Her heart ached when she thought about the reason she’d moved to Oakville. Her grandfather, Henry, had been diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, which he preferred to call Lou Gehrig’s Disease since Lou Gehrig had been his favorite baseball player of all time. He’d been confined to the wheelchair for the past year and a half, and it had been getting to be too much for her grandmother to take care of him on her own. It made sense for Brooke, a registered nurse, to come and help out. His speech hadn’t yet been affected by the disease, but his legs were useless, as was his left arm.
“I didn’t know who she was,” Brooke said quietly. Watching the beautiful woman with the shoulder length black hair walk up the steps to the house attached to her grandparents’ house had been interesting, to say the least. The woman had somehow managed to stir feelings in Brooke she thought were nonexistent since the horrible breakup with her last girlfriend not quite nine months earlier.
“What on earth are you talking about, Brooke?” her grandfather asked. There was a commercial on now, so he took the time to look at her as he asked the question.
“She was sitting out there in her car just staring up at the house,” Brooke said as a way of explanation. “I thought she looked suspicious, so I called the police.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her grandmother said. She walked to the front door, motioning for her grandfather to follow. “Henry, come on, we have to go apologize to Logan. She has enough to worry about with her father passing away.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” her grandfather grumbled, turning his attention back to the television. “Drew Carey sure as hell ain’t Bob Barker, but damn it, I still love this show. You go on without me. I can talk to her later.”
Brooke smiled with true affection before following her grandmother outside. She held a hand out to her grandmother in order to help her down the stairs, but her grandmother shook her head and pointed to the railing that separated the two front porches.
“I’ll wait right here, dear. You’ll get there a lot quicker if you just go over.” She sat on the glider they’d had on the front porch for as long as Brooke had known them, and waited, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Brooke did as she was told and stepped over the railing. She’d been surprised to learn of John Swift’s death when her grandmother told her about it the night before. She took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. A few moments passed with no noise coming from inside the house. She turned to her grandmother and shrugged.
“Maybe they left again,” Brooke said even though she knew the car the woman had arrived in was still parked at the curb. The sports car the man had gotten out of was still there too. Brooke assumed the man was Jack, Logan’s brother.
“They’re still here,” her grandmother said. “Sometimes the bell doesn’t work. Maybe you should try knocking.”
Brooke did, even though she’d heard the bell herself. Nevertheless, a few seconds after knocking, the door swung open, and she found herself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-shoulder—with the woman she’d been mentally drooling over just a few short minutes before.
“Yes?” the woman asked, sounding a bit agitated. She gave Brooke a thorough once-over with her eyes, and Brooke fidgeted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “Can I help you?”
Brooke couldn’t seem to make her mouth work, and why in the world was it so dry suddenly? She cleared her throat to try again, but the woman in the doorway was obviously impatient. And tall. Christ, she was tall. Brooke had never considered herself to be short at five foot ten, but this woman was a good four inches taller than she was. Brooke found herself standing up straighter in a feeble attempt to appear taller than she really was.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“Logan Swift, where are your manners?” Brooke’s grandmother asked from her place on the porch, her voice raised.
Logan stopped her move to shut the door in Brooke’s face and looked skyward before she plastered on a clearly fake smile. She sighed quietly before she stepped out on the porch.
“Please, forgive me, Peggy,” Logan said before stepping over the railing. She leaned down to place a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek and then took a seat next to her. Brooke watched the interaction with curiosity, and when Logan met her eyes, her breath caught in her throat. “You should have just told me you were here with Mrs. Collier.”
The admonishment caught Brooke off guard, and she shrugged self-consciously. She was about to move to the other side of the porch herself when she was surprised by the giant—the second giant. Even though they were as different as night and day, there was no mistaking these two were related. He was blond while her hair was almost black, and his eyes were the strangest color blue, while hers were a piercing green. But strangely enough, they both resembled their father, and their status as giants convinced Brooke they were siblings.
“Logan, who is it?” He walked out the front door and his gaze lit on Brooke for a mere fraction of a second before his attention was drawn to the other people there. His face lit up and he didn’t hesitate as he made his way over the railing. He crouched down in front of Brooke’s grandmother and wrapped her small hands in his incredibly large ones. “Peggy Collier, how is the most beautiful woman in all of Oakville?”
Brooke watched in amazement as her grandmother blushed and swatted playfully at his arm. She wouldn’t have thought she could blush, but apparently all it took was a little attention from a handsome and charming young man.
“I was so very sorry to hear about your father,” her grandmother said as she extricated one of her hands from Jack’s grip and took hold of Logan’s hand. She shook her head. “It’s such a shame. He was far too young to die.”
Logan pulled away slowly and went back into the house without a word, her gaze slowly appraising Brooke’s body once again on her way past. Brooke felt a fire begin deep in the pit of her belly and forced herself to look away. When she glanced back to the other side of the porch, Jack was watching her with a slight grin on his face. He began talking to her grandmother again, and Brooke decided to leave them to chat and go look for Logan. She’d never met John Swift’s children, but he’d talked about them—a lot. He’d been very proud of them both.
Brooke walked past the stairway which went straight up from the small foyer. The house was a mirror opposite of her grandparent’s house, which meant the kitchen was straight through the living room and dining room. She assumed the kitchen was where Logan had gone since she couldn’t hear any footsteps coming from above. The hardwood floors were nicer in this house than the ones next door. She’d have to talk to her grandparents about getting theirs refinished.
“Are you all right?” Brooke asked softly when she found Logan in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, her shoulders shaking slightly. Brooke took a step backward when Logan straightened quickly and turned to glare at her.
“Do you make a habit of just walking into houses without an invitation?” she asked as she wiped away the tears on her cheeks.
Brooke was willing to give Logan the benefit of the doubt because she’d just suffered the loss of a loved one, but she hoped to God angry and rude weren’t Logan’s usual moods.
“I’m sorry. I only wanted to apologize to you.” Brooke was struck again by Logan’s looks and her height. Usually, she wouldn’t even look twice at a woman whose demeanor was so rough, but there was something about her Brooke couldn’t explain.
“You came in so you could apologize for coming in without an invitation?” Logan asked, looking and sounding as perplexed as Brooke felt at the question.
“No, Logan—”
“What makes you think it would be okay to walk in here uninvited?” Logan asked. She turned away again to stare out the window above the sink. “I don’t even know you, so what in the world could you possibly have to apologize for?”
Brooke leaned against the doorframe and watched her in silence, trying hard to remember Logan was grieving, yet she found herself
wondering why she would ever want to apologize to her for anything. Brooke wasn’t sure what to say to her, because it seemed like anything she uttered set Logan off.
“My name is Brooke Collier,” she said after a few moments of looking at Logan’s backside. There was no denying it was a nice backside, but the personality attached to it left a lot to be desired. “I’m going to be living with my grandparents for a while. I’m really sorry to hear about your father’s death. He was a good man.”
“You knew him?”
“I’d spoken to him a few times, yes. He talked a lot about you and your brother.” Brooke was feeling more and more uncomfortable the longer Logan stared out the window. Perhaps it was time to leave her alone with her thoughts. “Anyway, if you ever feel like you need a friend to talk to, I’m right next door.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m really not in a very friendly mood right now,” Logan said, turning to face her again. The biting tone was gone from her voice, and now she simply looked incredibly sad. The expression made Brooke’s heart ache for her. “I have to bury my father the day after tomorrow. Maybe we could try again in a few days.”
Brooke gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but then changed her mind. Both of Brooke’s parents were still alive, so she really had no idea what Logan was going through.
“Please let me know if there’s anything we can do for you, all right?” Brooke said. Logan nodded and Brooke decided it might be best to leave after all. No, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose either of her parents, but Brooke was fairly certain she wouldn’t want a stranger trying to engage her in meaningless conversation.
“What did you come to apologize for?” Logan asked before she’d even taken two steps toward the front door.
“I’m the one who called the police,” Brooke said, feeling her cheeks flush as she turned back to face Logan. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know who you were, and you were just sitting out there staring at the house.”
“It’s okay.” Logan looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I’d rather you call the cops than come outside with your granddad’s shotgun.”
“He has one?” Brooke asked. He was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s on top of the ALS, and she shuddered to think what might happen. Of course the ALS would probably prevent him from using the gun, but it was still an alarming thought.
“More than one. He used to be an avid hunter. He and my father used to go out whenever they got the chance, which was usually every weekend.” Logan must have seen the concern on her face because she shook her head. “Don’t worry. Peggy has them all locked away where he can’t get to them.”
“Of course.” Brooke quickly turned to go, leaving Logan staring after her. She didn’t want anyone, especially a stranger, to see the panic she was sure was written all over her face.
Chapter Three
“Damn, Logan,” Jack said when he came back into the kitchen. “You should have seen the way she was looking at you, sis.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Brooke. She was eyeing you like you were spread out on a buffet table.” He laughed. “Or maybe she was just wishing you were.”
“You are so full of shit,” Logan said as she sat at the table again. She took a drink of her beer and studied his face to see if he was lying. When they were growing up, their mother always said she could tell when Jack was lying by the little twitch he got under his left eye. That and the fact he couldn’t look you in the eye when he was lying. Now, he was sustaining eye contact and there was no visible twitch. Maybe he’d gotten better at lying, although, Logan could have sworn she almost felt Brooke’s eyes on her ass earlier while she was standing at the sink, but—no. “You’re full of shit.”
“Whatever.” Jack shook his head and took a drink of his beer.
“Do you remember ever hearing the Colliers had another child? Brooke must be my age, and Marlene isn’t quite fifty yet, so I’m pretty sure she isn’t her mother.”
“Maybe she is Brooke’s mother and that’s why we never heard about Brooke before.” Jack shrugged. “Marlene could have been about sixteen when she was born.”
“I don’t know,” Logan said. “Maybe. But we would’ve noticed if there had been a kid in the house next door, don’t you think?”
“Or maybe there’s a long-lost child they don’t ever talk about, and Brooke is the child of the devil.” Jack made spooky sounds and weird gestures with his hands.
“When do you have to get back to Cleveland?” Logan rolled her eyes at him before changing the subject. Jack only looked away from her and didn’t answer. “Jack? What aren’t you telling me, little bro?”
Logan watched as he took a deep breath and began peeling little pieces of the label off his beer bottle. Five minutes later, the label was in shreds on the table before him, and he still hadn’t spoken. Logan sighed and leaned forward.
“I think you’ve forgotten I can be just as stubborn as you are. I’ll sit here all night waiting for you to talk if that’s what it takes,” Logan said, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. She had too much work to do before the funeral. Just thinking about it made her feel like someone took a fistful of her heart and squeezed. She tried to shove the thought from her mind. “It’s worse than what they’ve been reporting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. He reminded Logan of the little boy he used to be—the one who’d come home after breaking a neighbor’s window with a baseball, knowing he was going to be punished. After another moment or two, he finally met her eyes. “The last concussion was a grade four. They won’t let me play until after I’m evaluated and cleared by a specialist in Pittsburgh. I have an appointment next week.”
“So you’re more than likely out for the season since there’s only four games left.” Logan had a sneaking suspicion they weren’t talking just about the current season. This would be his fourth concussion in the past three years, and they both knew brain injuries weren’t something to take lightly. When he didn’t answer her question, she felt her heart rate speed up. Jesus, wasn’t it enough they’d just lost their father? “Your career might be over. That’s what you’re trying not to say, isn’t it, Jack?”
“Washed up at the age of thirty. Five years from now nobody will even remember me.”
“Not true.” Logan went to kneel beside his chair. Tears ran down his cheeks, undermining the forced smile. “You’ve won two Super Bowls, went to three Pro Bowls, and you hold the records for most sacks in a single game and for a season. Those records won’t be broken anytime soon. You didn’t get the nickname Undertaker just because Dad was a funeral director. You earned it by crushing quarterbacks. You’re a star, Jack, and people will never forget you. You’ll be in the Football Hall of Fame someday, trust me.”
“You always were good for my ego,” he said with a slight chuckle.
“And you for mine, bro. That’s why I like having you around.”
“When they told me, you know what my first thought was? My life will never be the same. How selfish is that? Because then I got the call from you yesterday afternoon about Dad. I don’t even know up from down anymore, Logan. The possibility of my playing days being over is so insignificant compared to everything else in life. It’s just a fucking game I was lucky enough to be paid to play, you know? I should have been here. I never should have gone away to play college ball. I should have gone to school to be a funeral director like Dad wanted me to.”
“Hey, Jack, he was proud of you. Don’t you ever doubt that. Man, you should have seen the way he would beam whenever someone would mention a sack you made in the last game. He never begrudged you following your dream.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You wanted to be a doctor, Logan. You had to give up your dream when I got my full ride to Penn State.”
“I didn’t have to do anything, Jack. It was my choice to switch gears and take mortuary science instead of continuing with
med school. Dad never asked me to do it. I think he was more surprised than anyone when I told him about it.” Logan tried not to cry as she remembered the day she’d made the decision to change career paths. “And for the record, it wasn’t when you got the scholarship. It was when Mom died. We all knew by then you’d have a career in football, and I knew Dad would be lost living here all on his own. I sat him down the day after Mom’s funeral and told him about it.
“I’ve always believed things worked out the way they were supposed to for both of us, Jack.” Logan stood and leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms folded across her chest. “I was so proud of all the recruiters going to see your high school games, the friends I had at college were sick of hearing about you. You’re my little brother, Jack. There’s nothing that’ll ever change that. I love you, and if your career is over, we’ll figure things out together if it’s what you want.”
“If? Don’t you mean when?”
“If it’s over now or when it’s over six or eight years down the road, whatever.” Logan shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited for him to look at her. “You know I’ll always be here for you.”
“You’re the only family I have left, Logan. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”
Logan fought back tears. After struggling to not look away from him, she forced a smile.
“I’ve got work to do,” she said as she pushed away from the counter and grabbed the coat she’d draped over the back of the chair.
“Logan?” He was looking down at his hands when she turned to look at him. “Are you really doing the embalming yourself? Why don’t you have Ernie do it?”
“Why would I?”
“I just don’t understand how you can do it. I mean, he’s our father.”
“Exactly. He’s our father. How can I not do it?”
Trusting Tomorrow Page 2
