by S. M. Smith
“Logan.”
“Stay, Allie.” The words are both soft and demanding at the same time. A breeze blows a strand of my hair in between us, so he reaches up and pulls it behind my ear for me. The touch steals all my reserve and against everything telling me to walk away, I stay.
Chapter Five
I’m not sure if the blissfulness I awoke with was due to the fact that by the time my head hit the fabulous pillow in Logan’s guest room last night I was ready to sleep for a week, or because the smell of bacon is wafting into my room. Whatever the cause is, it makes me practically skip into the kitchen where a fully dressed Logan is lobbing all sorts of nastiness into a blender.
“Morning,” I greet, not sure where the delicious smell is coming from and if I’m eligible to indulge in its goodness.
“Morning.” Logan puts a banana in the blender and tops it off with a scoop of protein powder just before he puts the lid on and turns the mean machine on. The grating noise makes me jump even though I watched him press the button.
Somehow with our little moment last night, I guess I thought we’d finally hit some kind of mutual understanding that we were going to be kind to one another, but he’s playing dirty with the noisy blender and the disgusting green concoction that he pours into a glass so early this morning.
“That looks like it tastes horrible.”
His face after the first drink agrees with my statement.
“It’s packed full of everything I need to make it through to lunch. Want one?”
I can’t school my aghast look before a small smile spreads across his face. “Didn’t think so. Bacon’s in the oven.”
I do skip this time and stop short when I realize that I have no clue if it’ll be hot, and if so, where the potholders might be. Logan watches with mild amusement as I rein in my exuberance and try not to start a search through every cabinet and drawer until I find what I need. I must look pretty pathetic because a second later Logan pushes off the island and saunters toward me. He stops inches from me and reaches around to the drawer behind me, pulling out a thick, dark gray potholder and dangling it in my face.
“Thank you.” I take it from the smug man and ignore the fact that I didn’t take any liberties in really making myself look even the slightest bit professional before rushing in for food. Boy, wouldn’t Maggie have heart failure at my lack of etiquette right now.
Logan’s eyes dart to the blonde mess piled up on top of my head and suppresses a smile when he takes a step back.
“You’re going to have to get up earlier if you want to get any good breakfast around here,” he tells me as I pull the plate of bacon and eggs out of the warm oven. “Most mornings the guys have devoured all of it before the sun rises. I can’t guarantee that I can save you some everyday.”
“Sorry. Still on west coast time.” I test a piece of bacon and find that it’s not too hot to shove its entirety into my mouth before I even put the plate down or grab a fork. Mostly because I don’t know where the forks might be. When I turn around to figure out how to turn the oven off, I think I hear Logan chuckle as he opens a drawer. After standing there staring at the complex oven for longer than I probably should, a fork dances in front of my face. Turning I find Logan smirking at me.
“The middle knob.” Something about the swirling blue and green in his eyes as he watches me mesmerizes me and causes all thought to escape.
“Huh?”
“The oven knob is the one you’re looking for. It’s in the middle.” That smirk gets hidden behind a glass of nasty greenness as he hands me the fork and reaches out to turn the oven off for me.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Logan Lassiter was trying to flirt with me. And if I’m being honest, I’m kind of liking it.
I pick up my plate and start to make my way to the table until I spy a Keurig sitting on the built-in shelves next to the breakfast nook. Turning I find Logan watching me with a blank face. That was a quick change of pace.
“May I?”
“Help yourself. Just don’t change the channel.” I turn to find—and wonder how on earth I missed—the flat screen on the top shelf airing the morning edition of Football 24. Stacey’s glowing face is muted as she highlights what reports have come in from those teams who have started their training camps.
And just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any better.
“I swear, this place is heaven,” I mumble as I pick up a black mug and put a dark roast cup in the machine.
“I kind of like it.” I didn’t realize Logan had heard me, let alone taken up a seat at the table with me.
“It really is wonderful. I don’t think I could have gotten better accommodations anywhere. Thank you.” A tight smile stretches across his face as his attention turns to the warming morning.
“Listen, Allie, while you’re here, I want you to make yourself at home, but I do ask that you respect my privacy. I—”
“I think we covered this already, Logan. I’m not here to make you out to be some masked villian or anything. I have one goal: show America a man they can love.”
The hot coffee finishes brewing and he’s still staring out at the open field when I turn to take up the seat across from him.
“I’m not looking for love, Allie.” The words hang between us like like a veil, clearly dividing where we stand. “I’m looking for respect. It doesn’t matter to me if there are twenty or twenty million people cheering my name from the stands. Just as long as they know what I stand for and can accept that this is who I am, that’s all I need.”
His eyes finally pull themselves to look me dead on and I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“And what is it that you stand for, Logan?”
His chin drops as heavy footsteps hit the porch, and a moment later a tall man in a tight t-shirt, snug jeans, and the dustiest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen enters the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Just wanted to touch base.” The man looks to be in his late twenties, with hair buzzed short and a jaw that could rival Logan’s. His arms swell with muscles that barely hold a candle to Logan’s, but physique aside, the difference between the two men couldn’t be more clear than night and day. There’s a welcoming, definitely playful, side to this man that a satellite from space could pick up on. It could just be the cheesy grin on his face, or it could be the way he genuinely sounds apologetic for interrupting us.
“You’re not intruding. Give me five and I’ll be right with you, Travis.”
Travis excuses himself with a polite nod but Logan’s tense jaw is back. Oh goodie.
“I have some things to tend to today, but we could start with your questions this afternoon. Like I said, make yourself at home, but if you’re going to be outside at all, make sure that you wear jeans and sturdy shoes. There’s a gym down the hall opposite yours, this floor. Upstairs is off limits. I’ve written down the info for wifi, it’s on the island. Please just don’t make any big messes and we’ll get along just fine.”
Logan knocks back the rest of his disgusting smoothie and stands without another word. Seeing that switch flip from laid back, almost flirty Logan to uptight, don’t-get-up-in-my-business Logan shocks me so much that all I can do is watch him leave while I struggle to get down a mouthful of eggs.
***
The warm sun feels glorious on my bare arms and legs as I let the steady beats of my 90s pop cardio station set my pace. I know Logan said that I should wear jeans out, but since my plan is to stick to a few of laps up and down the paved driveway, I figure I should be fine. Between yesterday’s literal whirlwind, every piece of me has been begging to let off some steam, so a run in the mid-morning sun should do the trick.
It takes me longer to reach the end of the driveway than I anticipated, the black pavement getting the brunt of my pent up nerves. Logan’s emotional pendulum just won’t stay still for anything and I don’t know who I’ll get when we finally sit down for our second intervie
w tonight. The idea that I could get detached, taciturn Logan makes me pick up my pace and want to sprint back toward the house. But then the man, in the flesh, perched upon his trusty steed, comes into sight waving at me.
Actually waving.
Slowing, I wave back and watch as he rides my direction. My thoughts shift, realizing I could also get the slightly more charming and somewhat easy-going Logan who seems to have a hospitable, almost caring side. That thought makes me smile and wonder what kinds of things we could—
A loud booming sound that has nothing to do with the Black Eyed Peas blaring in my ear reverberates in my chest, drawing my attention back the man on the horse, now lowering a long-barreled gun from his shoulder. Coming to an abrupt halt, I yank the earbuds out of my ears and start to veer toward the fence closest to where Logan is slowly approaching.
“Don’t move,” he yells across the thirty yards between us, staring at some space in front of me. My gaze follows his and I’m no longer able to move. Something long, dirty brown, and looking very much like a snake lays across the pavement about twenty, maybe twenty-five yards in front of me. It doesn’t seem to be moving and I know for a fact, it wasn’t there a few minutes ago, but I was about to run straight at it.
Now I can add valiant snake killer to the many faces of Logan Lassiter.
My heart will not slow down for anything as Logan approaches the lazy animal. When he gets off his horse and aims the gun back at the snake again, my heart rate picks up to life threatening speeds. The last thing I need is for the object of my latest assignment to be bitten by a poisonous snake. I don’t think that America will find it very ironic that the animal that gives Logan his fatal blow is none other than a real-life version of his team’s mascot.
He lowers the gun and climbs the wooden fence separating the pasture from the small space of manicured lawn and I suddenly feel the need to hold my breath. Like in slow motion, he turns his back on the deadly animal and descends the fence. I can’t watch, but I also can’t tear my eyes away. He extends the barrel of his gun out and pokes the animal and I seriously consider if maybe his head should be examined. But the snake doesn’t move and I finally find myself able to exhale. Logan shakes his head before turning his face to the sun.
“You’re extremely lucky that I actually hit him.” I didn’t realize I was moving again until Logan’s voice fills my ears. I do realize I’m getting too close to the slithery beast so I stop a few yards away, not daring to get any closer.
“I…I didn’t see it earlier…”
With a heavy sigh, Logan finally turns to look at me. “What did I say about wearing jeans out here? They can’t keep the venom out but they are a much better defense than those shorts.”
“You actually shot that thing?” So maybe I should have my own head checked.
“If I had missed, it could have taken off in your direction.” He shakes his head again. “Why are you running out here? I told you where the gym is.”
“I…I didn’t…” I can’t wrap my head around what I’m seeing right now. “Is it poisonous?”
He points to the pattern on the scales. “See that diamond pattern?” I nod, still unable to form a coherent thought. “Yes. It’s poisonous.” I start to really look at it until I realize that a portion of it has been blown to smithereens, and deciding I don’t need those nightmares, I finally look at Logan’s face. He reaches up and runs a hand over his face, fear and anger mixing in the depths of his bright blue eyes.
“You need—”
“Logan.” We both turn to find Travis on horseback, racing up to parallel himself with the fence. His nose scrunches up when he spots the dead snake behind Logan. “Oh, a rattler. Glad you got ‘em. Thunderstruck got out. He’s down the stream on the south side.”
Logan’s long fingers brush over his face one more time. “Alright, I’ll be right there. Grab Joe and Matt and I’ll bring the truck and some feed. Lord knows that’s all that appeals to that dumb bull. Oh, will you have Dean come out here to take care of this?”
Travis nods and turns back the way he came and Logan focuses on me, annoyed frustration taking over his face.
“A bull got out? Can I come watch you get him back? I’ve never—”
“No.” Just one terse word. Oh, we’re back to moody, uncommunicative Logan again. Yay.
“I won’t be in the way, I promise. I’ll stay in the truck and—”
“Not in those clothes. If you want to observe me on the ranch, that’s fine, but you’ll do so appropriately dressed.”
I look down at my black running shorts and neon green and pink racerback tank. I start to argue that there’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed until the wind picks up and a funny, metallic scent picks up in the air, reminding me that there’s a dead snake decaying on the driveway behind us.
“Okay, fine. I’ll get the appropriate apparel and join you in five.” I start to jog back toward the house, giving the snake a wide berth, but Logan’s words stop me.
“Not today, Allie. You can come out later this week, but just…just go back inside and get cleaned up. I’ll see you when I’m done.”
He turns and scales the fence and is back on his horse before I can even argue back. Not wanting to spend any more time with a dead rattlesnake than necessary, I replace my headphones and jog all the way back into the house and into the gym, never taking my eyes off the path ahead of me in case any other rattlers arise to sour my already dreadful mood.
***
Logan and I silently move around each other as we clear the kitchen table of the dishes, not daring to even look each other in the eye. Dinner was painfully quiet. Logan answered with a simple “yep” whenever I asked if they were able to get the bull back. It seems that he’s still harboring ill feelings against my not taking his warning to heart. How was I supposed to know that there would be snakes? All he said was to wear jeans out. Sheesh.
After setting my plate a little too harshly in the sink, I sense him tense up. “Sorry.”
With an impassive look, he nods his head toward the living room. “Go get your stuff. I’ll just set these in the dishwasher and meet you in there.”
“I don’t mind helping clean up—”
“You’ve done enough. Just…just go.”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I turn and excuse myself to my room and shut the door. Face planting onto the bed, I hold the down-filled pillow to my face and let out a scream. Once that one’s out, I take a deep breath and do it again. If there is a more confusing person on this planet, I’ve yet to meet them. Rolling over onto my back, I stare at the wide paddle ceiling fan and wonder if I actually have the patience to do this today. Or any day for that matter. As if knowing that I needed a healthy dose of suck-it-up-buttercup, my phone rings, Walt’s wrinkly, smiling face looking up at me.
“Hey, Walt.”
“What’s wrong, Allie Cat? You sound upset.”
“Bad day on the job,” I grumble as I hug a pillow, wishing it was the squishy old man on the other end of the line.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Mac being a jerk again?”
“Oh, no. It’s the favorite Mr. Lassiter. The man is more complex than a Rubik’s cube.” The soft chuckle on the line makes me roll my eyes.
“Oh, Allie. You’re just used to batting those pretty blue eyes of yours and having men spew their deepest secrets at you.”
I scoff. “You make it sound like I’m some dirty seductress.”
“Nah, honey, I know you’re not like that. I’m just saying that most of the people you interview find you irresistibly charming.”
“I don’t think you’re helping yourself here, Walt.” I groan.
“I’m sure Logan finds you charming, maybe he’s just not as easily persuaded by your winning personality as most people are.”
“I’m pretty sure the only thing he finds charming is my morning hair.”
I can tell the moment I said the wrong thing when Walt’s tone goes from placating to stern in a nanosecond
. “Allie, no one finds your morning hair charming. What was he doing seeing your morning hair anyway?”
“One word: bacon.”
“I’m not following here, kid.” His seriousness actually makes me want to giggle.
“Relax, Walt. He made bacon before I got up and I left my room before I could make any fully conscious decisions.”
“So Mr. Lassiter is behaving himself then?”
“In the way you’re insinuating, yes. But to say the man is a challenge to get any information out of would be understating the circumstances quite a bit.”
“Good. Well, not good that he’s being difficult but good that he’s being a gentleman.”
I actually laugh out loud at that. “Listen, Walt, I need to get off here. We’re going to attempt another interview here in a minute and I need to gather some patience before I say something unprofessional.”
“You’ve got this, Allie Cat. Don’t worry about a thing. I know there’s a reason you’re going through all this, just be patient.”
I just nod, even though I totally fail to see why on earth I need to put up with the reticence of Logan Lassiter. I know that if I say anything though, Walt will go on his spiel about how God has a purpose for everything and that’s just something else I don’t have the patience for today.
“I love you, kid.”
“I love you too.”
“Be patient. I know something good will come of all this. I believe it.”
“Okay, Walt. Talk to you soon.”
I hang up the phone and take another deep breath.
Time to get this show on the road.
Picking up my notebook, pen, and phone, I stall a few more moments trying to find anything else I might need even though I’m confident this interview won’t last long enough for me to need what I already have. Finally realizing that I won’t have anything to write about if I don’t at least try, I steel myself and make my way back to the living room. Taking the few steps down to the couch, I see Logan wipe his hands on the dish towel and run a hand through his hair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was steeling himself too. His broad shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath and braces himself against the far counter. His back turns to me while he watches whatever is outside. I draw my eyes away just as he pushes away from the counter.
