Betty murmured an assent, casting a wistful look at Amy. “It’s wonderful. I’m so grateful to have you back for a few weeks. I just wish it was longer. Will you be able to visit again this summer?”
The painful throb returned behind Amy’s eyes. She’d have a new job by then. There was no chance of her being able to take time off work again that soon after moving to Michigan and hope to make a good impression. She shrugged with stiff shoulders.
“I don’t think so, Mama. I’d hate to take up a room during the busy season. You told me yourself Raintree is always full now. Especially around the holidays.” Amy gestured toward the closed door leading to the public dining room. “There’s a crowd out there.”
“Yeah, but those are guests.” Pop smiled, eyes warming. “You’re family. We always have room for family.”
Betty squeezed Amy’s arm. “And your seat’s been empty for far too long.” She smiled at Logan. “We’re all so happy you’ve come home.”
“That we are,” Logan added in a low voice, his warm palm smoothing over her back.
Amy’s face heated. She straightened, the cup tilting in her hand and ice clinking in the empty glass.
“Switch gears,” Dominic said, propping the mouth of a wine bottle on the edge of her glass and sloshing red liquid into it.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Amy nudged the bottle away.
The red stream splashed against the ivory tablecloth. The formal one with the fancy cutwork and scalloped lace edges. Betty’s favorite.
Amy gasped and dabbed at the rapidly spreading stain with her napkin. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mama.”
Betty tsked, shaking her head and stilling Amy’s hand. “Don’t trouble yourself. We’ve got more where that came from.”
“You sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Dominic asked, concern clouding his features. “You had a long trip down here. It’ll help you relax a bit.”
Amy pressed harder at the soaked tablecloth with her napkin. “No, I’m fine. A bit tired is all.”
Dominic exchanged a glance with Logan before averting his face and returning to his meal.
“She needs a good night’s rest,” Logan murmured. “We had a long day and a run-in with Thunder earlier.” He took the napkin from her hand, leaning close and gently examining her swollen knuckles. “How’re they feeling?”
Amy’s skin tingled under his tender touch. She shrugged, peeled her eyes from his dark five-o’clock shadow and chiseled jaw and ignored his enticing male scent.
“We’re sorry about Thunder,” Pop said. “Real sorry, Amy. We all know how much you love that horse. Wish we didn’t have to put him down.”
Amy’s throat closed and she couldn’t bring herself to meet Pop’s eyes.
“Whatcha mean, put him down?” Jayden’s brow creased.
“Yeah,” Kayden said. “What’s gonna happen to him, Aunt Cissy?”
Cissy moved to speak but stopped, shaking her head and looking down at the table.
“He doesn’t have to be put down,” Traci said, blinking back tears. “You could help him, Amy.”
Logan leveled a look across the table. “Traci, Thunder is beyond anyone’s help. And now’s not the time to discu—”
“When would be the time?” Traci asked, shooting a pleading look at Betty. “Tell her, Mama. You know she’s the only one that could do it.”
Betty sighed but asked gently, “Have you given any thought to working with him, Amy?”
“That would take a lot of time,” Amy said. “More time than I have.”
“But they’re gonna put him down.” Traci’s voice rose. “Please, Amy. I’ll help you. I’ve been training the other horses and Logan said I have a way with them. Just like you. Isn’t that right, Logan?”
Logan nodded slowly, his steady gaze causing Amy’s cheeks to tingle. “She’s not where you were at her age but she’s good.” His smile was tender. “It must be in your blood.”
“See?” Traci scooted forward in her chair and rested her fists on the edge of the table. “Come on, Amy. It won’t take us that long. And if it does, surely you can stay for a few extra days.”
Amy fixed her eyes on the red stain bleeding toward the edge of the table. “I can’t.”
Traci glowered. “Why not?”
“Traci,” Betty admonished.
“Not ’til she tells me why.”
“That’s enough, Traci.” Logan’s arm tensed against Amy. “It’s too dangerous. And she just said—”
“I know what she said but she can’t mean it.” Traci’s voice shook. “They’re gonna put him down, Amy. Don’t you care about Thunder at all?”
“I care. But I can’t stay.”
Amy closed her eyes briefly, her good intentions fading. Now was as good a time as any to tell them. This might be the best opportunity she’d get to break the news.
“I can’t stay any longer than I’d planned because I’ve been offered a management position. It’s one I’ve worked really hard for and I start in January.”
Betty smiled. “That’s wonderful news. Is it with the same insurance company?”
“Yes, but it’s at a new branch.” She licked her lips. “In Michigan.”
Her quiet comment pierced the comfortable companionship at the table and thickened the air around them. The clatter of utensils silenced.
“Michigan?” Betty’s chin quivered and her eyes glistened. “But that’s so far away.”
“It’s not that bad a trip by plane, Mama,” she said gently. “You and Traci can visit as much as you want. I’ll buy the tickets.”
Amy glanced at Traci. Her eyes flooded and tears streamed from her lashes down her cheeks.
“You told me you were moving to a new apartment. Not to a different state.” Traci’s ragged whisper broke the silence at the table.
She rose, pushing back her chair and leaving the room.
“Come on, boys,” Cissy said, pulling the twins’ napkins from their laps and nudging them to their feet. “Time for your bath.”
Kayden scowled. “But we ain’t had no cookies yet. You said we could—”
“I’ll get you some on the way,” Dominic said. He stood, helped Cissy up with a hand on her elbow then took each of the boys’ hands, leading them out of the room.
“Have you thought this through?” Betty asked, fingers clutching the collar of her shirt. “Maybe you need to take some time and decide if it’s really what you want to do.”
“I’m sure, Mama.”
“But...” Betty’s gaze hovered on a red-faced Logan. “What about...?”
“Things have been over for a long time between me and Logan,” Amy whispered. “You know that. It was my fault. I was too young and too much happe—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “It’s time we both moved on.”
The implication fell hard, slamming into the silence and echoing around the room. Betty winced and looked at Pop. A burst of laughter traveled from the guests’ dining room, the sound muffled by the closed door.
“Logan?” Pop frowned, his gaze sharp on his son’s face.
Logan’s jaw clenched. He looked down and slumped back in his chair.
“Excuse me,” Betty whispered, shaking her head and leaving the table.
The sound of her sobs faded with each of her slow steps.
“I’ll just...give you two a minute.” Pop squeezed Logan’s shoulder briefly before he left, too.
Amy stayed silent, flinching at the harsh rasp of Logan’s heavy breaths and staring at the empty chairs. She bit her lip, her teeth digging hard into the soft flesh, and a sharp metallic flavor trickled onto her tongue. Red drops of wine dripped from the tablecloth and plopped onto her leg, the crisp material of her pinstriped pants soggy beneath the stain.
T
he moment was so familiar. Almost a perfect replica of another meal she’d shared at this table. When she’d announced her pregnancy with gleeful, nineteen-year-old abandon, shocking and saddening those around her. Betty’s tears and Pop’s disapproval had been just as strong. And Logan’s shame just as apparent.
Amy jerked to her feet and headed for the door with unsteady steps. She shouldn’t have told them tonight. It hadn’t been the right time. But she’d done so anyway because it was easiest for her.
Here, she was still the same disruptive girl she’d always been. If she stayed at Raintree, she’d only bring more of the same. Discord and trouble. She should never have come back.
Chapter Four
It’d be so easy to let her go. To turn around, trudge to their room—which had been empty of her for so long—and continue with the status quo.
Logan frowned, examining the stiff line of Amy’s back through the window. He clutched the bottle of beer in his hand, the cold wetness seeping into his warm skin. It was Amy’s favorite brand. The only kind she drank. And he’d kept it on hand for four years, fool that he was, having picked it up out of habit during every trip to town.
He’d grabbed the bottle quickly from the fridge minutes earlier, ducking out of the kitchen to the low murmurs of Pop consoling a tearful Betty, then made his way toward the front porch. To do the right thing. To talk to Amy and pick up the pieces. Again.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the knot in his upper back. His mind urged him to walk away. It practically screamed at him to go in the opposite direction. Just as it had yesterday morning when he’d sat in his truck debating whether or not to make the trip to bring her home.
But, just like then, something inside propelled him toward her. It burned hot in his chest, searing his hands and making him desperate to hold on. Even though he knew it was a high risk. Amy’s passionate nature had never been predictable and it was even less trustworthy.
He gritted his teeth. Hell if he’d be like Pop and stand in Raintree’s dirt drive watching his wife drive away. Crumple into a weak heap as she left her family behind. He was stronger than that.
Logan looked away, peering past the Christmas lights strung along the porch rail to the dark night beyond. Pop had been little good to himself back when his wife left. Much less to his sons. Ten at the time, Logan hadn’t sat idly by. Instead, he’d picked up the reins of the ranch, hustled through the daily chores and watched out for his wild younger brother, refusing to allow himself to dwell on his mother’s absence or his father’s grief.
His mother had made the decision to leave and Logan had accepted it. It was her loss, not theirs. He just wished his father had seen things the same way. The way Logan should accept Amy’s decision to leave now.
He dropped his gaze, tracing the trails of condensation on the glass bottle. Amy’s movements brought his eyes back to her. She shifted from one ridiculous high heel to the other, leaning down to prop her elbows on the porch rail and wrap her arms around herself with a shiver.
Logan sighed. It was barely above thirty degrees outside and there his stubborn wife stood. Freezing her tail off.
His heart tripped in his chest. His wife. His Amy.
He should leave things alone. Let her go her way and him his, as Traci had urged in the office lobby of limbo. But despite it all, he needed her back. Needed them back. The way they were before she’d shot their relationship to all hell and beyond.
Amy owed it to him. And they both owed it to their daughter’s memory. Otherwise, their baby girl would be nothing more than a mistake. An almost that never drew breath. A wrong that was never righted.
He closed his eyes and hung his head, muscles flinching on a jagged streak of anger. At himself. At Amy. God forgive him for feeling it but it was there all the same.
Logan made his way outside, boots scraping across the floor and drawing to a halt behind Amy. He set the unopened beer on the porch rail and drew in a lungful of icy air.
“Here.” He shrugged off his denim jacket, draping it over her bent form.
Amy wanted to refuse it. The urge to decline was written in her drawn brows and scrunched nose. But she accepted it.
“Thanks.” She hunched into the coat and turned back to the dark emptiness before them.
Despite his ill mood, a smile tugged at his lips. Amy had always been stubborn. Head thick as a brick but sharp as a tack, she’d fought him at every turn. It’d started the day they’d met. At eight years old, she’d given him a run for his money. She’d sized up his twelve-year-old frame, curled her lip and dared him to race her. And damned if she hadn’t won.
Logan eased his hip against the rail and crossed his arms, a low laugh escaping him.
“You still know how to make an entrance.” He nudged her and eyed the tight line of her mouth. “Family dinners always were a lot more interesting with you around.”
Her shoulders stiffened and she leaned down, propping her elbows on the porch rail and twisting her hands together.
“You plan on spending the night out here?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Doubt you’d last long, cold as it is.”
She glanced up then, emerald eyes fixing firmly on his face. “I’d last long enough.”
Logan grunted. He scooped up the beer bottle, snagged the cap on the porch rail and snapped it off. He tipped the bottle up and tugged deeply, swallowing several mouthfuls of the smooth brew and sighing with pleasure.
Amy’s gaze clung to him, following the movements of his throat and darting to his hand. He took another swig. Her eyebrows lowered into a glower.
Logan’s belly warmed, sending a sweet thrill up his spine. She’d had the exact same expression the night of her nineteenth birthday. He’d given in to her badgering and had taken her up to the local pool hall to celebrate.
She hadn’t been satisfied with flashing her ID at the door. Nope. She’d done her best to sweet talk him into going to the bar and getting her a beer. He’d brought her fried cheese sticks and a milk instead. She’d been beyond ticked.
The warmth spread to his face and pulled at the corners of his mouth. He tipped the bottle up again, grinning as her frown darkened. It was good to see a little life in her.
She jerked her chin. “Your daddy ever tell you it’s impolite not to share?”
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. The kind he hadn’t had in years. He let it loose, relishing the feel and sound of it.
Her gaze wandered over his face to linger on his smile. Her lush mouth parted, the edges tipping up and her face lighting with pleasure. That was all it took.
Before he knew it, he was leaning over, savoring the curves of her lips under his. The sweet flavor of her mingled with the crisp coolness of the beer on his tongue.
She tasted the same. Warm and comforting. Like his own personal sun in the middle of winter. She tasted like home.
It didn’t last. She pulled away, squaring her shoulders and stepping back.
“This can’t happen, Logan,” she whispered.
“Why not?” He straightened, setting the beer back on the porch rail. “You’re still my wife.”
“I haven’t been that for a long time. And I wouldn’t have been in the first place if you’d had a choice.”
“That’s not true—”
“It’s not?” She leaned forward. “You mean if I hadn’t lied to you and gotten pregnant, you would’ve chosen to marry me?”
He hesitated, scrambling for the right words. The ones he’d chosen so carefully on the drive to bring her home.
“You’ve never lied to me, Logan. Please don’t start now,” she stated softly. “Would you have married me back then if you’d had a choice?”
Not then. Not at such a young age. And not before they’d had a chance to experience life beyond th
e ranch.
His jaw clamped shut. He couldn’t say that out loud. Not now. Not when she looked so vulnerable. So hopeful.
“Would you have given in to me to begin with if I hadn’t trailed you so hard? If I hadn’t pushed so much?” she pressed, her voice catching.
No. He wouldn’t have.
She sighed and looked away. “We grew up together. We were friends. I should’ve left it at that.”
That cool mask returned. It settled over her features like a glaze of ice, freezing out all emotion in her expression.
“You were right,” she said, knuckles turning white from her grip on the porch rail. “I was naïve and foolish. It was nothing but misguided hero worship.”
Logan flinched, an unexpected pain spearing his chest. He’d spent so much time in the past trying to reason the idea with her. Trying to get her to understand what she felt for him was nothing more than a crush. That, at four years her senior, he was easy to look up to and become infatuated with.
But, as she’d grown, he’d had to work harder at talking himself into believing it, too. And on that ride home from the pool hall the night of her nineteenth birthday, she’d turned to him, put her hands on him and touched that beautiful mouth of hers to his.
And, heaven help him, he’d given in. Over and over again during the next two months. Helpless to put a stop to it. Not even wanting to.
She’d sent his self-control up in flames more times than he cared to remember. Had continued to push for more until he was so desperate not to lose her altogether that he gave in whenever she wanted.
Logan squeezed his eyes shut. He should’ve been more responsible back then. Wiser. Shouldn’t have blindly accepted her word that she’d been protected. That she’d taken care of things.
He learned later she deliberately hadn’t. And, as a result, they’d made a daughter then lost her. He’d almost lost Amy, too. All because of her selfish obsession.
“But you didn’t leave it at that,” he gritted, facing her. “You had to have your way.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” Her face flushed. “Not then and not now. As hard as it is to believe, that’s God’s honest truth.”
The Rancher's Wife Page 6
