Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  “Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed to get out.”

  Get out or avoid him? That was the question, and the only thing keeping him from stepping forward and engulfing her.

  “Where you headed?” he asked, even though he’d already guessed.

  “The Ferris Clan.”

  “Without me?” He smiled a little. “This trail here hasn’t had the best of luck for the two of us, but maybe the third time’s a charm?”

  She blushed in memory. The first time they’d headed to Ferris, he had proposed marriage—a business deal. She declined. The second time, they’d been looking for Zach. After snatching up her hand, he told her off ten minutes later. He refused to strike out a third time.

  “I just…” she started. “It seemed like Terrell and Richard were busy today, but I thought maybe I should—I don’t know—try anyway. But, but…”

  She continued to stumble over her words which would have been adorable if she wasn’t avoiding his direct gaze, looking everywhere but at him.

  His heart sank. He wasn’t invited.

  But he had to be sure.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  She broke into her beautiful, wide smile. “I’d love the company, but are you sure you’re up for it?” She eyed his leg with more concern than it deserved. “It’s a long walk.”

  “What, this old thing?” He patted his thigh. “Old football injury.”

  She laughed, a melodic sound that melted his insides. Seeing her brought him warmth he hadn’t felt in weeks. He just needed her ten feet closer.

  Limping through the weeds, he closed the distance. Then he reached up and tucked a gold lock of hair behind her ear, giving into the temptation of her skin. His fingers trailed her warm cheek, her jaw, her chin, savoring her softness.

  “I missed you, Carrie girl,” he whispered.

  Her lashes lowered at his touch, heightening her loveliness. “I missed you, too.”

  “Can we try that hug again?”

  With his good arm, he pulled her against him. She barely wrapped her arms around him, giving him the kind of careful hug a teen boy would give his grandma. Determined to man up and not let her see how badly his shoulder killed, he urged her arms up around his neck where she’d tried to put them the night before. Then he wound his arms around her small waist, pulling her close. She gave in. Her cheek pressed against his neck, making him grateful he’d shaved.

  He inhaled the floral scent of her wavy hair, the softness of her skin, and the feel of her delicate body. The last six weeks dissolved into nothing.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he whispered into her sun-warmed hair. “Ever again.”

  “Ditto.”

  They stayed that way for a long time. But in the end, Carrie let go first. Greg supposed it was only fair. Eventually they’d have to do things like eat and sleep. Still, his arms felt empty without her. He meant to grab one of her hands as they fell away, but she folded her arms as she started off toward Ferris. He limped behind.

  “I hardly slept, thinking about your mom. I’m so sorry, Greg. None of us realized how bad she was until…” Carrie hugged herself. “She went quickly if that helps.”

  Some, but not enough.

  “I’m glad you were there. She loves you.” He flinched, realizing his mistake a second too late. “I mean, she loved you.”

  Carrie glanced sideways. “She loves you, too. She doesn’t want you to feel bad. She wants you to be happy.”

  He could have kissed her for using the present tense, but even then, the whole thing conjured up too much anger he didn’t know how to process, so he changed the subject.

  “Richard told me about your plan to trade with other clans, a farmers’ market in the woods. It’s brilliant. I wish I’d thought of it.”

  “You did,” she said. “I just tweaked your idea a little.”

  “No. You tweaked it a lot, and that’s why it’ll work.” He clutched his bad arm to his chest while studying her hand tucked out of reach. “So…why now? Couldn’t reaching out to another clan wait?” At least until he wasn’t dying to see her, hold her, or even talk? It was a slap in his face that she’d taken off for several hours on today of all days.

  “I’m hoping to find some medical help,” she said. “Ferris is our best chance.”

  The bitterness crept back in. “It’s a little late for that. Six weeks too late.”

  “Too late for your mom,” she said gently. “Too late for Jenna. But not too late for you.”

  Surprised, he stopped. “That’s why you left? To help me?”

  “Yes. Don’t be mad, but those don’t seem like simple football injuries. I’m worried you’ve broken something, Greg, maybe two somethings. Do you know what’s wrong with your arm and leg?”

  It was his shoulder and thigh, but he shook his head. “They’re not broken. Just tender. Another day or so, and I’ll be back to normal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d say that, which is why I’m going no matter what. Nobody thinks my mom’s friend was any good at medical stuff, but Gayle’s the only one I know who can help you. Even if she can’t, she might know someone who can.”

  Carrie had left to find him help. That alleviated most of his anxiety about her. Most, but not all. Her hands were still folded away out of reach. Was she that clueless or was it intentional?

  “Alrighty,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  “You’re not going to fight me?” she asked skeptically.

  He didn’t need medical help, but a chance to be alone with her—without the clan or his grandma bombarding him—was worth it.

  “Nope.”

  She still didn’t look convinced, but she started off again. “Can you tell me about it? Training and everything?”

  So he did.

  He told her more than he planned to, probably more than he should have. The whole time, he waited for an outward signal from her that he hadn’t lost her, that he could reconnect with her somehow. She kept her arms folded as if she was freezing even though the summer morning was plenty warm. It was too blatant to be a coincidence.

  Those blasted marriage papers.

  Were her and Oliver more than paperwork now? The longer he talked, the more he fretted that he’d missed his chance with Carrie long before he had ever left.

  “Will Isabel be okay?” Carrie asked.

  “Yeah. Wish I could say the same for the rebels. I hope they’re not destroyed already—or that I didn’t single-handedly undermine the rebellion.”

  She glanced at him. “From the sound of it, Greg, you saved it. They’re on the move, and I doubt they’ll trust anyone again. They’ll spread the word.”

  “Maybe. As long as McCormick hasn’t already exacted revenge. That retaliation could get ugly.”

  Carrie nodded slowly. “So…” she said as they entered a large abandoned cornfield, “…she’s pretty?”

  “Who?”

  Her cheeks went bright red. “I meant, are you really here to stay?”

  Slowing, he looked at her. Carrie wanted to know if Isabel was pretty. A slow smile spread on his face. Carrie didn’t seem like the type to care about that sort of thing. Maybe he should have toned down his story—the bar, the tent, calling Isabel a dark-haired seductress—but he figured Carrie had nothing to worry about. Now he was thrilled to see that much reaction in her.

  “They think I’m dead,” he said, choosing to answer her second question. “Bein’ dead means we can stretch grandpa’s money a bit longer ‘cause I won’t be payin’ taxes. Neither will my mom, I guess.” An unexpected wave of grief hit him, but he shoved it aside. He held his good arm out wide. “I look pretty good for a dead guy, don’t I?”

  Her blush deepened, a trait he’d missed dearly.

  Married or not, Carrie Ashworth still found him attractive. Plus, she cared enough to be jealous. He hadn’t totally lost her. She just needed time to come out of her introverted shell.

  He could wait.

&nb
sp; Sort of.

  Snagging her arm, he pulled her to a stop. “Carrie, are you okay that I gave up my citizenship? I know it coulda helped things in the future.” Possibly even with the two of them. “It just caused so many other issues that I figured—”

  “You did the right thing,” she cut in. “You’re free now, and I’m thrilled. I guess you’re as pathetic as the rest of us illegals now, huh?”

  “Illegals?”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  He stared at her. Did she not know about her citizenship? Still? Six weeks and Oliver hadn’t told her a darn thing?

  Oliver!

  Although…maybe that meant she and Oliver had a falling out.

  “How are things with Oliver?” Greg said suddenly.

  Her eyes flickered up. “Fine.” It was a knee-jerk response, one that came too quickly. But before he could press, she pointed past him. “Oh, look. We’re halfway.”

  She took off for the old stone wall that ran between their clan and Ferris, practically running to escape his question.

  Grunting, he followed. The stone wall was chest high and easy enough to climb when he had working legs and shoulders. Now it looked like a mountain.

  Carrie hoisted herself up on top and offered him a hand up like he’d once offered her. Manly pride insisted he refuse her help, but a chance to grab that hand was worth surrendering.

  Taking her hand, he swung up. Only she didn’t have the arm strength to get him all the way up. His hand slipped from hers and he landed hard, chest on stones. He yelped. Pain flared everywhere from his shoulder to his feet. He couldn’t help it.

  Scrambling for a foothold, his left toe found a rock jutting out. Without thinking, he pushed up. It felt like somebody smashed his thigh with a baseball bat. That time he yelled full-on. It was all he could do to squirm the rest of the way up.

  Once on top of the stone wall, he held his thigh and rocked back and forth, teeth gritted, waiting for the pain to subside.

  Man card definitely surrendered.

  Carrie crouched next to him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. My hand slipped. What can I do?”

  “I’m fine. Just need…oooh,” he said, sucking in air. “Just need a second.”

  Man up. Man up. Man up.

  Then he realized he’d dropped her hand in the fall. He wanted to punch his injuries all over again.

  Finally, the pain subsided to a dull throbbing–at least enough that he felt he could breathe again.

  Carrie glanced down the other side of the wall. “How will you get down?”

  “Not sure. Maybe you could catch me.”

  He hadn’t meant it, but she pursed her lips, calculating. That relaxed him enough to smile. He was twice her size, yet the poor woman was figuring out how to catch him.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I just might need another hand.”

  She jumped down first, turned, and offered him that same hand which he was only too happy to take. As he started to drop, her other hand slid around his waist and she used her shoulder to carry some of his weight, bringing her even closer. Bonus. He slowly eased himself down, stone by stone, using his good foot until he was at her side.

  Grinning, he realized he’d done it.

  And he’d gotten off the wall, too.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, a little breathless.

  “I am now,” he said, squeezing her soft hand in his.

  It took a second for her to understand, and then she yanked free like he’d electrocuted her. Turning, she started off at a fast, hurried pace.

  Stunned, confused, and dejected, he limped behind.

  “So,” he said after a minute, “I guess Oliver finally made his move, huh? You two a thing now?”

  Without denying or confirming it, she pushed through some waist-high weeds and sped across a large field. Greg struggled to keep up. And not just physically. Bitterness spread through his veins like wildfire. She didn’t even know about the papers, and she and Oliver were still an item?

  So why had she looked at Greg like she had?

  Why act like she still cared?

  His bad leg felt heavy, and with every step, he fell further behind. He finally gave up completely and stopped in the middle of the open field.

  “Carrie,” he called, “just talk to me. What happened while I was gone?”

  She stopped but stayed facing away from him. She stared down at her hands, nervously picking at a spot on her blouse. With effort, he crossed the field until he was in front of her. When she still didn’t look up, he lifted her chin, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

  “I told you when I came back I’d be ready to pursue a relationship,” he said. “Why are you pushin’ me away?”

  “No. You said you’d try.” Her blue eyes flashed with pain. “Try, Greg.”

  That’s what he thought he was doing, but maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough.

  Those beautiful blue eyes looked up at him, so bright against her blouse. But in that moment, she had a more appealing feature. Her lips looked so soft and inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

  So he did.

  Hands cradling her face, he leaned down. But his lips barely brushed hers before she flinched back.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What’s it look like I’m doin’?” he said with a sly grin.

  He tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear and then his thumb strayed to run along her bottom lip. Her lips were softer than should be humanly possible. The color matched the lovely blush in her cheeks.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Greg,” she whispered. Yet her eyes closed against his touch.

  “Me neither,” he said, feeling wonderfully heady.

  He pulled her closer, savoring her warmth. Carrie was everything he wanted but didn’t deserve. She was light and happiness and all that was right in the world. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. Kissed the summer freckles on her nose. Then he lowered his head to explore those soft, pink—

  Suddenly, she twisted out of his grasp. “I can’t do this.”

  She started off again at a frantic pace. She was six feet away before his sluggish brain caught up.

  “Why not?” he called.

  “You don’t want this, Greg. Not really.”

  “I beg to differ!”

  His feet finally moved, but she took two steps for every one of his. He fell further behind but dumbly kept following.

  “No. You’re just confusing passion with compassion,” she said. “Your mom just died, and she wanted the two of us to be together, so you’re trying to make her happy by trying to love me, which is sweet, but I can’t do it. I can’t pretend it’s enough or guilt you into being with me because other people want this, so I think we should leave things how they’ve been, okay?”

  The whole thing rolled off her tongue in seconds, only every word flew over his head.

  “What the heck are you talkin’ about?” he called. “Carrie, will you please tell me what’s goin’ on?”

  Stopping abruptly, she turned. “I kissed Oliver.”

  That brought him up short. “What?”

  “I kissed Oliver.”

  forty-four

  LIKE A PUNCH TO Greg’s gut, Carrie’s words sank in. He couldn’t believe it. Oliver beat him to it. He kissed her first. Carrie and Oliver really were together.

  Greg’s world imploded.

  The longer he thought about it, the sicker he felt, because he realized not just what she said, but how she’d said it.

  “Oh. You kissed Oliver,” he said. Which shouldn’t have surprised him either because Oliver didn’t have any gumption of his own. Then again, neither did Carrie. She’d never initiated anything with Greg. Knowing she’d made the first move with the patrolman stung. Bad.

  She stared down at her hands. “Technically, he kissed me, and it wasn’t even a full kiss, but…” She winced. “I’m sorry, Greg.”

  “No, i
t’s fine,” he lied. “I told you to give him a chance and you did.”

  Wow.

  She really, really did.

  He started off, limping through the abandoned cornfield past her. He didn’t know the way to the Ferris Clan, but that seemed inconsequential now. She followed, the sound of their feet swishing through the brush. No amount of words could fill the void between them. This trail really was cursed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “We had dinner, and it just kind of happened.”

  Kisses didn’t just happen. They were planned.

  Premeditated.

  He wanted to lash out but couldn’t. Oliver was the better choice. He knew that. Yet all he could think was, first he lost his mom. Now Carrie. But ever the glutton for punishment, he couldn’t seem to let it go.

  “Dinner, huh? I bet he’s a good cook.” For all Greg knew, the guy was a sous chef.

  Jerk.

  “Oliver didn’t cook,” she said. “He took me to a restaurant.”

  Greg whirled around so fast she nearly stumbled back. “He took you into public?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. A small deli far from here. We only saw a few people. I felt safe with Oliver. I always do.”

  “Safe?” And yet in six weeks’ time, Oliver never had the decency to mention why she felt safe. Greg felt like strangling something—namely a tall, awkward patrolman. “You need to ask him about those papers, Carrie.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “The travel papers? Why?”

  “You just do.”

  Then he took off as fast as his bad leg would allow. He should have been paying attention to the direction they were going so he could make it back home, but he couldn’t rid the image of Carrie in public. Carrie and Oliver linked at the mouth.

  “So…was he a good kisser?” Greg refrained from adding, Better than me?

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered.

  “Sorry. Just tryin’ to catch up. We’re still best friends, right?” His jaw tightened. “Or did I lose that, too?”

  She stopped and stared at him, looking seconds shy of crying. That was his cue to shut up and grow up—probably apologize, too—but the questions came faster and faster.