The Sheriff’s Proposal

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Iced tea.”

  He gave her a smile that made her knees wobble although she was sitting.

  She heard the ring of the phone in the kitchen and Logan’s deep rumble as he answered it. A few seconds later, he came outside, his expression grim. “That was a hospital in Richmond. Travis was mugged.”

  Chapter 4

  Logan’s expression reflected a mixture of dismay, relief and worry.

  Meg couldn’t keep herself from going to him. “How is Travis? Are his injuries serious?”

  Logan raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Cuts and bruised ribs. A black eye. They kept him overnight for observation. He only gave them my number now because his doctor threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t. They wouldn’t release him on his own.”

  Meg knew the drive to Richmond would take about three hours. She could imagine Logan’s concern, recriminations and hope as he drove. “Would you like me to go along?”

  His green eyes gentled, then darkened with the same intensity that had been there right before she’d evaded his kiss. “I’d like that.”

  An hour later, Meg sat beside Logan as he drove and wondered if she should have offered to come along. She’d called Lily so her aunt wouldn’t worry. But Logan had been silent ever since they’d gotten into the car. Meg felt as if she was intruding.

  Suddenly he glanced at her. “I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”

  “I understand.”

  He grunted. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. You’ll probably wish you’d stayed in Willow Valley. Travis can be…” Logan sighed.

  “Are you afraid he won’t want to come home with you?”

  Logan adjusted his sun visor with a snap. “I know he won’t want to come home.”

  “Even after what he’s probably been through?”

  “I told you he hates me, Meg. And maybe he has good reason.”

  “Logan!”

  “He’s never said it, but he thinks his mother’s accident was my fault. And I’m not so sure it wasn’t. We had a serious argument. Travis came home just as she raced out of the house. An hour later, she was dead.”

  Meg didn’t know what to say to ease Logan’s pain and guilt. “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Since that night, he’s pulled away. Now I’m not sure all the talking in the world will help.”

  Meg could feel Logan’s torment. He wanted to love his son, but he thought his son no longer loved him. Meg knew what it felt like not to have love returned. Love was more than saying words. It was a bond that transcended arguments and misunderstandings.

  But not abandonment.

  As long as Logan kept trying to communicate with his son, trying to reach him, that bond would live. Somehow she had to explain that to Logan. “I didn’t know how to talk to my parents. They were so far above me.”

  He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Their concerns were lofty. They cared about the history of civilization and their research, not about what I’d learned about basket weaving from a native girl my own age, or about the friendship we developed. They met my physical needs—they made sure I was safe. But a child needs more than that.”

  “I couldn’t even keep Travis safe.”

  Meg could imagine the feelings of responsibility as a parent—the immensity of protecting a child, guiding him on the right path. “Maybe if you talk to him about why he ran away…”

  “If I know Travis, he won’t be in a talking mood.”

  “There’s always tomorrow.”

  “If I can chain him down,” Logan muttered.

  A few minutes later, he switched on the CD player, and classical music filled the car. But as they drove closer to Richmond, the tension increased. Meg wanted to reassure Logan in some way, but didn’t know how. She was much too aware of his foot going from the brake to the accelerator, his large hands on the steering wheel, the curling black hair on his forearm and wrist, his tan skin. He drew her gaze again and again. Whenever she peeked at his profile, her stomach fluttered. His rich black hair was cut close to the nape. The lines around his eyes hinted at his forty years, but his strong cheekbones and his determined jaw gave his face vitality and power that wouldn’t diminish with age.

  He’d shaved when he’d showered. Meg could smell spice, not strong, just part of his scent. Yes, she was too aware of everything about Logan MacDonald. She had been since the first moment she’d felt his presence in her aunt and uncle’s barn.

  Logan followed signs to the hospital in Richmond. After he parked, he came around to the passenger side and opened Meg’s door. She stepped out, and he gave her a wry smile.

  They entered the hospital, and Logan halted in the lobby. “The doctor gave me Travis’s room number. Would you like to wait here?”

  Meg preferred activity to inactivity. “I’d rather come along if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. But I don’t know what Travis’s attitude will be.”

  She smiled, hoping to ease Logan’s tension. “I’m not afraid of sticky situations. I get involved in them often.”

  He smiled back. “I guess you do. I keep forgetting you’re a professional woman who’s been around the world a few times.”

  “Forget?”

  His gaze caressed her face. She could feel it and knew he wanted to touch her. “When I’m with you, I only think about the here and now.”

  She knew what he meant. It was scary. With Logan, she felt different. Yesterday and tomorrow seemed far away. The feeling wasn’t only scary; it was also dangerous.

  If she turned the conversation back to Travis, she could ignore the tugging she felt toward Logan. “What floor is Travis on?”

  Logan’s eyes remained the same deep green. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Five.” When he broke eye contact and nodded toward the elevators, she walked ahead of him, knowing if he touched her, the tugging would become stronger.

  They found Travis’s room easily. Logan paused outside the door, his jaw set, his forehead creased with concern. Then he strode in, as if he belonged in the hospital, as if he belonged in his son’s room.

  Travis was dressed, sitting in a chair by the window flipping through a magazine. The sleeve of his shirt sported a long tear, and the denim of his jeans hung in strips over his knees. His school jacket lay across the back of the chair. The right side of his face was swollen, and his right eye was as black and blue as it could be. Meg saw Logan take a deep breath and realized how difficult it was for him to see his son in this condition.

  The teenager looked up when he heard footsteps. Meg glimpsed fear in his eyes, relief and, an instant later, defiance.

  Logan stood before his son. “How are you?”

  “Just fine, Dad. Can’t you tell?”

  Logan frowned. “I can tell you’ve gotten yourself into a mess of trouble. Are you ready to come home?”

  Travis grunted. “I don’t have any choice.” He looked over at Meg. “Who’s she?”

  “This is Meg Dawson.”

  Coming closer to Travis, Meg extended her hand. “Hi.”

  Travis scowled at his father. “Seems like you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.”

  “Travis…” The anger in Logan’s tone was evident.

  Meg dropped her hand. “Have you been busy, Travis?”

  The sixteen-year-old looked at her curiously, then dropped his gaze. “Yeah. I sure have. Enough to know I want to be on my own.”

  “That’s impossible until you’re eighteen,” Logan snapped. “You don’t even have a job.”

  “Maybe I’ll get one. Maybe as soon as I get some money, I’ll leave again.”

  Logan looked as if he wanted to shake some sense into his son. “You try it, and I’ll be more of a warden than I’ve ever been.”

  “You mean you’ll lock me in my room? You might as well.”

  Meg saw the distress Logan was trying to hide. She saw him try to make himself relax, and she knew his next words we
re a real effort. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

  Travis’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t respond. Instead, he said, “You have to sign release forms out at the desk before we can go.”

  Logan tried to hide his pain. “All right. I won’t be long.”

  Travis watched Logan leave, closed the magazine and stared out the window.

  “I only met your dad a short time ago, Travis, but I know he has been worried.”

  The teenager looked at her then, as if assessing her. Meg let him study her. Finally he asked, “So how did you meet Dad? Did he stop you for speeding or something?”

  She knew he was goading her on purpose. Instead of becoming combative, she asked, “Do you know Ned and Lily Carlson?”

  Travis nodded.

  “They’re my aunt and uncle. I lived with them on and off when I was growing up. I’m back for a visit.”

  Travis grimaced. “Why would you want to visit Willow Valley? There’s nothing there.”

  “My aunt and uncle are there, and I love them.”

  “It’s a one-horse town.”

  “Were you any happier in Richmond?” she asked softly.

  His tone turned defensive. “I was on the streets. If I had my own place, it would be a lot better than Willow Valley.”

  Her questions for him came from a deep place inside her. She’d never known a real home, and she wondered why he was so anxious to run away from his. “Would it? Or would you get tired of it the same way you got tired of Willow Valley?”

  He took his jacket from the back of the chair. “I never liked Willow Valley. It wasn’t my choice to move there.”

  “Did you give it a chance?” she asked quietly.

  He remained silent and slung his jacket over his arm.

  “Sometimes it’s not the place that matters but the people there or the work.”

  He studied her curiously. “So what do you do?”

  “I’m an interpreter.”

  She’d apparently piqued his interest. “Where do you usually live?”

  “Washington, D.C.”

  Travis’s eyes widened, and he looked impressed.

  Logan came back into the room. “Everything’s set. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’m going to be,” Travis mumbled.

  Logan frowned and waited for Travis to stand. The teenager held his ribs. Logan moved forward, then stopped. The expression on Travis’s face told him to stay clear.

  If Meg thought the trip to Richmond was tense, the trip home couldn’t be described. Logan asked his son questions about where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and Travis sullenly mumbled a few monosyllables. The muscle working in his jaw, his hands taking a strangle-hold on the wheel, Logan gave up and drove.

  An hour from Willow Valley, they passed a few fast-food restaurants. At a red light, Logan asked his son, “Are you hungry?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yes or no, Travis.” Meg could tell Logan was at the end of his patience.

  “Go ahead and stop. I don’t care where.”

  Logan pulled into the next fast-food restaurant.

  The silence at the table was deafening as Travis devoured two deluxe burgers and a large order of fries. After a slurp of his milk shake, he checked out Meg again. “Do you travel much with what you do?”

  “Quite a bit. I have albums full of pictures. In fact, I’m going to be giving workshops at your high school on some of the places I’ve seen.”

  “Yeah?” There was a gleam of interest in his eyes, the same green as Logan’s.

  “Your principal and I have been discussing the best way to do it. Probably through social-studies classes. What do you think I can do so I don’t bore everyone?”

  Travis shrugged. “Dunno.”

  Logan frowned.

  Meg didn’t give up. “What would make it interesting for you?”

  The teenager thought for a while. “Not just a PowerPoint presentation. But talking about something neat that happened each place.”

  Travis had a point. She didn’t want to do a travelogue or a lecture. Getting the kids involved would work the best. “I’ll have to think about that. If you come up with any ideas, let me know.”

  His expression was doubtful.

  “I mean it.”

  Travis settled back in his seat with his milk shake.

  Logan leaned forward as if physical closeness would bridge the distance between him and his son. “We’ll have to go see Mr. Holden and find out what you have to make up from the end of last year. Maybe you could do some independent study and join the rest of your class.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go back to school.”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  “I’m sixteen. I can quit.”

  “No, you can’t. I’ll personally escort you every morning if I have to,” Logan said with a sternness Meg had never heard from him.

  Travis slammed his cup on the table. “Nothing changes, does it? You expect me to do what you want.”

  “I expect you to do what’s best for your future. And you will.”

  “I’ll say. Maybe I’ll take off again.”

  Logan stared directly into his son’s eyes. “Think about it, Travis, and so help me I’ll put you in a military academy so fast your head will spin.”

  “You’d have to catch me first.”

  “Do you want me to put a personal bodyguard on you so I know where you are every minute?”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me.” Logan’s voice was deep with authority and intent.

  The two males stared at each other, silently engaged in war. Meg took a deep breath. If someone didn’t intercede, they’d do irreparable harm to their relationship.

  Laying her hand lightly on Logan’s arm, she said to Travis, “You know where Lily and Ned live, don’t you?”

  Travis blinked and turned toward her. She’d given him an excuse to break eye contact with his father first. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Stop by sometime, and I’ll show you the latest pictures I had developed. If you don’t like Willow Valley, you’ll probably want to travel someday.”

  “Someday soon.”

  She felt Logan’s arm tense under her hand. “It’s good to have an idea of where you’d like to go, what kind of work is available in those countries—if you’re planning to leave the States.”

  “I’d like to backpack through Spain,” he said as if he’d given it lots of thought.

  “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “I’ve had two years.”

  “The best way to learn is to live among the people,” she advised.

  Logan tried to remain calm, realizing he’d better stay out of the conversation if he wanted to hear what his son had to say. He never knew Travis wanted to backpack through Spain. What else didn’t he know? What would Travis let him discover? Nothing had changed between them. It tore Logan up to look at his son. The bruised face, eye, his gaunt cheeks. He’d lost about ten pounds. All Logan wanted to do was to keep his son in Willow Valley until he was mature enough to make his own decisions. He’d do it with a gentle hand or an iron hand. Whatever it took.

  In the parking lot, Travis slammed the car door as he settled in the back seat. Logan opened Meg’s door. Her elbow brushed his arm as she slid in, and his pulse sped up.

  Meg.

  She shouldn’t be distracting him now. All of his thoughts should center on Travis—what he’d put himself through, what could be done to keep him from running again. But Logan was stumped when it came to his son. And maybe he was letting Meg distract him because her presence was welcome. She was optimistic, insightful and so damn pretty his body tightened every time he looked at her or smelled her perfume or saw her smile.

  As he drove the last stretch toward Willow Valley, he wished he knew what to say to Travis. He wished he knew what to say to Meg to tell her how much he appreciated her company today, how much he appreciated her attempts to reach his son. Troubl
e was, he wasn’t sure anyone could get through to Travis.

  Back in Willow Valley, Logan pulled into his driveway and pressed the garage-door opener. As soon as the car stopped, Travis got out and disappeared through the garage. A light went on in the house.

  Logan leaned his head against the headrest for a moment, letting his emotions settle, trying to tell himself tomorrow would be a better day.

  Meg touched his arm. Her fingers were light as if she was hesitant to disturb him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He managed a weak smile. “Not unless you have a ton of patience in your pocket you can lend me.”

  “I wish I did.”

  He turned his head toward her, surprised by the tenderness he felt for Meg already. She pulled back her hand, and he was sorry she did. He liked her touch. He liked everything about her.

  She unsnapped her seat belt, and Logan did the same. By the time he walked around to her side, she’d climbed out and closed the car door. They walked slowly side by side to her car.

  He opened the door for her. “Thank you for coming along today.”

  “I wasn’t much help.”

  The stars seemed to be reflected in Meg’s eyes. “You were more help than you know. At least Travis talked to you.”

  “It’s not all your fault,” she said softly with so much conviction he almost believed her.

  “I’ve done so many things the wrong way.”

  “Even parents who do everything right have problems with their children.”

  “Don’t try to ease my conscience, Meg. The move and Shelley’s death were hard on him. I should have listened to him more.”

  “You still can.”

  “If he’ll give me the chance. When we’re separated, I have hopes. When we’re together…” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “But he’s home. Right now that’s what matters. I talked to his doctor at the hospital. He said Travis needs to take it easy for a few days, but he should be fine.”

  Meg tilted her head up and smiled. “He’s safe tonight.”

  “Thank God. And thank you. I appreciate your support.”

  Their gazes locked. They seemed to lean toward each other at the same moment. Logan needed to thank her with more than words. Just a thank-you. That was all. A simple thank-you.