“Stop bickering,” Briana said. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“The guilt ploy,” Josh said triumphantly. “Dirty pool, Mom.”
In spite of the headache, her jangling nerves and an almost overwhelming need to go to bed with Logan Creed again, and the sooner the better, Briana chuckled. Public school might turn out to be a good idea after all, she reflected. Keep the boys focused on reading, writing and arithmetic, and cool it with the pop psychology.
The guilt ploy? It was like living with two miniature Dr. Phils.
LOGAN TOOK CARE not to arrive at Briana’s until well after the sun went down. He parked the Dodge behind the house and quietly unloaded Snooks and Sidekick, along with his shaving gear and a change of clothes stuffed into a grocery bag. He wondered if the freak was hiding in the trees, watching him, but his insides said no.
And he’d learned, in Iraq if not before, to trust his elemental instincts.
He rapped lightly at Briana’s back door, wishing the whole scenario were different—that they would have supper together, maybe share a bottle of wine, then make love again, this time in a real bed. The boys were conveniently absent from the fantasy.
She opened the door to him, looking worried and a little pale. “I told Alec and Josh that a plumber was coming to fix something in the bathroom tomorrow,” she whispered, like a spy imparting critical information to a colleague in the middle of some spooky bridge. “And that you’re going to keep an eye on things. Did I mention that I hate lying to my children?”
“No,” Logan replied, easing past her into the kitchen. “But I could have guessed it.”
Wanda greeted Sidekick and Snooks with a few friendly sniffs.
Hearing Logan’s voice, Alec and Josh immediately zoomed in from the living room, each lugging a backpack.
“This is cool,” Josh said.
“Can we feed the horses?” Alec asked.
“Already fed them,” Logan said.
Alec looked crestfallen. “oh.”
“But you can help me out as often as your mom allows,” Logan was quick to add.
“Good save,” Briana murmured.
“It’s what I do best,” Logan told her. “Or one of the things I do best, anyway.”
She blushed. He’d couched a message in those words, and he saw that she’d gotten it.
“Here,” she said, shoving a crumpled paper bag at him. He looked, saw the skimpy nightgown inside. The thing would cover about the same amount of territory as four squares of toilet paper, strategically aligned.
The leaving process was a jumble of confusion, which was probably for the best. Logan helped Wanda into his truck, and Briana gave Alec a boost, though he didn’t appear to need one.
Logan stood on the running board, after Briana was behind the wheel, and leaned through the open window to plant a light kiss on her mouth.
Alec and Josh, having witnessed the exchange from the backseat, groaned in loud, prepubescent disgust, then made smooching sounds.
Briana ignored them, her eyes wide and serious and green as a tree-shaded pond as she looked into Logan’s face. “Be careful,” she said.
“Always,” he said. He wanted to kiss her again, and mean business this time, but he didn’t intend to set the kids off on another round of groaning and smacking.
She nodded, swallowed visibly.
He stepped down and back, watched as she ground the truck into gear and nearly wiped out one of the clothesline poles turning the rig around.
When she rounded the first bend, and the taillights winked out of sight, Logan pulled the nightgown out of the paper bag and held it up between two fingers.
Briana must have worn it for Vance—or for some guy in between then and now. He was careful not to let that train of thought pull out of the station.
He draped the garment over the clothesline and secured it with a wooden pin. Then he turned, Snooks and Sidekick watching him from the back porch, and surveyed the surrounding trees.
Okay, punk, he thought. Bring it on.
LOGAN HAD LEFT sleeping bags out for the boys, on a wide air mattress in front of the living room fireplace, and the bed where he’d taken Briana after her meltdown over the bear sported crisp white sheets. Logan had turned the covers back enticingly, and there were flowers in a Mason jar on the nightstand.
All the comforts of home, Briana thought.
Except that Logan was missing, it looked perfect, in a homey, ranch-house sort of way.
She turned from the scene and almost stumbled over Wanda, who had padded up behind her without making a sound.
In the living room, the boys were arguing over what to name Logan’s horses.
Briana wandered in that direction, nervous and at loose ends. Sleeping in Logan’s bed was over-the-top, but the only alternative seemed to be the couch, and she wasn’t going there.
“Quiet,” she told her sons, more out of habit than any hope that they’d actually stop bickering for a few minutes.
Josh had gravitated to Logan’s computer, fascinated by its multiple monitors, three printers and various electronic gizmos.
“It’s on,” he said, wriggling the wireless mouse a little. “Booted up and everything.”
Briana knew where this was going, and put on the brakes immediately. “No,” she said. “You may not use Logan’s computer. It’s private—and it’s expensive.”
“I don’t think he’d mind,” Josh persisted.
“And I don’t think I was born yesterday,” Briana countered. “Hands off, Josh. I mean it.”
The boy’s shoulders sagged a little. “Do you think we’ll ever have a computer like this one?”
His tone was so forlorn that Briana went to him, laid a hand on top of his head. “I think you’ll have all the things you really want,” she said gently. “You don’t have to be poor just because I am. You can go to college, get a great job—”
Josh’s eyes were sad as he looked up at her. “I’ll take care of you, Mom,” he said, so earnestly that Briana’s heart cracked and split right down the middle. “When I’m big, and I’ve been to college, I’ll take care of you.”
Briana hugged him, closed her eyes tightly, felt the tears seep through anyway. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, after clearing her throat. “You won’t have to take care of me, sweetie.”
“But I want to,” Josh said.
“I want to more than Josh does,” Alec interjected. “I’ll buy you a nice house and a horse of your own and pay off all your bills. You won’t even have to go to that stupid casino anymore.”
Briana blinked rapidly, sniffled and swiped the back of one hand across her eyes. “How about we table this discussion until you’re both out of college and pulling down the big bucks?”
Josh agreed soberly.
Alec beamed, but dejection soon replaced the happy smile. “Logan,” he said, his tone solemn, “doesn’t have a TV.”
“Terrible!” Briana mocked, grinning moistly at her younger son. “Now we’ll have to do something dreadfully oldfashioned, like talk to each other!”
“What are we going to talk about?” Josh asked.
“College?” Briana suggested.
“Too far in the future,” Josh said, with a decisive shake of his head.
She forced herself to sit down on the couch, however gingerly. Then she patted the cushions on either side, and the boys joined her.
“Do you like visiting your dad and Heather?” she asked.
“It’s okay,” Josh said, typically taciturn.
“Heather lets us stay up later than you do,” Alec volunteered, shifting his bulky cast. His eyes widened. “She didn’t mean to hit me with the van, Mom.”
“I know,” Briana said, hugging him close for a moment, which was about all he would tolerate. The footed-pajama, teddy-bear, Goodnight Moon days, when it was okay to cuddle, were behind them now, a fact that never failed to sadden her, when she let herself think about it.
“Did you quit your job at the ca
sino?” Josh asked. “You didn’t go to work today.”
Briana sighed. “No. After Alec broke his arm, I just decided to take some time off, that’s all.”
“Can we afford it?” This from Josh, the man of the family. Little Atlas, balancing the world on his young shoulders.
“Not really,” Briana answered, because she’d already lied to them about the reason they were staying at Logan’s place that night, and she didn’t want to compound that. When she did fib to Alec and Josh, she did so by omission, rather than putting a whopper into words. “But we’ll be all right, like we always are, so I don’t want you to worry.”
“I like talking,” Alec said.
“It’s nice,” Briana agreed.
“If Dad got married again,” Alec continued, “why can’t you?”
As many times as her smart boys pulled the rug out from under her, Briana was always surprised. “I guess I could,” she said, after a few moments of thought. “But I don’t know any potential husbands.”
“You know Logan,” Alec reasoned.
“He’s too poor to buy a TV,” Josh pointed out.
Briana laughed. Squeezed them both to her sides.
“No, he’s not,” Alec retorted, leaning around Briana to stare down his brother. “Look at that computer, doofus.”
“No names,” Briana said.
“If you married Logan, you could have babies,” Alec said. “Heather wants to have a baby, but Dad said he’s got his hands full with the ones he’s already got.”
Inwardly, Briana seethed. Vance had his hands full? Until a few days ago, he’d been perennially behind on his child support, and his communications with the boys had amounted to an occasional phone call—collect, as often as not—or a scrawled postcard.
Outwardly, though, she smiled. She had a bone to pick with Vance and pick it she would, when she could get him alone, but Alec and Josh didn’t.
“Babies are a lot of responsibility,” she said moderately. The subject—and the couch she was sitting on—reminded her that she needed to get on birthcontrol pills, asap. She wasn’t foolish enough to think what had happened that morning wouldn’t happen again—or that she could get by with it for any length of time.
“Can we light a fire in the fireplace?” Josh inquired.
There was kindling in the grate, and crumpled newspapers, and a pile of logs rested next to the hearth. “It’s kind of a warm night,” Briana observed, wondering if Logan had laid the fire, the way he’d made the bed and turned back the covers.
“We could pretend we were camping,” Alec said hopefully.
“Okay,” Briana said, because she’d had to refuse them so many things in their short lives, and this was something she could say yes to.
They moved the air mattress and sleeping bags back, away from the fireplace, and Briana crouched to strike a match to the kindling. Soon, a happy blaze danced along the kindling, and she added a small log before putting the screen in place again and standing back to admire her handiwork.
When she turned around, Alec and Josh were in their sleeping bags, with Wanda ensconced between them on the air mattress. Chins cupped in their hands, they watched the flames.
“I like it here,” Alec said, yawning.
“Me, too,” Josh added.
Within fifteen minutes, they were sound asleep.
Briana got a library book out of her overnight bag, read for half an hour and then started to yawn herself. After checking to make sure the front and back doors were locked, she banked the fire and headed for Logan’s bedroom.
In the adjoining bathroom, with its huge claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, she brushed her teeth, washed her face and successfully resisted an unbecoming urge to snoop in the medicine cabinet.
You could tell a lot about a person by what they kept in a medicine cabinet.
A variety of over-the-counter cold remedies and painkillers? Hypochondriac.
Prescription drugs from more than one doctor? Pill addict.
Colored or—God forbid—flavored condoms? Player.
Stalwartly, Briana turned her back on the cabinet and walked away.
Sleeping in Logan Creed’s bed would be challenge enough, without scouting out his medicine cabinet.
SNOOKS AND SIDEKICK had long since passed out on the dog bed in the corner of the kitchen, leaving Logan to sit alone in the dark, trying to profile whomever had trespassed in Briana’s house.
A little after midnight, he faced facts. His plan was a bust.
He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of sleeping on Briana’s bed, but on the off chance the pervert showed up after all, that was where he’d head. So Logan went in there, sat down on the edge of the mattress and kicked off his boots. Then he lay down.
The pillowcases smelled like Briana—flowery, with a touch of spice.
Logan turned onto one side, punched the pillows a couple of times, then turned onto the other side. That morning, he’d awakened with Briana, the two of them pressed together on the narrow couch in his living room. Tomorrow morning, he’d probably wake up with Snooks standing on his chest, licking his nose.
Lying there in moon-washed darkness, he thought about the gossamer nightgown, and the prowler, and Sheriff Book’s admonition about taking the law into his own hands.
Logan hadn’t come back to Stillwater Springs looking for trouble, but he didn’t mean to shrink from it, either. That wasn’t the Creed way. If Brett Turlow, or anybody else, came creeping around Briana, Logan would do whatever needed doing, including ass-kicking.
He closed his eyes, convinced he wouldn’t sleep.
When the noise awakened him, he thought he’d dreamed it at first.
A glance at Briana’s bedside clock told him it was after three.
Something thumped, out in the kitchen.
Sidekick—or possibly Snooks—gave a low, barely audible growl.
Logan frowned and sat up, making as little noise as he could.
Looking down, he saw two canine noses sticking out from under the bed.
A second thump sounded, and somebody muttered a raspy curse.
Logan stood, glad he wasn’t wearing his boots, and soft-footed it out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
The corridor was pitch-dark, but he saw a shadow moving in the kitchen, and a weird, hot-damn kind of thrill raced through him. Adrenaline pumped.
Damned if the pervert hadn’t taken the bait.
Logan inched closer, squinting, but all he saw was a man-shape, groping around in the kitchen, neatly skirting the shaft of moonlight coming in through the windows over the sink.
It never occurred to Logan that the intruder might be armed—he simply went after him, bare-knuckled, pounced on him and knocked him to the floor.
“What the fuck?” the prowler rasped.
A head of golden hair glinted in the light of the moon.
“Shit,” Logan said, slowly removing his hands from the other man’s throat.
Dylan sat up. “Logan?”
Logan stood, fumbled for a light switch and watched as Dylan got to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dylan demanded, his blue eyes snapping with fury.
“I might ask the same question,” Logan countered, folding his arms.
“I couldn’t get a room in town,” Dylan said, recovering his hat from the floor and slapping it once against his right leg. “I called Briana, but nobody answered, so I came out here hoping to sleep on the couch.”
“And you’re here—at Stillwater Springs, I mean—because…?”
“Because I damn well felt like it, that’s why,” Dylan growled. “I wasn’t expecting a hundred and ninety pounds of cowboy to land on me out of nowhere, that’s for sure.”
Logan grinned, but he knew there wasn’t much warmth in the expression. “And Briana probably wasn’t expecting to find you snoring on her couch in the morning, either.”
“I left a message,” Dylan reminded him, hanging his hat on the peg next to the
door like he—well—owned the place. He cocked his head toward the wall phone.
“Obviously, she didn’t get that message,” Logan said evenly. “Damn it, Dylan, you can’t just go letting yourself into people’s houses in the middle of the night. Some of them would shoot first and ask questions later.”
Dylan spared him a slightly sour grin. “Or maybe just slam the poor bastard to the floor and try to choke him.” His blue eyes, always full of the devil, narrowed a little. “Where is Briana, anyhow? And why are you here?”
Logan went to the cupboard, found a can of coffee and busied himself brewing a pot. “It’s a long story,” he said.
“I’m listening,” Dylan replied, helping himself to a chair at the table. “Is there anything to eat?”
“No,” Logan said.
“Okay. Just asking.”
Snooks and Sidekick came slinking out of the hallway and approached Dylan, who greeted them with easy affection. Animals liked Dylan, and so did women and kids.
Logan started to feel downright territorial. Grudgingly, he opened Briana’s fridge, found a carton of pansy-assed yogurt in a container the size of a shot glass and flung it at Dylan.
“Gee,” Dylan said, catching the toss. “Thanks.”
“You’re hungry? Eat.”
“You are really defensive, considering that this is my damned house and not yours.”
“It’s Briana’s house,” Logan said.
“Is this why you wanted me to come back to the ranch? So you could bite my head off?” Dylan asked affably. He got up, rooted through drawers until he found a spoon and tucked into the yogurt.
“Who said I wanted you to come back?”
Dylan stood leaning against a counter. Between bites of yogurt, he answered, “I don’t hear a word from you for five years, and then all of a sudden you’re calling me to tell me my bull is a menace and you’re putting up fences. Why else would you do that if you weren’t trying to provoke me into coming home?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be falling off saloon roofs in a movie?” Logan countered, getting two mugs out of a cupboard and thunking them down on the tabletop. He had wanted Dylan to come home, so why was he so pissed off?
Montana Creeds: Logan Page 21
