by S. M. Smith
“That’s kind of barbaric if you think about it.” He gives me a disgusted look as he reaches down and grabs my hand again, pulling me toward the next stall with a couple of massive, larger cows—presumably bulls.
“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those bleeding heart PETA nuts.” My brows raise at the disgust in his hushed voice.
“What if I am?” He drops my hand and his jaw tightens as he smooths his face over to hide his true feelings. It makes me want to giggle. “Relax, I enjoy a great burger just as much as any other red-blooded American. But the initial thought that you’re raising cows for the sole purpose of sending them to the slaughterhouse…you have to admit it’s a little inhumane.”
He moves on, past the remaining stalls and around a corner and toward a set of metal bleachers. As we move, I see people stop and stare. I give them kind smiles and try to acknowledge those who clearly would like me to, but I can’t help but cringe at the obvious indifference Logan has as he finds a spot for all of us a couple of benches from the top.
“Do you really have to be like that?” I ask when we finally take a seat. He looks over at me, the irritation in his eyes causing his brow to wrinkle just above his nose.
“Like what?”
“Listen, I’m not trying to challenge what you do. I understand it feeds countless Americans. It was just a thought, one I can get over once we can find some place to get some real food after this.”
His brow smooths out and a lazily amused look softens his intensity. “Allie Mooreland gets hangry.”
“She does when she doesn’t get eggs and bacon for breakfast.” He tries to suppress his smirk, but he does a terrible job of it.
A older gentleman with a plaid, pearl-snap shirt that stretches tight over his round belly and the largest white cowboy hat I’ve ever seen steps up to a podium and bangs a gavel on a white-washed wooden podium. The chatter dies down, but the loud moos of the cows behind him does not. I turn to face him and notice that there are several heads that keep trying to steal glances back toward Logan and I.
“Why are people staring? I thought you do this all the time?”
Logan gives me a confused look but doesn’t say anything because a little guy that couldn’t be old enough to be in second grade stands on his other side with a football in one hand and a Sharpie in the other.
“Excuse me, sir. Would you please sign my football?” I watch as the stars in the little guy’s eyes twinkle in awe. Logan gives the kid a shy smile and takes the ball and pen.
“Of course.” Logan signs the ball and just as he’s about to hand it back to him, the little boy leans in.
“Is that Allie Mooreland?” he whispers to Logan.
“Unfortunately,” Logan mutters. I nudge him with my elbow before reaching across him to offer the kid my hand.
“Hi, I’m Allie. What’s your name, little man?”
The little tyke’s eyes grow to take up half his face and his cheeks turn an adorable bright pink. “M-my name is Logan, too.” He holds up his ball and pen to me too, apparently too star struck to politely ask.
“Would you like me to sign this?” I take them and watch as the cute little guy’s head bobs up and down. I flip the ball around and find where Logan just signed it and see another signature on the opposite side of the lacing. The signature is a little hard to read, but the large “D” and the number 42 tell me exactly who it is. “This is a pretty special ball, isn’t it?”
Little Logan’s smile grows so big it reaches his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
Grinning at the obvious pride this little guy has for his football, I sign in between the two names and hand the ball and pen back to the boy. He says his thanks and turns to run off to his father and who I assume is his big brother, who are waiting for him, but stops before he gets too far and turns back to Logan with a curious look on his face.
“I forgot. My brother wanted me to ask if she’s your girlfriend.” The poor little guy has the decorum to look embarrassed. Logan’s wide eyes look at me and all I do is shrug and glance down at our touching thighs before giving him a look that says, “you’re the one giving everyone mixed signals here, pal.” He scoots over so that there is a noticeable amount of space between us and clasps his hands together between his knees.
“Um, no. Miss Mooreland is not my girlfriend.” Little Logan looks so disappointed that I feel like I should throw him a bone, but judging by the stern look on big Logan’s face, I decide it’s best if I just keep my mouth shut and turn my attention back to the herding of small cows into the large pen behind the auctioneer. He starts saying a bunch of words that sound like Japanese to me and I impatiently wait for whatever exciting stuff that’s supposed to happen, happen. When the bidding opens up, I watch for Logan to participate but quickly realize that he’s just watching.
“Why aren’t you bidding?” I lean over and whisper.
“Because Travis is.”
I look over to find Travis in a bit of a bidding war with an over tanned older gentleman who looks like he shops at the same store the auctioneer does. At some point Travis looks over at Logan who gives him a small shake of his head and Travis backs down from the sale.
“Why did you let him let them go?”
“The price is getting too high.” I scoff.
“What?”
“I know the details of your contract with the Rattlers. I just didn’t realize that you had your spending limits.” Logan scoots an inch or two closer and leans down to meet my eyes.
“Running a ranch is just like any other business. You have to consider what is worth the investment and what is not. This has nothing to do with what I can and cannot afford.” He regards me with a patience that he’s yet to use with me, so I nod. Besides, his logic makes complete sense and triggers a whole new stream of questions. I hold my tongue though and concede to the fact that he’s here to do business and doesn’t need the distraction of me asking all my questions now.
“What is it, Allie?” He looks at me out the corner of his eye.
“The ranch, and your answer earlier. I’m just starting to put two and two together and now I have, like, a million questions. They can wait though.”
He presses his lips together while his cheeks rise in a hidden smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Chapter Fifteen
After what seems like hours of more auctions, Logan sighs and looks over at Travis who is reading through his own notepad and jotting down details of the sale he just made. Travis silently looks up and nods with a satisfied smile. Some unspoken communication goes down between them, and a second later Logan tugs my elbow and stands.
“Come on.”
He takes off down the aisle in the opposite direction that we came in from and I have to scurry to catch up to him. I hear a “Bye, Allie,” from a sweet little voice behind me and I look to see little Logan waving excitedly. Waving back, I don’t pay attention to where I’m going and nearly trip onto the steps down. Logan must have heard little Logan too, because he stopped after only descending a single step. When I start to lose my balance, I reach out and place my hands just below his ribs. His back tenses up, but he doesn’t move away. Instead he smirks over his shoulder.
“You’re kind of a klutz, you know this, right?” I narrow my eyes and regather my bearings. He offers his hand to help me down, but I wave it off, remembering little Logan’s question and the stares that seemed to be directed our way earlier. Trying not to give anyone the wrong impression, I keep my chin high and make my way down the steps. Back safely on the paved pathway again, I once again ignore Logan’s waiting hand and follow him, not really paying any attention to where I’m stepping.
That is until I feel my foot step into something squishy, and unfortunately, warm.
“Ugh.” Breathing deeply through my mouth so as not to inhale the mess I’ve just made, I watch as Logan looks back at me, curious as to why I’ve stopped until he sees my foot in a pile of cow poop. By the jagged rising and fal
ling of his shoulders, I assume he’s trying and not really succeeding in holding back his laughter. He reaches that hand out once again.
“Here. Be careful. You don’t want to slip and fall.” Taking his hand, I carefully lift my soiled shoe and try to find someplace to scrape the nastiness off but it seems like the pathway is covered in dried dirt and fresh manure. Giving up, I start to let go of Logan’s hand, but he holds on. “Come on, I’ll guide you out of here. Watch your step though.”
So much for giving everyone the wrong impression.
Logan walks me all the way back to his truck, lifting me up and into his truck without even asking permission. When he sets me into the front seat, I start to get settled in and buckle up, but Logan grabs my lower legs and turns me back to him. I watch in complete shock and surprise as he unlaces my Chucks and takes them off, getting manure all over his hands.
“Logan. What are you doing?”
He picks up the shoes and places them in the bed of the truck before opening the hatch to his tool box and pulling out a rag to wipe his hands on.
“You do not want to drive back with those in here.”
“But—” He shuts the door, ignoring me. “—what am I supposed to wear now?”
I watch him climb in and turn the truck on, blasting the A/C, acting as if me riding shotgun in just my socks is a perfectly normal thing. I suddenly find myself trying to fight the urge to kick my feet up on the dashboard just to see if he’d get riled up. He seems to be in a good mood though, so I better not.
“What are we doing now?” I ask when he pulls around the back of the building and starts to back up toward a stall. “I thought we were going to go get some food?” My stomach rumbles, forcing me to acknowledge that food is going to be a necessity very, very soon.
“Just dropping off the trailer. Travis will load it for us while we take care of a few things and then we’ll pick it up on the way back.”
He finishes maneuvering the trailer up against the stall and hops out of the truck. I watch as he pulls out his phone and starts to unload the trailer. Just before he jumps back into the truck, he pockets his phone and turns to me with as cheerful a face as he’s given me all day.
“Ready?”
“As long as our first stop is food, yes.”
He shakes his head and replaces the shades over his eyes as he slowly pulls through the parking lot. “Well, what did you think?”
“Aside from getting cow poop all over my white Chucks and getting stared down by everyone, it was great. A learning experience for sure.”
He stops to check the traffic on the highway before pulling out, heading the opposite direction we came in from. “Not everyone was staring.”
I pull my bare feet up under me, sitting with my ankles crossed in the seat. “I think our little friend’s brother wasn’t the only person who was curious about the nature of our relationship.”
He glances at me and gives me a devil-may-care look as he pulls up to a stop sign. Holy Smokes! Coming from Mr. Always-in-Control, that was…hot.
He turns to the left and we travel in silence as I try to get myself under control.
“What was so special about that kid’s football?” he asks as signs of a town start to come into view.
“Oh, um…it had another signature on it.”
“Oh, really. Whose?”
“You didn’t see it?” Pulling up to a stop light, he glances over and I see his brow wrinkle in…confusion, possibly frustration. Well, he’s not frustrated now, but he’s about to be.
“Um, no one really. Where’re we headed?”
He checks the light that I pray will turn at any second, but the traffic is heavier here than in Walker so the light mercilessly stays red. Turning back to me, he lowers his shades and narrows his eyes at me. “Whose signature was it, Allie?”
“Why does it matter to you? It was a kid who was excited to have Logan Lassiter sign his football. Can’t you just take pride in the fact that you made little Logan’s day?”
He replaces his shades, and by the grace of God the light turns green. But that doesn’t stop him from pushing the matter. “Why won’t you just tell me who it was?”
“Because you’ll just get all moody and irritated and aside from you starving me this morning—and the shoe incident—I think we’ve had a good day so far.”
He pushes out a heavy breath through his nose.
“It was Drew’s.”
We hit another red light and this time he doesn’t say anything, instead stares hard out his own window.
“I know it probably offends you, but you seriously made that boy’s day. He now has a football signed by two of the best NPFL players, who just happen to be brothers. That’s not something many kids have. I bet your parents don’t even have one.” He scoffs at me before clamping his jaw shut and locking it firmly in place. Clearly I struck a serious nerve.
And there goes our good morning.
We don’t talk as he drives through the little city and pulls into a parking lot of a store that doesn’t look like anything I’d find in Cali. A set of familiar faces leaning against a newer, dark blue sedan distracts me from further inspection of the store. “Is that Emma and Lucy?” Logan doesn’t say anything as he pulls into the parking spot next to the girls. They bounce up to my door and Logan rolls all the windows down and turns the truck off.
“Here.” Emma holds a pair of simple leather sandals in my face. “They might be a little big, but they’ll rectify your shoe problem.”
I gape at Logan, who turns to his back seat and pulls a ball cap from the floorboard behind him. I watch as he leans his seat back and starts to cover his face until he notices we’re all three watching him. “You better get a move on. Whether you’re done or not, I’m leaving to find some lunch in an hour.”
One of the girls pulls my door open and I take the shoes shoved at me, making quick work of shedding my socks and putting the sandals on.
“You’ll want to bring those in with you,” Lucy tells me as I start to drop my socks in the floorboard. Giving her a strange look, I shove them into my purse instead. We start to head into the store, but Lucy snaps her fingers just before she opens the door. “Oh! Almost forgot.” She retreats back to the truck where Logan is holding something out the window. She sings her thanks and rushes back into the store.
“What was that about?” I ask Emma who just smiles knowingly at me and turns me to the back of the store, which I quickly deduce is a western wear store. We pass all sorts of interestingly printed t-shirts that say things like “Ride or Die” over a set of linked horse shoes and “Cowgirls do it better.”
“What are we doing here?” I ask the girls.
“We’re going shopping!” Lucy squeals as she waves something that suspiciously looks like a credit card in the air. “And it’s all on Logan.”
I stop, completely shocked and completely uncomfortable in the middle of the aisle. “I can’t do that.”
“Relax, it’s Logan’s way of apologizing for last night.” Lucy links her arm in mine. “And I have to get you two ready for the square dance tomorrow.”
“Excuse me? A what?”
Emma silently chastises Lucy with a single look. “Every Fourth of July Walker puts on a traditional square dance. Does the whole block party-type thing where everyone brings a bunch of covered dishes that make Logan go on some sort of fast or cleanse or whatever for at least a week, then they set up a stage with a live band and those who know how get out and start things off with a traditional square dance. Then they let us kids have the floor and we all let loose under the careful scrutiny of our parents. She shakes her hips and gets a satisfied grin that tells me she couldn’t care less what any of the elders of Walker think of her dance moves. “Then we all shuffle toward the high school where they shoot fireworks off around 10.”
“Yep, and since everyone typically matches their date, we need to decide what you’re going to wear so I can find something for Logan,” Lucy declares as she pulls
me up to a rack of dresses.
“Whoa! Hold on. What?”
“What’s wrong?” Lucy looks up innocently at me.
“Why do Logan and I need to match?”
“Because it’s tradition for couples to wear matching colors. Archaic if you ask me, but it’s…tradition.”
“But Logan and I aren’t a couple.”
“No, of course not, but you’re his date.”
“Oh, am I?!” Brows raised sky high, both girls stop talking, giving each other a very surprised look.
“Logan didn’t ask you to be his date?” Emma asks slowly.
“I didn’t know there were still such things as square dances until two minutes ago. Would you mind excusing me for just a moment?” I don’t wait for their permission before I turn and stroll my overly irritated butt out the door and right up to his open window.
“Is that seriously how you’re going to ask me to this hoedown?” He doesn’t even bother to sit up and acknowledge that I’m shouting at him.
“People get a little offended when you call it that.”
I try to ignore the flippant tone, but really?! “You know, where I come from men actually ask a lady out themselves. They don't send them with their sisters on a impromptu shopping spree for the appropriate date attire .”
Logan picks up his hat and gives me a deadpan look. “Will you go to the square dance with me and my family, Allie?” he asks, inexpressively.
“Are you seriously asking me this right now?”
He replaces the cap over his eyes and settles back in his seat, crossing his sculpted arms over his chest.
“Yep.”
“Ugh! Logan Lassiter, you are the most infuriating man I know.”
Without moving a perfectly toned muscle, Logan asks, “Is that a yes?”
