by Kendall Ryan
After a short but tiring hike, the thick rows of pine trees give way to a clearing of rocks and determined wildflowers peeking through the mud and snow. Right in the middle, the hot spring is clouded by its own steam, giving off an air of mystery.
“This is gorgeous,” I whisper, taking in our surroundings.
I’ve never been anywhere even marginally similar to this. A faint smell of sulfur hangs in the air, and I realize it must be from the trace minerals. Even the rocks surrounding the water are slightly calcified.
“Are we getting in?” I ask.
“I sure am. You’ll like it, come on.”
Logan toes off his boots, then peels out of his jacket and sweatshirt until he’s down to nothing but his faded gray boxers.
Try as I may to keep from staring, my gaze momentarily dips to his deliciously chiseled abs and the tempting bulge beneath his waistband. He may be a rookie, but this man has the body of an all-star. The show doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s climbing over the rocks and sinking into the hot spring, shuddering at the drastic change in temperature.
“C’mon.” He beckons me in with a coy smile. “The water’s fine.”
Yeah, and so is the man in it.
To my surprise, it feels almost too normal to be stripping down in front of him. I untie my boots, then hang my coat over a tree branch, followed by my sweater and my jeans. Thank God I didn’t wear a thong today, or worse yet, granny panties. In a sensible black bra and matching cotton underwear, I can almost pretend I’m in a bikini.
As I’m sizing up the rocks around the hot spring, looking for the safest point of entry that will get me out of the cold the fastest, I can feel Logan’s heated gaze on my body. It feels nice, almost safe, since none of his family is around to tease him for staring. When I catch his gaze lingering on my breasts, he looks down and coughs into his hand, acting innocent and distracted. I can’t help but laugh. He’s a much better hockey player than an actor.
I climb over the rocks, trying not to slip, and when I sink into the water next to him, I’m careful to leave more than an arm’s distance between us. Because, you know. Reasons.
“So, I’m sure it’s been a lot of stress to be back here,” I say, sinking my toes into the clay at the base of the spring. “A lot of old emotions to face with your family.”
His gaze narrows, one dark eyebrow arching. “Are you going therapy mode on me?”
“You did say that we could still have a counseling session,” I remind him.
“Right, right.” He stretches out his arms, settling back against the rocks.
I can’t help but notice how his pecs flex, the rounded caps of his shoulders carved out by the shadows of the trees. It takes my full attention to keep my eyes locked on his instead of ogling his physique for this whole session.
“Things are . . . tough,” he grumbles, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. “I don’t even know anymore. Most of the time I feel like I’m just going through the motions with my dad gone.”
“I get that. It’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to be angry. But it’s not okay to give up on your dreams or stop living your life. Your father wouldn’t want that for you.”
“I know,” he says softly.
Our conversation seems a little strange. It’s like I’ve known Logan forever, and my advice is from one friend to another. As someone who cares deeply about him.
“It’s just that being away from the family is hard. But being back here is hard too,” he says.
“None of this is easy. It’s not supposed to be,” I say gently.
He nods, a lump of emotion bobbing in his throat as he forces a hard swallow. “I guess you’re right. I just wish it could be simple.” He’s quiet for a moment, one damp hand working through his messy brown hair.
He looks so hopeless that, as unprofessional as it is, I find myself moving closer to him and bring my arms around him. Logan relaxes against me, releasing a deep sigh.
My brain starts spinning. Maybe because he’s this big strong man, but it’s never occurred to me that I would have to be careful with him. Yet it’s obvious I do. I curl myself into his chest and wrap my arms around him and just hold him. Breathing in his winter-air scent, I murmur into his neck that everything will be okay.
I stroke my fingers through his hair and tell him he’s incredible and that everyone is proud of him. He lets out a deep grateful exhale and holds me tighter. I tell him that he’s so strong, and that it’s okay to be vulnerable too, sometimes. He makes a low wordless sound.
I can actually feel him healing and being knitted back together right in front of me.
It’s a side of Logan I didn’t imagine I’d ever see, and I’m so grateful that he’s comfortable enough around me to let his walls come crumbling down.
When we finally part a few minutes later, there’s an easiness about him that wasn’t there before.
“Thanks, Summer.”
I meet his serious expression with one of my own. “You’re welcome.”
I can sense a change in him. Before me sits a man who, at one time, I thought was all hard edges. But I was wrong. There’s a softness about him too.
He doesn’t let many people see this side of him, which I can understand. The less people know about you, the less they can pry. It’s a self-preservation technique. Keeping people at arm’s length is one of Logan’s coping mechanisms. But knowing I’m someone he’s willing to let into his inner circle makes my heart squeeze a little. I feel warm all over, and it’s not just because of the hot water we’re lounging in.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m qualified for my new job. But when I’m talking to Logan, I feel qualified, helpful even. Maybe it’s sporting of him to amuse me into thinking so, I’m not sure, but I definitely appreciate how useful he makes me feel.
When he finally breaks the silence, it’s with a question I never could have seen coming. “How did you lose your mom?”
A burning sensation sizzles in my chest. I wasn’t at all prepared to talk about this, but he’s been so vulnerable with me, the least I can do is return the favor.
“Car accident,” I choke out, examining my hands to avoid his gaze. “Drunk driver. She died on impact.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “How do you . . . how did you get through it?”
I meet his worried gaze and lift one shoulder. “I don’t know. One day at a time.”
“God, Summer. I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
“You can’t appreciate the sweet if you never have the bitter.”
He nods somberly. “You said she was your best friend?”
I lift my chin. “Yes. She was. And believe me, it’s been tough, and the pain will always be there. But time helps, and so does knowing that she wouldn’t want me to be sad about it all the time.” I muster up the courage to meet his eyes, his gaze soft with compassion. “The important thing to remember is that you’re not dealing with the hurt all alone. You have your mom and your brothers and your grandpa and—”
“And you,” he interrupts.
My breath catches, and I realize this isn’t just a counseling session anymore. It’s so much more. This is two people connecting on the deepest level, despite the hurt from their pasts. This is real. Raw.
More than anything in the world, I desperately want to close the space between us and kiss him again, the way he kissed me last night. Hard and sure and with abandon.
But I know I can’t. And that’s a kind of hurt I don’t know how to deal with.
“How did you know about this place?” I blurt out, looking for any way to change the subject.
Logan seems to understand and follows along without hesitation. “We’ve been coming here since before my dad bought the property. It’s been a few years for me, though. I’ve sort of been avoiding it.”
“Why would you avoid somewhere as beautiful as this?”
The smallest nervous chuckle rumbles in his chest. “You sure you want to know?”
I nod, eage
r to be let in on what feels like a big secret.
Logan clears his throat. “Well, uh, because Graham told us that he lost his virginity here. Kind of ruined it for me.”
“Ew!” I squeal. “Don’t ruin it for me too!”
“You asked,” Logan says with a chuckle.
Soon, we’re both laughing and splashing water at each other. I feel like a kid again, flirting with a boy I like at the neighborhood pool. Maybe I was wrong before about none of this being easy. Because this, right now, feels as simple as it gets.
As the sun sinks lower in the sky, we enjoy the relaxing mineral water together. Small talk comes easily, but comfortable silences fill the space between us too.
Finally, once we’re thoroughly pruney, we slip back into our clothes and begin the hike back. By the time we reach the truck, the moon and stars are starting to peek through, and I gladly take Logan up on his offer to drive. I may have made serious progress on the whole driving a stick thing, but I’m not sure I’m ready to tackle it in the dark just yet. Plus, I could use a little time in the passenger seat to reflect on the conversation we just had.
A mile or two down the road, Logan takes a turn in the opposite direction of home. “Are you hungry? I thought we could swing by a taco stand on the way back.”
“I never say no to tacos. It’s a personal principle of mine.”
He laughs, and I wonder if he suggested that because I told him Mexican food is my favorite.
“And I don’t come to this side of the mountain without swinging by the Gonzalez family’s taco stand. So it looks like our principles align.” He grins, and I feel that dimpled smile way down in my belly.
A laugh bubbles out of me, the kind of true, honest laugh that only comes around once in a great while.
But it’s immediately followed by a swift dose of reality. Because I just realized how much this whole day feels like a date, something I haven’t had in forever. But I know it can’t be, no matter what my heart wants.
Even if today was great, and his big family is everything I’ve ever wanted, and Logan’s blue eyes are completely dreamy, I know better than to let my silly fantasies turn into anything more than daydreams.
Maybe I should leave, fly out on the next plane and distance myself from the handsome Logan and all my confusing emotions. But walking away now is the last thing I’m prepared to do.
Somewhere along the way, Logan Tate and his family have taken up space in my heart. Impossibly and against all common sense, I’m feeling things for this man that I have no right to feel. Achingly hot when he levels me with those deep blue eyes. Haunted by all he’s been through. Desperate for the feel of his mouth on mine.
And I’m feeling almost none of the things I should be feeling. Professional and detached, or even unbiased. This is more than problematic. I’ve staked almost my entire professional reputation on this assignment, and yet here I am—in totally over my head.
When we reach the cute roadside attraction, which is just an old silver Airstream that’s been converted into a food truck, Logan orders for us while I take a seat at a nearby picnic table.
I pull a deep breath into my lungs and try to quiet my brain, glancing around.
White Christmas lights twinkle in the darkness, strung from the Airstream to a couple of large pine trees. The entire setup is adorable. They certainly don’t have quaint little places like this in the city. It feels like a well-kept secret—the kind of place where you have to know someone who knows someone.
Thankfully, I do.
Logan returns with a tray filled with warm flour tortillas and plastic containers with red and green salsa. He hands me a bottle of water and explains what he’s ordered for us—tacos with brisket and pulled barbeque chicken, and carnitas tacos topped with queso fresco that smell so good, my stomach grumbles.
“Cheers.” He hands me a water bottle, and then opens his, downing it in one long gulp. Grinning, he says, “Dig in.”
And I do, trying to pretend that this doesn’t feel like the best first date I’ve ever been on.
I’ve always thought when I fall in love there would be candlelight and wine and maybe fancy appetizers. Now I wonder if someone can fall in love with the scent of sulfur still on their skin at a roadside taco stand, eating from paper plates.
Because from where I sit . . . it sure seems like it.
15
* * *
LOGAN
“That’s a nice one. Six points?” Austen asks.
“Eight,” Matt says proudly. He adjusts the bill of his ball cap as Austen and Graham scope out the deer we got this morning.
Well, Matt got the deer. I spotted it first but nudged him in the elbow. He’d drifted off to sleep about two hours into our hunt—how, I’ll never understand. The deer blind was cold, drafty, and uncomfortable.
I pointed to the grassy bluff out in the distance, wanting him to be the one to take the shot since he loves hunting. I don’t really care for it, truth be told. And now, seeing how proud he is with Graham looking on, I know I made the right call in waking him.
“That should stock the freezer nicely. Well done, boys.” Graham doesn’t smile, but he does nod to indicate his approval. It’s probably the most praise we’ll get out of him.
Summer enters the barn, carrying a stack of books Mom loaned her after dinner. There’s a title about the medicinal properties of different herbs, a slow-cooker cookbook, and Lord knows what else. I’m still not sure if Summer was only pretending to be interested or actually wanted to borrow all of these from Mom’s personal library. She’s got such a positive attitude all the time, it’s hard to tell.
The moment Summer realizes what we’re all standing around staring at, she stops suddenly and one hand flies to her mouth. The deer is hanging upside down from the rafters, so it’s kinda hard to miss.
“Hey, sorry.” I raise one hand toward her. “I should have warned you or something.”
She swallows hard and shakes her head. “It’s okay.” Taking a cautious step closer, she gestures toward the animal. “Is this the deer you got?”
I nod. “Matt got him, but yeah.”
“I’m both thoroughly grossed out and impressed.”
Matt chuckles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.” She treats him to a wide grin, and I’m struck, not for the first time, how truly gorgeous she is.
When her eyes meet Matt’s, his lips lift into a smirk. “Hope you like venison.”
She scrunches her face. “I’ve never had it, but I’ll try anything once.” Her eyes narrow. “Wait, you cook it first, right?”
This draws a hearty laugh out of Graham. “Of course we cook it. We aren’t Neanderthals.”
“It tastes similar to steak. Maybe more gamey. But it’s not bad,” I say, since Summer’s still wide-eyed.
She nods, but I notice she doesn’t come any closer. Not that I blame her. It’s a lot to see a large dead animal on display. Nothing at all like shopping for your meat at the grocery store.
Austen adjusts his ball cap and announces he’s taking off.
“Where are you going?” Matt asks.
Austen tilts his head toward the house. “Mom made meatloaf. I haven’t eaten yet.”
Matt nods. “Enough said.”
“Enjoy, brother,” Graham calls to Austen’s retreating form.
“I’m going to build a bonfire,” I say, heading toward Summer. “Everyone’s invited.”
Summer turns to follow me. “Will we have marshmallows to roast?” she asks with a smile.
“For you? Anything. Let’s see if we can scrounge some up.”
While I get started on the fire, Summer insists on going up to the house to ask my mother for marshmallows. Matt drags over a couple of chairs.
When she returns with a big bag of fluffy marshmallows and a smile, I feel like I’ve taken a hit to the chest. She’s just so damn pretty, and my thoughts turn indecent almost immediately. But then she settles in beside me and
hands me a flask of whiskey my mother filled for her.
I accept it gratefully and take a big swig, hoping it will extinguish whatever the hell this weird feeling is inside my chest. Too bad it doesn’t work.
Graham pours mugs of beer from a growler he’s just bottled. “It’s a day or two too early,” he warns everyone, but we all assure him it’s good, and it is. Nutty and vibrant with hints of grapefruit.
Summer rips into the bag of marshmallows and places two on a skewer, then offers me the bag. I dig out a marshmallow and eat it whole.
“Hey, that’s cheating. You have to roast them first,” she says, scolding me playfully.
Grinning, I help myself to another, and Summer’s laughter is the best sound. Light and slightly husky.
Those indecent thoughts are back—with a vengeance. This time, rather than another shot of whiskey, I shove another marshmallow into my mouth and chew. I expect to be hit with a sugary rush, but I’m so distracted by her, I swear I don’t taste a single thing.
I try to focus on the conversation happening around me. The guys talk about hunting, and Graham chatters on about the beer-making process to anyone who will listen. Summer occasionally asks insightful questions. She has a knack for keeping the conversation going.
I can’t help but notice the soft look in her eyes. She’s happy here; I can see it. We all can. But does it mean anything? I’m awful at reading signals, apparently.
After she’s roasted and eaten several marshmallows, she licks her sticky thumb and then rises to her feet, announcing that it’s getting late.
“I’m going to head in. Good night, guys.” Then she meets my eyes, and her voice softens. “Thank you for the fire. It was lovely.”
Suddenly speechless, I simply nod.
We all watch as Summer wanders away in the direction of the cabins. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how well her backside fills out a pair of jeans.
Graham smacks the back of my head.
“What the hell was that for?” I rub at the tender spot.
