by Delia Latham
Which meant her reaction wasn’t fright, but something else—something she didn’t care to delve into right now. She found a smile and opened the door. “Logan! Good morning.”
“I was just about to give up. I’m glad you’re home.”
His big, open grin flip-flopped her tummy and made breathing a little difficult.
“Where else would I be?” She stepped back. “Come on in.”
He hesitated and then stepped just inside the door. “Are you alone?”
“My cousin, Deah, is here, but…well, she was out late last night, and she’s still sleeping. I’m not even sure what time she came in.”
“I see.” He relaxed a little and Summer squelched a grin of her own.
Logan was worried about being alone with her. Was he nervous, or just being protective of her reputation?
She leaned toward the latter, since he’d never shown a single sign of nerves in her presence until that moment. And how sweet was that? She could add chivalrous to the growing list of positive traits that defined him.
“You’re looking quite put-together today, Mr. Bullard.” Teasing wasn’t exactly second nature to Summer, and she was surprised to find it in her now. But she was enjoying that heretofore unexplored side of her nature, and she added a little narrow-eyed questioning. “Are you off to slay dragons?”
He laughed. “Well, in a sense, I guess you could say that. I’m here to ask you out.”
She drew back, completely shocked. “Ask…what?”
“Aha. Didn’t expect that, did you?” He smiled and the deep dimples that bracketed his lips came out to play. “I was wondering if you’d like to ride into Cambria. We could get some lunch, maybe visit a couple of the art galleries. I’m not the only artist in the area, you know. I think you’ll be surprised at the degree of local talent displayed in our little village.”
“I’d love to go!” She glanced down at her denim capris. “Do you mind if I change clothes? I’ll be quick.”
“You look great to me, but sure…change if you want to.”
“With you looking like that? Uh…yes, I think I’ll change. Be right back.” She dashed off, then stopped before turning at the hallway. “The remote control is on top of the television.”
“I saw Freckle out by the woods. He could probably use a little company.”
She smiled. “I played with him earlier. He’s such a sweetheart…I love that little guy. But I’m supposed to be changing.” She turned and dashed down the hall, tossing words over her shoulder. “I’ll hurry.”
“Take your time.”
The front door opened and closed again.
She’d showered first thing in the morning. After her romp around the lodge grounds with Freckle, however, her hair needed a bit of attention.
Never one to obsess over fashion, it didn’t take her long to choose a pair of cream slacks and a sleeveless top in soft mint. She ran a brush through her hair, pulled it back and started to secure it with a large clip…and then shook it loose and laid the clip on the dresser. She’d leave it free for today. A touch of lip gloss, a flick of the mascara wand across her eyelashes, a slide of her feet into cream-colored sandals, and she was ready.
She stopped and tapped at Deah’s door, intending to let her cousin know she was leaving. Aside from a guttural groan, she received no response. Oh, well. She shrugged and hooked her purse over her arm on the way out the door.
Deah might still be sleeping when she returned. It seemed all the girl wanted to do was sleep and party.
Not your business. She blew out a breath and tipped her chin up as a physical reminder to keep herself out of Deah’s shenanigans. But she did need to call Uncle Barry and let him know she and Deah were alive and well.
She hurried down the steps to join Logan and the fawn.
“That was quick.” Logan stood up beside the little animal and slapped his hands together, presumably to brush off any dust and fur. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you, but you’re too kind.” She hoped her accompanying grin appeared more half-hearted than it felt. “I barely took time to make myself presentable.”
“Oh, you’re presentable, all right.” He tugged on a strand of her hair. “You’ll make every other woman in the village look bad.”
Warmth climbed from her neck and into her cheeks. “Come on, let’s go. Bye, Freckle!”
The fawn ambled along behind them as far as the corner of the lodge. For some reason, he always seemed hesitant about venturing to the front area, which boasted a circular driveway and an abundance of beautiful foliage to welcome visitors. Summer hadn’t figured out the young deer’s reluctance to round the corner of the lodge just yet. Was it possible he actually knew there might be more humans, and vehicles that could present a danger to him?
“I won’t be too long, little guy.” She bent to rub behind his ears. “You’ll be all right. Go on now.” She gave him a tiny shove toward the side yard, and he obediently trotted off toward the woods.
Logan laughed. “That little fawn acts like a puppy around you.”
“I know. He follows every step I take when I’m outside the apartment.” She slid into the passenger seat when Logan opened the door for her. “But he’s very obedient. I never have to tell him anything twice.”
Logan shook his head, shut her door, and rounded the car to join her. As they drove around the driveway and out toward the main highway, he slid a glance her way.
“What will you do when it’s time for you to leave? You think he’ll be OK?”
“Oh, his mother will be back by then.”
He hiked a couple of thick, dark eyebrows. “And you know this…how…?”
“I have to believe God will make everything all right for Freckle. Otherwise leaving him behind will break me, and I don’t think that’s God’s purpose in bringing him into my life.”
“Well, neither do I.” Logan smiled. “So, what shall we do first? Lunch or one of the galleries?”
“Which gallery shows your work?”
“My work is in all of them.”
“Well, then, there’s no question. Gallery first—at least one of them before lunch.”
“As you wish. By the way, thanks again for the book. I read it.”
She laughed. “You did not.”
“I did, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the storyline.” He reached across the console to touch her hand. “You’re an amazing writer. I’m impressed.”
“Well…” She was shocked that he’d actually read her book. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
He chuckled. “Summer, I’m not being kind. I’m being honest. Your words paint scenes every bit as vivid as any I’ve ever applied to a canvas.”
Summer sat quietly for a moment and then whispered, “Thank you. I’m glad you liked the book.”
Moments later, he took her arm as they entered Cambrian Arts.
Summer let her gaze travel the open interior. Although a bit on the small side, someone clearly knew how to present the various art mediums for ultimate effect. Without any appearance of clutter, and with every display maximized to perfection, the small venue would compare well with any Los Angeles or San Francisco gallery. Because Uncle Barry and Aunt Grace loved the arts, Summer had been fortunate to visit a number of galleries in both locations. They’d had to drag Deah along, but Summer always loved those visits, the ones her aunt referred to as “culture trips.”
“I know it’s small…”
“It’s perfect!” She took his arm, smiling into his eyes. “Now lead me to the Logan Bullard displays.”
He huffed out a breath. “I thought it might be too low-scale for you.”
“What? No!” She frowned and gave his shoulder a nudge with her own. “I should be angry at you for not knowing I’d love it.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you’re not angry…and happy you like the place. Now, right this way, ma’am.”
Her first glimpse of his work left her speechless and awed. The ocean
scene came alive on the canvas. Summer felt the mist off the water, heard the roar of the waves, shivered under a chilly, Pacific-cooled breeze. Her toes curled in her sandals, the gritty feel of the sandy beach almost a tactile sensation. “Ohhh…!” She dragged her gaze from the painting and fixed it on Logan.
His wide, gray-green gaze absorbed her reaction, a full bottom lip clamped between his teeth. Something hopeful and yet uncertain shadowed his gaze.
Did the man not know what he’d achieved with this one painting alone? Such amazing talent, and yet Logan possessed not a trace of over-confidence, nor any self-aggrandizing personality bents. “‘Oh?’” He tried to grin, but it came off a bit shakily. “Is that a good ‘oh,’ or an ‘I wish I could think of something nice to say’ kind of ‘oh’?”
Taking a firm hold on her courage, she stepped close and placed a hand on each side of his face. “Surely you know this is beyond wonderful? It’s the best I’ve ever seen, and I’m not being nice because I know the artist. It gives me shivers in my soul. Your work is…well, it’s seriously amazing.”
“Whew!” He blew out a breath, drew it back in, and pulled her in for a quick hug. “Thank you, Summer. That means a lot to me. More than I can say.” His lips grazed her forehead, and then he released her and took a step backward. “I have more here. Want to see them?”
The gallery showed six Bullard paintings. One in particular drew her attention with its familiarity.
“This is at the Paradise Pines beach, isn’t it?”
His brows drew together, and he studied her face. “How did you know?”
She smiled and pointed at an outcropping of rock along the shoreline. “Isn’t this where I write…where I stash my laptop and quilt before I go deep-sea diving?”
“It is.” He chuckled. “But hundreds of rock formations along the coastline look very similar to that one. I can’t believe you spotted it.”
“Of course I did. Do you not realize that when someone looks at your paintings they are almost transported into the scene?”
He laughed. “Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, I think.”
She didn’t even smile. “It isn’t. When I saw that first painting, I literally felt the sand between my toes. The wind off the water chilled me, and sunshine warmed the back of my neck.”
His lips lifted in a lopsided grin. He gave a little shake of his head and turned away as if to move on to another display.
Summer was having none of that. She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her again. “Listen to me, Logan. I heard the waves roaring into shore, and felt the mist on the air around me. I’m not being fanciful or flattering. I’m trying to tell you what an impact that painting had on me. All of them do, to varying degrees.” She pulled in a breath. “You’ve been blessed with a huge talent. I’m more than impressed. I’m seriously blown away.”
He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her so close she felt his heartbeat. She didn’t protest. She couldn’t. Her breath had forsaken her, and her legs wobbled like a newborn fawn’s—and she happened to know firsthand exactly how shaky those spindly legs could be.
Logan slid his lips across hers. Just a brief, barely-there kiss that packed a tsunami punch.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You—you’re w—welcome.”
“Want to see some other stuff?”
“No, I like the Bullard stuff.”
He laughed. “You haven’t seen anything else.”
“I don’t need to.”
He finally took her hand and tugged her away. She allowed him to point out creations by other artists—sculptures of clay, metal and a variety of other mediums, gorgeous pottery and ceramics, woodcarvings. One corner even boasted a small display of handmade jewelry by a local Native American designer. Cambria certainly didn’t lack talent.
She was studying a stunning moonstone bracelet when Logan leaned close and whispered into her ear.
“I’m hungry.”
Summer looked up and grinned. “I’m starving.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
****
Logan drove out of Cambria toward the lodge, and then turned off the highway onto a narrow, graveled road that wound through a heavily wooded area. He glanced at Summer and bit back a grin. She was clearly mystified as to why he’d left the village and driven away from the eateries he’d pointed out as they’d approached the gallery.
Finally, she sighed and touched his arm. “Um…where are we going?”
“Are you nervous, being dragged into the forest by the big, bad wolf?”
She laughed softly. “You’re far from scary. I’m curious, that’s all.”
“I’m taking you to lunch.”
“There’s a place to eat out here?” Her eyebrows reached for her hairline.
“You’d be surprised what you’ll find tucked into various locations around this stretch of shore.” He shot her a grin. “Just relax. We’re almost there.”
“OK.” She made a show of breathing deep and then leaned back in her seat. “I’m relaxed.”
Within moments, he turned off the graveled road onto another narrow lane cut into the forest. Half a mile further, he pulled into a wide driveway that fronted a large, lovely home surrounded by trees. On the south side of the three-story house, a gazebo hung with wisteria faced a narrow brook that meandered into the trees at the edge of the property. A stunning flower garden showcased a huge variety of local flora in full bloom.
Trying to look at the place through Summer’s eyes, Logan decided his home made a striking impression on first sight. He hoped that impression would be a lasting one—for his guest today, in particular. “We’re here.”
“I see that.” She spoke absently, her head turning one way and then another as she tried to take in everything at once. “But I’m not sure where here is. This isn’t a restaurant.” As if propelled by a sudden thought, her head snapped in his direction. Her hazel eyes, at the moment a deep, velvety green—a perfect match for the forest around them—were wide and curious. “Is it?”
He laughed. “No, it isn’t. This is my home.”
“Oh!”
Her lips parted beneath those captivating eyes, and a jolt of something electric shot through Logan’s body. He swallowed hard and reached for the door handle. If he kissed her now, she’d never allow him near her again. “Let’s go in, shall we? I want to show you around.” He took her hand as they followed the sidewalk to the front door.
As much he loved and appreciated his home—God had truly blessed his career, and he never wanted to forget the Source of his success—it had become familiar and perhaps too comfortable. While a home should provide comfort, Logan never wanted to take it for granted.
Even the stunning beauty of the surrounding forest and his spacious lawn, manicured only enough to distinguish it from the woods and make it safe and easy to traverse, at times became too familiar.
The old adage about familiarity breeding contempt was all too true. He breathed a silent prayer as they stepped into the shadow of the covered, wraparound porch. Thank You, God! You’ve been good to me. Please don’t let me ever become forgetful of how blessed I am to have all of this.
Summer’s gaze flicked from one end of the porch to the other. She ran a hand over the railing, closed her eyes and breathed deeply, apparently enjoying the sweet scent of jasmine. The fragrant blooms wound and trailed their way across the porch space, through latticework and over beams and any other surface to which the seeking tendrils could attach.
Logan couldn’t look away. This woman seemed almost angelic standing there on his porch, eyes closed, head lifted as if in silent praise. He held his breath, hoping she’d feel like dancing again, but knowing she wouldn’t…not when she knew he’d be watching.
Summer possessed an uncommon beauty, but he was drawn to her by something far more. Her sweetness, her innocence, the way she cared about Freckle—and even watched out for her cousin, whose brief encounter with Logan ha
dn’t left him feeling warm and fuzzy. While Summer had voiced nothing derogatory toward the other girl, Deah was not like her. He got the feeling she was spoiled and selfish and had probably taken advantage of her cousin’s kindness more than a few times.
The thought kindled a little fire of anger within him. No one would mistreat Summer ever again…not if she’d allow him to remain in her life.
6
She opened her eyes and caught him staring, but her smile said she didn’t mind. “I love it already.”
“I’m glad. Truly.” He unlocked the door and swung it open, waving her inside. “Now come in and see if the interior passes your inspection as well.”
She chuckled as she stepped past him.
Logan breathed in the faint scent of citrus and vanilla that always seemed to float around her.
Her quiet enjoyment and compliments during the course of the quick “grand tour” he offered made him want her to stay…always and forever. To be waiting every time he came home…or better yet, to come and go with him, always returning here together. Getting a little ahead of yourself, Bullard. Might be time for a heart-to-heart with Brady. The thought crystallized into a definite intention. He could seriously use a talk with his pastor.
He led Summer into the kitchen, where he retrieved a picnic basket he’d packed earlier. He added a few bottles of water, a couple more of soda, and one or two last-minute items, then tucked a tablecloth around the lot.
The gesture brought back a vivid memory of going on picnics with his mother as a child. She’d shown him that little trick with the tablecloth, saying it served a couple of purposes, besides the obvious one—it kept the picnic items from bumping around inside the basket, and kept out dust on the way to the picnic spot.
He closed the lid and secured it. Then, with a grin, he hooked the basket over one arm, took Summer’s hand and led her out the back door.
Her eyes shone as she looked around the yard. “Are we eating in the gazebo?”
“Not today, but that’s a great plan for next time you allow me to steal you away from the lodge—and from your work. I don’t in any way discount that you’ve sacrificed writing time to be with me today. I promise not to undermine all of it while you’re here.” He squeezed the hand he held, truly appreciative of her willingness to be pulled away from her word paintings. “But this time I’m taking you to my favorite get-away spot.”
