. Catch is relaxing.”
“Nate used to dread it. Josh was always looking for ways to connect with him. He’d make him go out and play catch, and Nate never wanted to. I wonder why he played when you asked him.”
“I didn’t ask him. He asked me.”
“Nate? Asked you?”
“Yeah. I was sitting on the steps, there. He come up with the football and asked.”
“What did he say?”
“Said…‘you’re my Uncle Logan, ain’t you?’ He said, ‘you taught my daddy to play catch. You wanna play catch with me?’ So I said, sure.” He shrugged again.
“Josh talked about you like that. ‘My big brother Logan taught me to play catch.’ ‘My big brother Logan took me on my first camping trip.’ ‘Taught me to drive.’ ‘Helped me ask out my first girlfriend.’” She felt a little bit of a choking sensation in her throat. But not as bad as a year ago. More and more, she could talk about her husband without completely falling apart.
“I don’t remember helping him ask a girl out. I’d be the last person he’d want that kind of advice from.”
“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty good at it.”
He looked away quickly, maybe trying to hide that bashful smile.
“So,” she said, pushing her luck. “Coffee tomorrow? On me?”
He shook his head again, still not looking at her. “Sure, Maggie.” He stood and stretched. “I’ll come to the auction, anyway. In case you need any help.”
“I won’t need any help.”
He looked down at her. “Then I’ll just be your arm candy, huh?”
She laughed like she hadn’t done in a while. “Perfect.”
He left, then, a smile on his lips. He left a smile on hers, too. And something more she couldn’t do anything about.
Logan had every intention of disappearing while everyone was still settled by the fire, visiting. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to his mom, though. He would have to be strategic. Catch her while she was talking to Charlie about something. Give her a quick kiss on the head and say goodbye. No, not goodbye. See you tomorrow. It was less attention-grabbing. Besides, he would see her tomorrow. And every day she wanted for as long as she walked this earth.
There she was, talking to Charlie. He strolled past the fire, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “See you tomorrow, Ma,” he said. He didn’t wait for a reply, just started walking.
He never made it outside the ring of firelight.
“You stop right there, young man,” she said.
He turned to see her standing next to the stump she’d been sitting on.
Strategy failed.
“I’m already settled in at the Riverfront Motel not even three miles from here. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”
“You’ll go pack your things and check out of that flea-infested place. You’re staying in your old room. I’ve got it all set up for you. Come, I’ll show you.”
She moved faster than he would have thought possible. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house. They went in and upstairs to the back of the hall on the second floor. He’d had an attic room. A total stepchild of a room, but he’d loved it.
They took the stairs up to the attic.
The room looked just like he remembered. He didn’t remember having to duck to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. The walls were slanted. His bed was tucked into a space where the roof met the wall. A nightstand next to it held a lamp, a phone charger, and a stack of mystery novels.
His dresser was over next to the window, which was small and
round. There was a bench under the window where he would sit, sometimes, and do homework or read.
Everything was clean and shiny. Not dusty at all…not like you’d expect of an attic room.
He’d hung posters on his wall as a teenager. Bands he liked. Beautiful actresses from his favorite movies. Those were gone from the wall, but he saw them rolled up in a box in the far corner next to his dresser.
There were some blankets folded and stacked at the foot of the bed, which was made up with white sheets and a tidy comforter. It was a twin bed. It had been too short for him as a teenager, and it was too short for him now. But he wasn’t about to say so to his mom.
“Looks nice,” he said. “And I really appreciate it, but—”
“But nothing. Look, the dresser drawers are empty. Plenty of space for your things. And the bathroom’s cleaned up. Of course, you’ll have to use the downstairs one for showers, but still. It’s better than any motel in this town.”
He took a couple of steps into the room. The familiarity of the squeaky floorboards struck him. He hadn’t been a kid in this place in nearly twenty years. Strange that it should all feel so close. “I can’t, is all. I’m really sorry.”
“You’re sorry. I’m dying, Logan.”
He turned to face her, his throat tight now. “I know that. And I’m here to take care of you…”
“That’s not what I want. I’m dying and all I can think about is what a poor job I did of taking care of you.”
He shook his head and looked down his feet. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I want you to stay here with me and be my son. And let me be a mother to you as much as I can. Please, Logan. I’m begging you.”
A frustrated laugh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “Why can’t you just leave things be? We can have nice visits. I’ll come over every day. Do some chores, help out around the house.”
Her shoulders sank. The stubbornness drained away, leaving her looking much older than she should have. Her eyes welled with tears, and her lips trembled with the effort of holding them back.
“Ma, you think it’ll make you happy, but it won’t. Please trust me. We’re going to have a much better time if we can keep a little distance.”