“What are we supposed to do with it?” Candice asked as Logan took it from his hands. She noticed dozens of folded slips within the bowl. Some were larger than others, but each had the same worn, yellowed appearance. Like they’d been in that bowl for a very long time.
Glen cleared his throat and lifted a hand, pointing at the couple. “Charles Spurgeon once said, ‘trials teach us what we are; they dig up soil, and let us see what we are made of.’” He closed the lid of the trunk and hoisted himself onto the seat of it. “Now the way I see it, the two of you have had plenty of soil dug up, and you’ve seen well enough what you’re made of. But have you taken time to see just what’s inside each other?”
When neither answered, Uncle Glen continued. “This will help you do just that. Pull one slip from this a day. Two if you’d like. And do whatever is listed there, no matter what it is.” He came to a stand and put a hand on each of their outer arms, his expression loving but stern. “Do what it says on those slips, and your love will grow strong once again.”
~+~
“That was odd,” Logan grumbled on the drive home. When Candice didn’t reply, he pressed on. “What do you think is written on those papers?”
The bowl rested on Candice’s lap, the dense glass catching spots of sun as they moved. He guessed it was roughly the size of a bowling ball, perhaps a little bigger, but it looked huge next to her small hands, as if it could outweigh her.
“I have no idea,” she said dryly.
“Well, are we going to do it?”
Candice only shrugged.
“I think we should do it, Candice. This man is married to your father’s only sibling. It’s probably the closest thing to fatherly advice you’re going to get.”
Silence. Not even a word. Logan gritted his teeth. First she drags her feet at the greenhouse, making him pick out every plant on his own, and now she ignores him while he’s trying to discuss things. “You know what?” he snapped. “Never mind. I don’t care if we do it or not. I’m not going to be the only one putting forth effort here. If you don’t want to do it, you can just leave that ancient thing in here and I’ll take it back first thing Monday morning.”
Candice looked over at him. “What would you tell him?”
“I’d say, ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Glen, but Candice doesn’t really want to make our marriage work. She pretends she wants to – she moved back in with me to try and prove it – but what she really wants to do is find a lawyer, write up papers, and get me the hell out of her life once and for all.’”
“That’s not true.”
“Then what is?” Logan’s pulse raced, forcing angry heat through his blood as he waited for her response.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice sounding broken and weak.
His voice rose to make up for the difference. Growing in strength and venom. “Well that’s enlightening. At least we’ve got that all cleared up. So I take the bowl back, put it in your uncle’s hands and say, ‘here you go. Candice says she doesn’t know! She doesn’t know! Listen up, world. Candice Emerson, wife of Logan Earl Emerson, does. Not. Know.’” He cranked the wheel to turn into the drive, slowing down against his will. He wanted to gun the truck over the curb and barrel through the shed at full speed. Could hardly remember being so frustrated in all his life. Once he brought it to a stop, Candice set the bowl on the floor of the truck, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pushed open the door. She hopped out and slammed it behind her before Logan even took off his belt. Creaky sounds of the cooling engine settled over the cab as he watched her storm into the house. “It was nice talking to you too.”
It took a while to get the young plants into the backyard, as distracted as he was. You’d think such a high level of adrenaline would push a man into double time, having him speeding right through the task. But it slowed him down instead. Like sludge crawling through his veins, teaming with the sun to discourage him from the now-dreaded chore.
With the wheelbarrow parked in the shade, Logan stripped off his shirt and reached for a shovel. He wouldn’t think about what would go where, none of that seemed to matter anyhow. He only began to dig, one hole after the next, until he had the first row done.
The sound of a creaking door surprised him as he moved on to the next row. Ice clanking against glass came next, causing him to spin around and squint against the sun. Candice stood there with a tray in her hands, a pitcher of iced water resting right in the center. Beads of moisture clung to the frosty glass, and made a slow trail down one side to the base.
“Thirsty?” she asked. If he’d thought the sight of that water was a glorious thing, Logan hadn’t seen anything yet. Candice had changed her clothes. Slipped into a pair of daisy duke shorts and a button-up shirt. A hint of skin showed along her stomach where she’d tied the ends into a knot.
Logan stopped himself from drooling and sunk the shovel back into the soil. “Sure.”
Candice made her way down the patio steps and moved over to a nearby bench where she set down the tray. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a seat next to it. “I know I’m being a jerk. I promise I don’t mean to but this is just… going to be an adjustment.”
Logan continued to dig, but his eyes wandered over to her legs where he noticed a pair of cowgirl boots on her feet. He liked that look on her. Playful. Sexy.
“What you said got me thinking. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I just want to end things. I don’t. I’m here, and I really do want to give this a shot. See if – after all this time – we can get past the things that tore us apart.”
Logan offered a silent nod while moving on to the next spot, shovel ready to dig once more.
“So why don’t you stop right there,” Candice said, “come get some water, and we can talk about these giant holes you dug.”
When he glanced up at her, a slow smile spread over her face. “What do you mean giant?” He looked down at the holes. They looked just right to him.
“You’re not planting trees, Logan. Look at the size of those cartons.”
A flash of warmth rushed to his face as he shot a look at the tiny plants, lined up in the wheelbarrow beneath the tree. He wasn’t used to digging small holes for small plants. He was used to digging big holes for sturdy posts to line his father’s property. “What makes you think these holes were for plants? I plan on raiding your closet and burying…” he paused to count the holes, “eight pair of your nicest shoes.”
Candice laughed aloud. “You’ll have to fight me for them first.” She poured a tall glass of ice water for him, the trickling sound making his throat even dryer. “Here,” she said. “I’ll rake over these holes.”
Arguing with Candice over doing that part himself would be useless. Besides, if he didn’t get something to drink soon he’d be no use to anyone. As it was, he hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
“Thanks.” Logan thrust his shovel deep in the dirt before reaching for the drink. The blessed feel of the icy glass against his palm made him groan. He pressed it against his forehead next, enjoying the cool there as well. At last he brought it to his lips, tipped his head back, and drank it down. “That might be the best-tasting water I’ve ever had,” he said, reaching for the pitcher to pour another glass. “You want one?”
Candice dragged a rake over the surface of the soil. “No thanks. So let’s get those plants over here, set them where we’d like them to go, and then we can dig the holes according to the size of their container.”
This was the reason gardening was her thing. She was better at it. “Sounds like a plan,” he said after finishing a second glass. “Oh, did you see what I got you?” He sifted through the plastic pots, finding what he sought nestled between two tall tomato plants. “Here. Put these on.”
Candice stopped raking, her eyes settling on the pair of garden gloves he held out to her. “You got those for me?”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah. I know for a fact we don’t have any around here so – ”
“Even though we were arguing?”
He gave her a sideways glance.
“Even though I left you to check out by your self? You still thought to buy those for me?”
He hated that she was so surprised over the fact. So… touched, even. He hadn’t done anything noble. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Candice held his gaze, her green eyes harboring mysteries Logan feared he might never solve. “That was so sweet.”
He shook his head and stepped toward her, feeling like the upturned soil sinking beneath his boots.
“And they’re so cute. Pink with little flowers.”
“Now you’re just embarrassing me,” he groaned.
Candice laughed. “Why, did you buy yourself a pair too?”
“Maybe,” he said with a grin. He pried the rake from her fingers and propped it against the fence. “Put your hand out.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re going to put them on for me?”
“Yep.”
Candice stretched her arm out toward him, bowing her wrist the slightest bit. Logan felt clumsy as he tried to pull the pair onto her small hands with his much-larger fingers. But, with Candice’s help, he got them on her at last. He wrapped his hands around her delicate wrists once he was done, enjoying the feel of her soft skin. “Do they feel good?”
Her gaze drifted down, settling on the grip he had on her. “Perfect.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Candice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy to come home from work. It wasn’t because she’d had a bad day. In fact, she’d had a perfectly good day. It had more to do with… well, that was the tricky part. For one, she couldn’t stop herself from picturing the lovely home she’d come back to. No stuffy, furniture-less apartment with small windows and talking walls. A gorgeous, updated home awaited her. One on a ranch filled with beauty as far as the eye could see. She also had a lovely new garden filled with tender, thriving plants. And then there was the man who’d helped her plant that garden; she couldn’t deny that she was looking forward to seeing him.
With the shake of her head, Candice set a bunch of parsley onto the cutting board. She chopped the bright greens into a small, feathery heap and moved on to a bundle of hearty basil leaves. She paused there, knife ready to chop, mind nowhere near the task at hand. She hadn’t made a point to tell Logan, but Candice had snuck out to his truck the night before and retrieved the big glass bowl Uncle Glen had given them. Logan had threatened to take it back, but Candice didn’t want that. She’d moved back in with Logan to give him a second chance. To give them a second chance.
Her insides twisted into a jumbled knot. Something about the whole second chance thing felt like a lie, though she couldn’t pinpoint why.
Was it because she wasn’t really willing to let him into her heart again? Her talk with Lana had terrified her, after all. It had forced Candice to realize that she didn’t know how to let Logan in and protect herself at the same time.
In quick, precise motions, she chopped the basil, adequately distracted by the fragrance. She brought a few shreds up to her nose, inhaled the fresh scent, and sighed. Logan deserved to come home to this. He’d been good to her. Given her all the space she’d asked for over the last year. He’d agreed to her no intimacy stipulation without much of a fight. And though he didn’t care much for Lana, Candice was sure he’d be just fine about her coming to visit, especially since Kenny would be coming too.
A smile pulled at her lips. She’d missed this. Cooking for two. Imagining a time when there might be a new mouth to feed. Or two. No, Candice chided. Don’t hope for that. Just be happy with what you have.
She thought back on the many conversations she’d had with her grandma after her daddy’s death. Candice had sunk deep into a cycle of perpetual fear. What if Mom dies too? Or Shelly or Chase? What if they all do? She spent sleepless nights sick about her newfound vulnerability. Hours crying over it. Until one particular evening, when she decided to call Grandma Lynn.
On that dark night, through the small but clear receiver, her grandma shared words Candice would never forget. She hadn’t told her that none of that would happen, like Candice expected her to. Instead she’d simply said, “Bad things can happen, but if you dwell on all the frightening possibilities, it’s as if they’ve already come to pass.” And boy was that true. In those few long months, Candice had been living through the horror of losing nearly everyone else she loved and it hadn’t even happened.
With the cutting board in her hands, Candice stepped over to the simmering pot, added the fresh herbs, and blew out a slow, even breath. She couldn’t get caught up in the what ifs again, but she didn’t have to get carried away with unrealistic hope either.
As she stirred the aromatic sauce, the heat rising with the tangy scent, Candice worked to level her head. She and Logan were living under one roof now. And though things could go either way, she couldn’t help but think about the bowl Uncle Glen handed over the day she’d moved in. It might be superstition, or perhaps it was the voice of her father from beyond the grave, but Candice felt as if the slips in that bowl could change her life. Like it really did contain some sort of magic, as her uncle had said. A feeling of calm settled over her then. Peace. Warmth. Assurance. She could do this. She may have to push Lana’s words aside just a bit, but Candice inwardly vowed to give this second chance with Logan her all.
~+~
Bright beams of sunlight pierced through the windshield as Logan pulled his truck into the driveway. He clicked down on the garage door opener and gulped as the sight of Candice’s car unfolded before him like a gift. One he’d waited years to open.
His heart dropped an inch or two in his chest, and then picked up its pace to a mad gallop. He stayed there in the drive, looking over the house while considering what he might find on the other side of those walls. Would Candice be closed up in her room, reading a book? Watching some chick show on TV? He could tell – by the set of the sun alone – that it was past dinnertime. Perhaps she’d made something for two and set up a plate for him. Something to heat up and eat while he unwound from his long day.
The aroma in the house told Logan that may not be far from the truth. Rich and spicy, the smell had his mouth watering before he kicked off his boots.
“Hi,” Candice said, voice coming from someplace beyond the living room.
The kitchen, he realized. “Hey.” He turned to hang his hat on a nearby hook. Candice’s jacket hung next to it, and Logan couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She really was back in his life. “Sure smells good in here.”
A soft chuckle spilled from her lips. “I made spaghetti sauce. I’ll go ahead and get the water boiling now. Spaghetti should be ready in about twenty minutes.” She carried a large pan over to the stove, hunched down to light the thing. No longer in her work clothes, Candice wore a pair of cutoff shorts and a thin, rather oversized T-shirt that slid gracefully down one shoulder as she walked toward him. “How was work?”
He gulped, pasted a casual smile on his face. “Not bad. I’m considering bringing a few horses to the stable out back. Heading onto the ranch that way on days I don’t need the truck.”
“That’s a good idea.”
He nodded, hesitating to add the final thing he wanted to say. Something about going riding with her on late afternoons before the sun set. Or early weekend mornings, as the sun broke over the high mountain peaks.
As he stood in his musings, Logan noticed a grin spread over Candice’s face.
“What?” he asked, taken off guard. What had he said that pleased her, he wondered. Or was she amused by something?
“Nothing,” she said with the shake of her head. “Just…”
When she failed to finish that thought, Logan reached up and rubbed at his hair, realizing he probably had a big dent where his hat had been. “How was your day?” he asked.
“Nice,” she said. “A bit stressful, but nice.”
He eyed the tabletop, noticed two settings there. “You’ll uh… have to tell me about it. You hav
en’t eaten yet?”
Candice shook her head. “I snuck a few spoonsful of ice cream and then did a Zumba workout to make up for it,” she said with a laugh.
She’d waited for him? An wave of gratitude filled his chest, buoying his heart back into place. He cleared his throat and threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to hit the shower real quick.”
His comment seemed to invite Candice’s gaze to wander over the length of him. A slow, lingering movement.
“I’ll be right back out,” he promised, anxious to get out from under her unreadable gaze.
Logan sped through his shower, nearly cutting himself as he shaved his neck. He decided to just trim his facial hair rather than shave it off, after the compliment Candice had given him on it. Once finished, he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and reached for a T-shirt. He had his arms partway through the sleeves, the neck of the thing hovering over his head when he decided against wearing the shirt after all. He was only putting it on for Candice’s sake, being that she’d just moved in, but he didn’t want to set the wrong tone. Logan hated wearing shirts around the house after showering and Candice knew that. Besides, she’d thrown on that loose top – the one that had done the whole shoulder thing and got him all distracted. He could walk out in a pair of sport shorts.
After a splash of aftershave and a hand-combing through is wet hair, Logan headed back into the kitchen.
“Oh, just in time,” Candice hollered over her shoulder. She held a large pot in her hands, steam wafting toward her face. “Want to grab the sieve for me? I forgot to set it in the sink.”
Logan strode toward her, eyeing the cupboard he’d placed it in.
“Come to think of it, I’m hoping we even have a sieve here.” She froze in place, standing between the sink and the stove.
“We do,” he assured. He’d been living off boxed macaroni and cheese for the last year. “It’s right here.” He was careful not to nudge against her as he secured the strainer in his hand. He rested it in the base of the sink next, and took a step back.
Mending Hearts: Logan's Story Page 13
