by Joanna Sims
Her foot felt like it was almost healed when she walked the couple of steps over to where Jordan was standing.
“Have you seen yourself?” she asked her sister.
Jordan nodded. “Would you zip the back for me?”
Josephine raised the zipper carefully. “Where’s Mom? She should be here for this.”
She was about to call out for their mom, but Jordan stopped her.
“I want it to be just the two of us for a minute. Then we’ll call Mom. Okay?”
“Okay,” Josephine said with a question in her tone.
Her sister turned around to face her and they naturally reached for each other’s hands. Quietly, Josephine admired her twin and the beauty of the dress.
“You are so stunning in this gown, Jordy—you take my breath away.”
“Thanks, sis.” Jordy hugged her before she asked, “Are you okay, though? I mean, really okay?”
Josephine glanced down at her ankle and moved it around. “I’m almost back to 100 percent.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant, are you okay with the wedding? With what happened with Brice.”
Whenever Brice’s name came up, her stomach muscles tightened unpleasantly. Why did everyone insist on talking about him? When she was dating him, no one wanted to talk about him. Now that they were broken up—she couldn’t get them to stop!
Josephine took a step back and said with a stiff smile. “Let’s not ruin a perfectly wonderful moment by bringing up the B word. Okay?”
Ever since they were little girls, they could feel each other’s pain. Josephine knew that Jordan could feel her pain now. The forced smile didn’t fool her.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t’ve brought up the jerk. My bad. I’m just worried...the wedding is making you sad.”
“Sad? What are you talking about? You know I love weddings. If anything, helping you and Mom with all of the planning has kept my mind occupied.”
“No. I know you love weddings, Jo. It’s just that both of us always thought that you’d get married first...”
“Well, that’s how it turned out and that’s okay.” Josephine met her sister’s eyes and held them to make certain Jordan understood that she was sincere. “Yes, I’ve been feeling a little sad. But, it doesn’t have anything to do with your wedding. That only makes me feel happy.”
Her sister’s reply was waylaid by the sound of grinding gears and squealing brakes. Josephine and her sister’s attention turned to the commotion outside.
“Looks like they’re pouring the foundation today.” Jordan moved closer to the window.
Josephine joined her. Her eyes searched the site up on the hill where the new chapel foundation was being poured; when she found Logan, her search was over. He had just jumped down from the cab of a large earth mover. It was easy to distinguish him from the other men. The size of the muscles of his bare arms and shoulders, the blackness of his hair—he stood out.
“Don’t you just love a man with big equipment?” her sister asked her.
She could feel Jordan staring at her knowingly—she had been caught staring at Logan. There was no sense trying to deny it.
“Brice who, right?” Jordan asked, rhetorically.
“Quit bringing up Brice! I don’t want to talk about him.”
“An honest mistake,” Jordan confessed. “Let’s go show Mom my dress.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me grab this box of tissues. You know that waterworks are going to flow the minute Mom sees you.”
* * *
After dinner, Josephine walked, for the first time without crutches, out to the campfire. She passed Jordan, Ian, and Shadow on their way to the guesthouse. When she reached the edge of the fire, Tyler stood up and handed Logan his guitar.
“Where are you going?” she asked her brother.
“Hittin’ the hay.” Tyler adjusted his hat on his head. “I’m plumb wore out, sissy.”
Her father flicked the stub of his cigar into the fire and stood up. “I suppose it’s time for me to hit the hay, too.”
“What? I show up and everyone clears out?” Josephine said, half teasing, half serious, as she hugged her father good-night.
She called after Hank. “I can smell the smoke on your shirt, Dad!”
She heard her father laugh before he called back to her, “It’ll clear off before I get back to the house.”
Josephine looked after her father and brother for a minute and then, arms crossed over her chest, she asked Logan in a playfully stern tone, “I suppose you’re going in now, too?”
Logan looked up from the task of tuning her brother’s old guitar. “Not me. I made the mistake of having two cups of coffee at dinner, so...sleep’s going to be a long time comin’.” He nodded to the seat next to him. “Keep me company.”
Josephine didn’t have to think about whether or not she wanted to join him. She did. Logan had an easy-going nature that she appreciated. It was in stark contrast to her personality, and it was certainly in contrast to Brice’s conservative, rigid, type-A personality. She tried not to compare them, but found it almost impossible not to compare them. And, even though Brice’s personality was so close to hers, and she was attracted to his serious, always-on-task persona, Logan’s laid-back, devil-may-care attitude was a refreshing change. Was it a change that she wanted for the long term? She wasn’t sure about that. Brice had always been the plan in her head and it was hard to imagine walking through life with another man—especially a man who was so different than Brice. But, for now, it felt...comfortable...to be with Logan.
Josephine grabbed a nearby stick and poked the logs in the fire pit to stoke the small flames. She was wearing a long-sleeved top made of thin cotton, and wished now that she had grabbed her lightweight jacket before she headed out of the house. But, she had been in a rush to get down to the campfire. She had been cooped up in the house healing her ankle all week and she felt a little stir-crazy. And, if she were honest to herself, she wanted to see Logan. He hadn’t stopped by to see her, as was usual, and he wasn’t at dinner. Her brother mentioned that Logan was video chatting with his uncle, making the final arrangements for relocating the chapel.
“Here, you look cold.” Logan leaned toward her, his arm extended, holding out a rolled flannel shirt.
“Don’t you need it?” She took the shirt gratefully.
“Nah, I’m good.” He strummed lightly on the guitar strings. “Got any requests?”
She slipped her arms into the shirt and pulled it tightly in front of her, then crossed her arms once again. She rocked back and forth a little while she thought.
“Surprise me,” she finally said.
“You like James Taylor?”
Surprised, she smiled at him. “Love him.”
“Me, too...”
Tucked warmly inside of his shirt, a shirt that looked like it had seen a lot of years and use, Logan began to play her favorite James Taylor song, “Fire and Rain.” She had heard his singing voice when he sang to her in the cave to keep her calm. He had a beautiful voice—the kind of voice that made a woman stop and listen. The kind of voice that sent chills popping up all over her body.
In the firelight, Josephine watched Logan as he played the guitar and sang. He was giving her a private concert, and the moment was—special. Intimate. It was the perfect setting, and the perfect moment, for lovers. Even though they weren’t lovers, there was a connection there. She felt it, and she could tell that Logan felt it too.
She had always found him to be handsome, ever since the first day. It was undeniable. The dark hair, tanned skin, eyes the color of aged brandy. Not to mention his incredibly fit body. But when she first met him, she had been Brice’s girl. His handsomeness hadn’t mattered.
She wasn’t Brice’s girl anymore, was she? And Logan’s handsomene
ss had become much more interesting to her lately.
At the end of the song, Logan looked over at Josephine. Her eyes were closed and the light from the fire was casting a beautiful array of yellow and gold across the delicate features of her face. Halfway through the song, she had started to sing with him. And their voices were a perfect complement. There had been only one other woman whose voice had complemented his voice, with whom he loved to sing duets, but he could hardly remember what it felt like to sing with her. This moment—this night—was all about lovely, sweet Josephine.
“You have a really good voice. I didn’t know you sang.” He smiled at her.
Josephine’s aqua-blue eyes opened wide, in surprise. “I didn’t realize I was singing out loud.”
He could feel her embarrassment, as much as he could see it. “You should sing out loud all the time.”
“Only in the shower.”
“That’s too bad. You’ve got a great voice.”
She smiled at him, almost shyly. “I was a choir geek all through high school.”
Logan stroked the strings, one by one, with his thumb. “I tried to date all the choir geeks in high school.”
“Oh, yeah?” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her legs. “Any luck?”
“Some.” His answer was casual, but Josephine detected a deeper undercurrent beneath that one, simple word. “Give me another song—one that you like to sing. I might know it,” he said.
“Um, let me think. You wouldn’t happen to know any Judds’ songs, would you?”
Logan played a couple of chords. “Do you know the lyrics to this one?”
“‘Why Not Me,’” she said. Logan had an uncanny ability to pick her favorite songs. Brice hated country music, so she had stopped listening to it when he was around to be courteous. What was strange, and she hadn’t really thought about it until just now, but she had stopped singing when Brice was around several years ago.
“You sing. I’ll play.”
“No way, Jose! If I sing, you sing.”
“Alright,” he agreed. “Do you want to be Mamma Judd or Wynonna?”
“Wynonna.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Logan shook his head with a small smile.
Beneath the large expanse of the blue-black starless sky, they sang their first song together. She hadn’t sung a duet since high school, and singing with Logan was as natural as walking or talking. They just fit. They were able to pick harmony together and anticipate what the other would do next. In singing, at least, they were a compatible pair.
By the end of the song, Josephine was laughing. She wasn’t laughing because anything was funny—but because singing again had made her feel good inside.
“You’re really good, Josephine.” Logan rested his arm on the top of the guitar, which was resting on his thigh.
“No, you’re good.” Josephine beamed at him. “Who taught you to sing like that?”
“My mom, mainly—and singing in church.” He slipped the guitar pick between two strings. “How ’bout you?”
“The same. You should hear my mom sing. She’s really got some amazing pipes.”
Logan stood up, stretched, and then held out his hand to her. “So do you.”
She didn’t argue with him—instead, she took his offered hand and stood up as well.
“Looks like your ankle’s healing nicely,” he said, looking down at her foot.
“Can’t complain.” She held out her foot a little. “Now, if only my replacement phone would get here, everything’ll be copacetic. What a stupid move that was—my whole life was on that phone.”
He walked beside her, keeping pace with her slow pace as they headed back toward the ranch house.
“Maybe you needed a break,” he suggested quietly. “Maybe you needed to start over.”
“Maybe,” she agreed thoughtfully. “Maybe.”
* * *
When her replacement phone arrived, she couldn’t wait to get it out of the box. It had felt like she had been missing a vital appendage without her constant phone companion. However, once it was out of the box and she had it set up just like her “lost forever to the cave” phone, she had a serious lapse in judgment and checked social media.
She had actually thought that she was doing fine—that she was handling the sudden “dumping” from her first love pretty well. Yes, there had been a couple of nights that she had cried herself to sleep in the fetal position, but she wasn’t thinking about Brice every minute of every day and she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on trying to create a mental picture in her head of the woman who had captivated him.
Once she checked social media, she was reminded again what the other woman looked like. Brice had put posted several pictures of himself, at his parents’ estate, with a knock-out brunette with a Sofía Vergara–type body. All Josephine could do, for several long, painful seconds was to stare at the new woman in Brice’s life. Brains, beauty, and a bangin’ body—no wonder he’d defected.
Josephine slammed the phone facedown on her comforter and flopped back onto the pillows. She couldn’t un-see those pictures—she only wished that she could. Her hand moved to her chest. Brice had always told her that he didn’t mind her size A cups. He’d given her the “brains over boobs” speech on several occasions. And yet, in the end, he’d traded her in for a shiny new floor model that came standard-equipped with brains and boobs.
She grabbed her pillow, covered her face, and screamed as loud as she could. Then she did it again. That picture triggered all of the jealousy and disappointment and anger she had suppressed. It was bubbling to the surface like magma pouring out of a volcano.
She wanted to hit something. She wanted to kick something. In all honesty, she really wanted to punch Brice in his stupid face!
Josephine pushed the pillow off her face and sat upright. She needed to go outside and clear her head. She had intended to study, but now she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
She swung her long legs off the bed, yanked on her hiking boots, and headed downstairs. Her plan was to race past the kitchen, where her mom was sure to be, and get outside without talking to anyone. She hit the second floor landing and smelled the delicious scent of homemade root beer and sweet-potato pie. Since her daughters had arrived home, her mom had spent at least part of her day happily baking homemade goodies that she knew that they loved.
As she raced past the kitchen entrance, Josephine called to her mom, “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Not waiting for her mom’s answer, she shot out the door, slammed it behind her harder than she had intended, and then hurried down the porch steps. She needed a place where she could be alone—a place where she could unleash some of this newfound fury without an audience. And she was going to go there right now.
* * *
Logan pulled one of Bent Tree’s trucks in a spot near the barn and turned off the engine. He noticed Josephine walking quickly toward a small structure that was farther away from the working barns. He didn’t know what was in that building—from the looks of it, he’d assumed that it was an old storage barn. Josephine always caught his attention—he was always hoping to catch sight of her. Not only was she easy-on-the-eyes, but he liked her. He really liked her. He had started to know her mannerisms—the way she walked, the way she talked, the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled. Today, there was something different about her. Her shoulders were stiff, her hands were balled up, and she was looking down at the ground.
Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do, he acted on gut-instinct alone, but he followed her. He got out of the truck without giving it much thought and went after her. When he was close to the building, he could hear faint sounds drifting through the cracked-open door. It sounded like grunting, and he hoped he wasn’t about to come upon something that he really didn’t wa
nt to see.
Logan opened the door wide enough for him to look inside. In the middle of the small building, hanging from the rafters, was an old heavyweight punching bag. The only light that was coming into the building was from the areas of the walls where the wooden planks were missing. Josephine was standing in front of the bag, oblivious that he was watching from the doorway, intent on beating the bag with her small fist.
The expression on her face, in what he assumed to be an unmasked, private moment, could only be described as anguished. Sweat had darkened the hair around her face and long pieces were stuck to the side of her neck as she pounded the bag with the side of her hand. She hit the bag again and again. He thought she would notice him; when she didn’t, he started to believe that perhaps it was best that she hadn’t.
Logan took a step back from the door, and turned to leave. But when he heard her curse and yell “Ow,” he changed his mind.
“You’re hitting it wrong.” He pushed the door to the building open wider to let the light in.
Winded and sweaty and disheveled, Josephine stared at him. She didn’t bother to try to hide the raw pain in her eyes when he got closer to her. And she didn’t tell him to leave.
“You’re hitting like a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
“No, I meant that if you keep hitting it like that you’re going to hurt your hand,” he told her.
“Then show me the right way,” she snapped.
She didn’t apologize for snapping at him, and he didn’t expect one. They both knew that he was the one invading her privacy.
“First we need to get your stance solid.” Logan adopted a fighting stance, his right foot back, his left foot forward, his knees slightly bent. He waited for Josephine to copy him and then showed her the proper way to punch.
“Ball your fingers up firmly, with your thumb wrapped around your pointer finger—like this...” He instructed. “Now put both of your arms up to protect your face and your chest—like so—your elbows are in to protect your ribs. When you punch...” He demonstrated by showing her how to execute a forward jab. “Your arm comes out straight—at this point, your fingers should be relaxed, and right before your impact of your target, that’s when you tighten your fist up.”
