The Sheriff’s Proposal

by Karen Rose Smith

  Logan faced her again. “How long are you going to stay in Willow Valley?”

  She was more comfortable talking about Manuel than herself. “I’m not sure. I’ve already been here a month. But it’s really hit me this time that my aunt and uncle are getting older. I think I’d like to stay until Thanksgiving, anyway.” The explanation was reasonable, but she knew her decision to stay was more complicated than that.

  Disconcerted by the sheriff’s probing green eyes, Meg pushed away from the barn. “I’d better talk to Aunt Lily. It was nice meeting you, Sheriff MacDonald.” She started toward the backyard.

  “Meg?” His deep voice vibrated through her.

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “My name’s Logan.”

  With the hint of a smile, she nodded and headed toward the house.

  Logan watched Margaret Elizabeth Dawson disappear. But he still felt the impact of her searching brown eyes. He could have gone back to the office, but he told himself he had to make sure the situation here was under control. In Willow Valley, helping sometimes became more important than enforcing. He liked that.

  A half hour later, he and Doc Jacobs carried an old door from the basement of the farmhouse to the barn.

  Meg sat on the floor next to Carmen and Manuel, speaking in Spanish. Manuel looked agitated. All three stopped talking when he and Doc came closer.

  Huffing and puffing, Doc helped Logan lower the door down to the straw-covered floor beside Carmen and her baby. “I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled.

  “More like you should take the advice you give to your patients,” Logan suggested blandly.

  “I suppose you mean about trimming down and getting exercise. You’re only forty, Logan. When you hit sixty, then you come tell me how easy it is to do that.”

  Logan caught Meg looking at him as if wondering what kind of physique was hidden under his clothes. Her appraisal sent a surge of desire through him. This time he almost welcomed it. He couldn’t help but say to her in a low aside, “I jog.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. She avoided Logan’s gaze and looked at Doc. “Lily says Manuel and his family are welcome to stay until Carmen feels well enough to travel, but Manuel won’t agree.”

  “We go north,” Manuel said in explanation.

  Doc glared at the young Hispanic and said slowly, “Lily and Ned are good people. If they invited you to stay, they want you here. You must think of your wife and child.”

  Meg put her hand on Manuel’s arm. “Carmen and the baby need a few days to get stronger. Do this for them.”

  His almost black eyes searched Meg’s face, then his wife’s. In halting English, he said, “We stay tonight.” Then he lapsed into Spanish. “Sólo esta noche.”

  Doc nodded. “We’ll start with that. Tomorrow’s another day.” He pointed to the door. “Manuel, you and Logan can carry Carmen to the house using that as a stretcher.”

  Meg asked Manuel, “Lo entendió?”

  “Sí.”

  As Manuel helped Carmen and the baby get situated on the door, Meg slipped a folded towel under the mother’s head. When she did, the edge of her sleeve caught on the corner of the door, pulling it above her shoulder. Logan saw nasty red lines, healing but not completely healed. He remembered she’d been shot in the shoulder. He wondered just how serious the injury had been.

  His gaze found hers. She quickly pulled the sleeve down, then fiddled with the towel swaddling the baby.

  Logan and Manuel carefully and slowly carried Carmen to one of the guest bedrooms. Lily seemed to be everywhere, her smile warm, her manner gentle, making sure the new mother was comfortable. With a broad grin, Ned carried in a cradle. “I made this for Meg when she was born.” He winked at her. “I guess you don’t remember.”

  She smiled fondly at the balding man. “I remember putting my dolls in it for their naps.”

  Lily flicked back a stray strand of hair that had escaped her bun. “I’ll get it ready. We found a few baby blankets and kimonos in the attic. I threw them in the washer. We’ll be all ready for this little one in no time. Now, how about all of you come down to the kitchen and we’ll get some lunch.”

  Manuel looked worried. “No trouble.”

  Lily planted her hands on her hips. “Meg, tell him we have to eat. A few more mouths are not a problem.”

  In Spanish, Meg explained her aunt’s philosophy. Manuel didn’t look convinced. Doc Jacobs motioned everyone out of the room. “C’mon folks. Let’s let mother and baby get some rest. Meg, after lunch I want to go over a few points with you about nursing. You can explain it to Carmen.”

  Logan watched as Meg said a few last words to the young mother. Then she followed him into the hall.

  Standing close to her, he blocked her from going down the steps. “How serious was the injury to your shoulder?”

  “It looks worse than it was.”

  “How bad?” he pressed.

  Her back straightened, and she lifted her chin. “Does the sheriff want to know?”

  “No. The man wants to know.” He wanted to know too badly for his own good. Something about Meg Dawson drew him. Maybe it had to do with them watching a new life enter the world.

  Tension hummed between them for a moment—man-woman tension…and awareness.

  Finally she let out a pent-up breath. “I finished with formal physical therapy in Lynchburg last week, but still do exercises every morning and night. I’ll recover completely.”

  The vulnerability in her eyes told him she might recover physically, but he wondered about the emotional toll the incident had taken. He knew about emotional tolls. First there had been Shelley’s accident, then his son’s change in behavior…now his disappearance.

  Logan’s job sometimes drew crisis situations like a magnet. But he was used to investigative work or breaking up a brawl in a local tavern. Personal crises were a different matter. He suddenly realized the last thing he ought to do was get involved in Meg Dawson’s.

  He moved away from her and waited for her to start down the stairs. “I have to get back to the office.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You’re not staying for lunch?”

  It was just a polite question. He didn’t hear interest in her voice. Thank goodness. “No. Duty calls.”

  At the bottom of the steps, she waited for him. “Thanks for your help with Carmen and Manuel.”

  “No thanks necessary.” She was standing close enough to touch, close enough that he could see golden lights in her eyes, close enough that he had to leave now. He stepped away from Meg toward the door. Then he left, unsettled, without saying goodbye. Because if he did, he might decide to stay for lunch, and he wasn’t looking for another complication in his life.

  Chapter 2

  After supper that evening, Meg weeded the flower garden by the front porch. As Lily peered over her shoulder, the older woman said, “I want to plant yellow and orange tulips this year and put pink ones out back.”

  “They’ll look pretty in the spring with the daffodils,” Meg responded, her mind on Logan MacDonald, not the flower garden.

  Ned pushed himself back and forth on the porch swing, his head covered by a straw hat. “I should go see if Manuel is still tinkering with his truck. Maybe I can learn something.”

  “Carmen and the baby are napping,” Lily replied. “I checked them before I came out.”

  Meg had looked in on them, too. She’d stood for a long time watching mother and baby, an unfamiliar longing deep inside her.

  Suddenly a yellow-striped kitten scampered out from behind a yew and brushed against Meg’s leg. She smiled at Leo, a stray she’d found and befriended soon after she’d returned to Willow Valley.

  Ned stood and came to the edge of the porch. “A reporter called from the Willow Valley Courier. He wanted to do an interview with Manuel and Carmen, but they didn’t want to talk to him. They’re very private. I told him to call Logan for the details.”

  Meg glanced at her uncle. “I’m hoping w
e can convince Manuel to stay for a week or so.”

  “It’s a shame Logan couldn’t stay for lunch.” Lily cast a quick look at her husband.

  “He’s a fine man,” Ned remarked as if on cue.

  “Fine” wasn’t quite the way Meg would characterize Logan. Strong. Decisive. Intuitive. “Who’s Travis? I heard Doc ask Logan if he’d heard anything about him.”

  Lily tidied a few strands of hair that always came loose from the chignon at her nape. “Travis is Logan’s son. Logan moved his family here about five years ago. From what he’s said and I’ve heard, Travis never liked Willow Valley. Coming from Philadelphia, I guess that was natural. Logan wanted to give him somewhere wholesome to grow up. But Travis wanted none of it.”

  “So he ran away?”

  Lily exchanged a look with her husband. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

  Ned added what he knew. “About a year after they moved, Logan’s wife was in an accident and died. It was tough on the boy. Afterward Travis gave Logan quite a few headaches—coming home late, drinking, grades slipping. Logan was at his wit’s end and tried to get the boy help. But Travis wouldn’t go to the appointments with the counselor. One day about four months ago, he just up and ran off. He’s only sixteen, and Logan’s worried sick.”

  “The police are still looking,” Lily explained, “and for the first two months, Logan searched for the boy himself as far as Richmond.”

  Meg sat back on her heels, forgetting about the weeds. “Doc mentioned a private investigator.”

  Ned grunted. “Logan’s trying everything he can to find Travis.”

  Her heart aching, Meg said, “Logan must be in unbearable pain. Not knowing where his son is, imagining the worst. How does he go on?”

  “He’s a strong man,” Ned answered.

  “A good man,” Lily added.

  Ned pushed his hat back on his head. “Rumor has it Logan’s marriage was rocky before Shelley died. But Logan never talks about it.”

  Meg couldn’t forget the look in Logan’s green eyes when Doc had asked for news of Travis.

  “Are you going to see Logan again?” Her aunt’s tone was filled with eager interest.

  “What?” Meg asked dropping her gardening trowel.

  “Honey, I can read you like a book. You don’t ask idle questions.”

  “Aunt Lily…”

  Her aunt laughed. “It would be good for you to get out, go to dinner, date a man.”

  “You know dating is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  Lily’s smile faded. “I’m worried about you, child. You’re not the same person you were before that terrible man shot you.”

  Most of the time Meg tried not to think about it. She just wanted to get over it. The problem wasn’t the shooting. It was the terror, the panic and the trapped feeling that still gripped her sometimes. But she hadn’t had a nightmare in over a week. That was progress. “I’m fine, Aunt Lily. You and Uncle Ned and Willow Valley are all I need.”

  “For now,” her aunt pronounced.

  Petting Leo, who’d curled in a ball by her knee, Meg decided she wasn’t going to ask what her aunt meant. She didn’t want to know.

  The following morning, Logan drove to the Carlsons’ farm. He was curious to see how Manuel and Carmen were faring. He wished he could do something for the young couple, but he knew Manuel wouldn’t accept charity.

  He was halfway down the lane when he saw Manuel packing the back of his truck. As he drove closer, he saw Meg standing by the open passenger door. She was gesturing to Manuel and speaking fast while Lily and Ned looked on. Logan could guess what was happening.

  He parked on the gravel patch beside the blue compact. Climbing out of his car, he heard Meg speaking to Carmen. All he caught were the words quédese, “stay,” and unos pocos días, “a few days.” Carmen spoke quickly and gestured to her husband. As Logan approached, he could see the tears in the young woman’s eyes.

  Stopping beside Meg, he denied the sudden surge of adrenaline rushing through him. “They’re leaving,” he said, summing up the situation.

  “Yes, and they shouldn’t. I’ve talked to Manuel till I’m blue. But he won’t listen.”

  “Has Carmen tried?”

  “She says he’s the head of the family—he makes the final decision. But, Logan, just look at her! She needs rest and care…at least for a few days. Doc wants to make sure Tomás—that’s what they named him—is nursing adequately. But Manuel insists he can’t take advantage of our hospitality.”

  The baby in Carmen’s arms wriggled and cried. Carmen looked as if she were close to tears herself.

  Meg spoke to her in Spanish. Carmen let her take Tomás. As the baby squirmed, Meg positioned him on her shoulder as naturally as any mother and patted the infant’s back. She looked so…beautiful, standing there like that.

  Giving himself a mental shake, Logan said, “I suppose Doc is afraid if they leave, Carmen won’t seek out proper care if she needs it.”

  “That, too. But I can’t convince Manuel to stay.” Meg gently rubbed her chin against the baby’s downy black hair.

  Logan was gripped by an emotion so strong he knew he had to get away from this woman. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Meg took a quick glance at Logan’s broad back as he went to the truck. He’d taken her by surprise when he arrived. She’d never expected he’d come back and check on Carmen and Manuel. Yet maybe with the birth of Tomás, he’d felt involved in their lives, too. It proved one thing about him—he was a caring man. She could never see Todd caring about this young couple, whether they stayed or left. Why hadn’t she seen his selfish streak sooner? Why hadn’t she recognized his self-absorption? His story, his career, his needs, always came first. Actually it was an old pattern, one she’d learned with her parents. But finally, at age twenty-nine, she’d realized in time that her needs mattered, too.

  Logan called, “Ned, come here a minute.”

  Meg could hear the low rumble of the men’s voices but couldn’t tell what they were saying as they walked toward the barn. When they reemerged, they were all smiling. Manuel came over to Meg and Carmen. “We stay. A little while. If I have work.” He helped his wife from the cab of the truck.

  Carmen squeezed Meg’s hand. “Gracias.”

  Meg shook her head. “No hicenada especial.”

  Carmen gazed at Logan. “Gracias.”

  He smiled. “De nada.”

  Meg handed Tomás to the young Mexican woman. Manuel put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the house. Lily and Ned followed.

  Closing the door of the cab, Meg turned to Logan. “What did you say to him?”

  “It was what Ned said. I reminded him of all the machinery that needs a good overhauling and the back field that has to be mowed before winter. Manuel is going to take care of that and, in return for the work, he’ll accept room and board for his family.”

  Meg clasped Logan’s arm. “What a wonderful idea!” His skin was hot under hers, the hairs on his forearm rough against her fingers. His green eyes darkened, and her heart raced. She removed her hand.

  “Not wonderful. Just expedient. The trading of goods and services. I’m not so sure we shouldn’t do it more often.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Did you have breakfast?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not officially on duty for a half hour or so. How about going to the bakery with me for a doughnut and a cup of coffee?” When she hesitated, he added, “I get tired of my own company sometimes. I thought maybe we could just…talk. But if you’re too busy—”

  “No, I’m not too busy. A cup of coffee sounds good. Aunt Lily makes me herbal tea. Even after all these years, I just can’t get used to it.”

  Logan laughed, a deep, masculine sound that warmed Meg through and through. “She tries to serve it to me when I visit.”

  “You visit? You haven’t since I’ve been here.”

  “Yes, well, circumstances the last few months have chang
ed my habits.”

  Meg saw the pain again. “Aunt Lily told me about your son. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Sorrow, blame, regrets. None of it matters except finding Travis. But I don’t go on wild-goose chases anymore, driving into the dead of night, speeding down a highway, hoping when I get wherever the road takes me I’ll find him. Now I spend my time printing more pictures and flyers, studying the computer data bases, keeping in touch with contacts on other police forces and my private investigator…and working. Working to forget.”

  Although Meg had always enjoyed her work, she knew about working to forget. She wanted to clasp Logan’s arm again, to say she understood, but touching him was dangerous. Doubting he needed her understanding, she nodded toward the house. “I’ll make sure Carmen is settled again and meet you at the bakery on Elm. Then you don’t have to drive back out here.”

  The bakery bell tinkled as Meg pulled open the door. Logan sat at one of the five black wrought-iron tables for two. She’d had second thoughts about meeting him, and thirds. Why had she accepted the offer? Because she liked Logan MacDonald, besides feeling attracted to him. If talking could ease his pain concerning his son, she’d listen.

  A mug of coffee waited at the empty place across from him, along with two doughnuts and a muffin. Meg couldn’t suppress a smile as she sat down. “Do I look underfed?”

  His gaze brushed over her quickly. “No. You look just right.”

  She felt the heat creep up her cheeks again. No other man had ever made her blush. She chose the cranberry muffin and pushed the other pastries toward him. “Aunt Lily tries to feed me constantly. She always has.”

  “She mentioned a few times that you lived with them when you were a teenager.”

  Meg had accepted Logan’s invitation expecting to talk about him, not about herself. But he was obviously fishing for her background. Picking up her coffee, she took a sip before she said, “My parents are anthropologists. For my first twelve years, I traveled with them most of the time—mainly in Central and South America, but I also spent time with my aunt and uncle. At twelve, I decided I’d rather stay in Willow Valley than globe-trot.”