Say You'll Marry Me (Welcome to Redemption #10)

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Tonight was her first time inside the farmhouse. From the outside, if one overlooked the listing roof of the front porch, the two story brick house was quite impressive. The inside was another story. Outdated. Worn. Run down. Peeling wall paper, scuffed floors, old appliances and older furniture.

  Not that she cared, but Logan clearly did. He’d invited her for dinner, then seemed to regret the offer the moment they reached the house and he had to warn her about the rotting second step.

  His tense expression hadn’t eased since they’d stepped through the front door.

  Joy wrapped her fingers around his and pulled herself up to put her arm around his neck. She drew his head down at the same time she rose on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. “You should know by now I’m not the spoiled princess you thought I was. I’m here to spend time with you, not judge your house.”

  “And yet, you’ve noticed the house.”

  “Kinda hard not to when you’re so obviously uncomfortable about it.”

  “Usually I don’t mind it much. I’m not in here much. But with you here, I realize how awful it all looks.”

  “With all your family has been through, it’s understandable that you haven’t been able to update. At the sale, you can just tell everyone it’s retro chic.”

  Thankfully, that drew a smile. “More like retro shit.”

  “Don’t say that.” She pushed him away, turning to survey the large kitchen, and the dining room turned storage area beyond. “This place has a lot to offer.”

  “Yeah. A lot of work.” Logan brought over some glasses and a couple sodas from the fridge, then moved back to cut the pizza.

  “I’m serious. It’s got great bones. Strip and refinish the hardwood floors and they’ll be gorgeous. Then there’s the crown moldings, the fieldstone fireplace, and that carved railing going up the staircase. Not to mention the detail work around each window is unique. Once the paint is gone, and all the woodwork is stained and varnished, it’ll be amazing.”

  Warming to the vision, she moved to stand in the opening between the kitchen and foyer/living room. “I’d keep all those great features and gut the rest. Open things up so if someone is cooking in here, they’re not separated from the rest of the family. And on cold winter nights, everyone could spend time together by the fire. Read, play games, snuggle.”

  She let her gaze travel from right to left, envisioning the changes and wishing she’d be the one to make the house come alive again.

  But she wouldn’t, so no sense indulging the fantasy. Any future she and Logan had together wouldn’t be in this house. There was no way she could even bid on it after the way he’d reacted to her going to the bank.

  With a soft sigh, she put the idea away and turned back to find Logan watching her, the pizza cutter halted mid-slice. His gaze met hers, then shifted away to travel across the main floor. She imagined him picturing the revitalization. Maybe, like her, he could see them sitting by the fire together, with a couple kids…

  Chapter 19

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  Logan suddenly saw the house through Joy’s eyes. Not the shabby, poor version, but one where everything was new and beautiful. Her description of the family scene turned the old house into a home.

  A tempting vision—

  That’s going to be sold in two days.

  He shook his head and abruptly turned back to their cheap dinner. It was impossible, is what it was. No sense imagining what could never be.

  “Like I said, a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Resignation weighed her tone as she returned to her seat at the table. “I hope someone sees the potential.”

  “Most likely, it’ll be the Persky’s bidding at the sale.” He brought the pizza over and sat, waiting for her to take a slice before sliding two hot triangles onto his plate.

  “Are you going to be here for it?”

  The idea of standing by while people bid on his family land—Edna and her husband, Robert, in particular—made his gut clench in protest. However, the thought of not being there for the sale of his history was just as bad. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Do you want me to be here if you are?”

  He lifted his solemn gaze to hers, touched that she’d offer. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She nodded, a brief smile on her lips before she lifted her slice for a bite. A few minutes later, she commented, “Grandpa gave me a few more ideas for songs for Grandma.”

  The entire drive down to Milwaukee and most of the way back they’d talked. She’d told him all about the award-winning documentary as she searched out music from June’s younger years to help unlock her memories and keep her mind stimulated.

  “You must already have quite the collection for her.”

  “I do. But there’s one in particular…”

  Her tone had turned hesitant. Logan took a drink of his soda and raised his eyebrows in question as she set her pizza down and reached for her paper towel napkin.

  “Remember at that first dinner, when Grandma was talking about how Grandpa sang to her at their wedding, and he changed the words of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ to blue-eyed girl?”

  “Yeah?”

  The napkin crumpled in her clenched fingers, and stayed that way even after she released it and raised her gaze to his. “I’d like you to sing it so I can load it on the player for her.”

  His stomach flipped as he slowly set down his glass. “You’d record it?”

  “Yes. Just on my phone.”

  Anxiety sent him back in his chair, but Joy leaned over to grasp his hand, her expression earnest. “Please, Logan. It has such a special memory attached to it, I think it would really mean a lot to both of them.”

  The plea in her voice hit him hard, constricting his chest.

  Come on, man, you can do that. You’ve already sung for her, and this is for June.

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Thank you.” Relief filled her expression. She leapt up to kiss him, and he closed his arms around her to enjoy the spontaneous reward.

  “If that was just for the yes,” he murmured, “what do I get when I’m done?”

  She offered a smiling, seductive glance from under her lashes as she moved back to her seat. “Play for me and you’ll find out.”

  Yeah, he could definitely do that.

  They fell back into the easy camaraderie they’d shared on the trip, but with the added promise of later simmering below the surface. He loved her quick wit and the spark of mischief that flared whenever she teased him. He especially loved that she was comfortable enough to be herself, and had found himself questioning his steadfast position throughout the day.

  Maybe he didn’t have to be so uptight about working for her grandpa while they were in a relationship. Every single day he put in an honest day’s work to earn his wage. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

  The realization had relaxed him, broke down his defenses some, and made his agreement to let her record him singing a little easier than he would’ve expected.

  After they finished eating, Joy insisted on washing the dishes, even the ones he’d let pile up over the past couple days. He overlooked the discomfort of her cleaning up his mess, dried and put everything away, then headed for the stairs to retrieve his guitar from his room.

  “Get your phone ready,” he warned over his shoulder.

  “You know the song already?”

  “Yep.” He didn’t tell her he’d looked up the music and lyrics after that dinner with her grandparents.

  Back downstairs, he took her hand and led her outside onto the porch. Hopefully the anonymity of the dark would ease his nerves, like in the hayloft. But it wasn’t completely dark because of the light shining through the living room window. Plus, he let her have the rocking chair while he leaned against the section of porch railing he knew would support his weight. The positions put them face to face. Hers shadowed, his not so much.

  Nervousness churned in his stomach as he picked out a few c
hords. He did his best to ignore the sensation as he lifted his gaze to hers and saw her phone resting on her thigh. “Ready?”

  When she nodded, Logan took in a deep breath, then blew it out under the cover of the music before starting to sing. A mistake after the first verse forced him to start over. By the third try, though, he got all the way through without messing up, managing to get every brown switched to blue.

  Joy’s expression was radiant when he finished. His heart tripped at the happiness in her face. She scooped up her phone and touched the screen to stop recording. “Got it. Thank you so much. I know she’s going to love that.”

  He smiled back as his fingers absently strummed the strings. When he realized the tune his subconscious had chosen, his pulse skipped, but he made a split second decision to continue playing. It was the song he’d been working on when she’d first overheard him in the loft.

  With the opening line, the widening of her eyes confirmed she recognized the lyrics. Her smile, and the approval in her expression, triggered a lump in his throat that roughened his voice. He ducked his head and closed his eyes to concentrate on the music so he wouldn’t get choked up.

  It didn’t work, because halfway through the song, the words hit him in a way they never had before. Lyrics about home and family weren’t just phrases strung together to sound good anymore. They became a desperate plea for something he’d lost years ago.

  His heart lodged in his throat, rendering his voice nearly inaudible.

  What the hell? He’d written the damn song. How had he not recognized the depth of his own longing in the words?

  His voice died out, and he couldn’t finish. He abruptly switched to something more upbeat to get his emotions back in check. Another one of his own, because the burning sensation behind his eyelids made him blank on any other choice.

  After that was done, he was done, and thankfully, back in control. Joy slipped her phone in her back pocket as she stood and came to take his guitar from his hands. She leaned the instrument against the railing, then stepped in front of him. Logan kept his gaze downcast as he adjusted his stance to give her room to move up between his legs.

  “I never heard that second one before.” She placed her hands on his chest, right over the rapid beat of his heart. “Was it one of yours, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I loved it. And you know, the whole guy with a guitar thing really works for you.”

  Logan rested his hands on her hips, letting his fingers splay down toward the back pockets of her jeans. “Only where you’re concerned.”

  “Good.” She ran her hands up to his shoulders and leaned her body into his. He met her gaze as her arms locked around his neck, and she gave him a slow smile that heated his blood. “Now, I can’t spend the night, but we have all kinds of time before I have to go home. What do you suggest we do with that time?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas we could work with.” He smiled as he bent to scoop her up into his arms, then carried her inside, and up the stairs to his bed.

  *

  Friday morning at dawn, Logan stood on the porch, frowning at the blanket of fog covering the world outside his front door. Right now, he could see about as much of his farm as he could see of his future. The only thing he knew for sure? His future would change today.

  He bit back a heavy sigh. It was going to change all right. With the sale set for noon, it was the last day he could call any of this his. The thought put an ache in his chest that hurt more than he’d thought it would.

  It made the gray day fit his mood. He’d slept like shit. He was tired and ornery, he knew exactly why, and didn’t plan on apologizing to anyone for it. Well, except for Joy if she showed up.

  He hoped she didn’t show up despite telling her the other night he’d like her there at his side. Al had given him the last two days off to prepare for the sale, but he’d told her he wasn’t planning to stick around for it. And he hadn’t planned on staying until this morning. He still appreciated her offer of moral support, but he knew now he didn’t want her to witness this low point in his life.

  After he finished with chores—last time for them, too—restlessness sent him to his truck for a drive. He ended up at the gas station to fill up, and when he went inside to pay, he noticed the lottery ticket in his wallet that he’d bought a week ago for the hell of it.

  He handed over cash to pay for his gas, along with the lotto ticket. “You mind checking that for me?”

  The young blond nodded as she took both from him. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but when he checked the ID, it was only a number, and one he didn’t recognize, so he didn’t answer.

  “Hey, Logan, how’s it going?”

  He turned around to see Wes Carter behind him. “It’s going. Sale’s in a couple hours.”

  “I know. Sorry we couldn’t figure something out.”

  “It is what it is.” Sucky, that’s what it is.

  He didn’t much feel like making small talk, so he turned back to the attendant as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. The blond handed him his three dollars change, then went to the machine to check his ticket.

  A wide smile spread across her face. “Well, congratulations.”

  Logan’s heart thumped in his chest. “What?”

  “It’s a winner.”

  Adrenaline shot through his veins. No way. “Seriously?”

  “Holy shit, that’s awesome.” Wes clapped him on the shoulder and moved up to stand next to him by the counter.

  “Yep.” She slid the ticket back to Logan with a pen. “If you’ll sign the back, I’ll get you the cash right way.”

  “You can do that here?” Wes asked in surprise.

  “Yes, we can. Up to five hundred dollars.”

  Reality slammed into Logan. Of course he hadn’t won the jackpot. It was stupid to have believed for even one second that he’d be that lucky. The letdown sucked up whatever smidgeon of goodwill he had left in him for the day.

  Carter’s hand squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of support, then vanished. Logan gave a short laugh for his idiocy as he scrawled his name before pushing the slip across the counter. “Got a little ahead of myself there. How much did I win?”

  “Two-hundred-fifty.”

  She counted the money, and he stuffed it into his wallet before heading out with a muttered “Thanks,” embarrassment burning the tips of his ears. He was getting into his truck when Wes exited moments later and caught his eye.

  “Too bad, man. That would’ve been awesome.”

  Logan gave a short nod of acknowledgement, and jerked his door shut to head back home for the sale. The fog had lifted, and the late September sunshine did a bang up job of highlighting every run-down aspect of the weathered barn and front porch.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t keep the bargain hunters away, including the Persky’s, the Swansons, and a whole bunch of Redemption’s other residents.

  He knew damn well most of them couldn’t afford the place, but it didn’t stop the nosey bastards from tramping through his house during the two hours it was open before the sale. Even Wes’ wife Tara was there, though he grudgingly admitted she had a genuine reason to attend with her real estate boss, Nadine Hansen, at her side.

  He sat in his truck near the barn, windows open. His phone vibrated again just before the bidding was set to start on the equipment before moving on to the house. Same unknown number from earlier, so he ignored it a second time as the auctioneer began.

  Once the equipment and his cattle were sold, the short, bald fast-talker tried to open the property at four-hundred thousand. The guy had to drop the price under two before he got a bite, and Logan cursed under his breath. He could afford to keep the place for that amount.

  However, with the bidding now started, it rose pretty quick. Early bidders dropped out, until it was down to Edna’s husband, Nadine Hansen, and some guy in a suit he’d never seen before. Once the price rose over the original four hundred thousand, Nadine shook her head, effectively end
ing her bid.

  As the other two went back and forth, Logan braced his elbow on the window opening of his truck and rested his tense jaw on his thumb, forefinger against his lips.

  Not the Persky’s. Please not the Persky’s.

  And yet, three more price increases later, the guy in the suit hesitated at four-seventy-five. The auctioneer gave him two opportunities to take the bid, but the man declined. The bald man shot his hand across the crowd and pointed at the new owners of the Walsh family farm.

  “Sold! To number one-thirteen, for four-hundred-seventy thousand dollars.”

  Edna and Millie hugged while their husbands shook hands and congratulated each other with a couple of back slaps. The two old women turned toward Logan’s truck as his phone vibrated yet again.

  He sucked in a breath, his chest so tight the oxygen barely filtered into his lungs while he checked the screen. Same damn number. He thumbed the button to connect the call and lifted the phone.

  “Who the hell is this, and why do you keep calling me?”

  “Logan Walsh?”

  “Yeah,” he barked in irritation.

  There was a moment of hesitation, then the man said, “This is Kevin Baxter from Copper Hill Records in Nashville. Joy Dolinski is a good friend of mine, and she sent me a couple of your songs yesterday. I’d like to—”

  “She what?” Fury exploded, fueled by the triumphant smirk Edna Persky directed his way from across the farmyard.

  “She sent me two of your songs yesterday. Well, one and a half, but still, I’m very impressed.”

  Disbelief spread through him. Joy had recorded his songs. Not the one he’d given permission for, but the ones he’d played for her. Only for her. While he frickin’ poured his heart out, she’d completely betrayed him, and then turned around and sent his music to some guy he’d never even met so they could pretend to buy them.

  Logan’s fingers nearly crushed the phone. “Let me guess,” he bit out with heavy sarcasm. “You’re calling to make me an offer.”

  “Yes.” The man’s tone was cautious, confused. “One of our artists was in my office when I played your demo, and he’s excited to record the second song. In fact—”