Someday (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  When he rocked his hips against her ass, showing her that his cock was just about ready to go again, she moaned and flexed back—and then shifted, turned in his embrace, toward him but away from his intention.

  Pushing him to lie back on the bed, she rose up onto her elbow. Her hair lay like cool silk over his arm. “Tempting as it is, I can’t avoid my life by spending it in bed with you.”

  He brushed his fingertips over her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Why not?”

  She smiled, thinking he was joking. “Because everything is falling apart. My life is a disaster everywhere but here.”

  “Seems like a great reason to say put.”

  “Logan…” she tried to sit up, but he kept her close. “I have to put things back together, and I don’t have the slightest clue where to start. Avoiding that won’t make it better.”

  “I disagree.”

  Now she shoved hard enough that he did let her sit up. “Will you please be serious?”

  “I am.” At her frown, he continued, “There’s some upheaval in your life, no question. I’m saying in the middle of it isn’t the best place to see the way to fix it. The last place you want to be in a stampede is in the stampede. That’ll get you trampled right quick. You want to be on the edge, seeing the whole scene, where you can react to what’s happening, where you can see how to get the herd in hand.”

  “That metaphor is lost on me, sorry.”

  He thought it was pretty plain, and if she didn’t understand, she wasn’t trying. But okay. He sat up, too. “I’m saying don’t get caught up in the panic. Take a step back into calm, where you can survey the whole field and see what you need to do.”

  “Step back? How? Just stay in bed with you?”

  He picked up her hand. “While that sounds damn good to me, I was thinking something else. Come to Jasper Ridge with me. Spend some time on the ranch. Get some perspective.” He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted this, wanted her at the Twisted C. If she denied him, he didn’t know what that would feel like. But it wouldn’t be good.

  She stared at their joined hands. “You want me to go home with you. After one night together, you want me to go home with you.”

  Fuck, it already hurt. But he’d jumped in here, and he meant to see it through. “Yes. You don’t have to stay with me, in my room, if you don’t want. There’s four empty bedrooms in the big house to pick from. I know you like the ranch, and my family likes you. I’m offering a chance to take some time and clear your head so you can see the field.”

  “I do still have some clients. I lost my one remaining big client with all this, but I have a couple others left. They’re not enough to keep my practice going, but I can’t just skip town on them.”

  “I’m not asking you to go to Australia, counselor. A hundred miles is all. A couple hours’ trip each way.”

  She studied him for way too damn long for comfort. While he waited, Logan contemplated what the hell was going on inside him. With just about every word out of his mouth, he laid himself belly-up on a silver platter and handed her a carving knife. He’d so carefully arranged his life, designed it to avoid complications and unpleasantness with the fairer sex, to keep power over himself where it belonged—with him. But here he sat, handing himself over to this woman, waiting for her to gut him.

  “Logan. Are you offering me a vacation? Or do you want me to go home with you?”

  He understood the distinction she made, and the concession she demanded. She wanted him to actually say out loud that she had power over him. If he did that, it would be like taking the knife and making the first cut his damn self.

  They stared at each other, at an impasse. Fuck, he hated how this felt. So much. And he hated more that he couldn’t just get his ass up and go. End this. Make it stop. Put his life back the way it belonged.

  But he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want it to stop.

  Then she threw them both a lifeline. “Logan,” she murmured, dropping her blue eyes from his. “Please tell me what you want.”

  It was the please that saved him, shifted some power back in his direction, reminded him that she was vulnerable, too.

  “I want you to come home with me.”

  She looked up, a soft, hesitant smile on her face, and he saw that yes, truly, she was scared of this thing between them, too. He wasn’t alone in that.

  “Okay. I will.”

  He cupped her face and kissed her, gently.

  Then he pulled her back down, into his arms, and nestled her head on his chest.

  *****

  Logan pulled down the ranch lane and parked by the big house, next to his father’s truck, without incident. Driving by, he’d noticed Heath’s truck and Gabe’s car parked at their house, and Emma’s car parked at hers. Wes was no doubt up at the Moondancer; he was working long hours during this first peak season that the Cahills had owned most of that dude ranch. But otherwise, everybody was home.

  Everybody was home, but nobody was around. That had Logan’s hairs on end.

  When he’d called home to say he was coming back and bring Honor to stay for a bit, he’d gotten Emma. He’d been aiming for his father, who never got stirred up for anything. But once his sister was on the line, he’d been trapped. If he hadn’t told her, if he’d hung up and called his father’s cell instead—should have done that right off, but he’d called the big house landline like a fool—and then shown up with Honor, Emma would have pouted for days.

  So he’d told her. And she’d lost her mind. Emma was a little busybody and a matchmaker, running all over Jasper Ridge enthusing over new relationships, worrying about troubles in others, trying to make connections happen. Logan had driven her crazy, repelling even the hint of a whiff of romantic attachment. After years, she’d finally given up on him.

  And now he was bringing a woman home. A woman she knew and admired. Logan doubted his sister would have had a more rapturous reaction if he’d told her he was getting married. He’d more than half expected her to have the whole family lined up at the house like they were receiving royalty.

  So where the hell was she? And everybody else? Not even the kids were around. Not even the dogs.

  “It’s quiet,” Honor said.

  “Yeah. They’re around, though. Maybe inside.” It was a beautiful June day, though—bright sun, clear sky, a gentle breeze, not too hot. Maybe they’d taken a ride? “Or out on the ranch.” He reached over the console and squeezed her knee. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go in.”

  He grabbed his hat from the rack on the ceiling. He didn’t normally wear it when he was in Boise, but in Jasper Ridge, at home, he always did when he was outside.

  Fixing it on his head, he closed the door and went to the back of his truck. As he unlocked the bed cover, Honor met him back there—she’d already insisted quite firmly that he should not expect her to let him help her out of his truck, and he’d enjoyed a silent chuckle when she’d realized how high it actually was and had to hop out on her own.

  “That hat looks good on you,” she said.

  He grinned at the earthy sound of appreciation in her tone. “Well, thanks.” When she tried to take her bags from him, he deked out of her way. Maybe he’d let her get out of the truck on her own, but she wasn’t carrying her own bags. His father would sense it from whatever distance he was, and his mother would rise from her grave, and they’d come together to kick his ass.

  The house was empty. The skin across Logan’s neck and shoulders began to tingle. What was up?

  “Is everything okay?” Honor asked, standing in the front hall, looking up the empty staircase.

  “They’re probably taking advantage of the good day and taking a ride. They know we’re coming, so I don’t doubt they’ll be back soon. Emma said she wanted to make a meal.”

  “She doesn’t have to go to trouble.”

  “Cooking isn’t trouble for Em. Having a chance to play hostess is her favorite thing.”

  “Your whole family goes out together
to ride? Even the baby?”

  “Sure.” With a nod, he led her to the stairs and headed up with her bags. “Cahill kids are in the saddle early. Matthew’s only four months old, but Gabe or Heath’ll wear him while they ride. They go easy.”

  She followed him down the hall, and they stopped at his open door. “This is me. If you want one of your own, the room across the hall here has a great view of my mother’s orchard.” His own room faced the front of the house—the lane, his siblings’ homes, the sweep of cattle and horse pastures. The house had been built and positioned so almost every room had some view of the Sawtooth range.

  “Where do you want me?”

  It was time for her to answer one of those risky questions. “Where do you want to be, counselor?”

  She stood in the hall, between two open doors, and considered them both. Logan stood at the threshold of his room, her baggage in his hands and over his shoulder, and waited while she decided how to wield that knife. It didn’t matter who answered these questions or who asked them—the risk was absolutely everywhere.

  “I don’t want to crowd you, but … I’d rather be with you, I think.”

  Think. I think, she’d said. She wasn’t sure. That sucked. But when she lifted her eyes to his, he saw his own anxieties reflected. She was trying to navigate the same narrow space he was. They were both trying to understand what was happening and not give up more than they could survive the loss of. She was scared, too. He had to remember that.

  “Then come on in.” He walked into his room and cleared the path for her. As he set her bags on top of his old steamer trunk under a window, Honor wandered around the room.

  “This is nice. It’s so big—and beautiful. You … you have good taste.”

  “What did you expect? Cowboy sheets and toy horses?” A few decades ago, that would have been a fairly close description.

  She brushed her hand over a turned mahogany post of his bed. “I don’t know. Not this.”

  “I live at home by choice, Honor. Cahills don’t leave home. It doesn’t mean I never grew up.”

  “I know. I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess. But this is nice. This bed is beautiful.”

  He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back into his embrace, and his whole body zinged. Nosing her ponytail out of the way, he brushed his lips and beard over the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and around to her nape. “It’s comfortable, too. As long as we’re alone, you want to give it a test?”

  “Yes, please.” She turned and hooked her arms over his shoulders. “I’m glad I’m here.”

  “Me too,” he said and took her down to his bed.

  *****

  They lay in each other’s damp, limp arms, basking in the lingering wisps of afterglow, when commotion down below signaled that his prodigal family had finally returned—and it sounded like the whole crew was back, and maybe had let the herd in with them.

  They were all the louder because Logan had left his door open. He jumped up, all his parts exposed and flying free, and sailed to the door as fast as he could. Honor sat up, laughing, and tucked the sheet around her gorgeous chest.

  “I guess aliens didn’t abduct them after all.”

  “Apparently not.” He came back and leaned over the bed to kiss her. “You ready to see what torments Emma has in store for us?”

  “Is she really going to be that bad?”

  “Not bad. Intense, maybe. She gets excited when love is in the air.”

  He heard what he’d said at the same moment she did. Her eyes flared open, and she canted her head to the side. Logan would have given up a kidney to take the last few seconds back.

  “Is that what’s in the air?”

  He pushed off the bed, away from her, and stood tall. He put on a grin he’d used often, one meant to change the tone of an encounter when it was getting too intense. “Just a figure of speech, counselor. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

  Hurt rippled through her blue eyes, and Logan felt like shit. But that word couldn’t be between them. Whatever was going on here, he was in no way ready for water that deep. He didn’t even know yet whether he was capable of being ready for it.

  She scooted off the bed, to the side farthest from him, and slipped into her clothes with her back to him. That back was rigid. All the space between them felt rigid now.

  Shit. Now he wanted to take these last seconds back. “Honor …”

  When she turned, she wore a smile, but it was forced and too bright. “It’s cool. You’re right. Let’s go down.”

  Logan was still naked, and felt a lot more self-conscious about that than he was used to. He shoved himself into his clothes as quickly as he could manage, and then he opened the door and led her down to his family.

  *****

  “You’ve got the whole clan curious, son.” Logan’s father walked over with a bourbon on the rocks and held it out. Logan handed Matthew to Heath and took his drink.

  “No kidding,” Heath laughed, setting his son at his shoulder. “Emma even had Gabe spinning theories.”

  As if on cue, a chorus of feminine laughter rolled in from the direction of the kitchen. Logan walked over, sipping his drink, and stood at the living room door, looking down the hall. It was like some kind of primal instinct, for women to cluster together in the kitchen at every social gathering. He’d been shocked to his toes when Honor had let go of his hand and followed Emma and Gabe in to help cook. Did Honor cook? Not by the evidence of her own kitchen, she didn’t.

  So what was she doing in there? What were they laughing about?

  “Why do they do that? Squirrel away in the kitchen like that?” he asked aloud—and got his own chorus of masculine chuckles in response.

  “Same reason we’re squirreled away in here,” his father answered. “It’s the way things are supposed to be.”

  Logan turned and cocked an eyebrow at his old man.

  Heath laughed at them both, rocking gently as he held his son. That was a man born to be a father.

  After Ruthie’s death, Heath had gone through a long spell—years—of darkness. He’d been silent and sour-tempered, drinking way too much and flying into wild rages at the sight, hell, the mere mention, of Brandon Black. But since little Miss Gabriela Kincaid and wandered into town, all that was gone. He wasn’t a different man; he’d been a different man during those dark years. He was himself again—warm and good-hearted, hopeful and happy. In sync with the world.

  Logan sat on the sofa and enjoyed his bourbon. Heath sat beside him and barely gave the glass a second look.

  “I need to ask you something, Loge. And I need an honest answer.”

  Heath’s tone was more serious than Logan expected, and he leaned back a little to get a good look at his little brother. “Shoot.”

  “You and Honor—was that going on during the trial?”

  Logan understood why his brother would ask, and why he might let his temper fly if the answer were yes. Though he was ashamed of himself for it now, he would have gotten with Honor back then if she’d been willing, even during Heath’s trial. He was very glad to be able to answer now, “No. This is brand new. Just the past couple of days.”

  “And you’ve brought her home to stay with us for a spell,” their father cut in as Heath’s posture eased with evident relief. “You never brought a woman to us before. Seems damn serious for a couple days, son.”

  “She’s not a stranger. She’s a friend to the family. And she’s in some need.”

  “That shooting on the news. That was her, yeah?” Heath asked.

  Matthew fussed, kicking his little legs strenuously, and Heath stood and took a few steps away to begin his rock-and-sway routine. He turned the boy around and balanced him on his hip, his arm around Matthew’s waist. Matthew settled at once, looking around at his grandfather and uncle while his father rocked him.

  “That was her office. A former client did the shooting. Killed Honor’s assistant. I don’t know what-al
l the damage she’s taken. She won’t talk too much about the details, but it looks pretty bad.”

  “Well, that’s a good woman,” their father said, “and this family owes her a lot more than a room. She’s welcome here as long as she wants to say.” He gave Logan a piercing stare. “I’d like it if she didn’t come to regret her time here, son. You be gentle with her.”

  Logan sat on the leather sofa and took that in. The words hadn’t been harsh, but their suggestion had hit him broadside. He finished his bourbon and set the glass of ice on the table before him.

  “What do you think I would do to her?” he asked, keeping his tone level.

  “Well, this being the first time you brought a woman home, I can’t say I rightly know. But I know you pull a load of broken hearts and ugly rumors behind you, son. We owe Honor Babinot too much for it to sit right if she becomes the latest one.”

  As much as his father’s rough but gentle censure dug at him, far worse than that was Logan’s inability to refute it. He was a dick. He knew it. He’d cultivated it, used it to get free of complications he didn’t want. He knew women saw him that way; he understood the talk that moved through the fertile grapevine of their little town.

  But he’d never thought his family saw him that way.

  Before he could make sense of that stampede of bad feeling, Honor leaned in at the doorway. She’d put her ponytail up swiftly before they’d come downstairs, and it was mussed and uneven. She was smiling, and her cheeks were rosy—a bright recovery from her shell-shocked pallor in Boise. He’d been right to pull her out of that mess and give her some room to breathe.

  She was so ungodly beautiful. And so good. Better than he in every conceivable way. Even his father thought so.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  “I’m supposed to tell you to”—she grinned and affected Emma’s slight drawl—“‘get y’all’s butts to the table.’ It’s time to eat.”

  Her eyes met Logan’s, and her smile shifted yet again, to something soft and private. That twitch of trouble between them upstairs was over. Forgiven and forgotten.