She was right. In everything she said, and he was proud of her for speaking her mind. Along with that pride existed a huge dose of anger. At himself, for his seeming inability to do the same. Why couldn’t he knock down this damn wall?
“I’m sorry—really, truly sorry—that this is taking so long,” he said. “That comes from my heart, Anna, so I hope you can believe in that and in...me, and I will try to make amends. As soon as I possibly can.”
“The thing is, Logan, I don’t know what I believe. How can I? You don’t let me in enough to speculate. And it’s difficult, being here while you’re there, trying to imagine what’s in your head, what you’re thinking.”
Damn it. “Anna—”
“I have to go,” she said. “The baby is waking up and she’ll want to be fed.”
Without waiting for his response, she disconnected the call.
Logan sat there for a solid fifteen minutes, staring at the phone, considering the wisdom of calling her back and just laying it all on the line. Everything he felt, all of his concerns, his confusion and guilt, the sickening fear that lived in his heart. The one that made him question if he was a good enough man for Anna and Scarlett.
It was a terrifying, immobilizing type of fear, thinking that perhaps, he was not any better of a man than his father.
It wasn’t reasonable. He hadn’t cheated or lied to Anna, as his father had to the two women he professed to love. The situations couldn’t even be compared, but the fear, the damn worry, would not dissipate, despite the many times he’d mentally rehashed the logic or the vast number of differences between himself and Denny Daugherty.
Everything he knew about Denny was in conflict. He’d cheated on his wife, betraying his role as husband and father, and made hefty promises he didn’t keep to Carla. All actions of a dishonorable, untrustworthy man.
Yet Denny had also wanted Logan to carry his last name. He’d made an effort to be in Logan’s life, to the point that somehow, Zeke had even let the man in this house. In the photos, Denny appeared happy to be spending time with Logan. These were signs of a good man. A decent man who was trying, real hard, to do what was right.
So what was Logan to think or believe about the man who sired him? What parts and pieces of him came from Denny? The good, the bad or some of both? And how could he create the life he wanted with the woman he loved, the daughter he cherished, if he did not know who he was? Seemed like trouble in the making. It scared him, the fear that he could hurt Anna as deeply as his father had hurt his mother.
And that fear had left him frozen.
Lord. Every time Logan tried to untangle the twisted threads of his identity, they just knotted together tighter and tighter. Who. Was. He?
Irritated, consumed with the want for answers...for peace, Logan returned to searching his grandfather’s desk. Maybe he’d find more pictures. Maybe a letter from Denny was what had softened Zeke’s views, and if so, maybe he’d find that. A dumb thought, really, because he doubted his grandfather would save anything for so many years, but he had to look.
He had to be sure. So he got to work.
When he’d dug through every file, every piece of paper, every last thing in Granddad’s desk without finding so much as Denny’s name scrawled on a Post-it, he gave up. He knew where to go for the answers he needed: his mother. Carla didn’t like to talk about Denny, though, or that portion of her past, and getting her to open up at all had taken most of Logan’s life.
It had been difficult for her to tell him about Denny’s wife, his other son, Gavin—the brother Logan now knew and loved—because doing so brought her pain. Guilt, too, he suspected, for choosing to stay in a relationship with a married man. She also hadn’t wanted to hurt Logan by having the truth diminish the pretty-picture view she’d painted when he was a little boy.
Problem was, he’d never fully believed that picture. Even when he was too young to understand why...he’d just known something was off. And he’d blamed himself.
Sighing, now more antsy than irritated, Logan left the office in search of his mother. It was time for her to fill in the rest of the picture so he could stop the wondering and the worrying that had started so many years ago. So he could finally get these questions out of his head.
He found her in the kitchen, alone, brewing a cup of tea. She looked up when she heard him, smiled and nodded toward the teapot. “Want a cup?”
“No, but thank you. I need to talk to you about Denny,” he said, the uneven timbre of his voice paying tribute to his rocky thoughts. “And please, don’t tell me no.”
Stress lines creased her forehead, the area around her eyes. “There isn’t a lot more to tell you, honey,” she said. “I’m being honest when I say that. You have every fact that I have.”
“Then maybe we need—I need—to knit those facts together in such a way that I can understand the type of man my father was.” Gesturing toward the table, he said, “Let’s sit. I don’t want to make you sad, but I can’t...I can’t move forward with Anna unless I know.”
“I see.” She slid her petite frame into a chair. Logan took the one directly next to her. “Shall I take that as meaning you’re in love with her?”
“You should. And I don’t know if she loves me or if she’ll consider...” He swallowed, shook his head. “Right now, I want to talk about my father.”
Carla tightened her grip on her teacup and nodded. “Okay, Logan. Ask your questions and I’ll answer them honestly. I’m just unsure of what it is you’re looking to understand.”
Where to begin? “Why so many years of silence and secrecy? You, Grandma and Granddad... None of you would tell me anything but the barest details about my father until you realized I was going to find out what I could on my own.”
“That was my call,” Carla said quietly. “I didn’t want you to know Denny was married, that I was his...mistress. I wanted to fill you with all the good of your father, since he was gone and couldn’t speak for himself. Seemed kinder, I guess. But I see now that was a mistake.”
“To a certain point, no, it wasn’t. When I was younger and couldn’t properly understand the complexities, I think you made the right choice. Later, though, the silence just...ate at me.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Carla sighed. “I did what I thought was best, and I can’t change those decisions now. We have to move forward.”
She was right. So he set those frustrations aside and jumped right into the deep end. “If you were going to describe Denny Daugherty as a man, what words would you use?”
“Big-hearted. He was funny, always had a joke or two up his sleeve,” Carla said instantly. She closed her eyes as if imagining that Denny himself was standing in front of her. “He wasn’t much afraid of failure, so he took his share of risks. He...he could sweet-talk just about anyone, and he... Well, Logan, he knew how to love. He did. But...”
Logan waited to see if his mother would continue. When she didn’t, he said, “But?”
“Denny mostly only saw what was right there, in his line of sight. So, he’d come here to see us, and he’d promise that we would be a family. And he meant that promise.” Opening her eyes, Carla reached for Logan’s hand. “But then he would go home to his wife and Gavin, and he’d be there, with them, and so they were all he’d see. Until he returned to us.”
“That sounds thoughtless to me, Mom.”
“It felt thoughtless. Still does,” she admitted. “I just don’t think he ever meant it that way. Oh, how to say this? Whatever world Denny was in, that was the world he couldn’t bear to give up. And in that world lived the people he refused to hurt. Until he left that world for another.”
Shortsighted. Selfish. “He wanted to have his cake and eat it, too?”
“Maybe, to a certain extent.” Carla bit her bottom lip. “Just not with conscious, deliberate thought. He was... I don’t
know, Logan. Nearsighted and impulsive, and mostly, he tried to make everyone in his life, everyone he loved, happy. He did not set out to cause pain.”
Well, that was something. And even though Logan absolutely did not agree with Denny’s myopic way of living, it was a relief to hear he’d had a big heart, was funny and knew how to love. That he hadn’t gone around purposely wreaking havoc.
“Am I making enough sense for you to see him more clearly?” Carla asked. “He was a confusing man in a lot of ways, but he loved you, Logan. He did.”
“Is that why I have his last name?”
“No.” She appeared startled by the question. “That was your granddad’s doing. Denny was fine with it, but he would’ve been fine if your last name had been Cordero. Right from the beginning, though, Granddad said... Do you want to hear this?”
“Uh, yeah, I do. Very much so.”
“At the time, your grandfather presented the idea as a way to keep you linked to the paternal side of your heritage, since you would be raised on Cordero land. But,” Carla said, “his true reason was to give you an easy, no-question connection to Gavin.”
Whoa.
“Actually,” Carla continued, “that’s the same reason he started letting Denny visit you here at the ranch. And whenever he did, your grandfather would talk about how brothers should know each other and it was wrong to keep you two apart.”
The more Carla talked, the better Logan could see Denny, which was the plan from the get-go. But now he realized he was also seeing his grandfather in a clearer light. Logan had always known that Zeke had looked out for him, cared for him, from the very beginning. But he hadn’t realized how far his grandfather had thought ahead.
And Logan’s gratitude was immense.
“Is there anything else, honey? Any other questions you have about Denny?”
Nothing came to mind right off, as Denny had, indeed, become much less of a hazy, unknown figure. And while Logan couldn’t state he was thrilled with some of what he’d learned, he wasn’t devastated, either. Frankly, if his mother believed that his father had never meant to cause harm, then he’d take her at her word. So he should be good on the question front.
Except there was still something missing. Something he’d hoped to find.
He could see Denny more easily, but he didn’t feel any sort of a connection toward him or anything personal in nature. And Logan had wanted this in order to place a framework around his life, around the man he was. An impossibility, perhaps, since he didn’t have any actual memories of the guy. Not the sound of his voice, or... Well, wait a minute.
He had one thing.
Probably a dumb question, but hell. Why not ask? “Did...ah, Denny chew gum a lot or have an addiction to candy canes? Or swill mouthwash all the time?”
And yeah, his mother looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What was that, Logan?”
“There’s this sensory thing that happens when I smell or taste peppermint,” he said, trying to find the words to explain. “I... There’s a memory there that I’ve connected to my father. I don’t know why. I don’t know what the actual memory is.”
Resting her elbow on the table and her jaw on the palm of her hand, Carla’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. “No, can’t be. Denny detested peppermint. I remember because your granddad used to... Oh, now wait just a minute,” Carla said. “I wonder if you’re thinking of Marjorie Dwyer’s liniment oil. Granddad used the stuff for years.”
“Marjorie who and what?”
“Marjorie Dwyer. She and her husband used to live around here... Lord, this would have been twenty-four, twenty-five years ago,” Carla said. “Anyhow, Marjorie had this little shop where she sold all types of homemade remedies. And your granddad swore by her peppermint liniment. He used to say that nothing eased aching muscles faster.”
“Granddad, huh? Not Denny. You’re sure?”
“I’m sure that Denny didn’t like peppermint and that your grandfather used a peppermint liniment for years, yes. I don’t know if that’s what you’re thinking of, though.”
Nodding, Logan closed his eyes and tried to find that wispy, never really there image, focusing on Zeke instead of Denny and pretending someone had stuck a candy cane under his nose. Then, in drips and spurts and, finally, a flood...as if he’d always known, Logan knew.
He saw Zeke holding his little boy self on his hip, walking him here and there around their land, talking about their family’s history and teaching him about the workings of the ranch. He remembered sitting on his grandfather’s lap, looking at those stars and listening to his stories. And he could almost feel Zeke’s arms around him as he carried him upstairs to bed, tickling and teasing and laughing.
There was more he saw, more he remembered. Some memories he’d always had—the stories under the stars, as an example—but others were new, yet somehow familiar. But what he recalled now that he hadn’t before was how Granddad’s clothes had always smelled like candy—like peppermint. And Logan realized what he should have a long, long time ago.
He’d spent far too long worrying about Denny Daugherty, about the type of man his father had been and how much of Logan was due to Denny. Logically, he’d known that who and what Denny was—good or bad—really did not matter, as Logan was his own man.
A different man.
Unfortunately, that logic, until now, hadn’t reached his heart. He’d known how he should feel, he guessed, but he hadn’t believed. Because yes, from a blood and bone standpoint, he was Denny Daugherty’s son. There wasn’t a doubt or a question there.
But from a heart and soul standpoint? Logan was a Cordero, through and through. Some of that was—obviously—due to his mother, his grandmother and their part in raising him. Some was due to the connection he felt—had always felt—to the Cordero land.
Now, though, Logan understood like he never had before that Zeke’s hand, his guidance, had played the greatest role in making him the man he was today. His granddad had taught him loyalty, honor, how to be strong and capable. And he’d done so from Logan’s very first breath.
This knowledge finally took the weight it should, the weight it deserved, and Logan stopped seeing himself as broken. Stopped worrying he was somehow damaged.
And in a moment of true-blue certainty, he became whole.
Well, as whole as he could be without Anna. Without his daughter. It was time, finally, to proclaim his love and see what he could do about bringing them together. To get on his hands and knees and beg Anna to forgive him for his shortsightedness. To tell her that now...well, now he could see forever.
Lord. He hoped he wasn’t too late.
Chapter Thirteen
For the first full hour after her conversation with Logan, Anna rehashed every word spoken, every word unspoken, trying to find some strand of anything to hang on to. A reason to stand steady and wait for Logan to come to terms with whatever he was struggling with, rather than give in to her frustration, her sadness, and put a halt to this entire ordeal.
Wouldn’t take long to pack a couple of bags and get over to Lola’s. There, at least, she’d have a lot more hands-on support than she did here, and Anna’s aunt would welcome them with open arms. Lola had already bought a bassinet and a few other basic necessities for caring for an infant, since Anna and Scarlett visited her every few days.
There, at Aunt Lola’s, Anna would find a safe haven. And she wouldn’t be in a place where every car passing the house had her hoping that maybe Logan had come home. Well. This wasn’t his home. The Bur Oak Ranch was his home.
But his daughter wasn’t there, now was she?
Anna glanced at the baby monitor and saw that Scarlett was still sleeping peacefully. The sight of her there, sweet and beautiful and perfect, without a care in the world, brought to the surface every protective, maternal instinct. This baby deserved her
father.
Not just any old father, but a loving, strong, loyal man to help guide her through life. And Anna had thought Logan was that man. Could she have been wrong?
In fact, could he be more like her father? Not in the yelling, ridiculous-rule-making, angry man her father had become after her mother’s death, because while Logan certainly had the tendency to get a little grumpy, he was nothing like Anna’s father in that regard.
There was something there, though, a similarity of sorts that had twisted and niggled at Anna for a while. She just hadn’t defined it, mostly because of her unwillingness to come to terms with such a deal-breaking possibility. Anna’s love for Logan was true and strong in her heart, had been for some time now, and oh, she’d wanted to give that love a real chance.
But now, looking at her sleeping daughter, some hard, cold pieces clicked together in a horrible, awful, sickening way. After Ruby’s death, Earl Rockwood had allowed his grief to change him to such an extent that he not only dumped a whole lot of emotional garbage on his daughters’ lives but also...well, he drowned. Into himself. Preferring to sink headfirst into his loss rather than reaching out, rather than trying to stay strong and be the father his girls deserved.
The dad that Anna and her sisters had so needed.
And while Anna didn’t know precisely what was troubling Logan at this moment, wasn’t he—in effect—doing exactly the same thing? Separating himself and building roadblocks, like he’d done in those miserable two weeks she’d felt invisible and mute? Afterward, he’d promised her that the next time something similar occurred, he would try to talk to her. Yet so far, he hadn’t.
She was a mother now. Her child depended on her. And no way, nohow would Scarlett ever feel how Anna had as a child. Never. She simply wouldn’t allow such a scenario to occur.
So. Anna should leave. She should tell Logan that she was done, that she wasn’t going to wait a year for the divorce, and that if—and only if—he pulled himself together, he could be a part of Scarlett’s life. But if he chose to remain distant and evasive, she’d ask him to do their daughter the favor of just staying away.
Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 Page 37
