by S. M. Smith
Shrugging, I look back up to find the intensity hasn’t wavered. “I’m just stating the truth.”
Logan takes a moment before he quietly slips out of the truck and makes his way to my door, a lazy grin on his face as he lifts his chin and watches the landscape as he walks. I take a quick moment to recover from his earnestness. Taking a couple of deep breaths as I watch him in his element, I feel the truth of my words sink in. He is a good man and the world deserves to know the real Logan Lassiter. Now, if only he’d let me show them.
Chapter Thirteen
He pulls me from my thoughts when he opens the door and holds his hand out for me. Taking his hand, I slowly let my lungs relax and soak in the warmth of his touch. He holds on a second longer than necessary, sending warm tinglies all throughout my insides. Or maybe it’s me holding on. But I’d be lying to myself if I said that I didn’t miss his touch the moment he does let go.
Lucy surprises me when she pops up from a seat on the porch just as Logan and I start to climb the wide, deep steps.
“What took you two so long? I’m starving.” She starts to punch him in the arm, but he reaches up and wraps his long fingers around her petite fist.
“Violence is not charming.” Logan’s stern tone is softened by the patronizing look he gives her.
“Maybe not, but you were in Allie’s blog post today. Well done, Allie.” She wraps an arm around her brother’s waist and lays her head against his lower ribs. She looks like a dainty elf next to her towering brother, but the love they share for one another is heart-warming.
“I just put all the pieces together. Emma and Logan are due the credit for it all.” Lucy smiles adoringly up at her brother. “Is Emma here, by the way? I’d like to thank her for her help today.”
Lucy shakes her head and lets Logan go to pull open the door for us. “No. She and Owen needed to get back in town to Ackerson. He has to work and she had a meeting for the fundraiser for the girl’s club.”
Disappointed, I’m immediately distracted by the amazing smell coming from the back of the house. Lucy brushes past us and plops down on a plush, white canvas couch and picks up a magazine from the table, but I barely pay any attention. The smell of fresh baked bread begs my body to seek out the source, and before I can stop and consider how rude it might be to go barging through the Lassiter’s home, I find myself at the door to a very charming kitchen.
The exterior of the house may show the age of the home, but judging by the shininess of the appliances and the modern styles of the cabinetry, I’m guessing the kitchen has been recently remodeled. But it’s not the chic decor or even the amazing aromas coming from the state-of-the-art stove that has my full attention now. Around the chunky butcher’s table island, Sam and Jillian Lassiter dance around the room, holding each other like they’re a couple still on their honeymoon. Sam mumbles something in Jillian’s ear and she throws her head back in joyous laughter. I watch the two flirt with one another until I feel an indomitable presence step up behind me. I find myself resisting the urge to fall against his chest in admiration of the couple so clueless of their audience.
This is a picture I had only dreamed of when I was a kid. I had wanted so much before I moved out of my mother’s house, most of the time that she would find someone like Logan or his father, or even Walt. Someone who would respect a woman not because she was the weaker sex, but because she can be frail and fragile and needs to know she’s loved and safe. I don’t know if she ever found a man like that for her, but I will forever be thankful for the Walts and Sams out there who give broken girls like me hope.
Logan clears his throat and the senior Lassiters don’t even miss a step when both their heads turn to face us. Sam’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he takes in the sight of his son and me standing so closely.
“Taking notes, son?” He grins slyly and spins his wife. I don’t have to turn around to know that Logan is twenty different shades of red. The thought makes me want to laugh, but I manage to contain myself.
“Thank you so much for inviting me. What can I do to help?”
At my words, Jillian lets go of her husband, but doesn’t get far enough away from him to avoid his open groping. She gives him a pointed, warning look and smacks his hands away as she steps up to the island and picks up a stack of plates.
“You two can set the table for me. Dinner is just about ready. We’re just waiting on the pork chops now.” Taking the plates, I turn and literally walk straight into a hulky chest. Logan takes a step to his left at the same time I take a step to my right. He mirrors me at the same time I try to step to the other side and his father shakes his head.
“Ah, you’ve got that all wrong, son. Here, watch.” Before I know what’s happening, Sam takes the plates from my hands and gives them to Logan before sweeping me up and spinning me around to face him. Jillian just watches with a delighted smile as Sam dances me on a loop around the kitchen, just like he just did with his wife. When we arrive at our starting point, Sam gives me a little bow and winks. Logan rolls his eyes and hands me back the plates. His mother points a stern finger at him, wordlessly chastising him for being a poor sport. Chagrined, his tail goes between his legs and he turns to take the silverware to the table.
“I really like your parents,” I tell him when we get to the dining room. His cheeks redden just enough to give his tan a run for its money and he nods.
“I really like them, too.” Something over my shoulder catches his attention and he tilts slightly to the side. “You could help too, you know.”
“I actually have a question for Allie.” Lucy holds up a three ring binder that has been recovered with a chevron pattern and scrapbook stickers. When I step up to answer her question, I see the notebook is labeled “Future Red Carpets.” Logan purses his lips together but walks back into the kitchen without another word.
“What’s up?”
“So did Logan tell you that I’m going into fashion design?”
I let out a snort that’s rather unladylike. “Your brother doesn’t tell me anything. About anyone. Literally.”
When she rolls her eyes, I’m reminded of Logan. “Of course he doesn’t. Well I am. Thanks to him and Drew, I’ve gotten some really great opportunities. I’m even getting to intern with this up and coming designer from Austin next summer.”
“That’s great, Lucy. What an incredible opportunity.”
“Well, it’s a step up from being Logan’s stylist, but—”
“Wait.” Turning, I watch Logan re-enter the dining room with a basket full of freshly buttered rolls in one hand and two glasses full of ice water in the other. “I didn’t know Lucy is your stylist.”
Logan stands from setting the glasses in their place across the table, his back going rigid. When he turns, his face is void of any emotion, but his eyes, those eyes are livid. His gaze darts between us before he drops his chin and shakes his head. In two steps, he has a hold on my arm that would hurt if I tried to pull away. “Come on. We’re going.”
Lucy calls after him, but I hold my tongue until we’re out the front door.
“Logan, I wasn’t prying. She brought it up and it surprised me. I—”
“It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Why not? Oh, because you don’t want me finding anything out about them? Well, I’m pretty sure that having your eighteen-year-old sister dress you is more damaging to you than it is to her.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Logan’s jaw locks in place, but I can’t stop. I’ve held it in for almost a week now, but the dam has cracked and the damage has already been done.
“You’re right, and you want to know whose fault that is? It’s yours pal, because if you would just let me do my job I would know what I should be talking about instead of this.”
“I have let you—”
“No, you haven’t, Logan. You roadblock me every time we reach a topic that makes you the slightest bit squeamish. You tell me who I can talk to and when I can do
it, and you fight me on every single question I try to ask. I know you don’t want to do this article, but I thought you chose me to write it for a reason.”
“I do want you to write this article, but—”
“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you want anyone to write this article.”
“Allie.” A different voice rises above my own. I bark out my “what” without taking into consideration who it could possibly be. Logan’s eyes narrow in offense just before I turn to find his father holding the front screen door open. An irritated Lucy stands in the foyer with her arms crossed over her chest and her hip jutting out. I feel the heat of anger creep up my neck and blood pooling in my temples as I realize we’ve had an audience that by nature has to stay partial to Logan. A stinging sensation hits my eyes and I find myself literally biting my tongue to keep the tears at bay.
“Allie, would you mind giving me a moment with my son, please?” He pushes the screen door open even further and steps aside to show me he wants me to go back inside. Wrapping my arms around my stomach in an attempt to regain some sense of dignity, I nod. With every step I take back toward the house, I feel Logan’s eyes on me and it makes the tears in my eyes feel like lead. Sam lays an understanding hand on my shoulder when I walk by and I look up to find his apologetic eyes, the same mesmerizing color as Logan’s, lending his support and understanding. The first tear leaks, so I look away and immediately brush it away as I step past him.
“I’m sorry, Allie. I shouldn’t have…” I wave Lucy off and feign interest in some family portraits in the living room.
I’ve only ever angry cried once. I’d had enough of the shouting and name calling, the pulling of hair and the ear-piercing sounds of flesh hitting flesh that my mother tolerated from the men in her life. The tears that day had fueled me to pack a bag and leave. Tonight’s tears will have to wait to fuel anything until I can get back to Logan’s and pack my bags once again.
Shuffling into the dining room off the living room reminds me that I need to hold myself together a little while longer. Turning, I find Jillian staring at her set table, her nostrils flaring and her fist clenched tightly against her hips.
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Lassiter. I honestly didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
Jillian looks up at me, surprised, as if she didn’t realize I had been watching her. A moment later her whole body relaxes and she gives me a kind smile.
“Allie, honey. This is not your fault. Here, come.” She holds a hand out to me and turns when I take it, guiding me past the kitchen to a screened-in back porch-like room. She pulls a thick photo album out of a shelf sitting next to the back door and offers me a cushioned wicker seat. Taking the seat beside me, she lays the album on the glass coffee table in front of us and leans over it, gently opening the cover. The plastic covering the photos crinkles fragilely as she lifts the first couple of pages. Images of little boys with bowl cut hair and too short shorts flash about until she gets to the page she’s looking for.
“Does this little guy look familiar?” The curly haired little boy she points to is swallowed by football pads and wears a scowl that only Logan can master. She gingerly wipes a hand on the page opposite of the image she initially pointed to, revealing more scowl-faced little boys holding trophies in jerseys of all sports at all ages. The locked jaw on Logan in a neon green “Walker Hardware” photo brings a smile to my face.
“He’s a tough nut to crack. Always has been. His strong will almost kept us from having any more kids. There were days I thought one of us would strangle the other. But he has the biggest heart of anyone I know.” She turns the page to show a slightly older Logan standing next to an elderly man up against a worn wooden fence. Both men share the same stony stare and I wonder if this would be one of his grandfathers. With my anger still simmering, I don’t dare open my mouth, though. “I think he got his bullheadedness from my dad. He was the epitome of strong and silent.” She taps a finger on the picture I can’t tear my eyes from, confirming my suspicions. She sighs and risks looking up at me again.
“Be patient with him, Allie. I know he’s hard to love, but trust me when I say that sticking with him will all be worth it.”
My exhaustion with all things Logan tugs at me again, forcing a lump into my throat and making it hard to swallow. The tears I had just schooled reach the brim again and I have to force that lump down so I can get my act back together and respond in some way. But before I can get a word out, the door we came out through slowly opens and Logan’s head pokes out, a dejected look on his face. He steps out onto the porch with us and sticks his hands in his pockets. His jaw tightens when he sees the photo album sitting in front of us, but he immediately relaxes when his gaze collides with his mother’s. I can’t see whatever silent message she’s sending his way, but when he nods ever so subtly, I know he must have gotten the message loud and clear.
“Mom, can I have a moment with Miss Mooreland, please?” Great, I’m back to being Miss Mooreland again.
She nods and turns to me, laying a hand on my knee. As if transferring her own strength, I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and stand. She stands with me and pulls me into a hug. I can’t help but squeeze her, soaking in the love and patience she has for her own son. Lord knows I could use all the patience I can get with him. Her hands slide down my arms and she lowers her head so she can look me straight in the eye. “We’ll wait for you guys to talk before we eat.” She turns with a smile, but Logan shakes his head.
So let’s add me not getting to taste those divinely smelling rolls to the list of things that make me angry.
“Please don’t wait on us. Go ahead and get started. We’ll join you in just a few.” She lays a patient hand on his thick arm and nods before stepping back inside the house, leaving us all alone to go for round number two.
“Walk with me.” He turns without looking at me and pulls open a door that leads out to the green yard behind the house. Holding it open, his chest expands as I walk by and descend the steps. Neither of us can look at one another as we walk the length of the yard. When we approach the fence, Logan leans against the thick railing, resting his elbows as he watches the tall grasses in the field sway in the wind.
“I’m sorry for blowing up at you in there.” I start to imagine the apology I thought I heard was just an echo of the wind until he turns and finally looks at me. Still so mad, I can’t return his attention.
“I can’t say it’s okay yet.” I see him nod in my periphery. The silence is so unnerving that I feel the turmoil that his mere presence brings start to boil again. I close my eyes, forcing the pooling tears back inside and take a deep breath, hoping that will calm the war within.
“There is something, but I can’t let it get out.” His words throw me completely off guard. Forcing myself to look at him, I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs. He swallows a couple of times, trying to get whatever is on his chest to come out. A rare occasion of patience seems to wiggle its way inside me, my wide eyes anticipating his further explanation.
“Cassady and I were getting serious. Talking about the future, making plans for the ranch and my condo in the city together. She knew I was ready to propose, but with both of our crazy schedules, we just couldn’t seem to meet each other coming or going. So I started making attempts to introduce her to the world of fame. She soaked it up like water in a desert. She loved everything about the life I hate—the lights, the cameras, the attention. But I wanted to make her happy, even if that meant getting way outside my comfort zone. So I started taking her to everything she asked about. Movie premieres, music launch parties. Anything and everything we could get invitations to. Like a drug, she just couldn’t…couldn’t get enough.
“Drew’s wife, Nadine, used to joke she married the wrong brother. Nadine was more like me, hated everything that being married to a celebrity meant she had to endure. When she got sick…” He nods and swallows back again. “When she got sick, Drew started leaving her at home while he ‘fulf
illed his professional duties,’ as he put it. We were all at this party one night—I don’t even remember what it was for—but I didn’t want to be there and I didn’t think Drew needed to be there either. He got mad at me and started downing drinks like they were water. I got mad and sulked in a corner until Jimmy found me and we started talking ball. At some point, Cass had gone off to check on Drew. I wasn’t really paying any attention to where she was or the fact that she wasn’t by my side until it was too late.
“I found them in a corner, so close and so tangled up that it was hard to tell where he ended and she began.” He props his elbows on the top of the fence, rubs his hands together, and squints as if he’s the one trying to hold himself together.
“They were having an affair.”
Every muscle in his body flinches. “There were so many signs, so many plays I should have been able to read.” He shakes his head and pushes himself off the fence.
“This is why you don’t get along with your brother.” I turn and mirror him, the fence holding us both upright.
“I um…I didn’t want to make a scene so I left. Left them both there. When she finally made it back to the city, she came forward with everything. Told me that she was sorry, that it was really me she wanted to be with, but she was tired of waiting for me to make my move.”
“And Drew?”
Staring at the house now in front of us, he shakes his head. “He’ll have to answer for his own sins one day, but as far as I’m concerned, I couldn’t care less what my brother does anymore. He’s made his bed, he now has to live with it. I refuse to let him drag the rest of our family through it though. So we made an agreement; he had to leave Cassady alone while I did my best to subtly ended our relationship. He also had to tell Nadine and quietly work out whatever she wanted. Their divorce was final three months after she was deemed in remission.”
The weight of this secret seems to slide off him as he tells me this story. “And your parents…they don’t know, do they?”
