by E. E. Burke
“Hi, Logan. It’s Jen Chandler.”
“Jen, I’m glad you called.”
“You are?” That sounded breathless, too eager. She needed to keep this casual. “I, um, just got around to calling back. Had tons of emails to read...”
She scrolled through her unopened messages and noticed one from her father’s assistant. He might want to know her plans for the upcoming holidays, so he’d asked Abby to contact her. His secretary sent out her birthday cards and purchased gifts. Jen wondered if her father even remembered the day.
“Too bad you have to work,” Logan’s remark dragged her out of her musings. “I’ve been goofing off. We went for a drive around Atlanta, visited the aquarium.”
“I’ve heard that’s nice.”
“You haven’t been there?”
“Not yet.”
“One to put on your bucket list. What about the history center and Margaret Mitchell’s house?”
“Never been to either, but I love Gone With The Wind.”
“Then we should go. I’ll see what else is on the schedule while I’m here. If you have time, you can come along.”
Well, he’d made that super easy, asking her out first. She hated being stuck with strangers, but touring Atlanta with Logan actually sounded like fun, and it would give her a chance to get to get know him. On the other hand, trying to interview him with his friends around would be difficult, not to mention awkward.
She gathered her courage. “How about if we go to dinner instead?”
“Dinner? Sure, that’d be great.” He sounded genuinely pleased.
Jen released a breath of relief, so far so good. “Tonight, say six? Just walk over, I’ll drive.” That way, if things didn’t work out, she could bring him back early. “We can go somewhere simple, casual.” Probably best if she kept things low-key. She wanted him to feel comfortable, and he seemed like the laid-back sort. “Whatever you’re hungry for, just ask your friend Troy to suggest a place. I’m not picky.” If she didn’t like the fare, she could order a salad.
“I’ll ask him...and I look forward to seeing you.” The suggestive tone set off warning bells. He’d gotten the wrong idea and thought dinner was a prelude to dessert—in bed. She might fanaticize about him, but actually having sex? Out of the question. When it came to physical intimacy, she closed up faster than a clam.
“Wait!” She could find out what she needed to know another way, hire a private detective. “I just remembered something I need to do. We’ll have to take a rain check on that dinner.”
“That’s too bad.”
His disappointed tone gave her pause. If she blew him off now and came back later with a request for him to be a donor, he might turn her down and she’d lose what could be a golden opportunity. She hadn’t offered anything more than a meal. They didn’t have to sleep together to make a baby. At the right moment, she could explain everything. One step at a time...
“No, forget what I said. I’ll just rearrange things. We can still do dinner.”
His silence worried her. She propped her elbow on the desk and put her forehead in her palm. Great. Just great. He now thought she was a ditz and was reconsidering accepting her invitation. “Logan, are you there?”
“I’m here. What changed your mind?”
His question caught her off guard. “Changed my mind?”
“You asked for my number, asked me out, but now you seem...unsure.”
Jen’s heart tripped. He’d seen through her bluff, and on the phone no less. She could lie and say she wasn’t a bit hesitant and make up some story, but she had a feeling he would know she was lying. “Oh. Well, I’ve never asked a stranger out to dinner. I guess I wasn’t sure whether you were a bona fide good guy, or dangerous.”
“I could be both.”
She smiled into the phone. Another thing she liked about him, his dry sense of humor. “Just remember, I have a permit to carry a gun.” She had nothing of the sort. In fact, she didn’t even own a firearm. But he didn’t know that.
“What caliber?”
“Colt 45.” Wasn’t that a handgun? Or was it a malt liquor? Belatedly, she typed popular handguns in the search bar; she should’ve known better than to talk guns with a cowboy.
His chuckle sent off another round of shivers—not the bad kind. Or maybe these shivers were the bad kind, the worst kind. “I’ll be there at six.”
Chapter 2
Logan followed Jen through a dingy restaurant only slightly larger than a tack room. Smoke and grease oozed out of every nook and cranny, mingling with the pungent smell of barbeque sauce. The best joints generally looked like a breeding ground for food poisoning, and he hoped that was true in this case. Crank-out windows on three sides of the shack had been opened. Still, it was hot in here compared to the mild temperatures outside.
“How about this?” He indicated an open booth. “We’ll have a window.”
The clicking of her high heels stopped. “Helpful if the place catches fire.”
Her quick retort amused him. Jen’s sharp wit was the second thing about her that attracted him. The first thing was her sweet ass. Unfortunately, when he’d strolled into her back yard and saw her bent over, his brain had stopped working, and he’d blurted that stupid remark about trimming her bush. Holy shit. A wonder she hadn’t told him to go to hell. He’d managed to redeem himself after befriending her dog.
Chowing down on barbeque seemed like a good way to relax and get acquainted. Or that’s what he thought when he asked Troy to suggest a good place for ribs. Jen had said she preferred something simple and casual. She looked dressed for neither. Fitted black top, electric blue skirt, chase-me heels—he didn’t recall telling her she’d be dancing with the stars. He wouldn’t complain though. She looked as fine in that outfit as she’d looked in those stretchy pants, which had distracted the hell out of him.
She drew her skirt beneath her and scooted onto the bench, past a torn spot where the stuffing had come out. “Do you suppose ripped vinyl is a deliberate design feature?”
“Absolutely.” He set down the tray with the food they’d collected at the counter and slipped onto the opposite bench. Someone had half-heartedly swiped a damp rag over the faded plastic tablecloth after the last guests had vacated. “And the oily checkered tablecloth. That’s a nice touch too.”
Jen looked up at the unfinished wall. Hanging, slightly tilted, was a framed vintage print advertising repair services on Woodies. Someone had cut off the illustration of the old station wagon.
She arched an eyebrow, conveying her thoughts with one small gesture. His grandmother did that. Pops had called her “saucy.” The word fit Jen as well.
“Let me guess. This place is on the top ten for the most charming redneck restaurants.”
“Even better...” Logan leaned on his arms, grinning. “Rated number one by Atlanta goat ropers.”
Jen’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. She didn’t break eye contact, not even when her watch glowed with some new notification. He hoped that meant she was as fascinated with him as he was with her. Although something about her intent appraisal reminded him of the way his father studied a horse he was thinking about purchasing.
Logan exhaled a dry laugh. Jen wasn’t buying anything, and he wasn’t selling. He might consider giving it away, if she kept looking at him like that.
She shed her black all-weather coat, which had pink-lipped kisses stenciled all over it. Not many women could manage to make something ridiculous appear classy. Further evidence she’d be an interesting date.
“You should’ve warned me about the dress code. Sadly, I don’t own a Western shirt or Wranglers.” She eyed his get-up. “I do have boots.”
“Are they stenciled with pink lips?”
“Do you have something against pink lips, cowboy?” she asked, giving him another arched look.
God, she was adorable.
“I love pink lips.” He stopped short of saying he’d be happy to sample hers. Later, maybe, dependi
ng on how well things went.
It’d been a long time since someone stirred his interest like Jen did. He hadn’t expected her to ask him out on a date. That had been a surprise—a nice one. She had seemed a little worried, but if she didn’t ask guys out on a regular basis, she might’ve panicked, thinking he’d see it as an invitation to jump her bones. Honestly, the thought had entered his mind, more than once. But he didn’t intend to start anything. He’d just have a nice dinner with a pretty woman who’d flattered him with her invitation. Beyond that...
He couldn’t think beyond that. He had too many obligations waiting for him back home to get tangled up in a long-distance relationship, and he didn’t do one-night stands...though he might make an exception in Jen’s case.
She turned the paper boat holding her turkey sandwich. An odd choice at a rib joint, but some people didn’t care for ribs.
“Let’s hit the chow.” Logan rolled up his sleeves.
She stared pointedly at his forearm. “Is that a tattoo of a man on a horse?”
Hard to tell whether she was impressed or turned off. She didn’t wrinkle her nose, so that was a good sign.
“It’s a Comanche warrior. My mother’s family can trace their roots back to Quanah Parker. You might’ve heard of him. He was a famous half-white chief.”
Jen’s eyes widened with awe. “You’re part Native American?”
“The blond hair and blue eyes give it away every time.” Logan basked in her rapt attention. Things couldn’t be going better on a first date. She was impressed with his ancestry, she appreciated his sense of humor, and she looked as if she wanted to take a bite of him instead of the turkey sandwich.
Jen couldn’t keep her mind on her food with Logan flashing that dimple and giving her heart palpitations. He’d been flirting nonstop and clearly thought this was going somewhere. She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry when he discovered the direction.
“You aren’t eating,” he pointed out. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
She could imagine where he might suggest, and it wouldn’t be a restaurant. “Oh, no. This is fine. These small, undiscovered places usually have the best food.”
He glanced around. “Looks like it’s been discovered.”
True enough. The tiny hole-in-the-wall was packed with customers, in jeans as well as business suits. Logan fit in just fine, yet she didn’t look out of place. “I’ve only been in Atlanta for a little over a month and haven’t had time to research restaurants.”
Or sperm banks, for that matter.
She poured her lite beer into a plastic cup and took a sip. Thank God Logan couldn’t read her mind. That didn’t make it any less embarrassing when she thought about what she was about to do—interview a potential sperm donor without him realizing her purpose. A first date was the perfect set-up for questioning him, as couples were generally eager to learn more about each other. Might as well start with his eating habits.
“You like barbeque?”
“Oh yeah. I got a weakness for slow-smoked ribs.” He turned his plate around, tore off a rib and bit into it.
She couldn’t stop staring at the colorful tattoo along the side of his muscular forearm. The exotic design intrigued her, even though she didn’t care for tattoos. She had the oddest urge to trace the image with her fingertips. A scar snaked the length of Logan’s thumb. Looked like an old injury...from barbed wire? Oh, for God’s sake, no one used barbed wire anymore. There were more humane ways to keep cattle in a pasture. Weren’t there? She didn’t know squat about cows or cowboys.
Jen sneaked a peek at her smart watch. She’d need to learn all she could about this cowboy and fast. Based on her ovulation-tracking app, she’d reach her peak fertility late next week, and he’d be gone shortly thereafter.
After wiping his hands on a paper towel, he selected a spicy sauce and squirted it over the remaining ribs. “How about you? What kind of barbeque do you like?”
“Oh, just about anything. Turkey, chicken...” She didn’t want to appear picky, after telling him she didn’t care, then ridiculing his choice in eating establishments. He exhibited a well-developed sense of humor, so he knew she was teasing. Not everyone appreciated sarcasm, and his rapid-fire banter was refreshing.
“You want to taste one of these?” He held out a meaty rib. “They’re great.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks, but no. I don’t eat smoked ribs. Not because I don’t like them—they taste wonderful—but they’re loaded with fat. Plus, charred meat isn’t good for you. It contains carcinogens.”
Undaunted, he polished it off before responding. “How can something that tastes so good be bad?”
“Lots of things we like aren’t good for us.”
“So you avoid them?”
“For the most part.”
He unrolled another paper towel. “My grandpa had a saying: Everything in moderation. It’s a good philosophy. One I try to live by.”
Clearly, Logan didn’t overindulge in rich food and drink, or he wouldn’t look like a cover model for Cowboys & Indians.
Jen picked up her dry turkey sandwich. “If you can practice moderation, it’s a good philosophy with regard to eating.”
“Pops wasn’t just talking about food.”
He had a point. She might be missing out on some of life’s pleasures because she didn’t think she could manage them. For her, it was all or nothing. Strict adherence to self-made rules kept her urges in check. She clung to comfortable routines. One might call her slavish in her devotion to her schedule. Logan appeared more laid back. An easy-going personality would be a nice counterbalance to her obsessive tendencies.
“Tell me more about your family.” She left the door open, purposely. Whatever he chose to share would be revealing.
“That could take all night.” His slow smile made her lips tingle.
All night didn’t sound bad.
“I’ll give you the condensed version so you don’t get bored. I have four brothers: Ross is the oldest, he’s a sheriff’s deputy; Clay helps out with the horses in between rodeos; Huston just got discharged from the Army; then there’s me, and my younger brother, Austin...”
He hesitated a moment, and Jen filled in the blanks with a guess.
“Rides broncos?”
“No. He works at a fancy restaurant in Fort Worth.”
“As a waiter?”
“Head chef.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Glad you think so. He gets a load a crap from my brothers about wearing apron strings.”
Macho guys could be jerks. “What do you think about it?”
“I think he’s a damn good cook. Wish we could afford him on the ranch.”
Jen smiled, pleased by his response. “You love your little brother.”
“I love all my brothers.”
His matter-of-fact proclamation set off a twinge in Jen’s chest. She hoped Logan’s brothers appreciated and loved him too.
“What about the ranch, does it have a name?” She wondered if it was the same one she’d read about.
“The Double H.”
Bingo.
“Based on your family’s name, I presume?”
“Actually, Double H stands for Double Hearts, which I assume was a play on our family name. My great-great-grandfather created a brand that resembles interlocking hearts. As the story goes, he was madly in love with his wife, so much so that he made her legal co-owner of the ranch.”
That romantic tidbit had little to do with what she needed to find out, but it was fascinating nonetheless.
“He doesn’t sound like your typical nineteenth century chauvinist.”
Logan took a swig of beer from the can. “Mm, based on what I’ve heard, he was quite a character. Pops knew lots of stories about the family. Wish I’d listened better. When he passed away, the ranch went to my grandmother. My aunts are pressuring her to sell out to developers. Dad wants to keep the ranch.”
“So you really are
a cowboy.”
“My father prefers the term ‘rancher.’ ”
“What do you prefer?”
Logan’s smile implied he found something funny. “Most folks don’t know the difference. They call any man who wears boots a cowboy, and every handgun a Colt 45.”
The stinker! He was poking fun at her ignorance of both.
Unable to come up with a good response, Jen simply ate her sandwich.
Logan finished demolishing a side of ribs and, thankfully, refrained from talking while chewing, then pushed aside the bones and carefully wiped his mouth and fingers.
She couldn’t resist. “You have good manners—for a cowboy.”
His dimple reappeared as his smile broadened. “My mama taught me right.”
“Passable grammar.”
“Hey, now. I’ll have you know I got A’s in English.”
Jen congratulated herself for not being obvious. Smart as he was, he hadn’t figured out that she was following a list of questions. “Did you go to college?”
“Yes, ma’am. Earned a degree from Texas A&M”—Logan regarded her with a pleased expression, as if he found her interest flattering. Hopefully, he’d be just as flattered when he found out why she was so interested—“and got accepted into the veterinary program.”
No dummy, then.
“You’re a veterinarian?”
“No. I didn’t finish.” Growing somber, he reached for his beer. After draining the can, he crunched it in his fist. Something had prevented him from completing his education, and he was frustrated by it.
“Why not?”
“Money.” He set the crushed can aside and rested his arms on the table. Along with the scar on his thumb, he had other marks on the back of his hands. Perhaps he was careless, or maybe he just worked hard at tough physical labor and didn’t have the benefit of a cushy job, or a trust to fund his schooling.
She started to reach out, but then curled her fingers into a fist and pretended she hadn’t been about to touch him. She wasn’t here to hold his hand, even if only for the purpose of offering comfort. She could give Logan something better. He needed money to finish school, which would give him good motivation for accepting an offer, should she choose to extend one.
