“Looking into something for me. I’ll explain later. Is this everything?”
“Almost.” Doc patted him on the back. “I think there might be one more dish to carry out. You want to go check? We’ll wait out here.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Chapter 7
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief as the last member of the Prodigal Brothers exited the kitchen. So many men packed into the space had left her feeling more than a little claustrophobic. Not to mention that he had been one of them.
“Hey, Mama?”
“Yeah, honey?” Her mom looked up from wiping down the counters. Not for the first time, Charlie marveled at her mother’s ability to look flawless even after hours of hard labor, while she felt like the bedraggled cook from a Dickens novel.
“Did you know he was going to be with them?” Charlie stacked the last of the mixing bowls into one side of the large farmhouse-style sink and began filling it with hot soapy water.
“Who? Logan?”
“Yes.” Charlie scrubbed at the stew pot she’d used for her tomato sauce, up to her elbows in suds.
“I did not. I would’ve told you.” She resumed wiping the counters. “I didn’t even realize who he was until Doc told me. Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Charlie scrubbed harder. “I was just surprised, that’s all. No big deal.”
Someone cleared his throat in the doorway behind her and she froze.
Logan.
She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. She kept her back turned and continued washing dishes, trusting her mother would jump right in. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Logan! Did y’all forget something?”
“Yes, ma’am. Doc said he thought there might be one more dish?”
“Oh. I don’t believe so. I think y’all got everything.”
Charlie shook her head and turned off the water. “The salad, Mom.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, Charlie opened the fridge and pulled out a heavy glass bowl filled to the brim with mounds of pastel orange fluff dotted with mandarin oranges and crushed pineapple.
“Here.” She held it out to him, avoiding his eyes.
Logan took it from her carefully. “What is it?”
“Mandarin orange salad.” Charlie went back to the sink.
“Can I talk to you for a minute? The guys are waiting, it won’t take long.”
Charlie didn’t move. Did she want to talk to him? Alone? Her feelings washed over her in waves, and she braced herself against the lip of the sink, head lowered. Fear and guilt and hope and sorrow battled for the upper hand.
“Charlotte, honey?”
She responded without lifting her head. “I’m okay, Mama. Don’t worry.”
“Okay. Well. I’m going to go check in with your dad, if you’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yep. Go ahead.” Charlie listened to her mom say good-bye to Logan and leave, then took a deep breath and turned to face him. He’d set the bowl of salad on the island and stood leaning against the counter, watching her with a concerned expression. She waved him off. “It’s fine. I’m fine. What did you want to talk to me about?”
He straightened and chuckled quietly. “Uh, well. First I wanted to make sure you were okay after the library thing.”
She nodded. “Not a scratch. Can’t say the same about you, though. That looks painful.”
Logan glanced down at his arm, the scab cracking slightly near the elbow. “Doesn’t even hurt. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.”
He chuckled again and scratched the scruff along his jaw. “Okay, she says. Heh.”
“Anything else?” Please don’t let him see the tears in my eyes. Please don’t let him notice that I’m not okay.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.”
“I hope that’s true.” He scratched his jaw again. “I don’t want you to be afraid at all.”
Charlie took a deep breath against the sudden tight feeling in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t afraid. No, that wasn’t true. She could. The moment she saw Greg waiting for her on her porch steps. She hadn’t been afraid then. Not yet.
“You’re the one who keeps saying I’m in danger, Logan. Isn’t that reason enough to be afraid?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like it. Are you being careful?”
“As careful as I know how to be. And Sheriff Dawson has all the deputies keeping an eye out for me. They’ve increased their presence in the neighborhood, especially at night. My parents are right across the yard if I need anything. I never walk to my car alone after work anymore. I don’t know what else to do.”
When she met his eyes, her heart skipped a beat at the warmth she found there.
“You’re impressive, Charlotte. Do you know that?”
She just shook her head. He had no idea how not impressive she was. What a mess she’d been after Greg, what a mess she still was, almost three years later.
“Have coffee with me.”
“What?” She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Did she?
He held both hands up in a placating gesture. “I just want to talk. There are things I need to tell you. Things you should know. That’s it.” He paused. “No pressure, no expectations, just…coffee.”
She needed time to think. He clearly wasn’t asking her out, so why did it feel like it? Stall. Stall. “Where?”
“Irma’s. Downtown.”
Stall. “When?”
“Saturday. 10am.”
Saturday would give her almost a week to change her mind or back out or decide she definitely absolutely for sure wasn’t ready to have coffee with a strange man, but for the moment…
“Okay.”
Chapter 8
Logan eased to a stop, using the balls of his feet on the ground to guide his bike into the parking spot. He cut the engine, kicked down the stand, and dismounted to stand beside the motorcycle, it’s metal frame glinting in the sun.
The quaint coffee shop was pretty busy, with a steady stream of twenty-somethings coming and going. He frowned slightly at the sight of their beanies and plaid shirts and what did they call those earlobe stretching things? Whatever they were called, they were dumb. He’d seen a guy put a drinking straw through the gaping hole in his sagging earlobe as a pickup gag once. It hadn’t gone over well. Obviously.
Logan pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. He’d have preferred somewhere less…hipster, but he thought Charlotte would be comfortable here, so he could deal with it. He scanned the street in both directions. At least he should have good visibility from inside. He peeled off his riding gloves and shoved them unceremoniously into the studded leather saddlebag before striding toward the coffee shop entrance, helmet tucked under his arm.
He paused just inside the doorway and took a deep breath of the coffee-scented air. Not bad. There was no sign of Charlotte yet—he’d arrived early on purpose—so he took his time choosing a table that would give him a clear view of both the door and the street outside. He settled on a booth with the front window on one side and the side wall behind. He slid in, immediately adjusting the table to give himself more breathing room, then worried that she might feel too crowded and moved it back. The edge of the table dug into his stomach as he hunched over it, arms propped on the top.
Logan took another deep breath, regretting it as the table dug in further. He was nervous. He grinned ruefully and shook his head at the thought. He hadn’t been nervous in a long time. Hadn’t been on a first date in even longer. Be cool, dude. Be cool. Besides, it wasn’t a date. It was coffee. He rubbed his thumb over the small cross tattooed onto the webbing of his left hand. The only new ink he had. And the last. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for wisdom and strength. He almost added a brief request for Charlotte to actually show up. And like him. But he stopped short of saying the words. He wasn’t sure if that was the kind of thing he was supposed to ask for. If God di
dn’t want her to be with him, well, he probably shouldn’t want that either.
He looked up as the greeting bell jangled, heralding her entrance.
Charlotte stepped through the door, her head turned to look behind her as she smiled her thanks to the young hippie dude who held the door open for her. He watched her scan the room before her eyes found his. His jaw clenched as a powerful longing ripped through him. He wanted to know her, everything about her. And he wanted her to know him. Please, Lord. He slid out of the booth and stood beside it, waiting to greet her.
But greet her how, exactly? He realized suddenly that he didn’t know the rules of modern social interactions anymore. Or the rules of Christian relationships at all. Should he hug her? Kiss her cheek? Shake her hand? The smile she offered him was more reserved than the one she’d given the stranger at the door, and he tried not to worry about it too much. Before she got close enough that he had to decide what to do, Charlotte motioned for him to sit back down, and he happily obeyed. Bullet dodged.
“Hi.” She gave him that same smile, barely wide enough to show her dimples. She set her purse down first, then slid in across from him.
“Hey. Thanks for coming.”
She just nodded, then frowned, her head tilted slightly to the side. He started to ask her what was wrong, but then she gripped the edge of the table and pulled it several inches closer to her, giving him room to breathe.
“Better?” Her hazel eyes were opened wide in question, dark green shot through with sparks of golden brown.
“Uh, yeah. Thank you.”
The frown eased from her forehead, and she dimpled again, but just barely. “Do you know what you want? I know the barista, so I can just text her our order instead of waiting in line, if that’s okay with you?”
“Sure. Just a coffee is good. Black.”
She pulled out her phone and began texting. Logan rubbed his cross tattoo again. Her auburn hair fell in loose curls to her shoulders, the color matching her generous smattering of freckles almost exactly. She was beautiful to him, but the world was full of attractive women. There was something else about her, an underlying strength, an intensity, a sort of steely courage that he recognized. Her mettle had been tested somehow; he’d put money on it. If he were still a betting man, that is. Which he wasn’t. He had no clue what her personal tragedy had been, but he knew the tell-tale signs of someone who’d survived a trial by fire. Better than most.
“I talked to the sheriff yesterday.” Her voice broke him out of his reverie.
“Oh, yeah? Any update on your attacker?”
“Turns out he was even younger than I thought. Just sixteen.”
“I guess that explains the panicking.”
She laughed quietly. “Yes, well, I can’t judge him for that. You cut a terrifying picture in that alley.”
Logan grinned at her. That sounded like a compliment. He was going to take it as a compliment. “Did I?”
She laughed again, and her smiled widened as she relaxed. “Definitely. You scared me, and I was the one being rescued!”
He turned serious. “But you do know that I’m no threat to you, right? I aim to stand between you and danger, not be the cause of it.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I do now. My mom speaks highly of Doc and everything he’s accomplished with the Prodigal Brothers. Says if he trusts you, so can I.”
Logan let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Whew. At least she didn’t think he was stalking her anymore. Probably.
“Charlie! Order up!”
“That’s me!” Charlotte slipped out of the booth. “Be right back.”
She leaned over the counter to hug a shorter woman with dark, blue-streaked hair, before returning to their table carrying two cups. She set them down, then went over to the nearby coffee bar. Once she’d settled back in across from him, Charlotte set napkins, stirrers, and a small bottle of cinnamon on the table.
Logan scowled at their cups of coffee. “Why is yours so much smaller than mine?”
Charlotte popped the lid off her cup and sprinkled the contents liberally with cinnamon. “It’s espresso. Small, but mighty.” She offered him the bottle.
“I’ve never put cinnamon in my coffee…is it good?”
She shrugged. “If you like it.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He added a single dash and watched as it settled on top. New things were good, right? He took a cautious sip. Not bad.
“So what else did the sheriff say?”
“Not a whole lot. Basically just that I could push for an arraignment on assault charges, but he has no criminal history so we discussed the possibility of juvenile rehabilitation camp instead.”
Logan’s fists clenched against his will, and he forced himself to relax. Chill, dude. She’s fine now. He didn’t hurt her. But even as he thought it, Logan’s eyes dropped to the bruising on her neck, now faded but still visible against her pale skin. His fists clenched again.
“What did you say?”
Charlotte shifted in her seat. “I told him that I needed to think about it. I mean, obviously I’m fine. And I don’t think he intended to hurt me.”
“He was choking you.” Logan fought to keep his voice steady, calm, but he didn’t feel that way at all. That was an image he didn’t think he’d ever be able to shake. Not completely.
“I know, but—” she waved her hand dismissively, “I don’t think that was the plan.”
“But if I hadn’t gotten there in time…”
Her eyes were serious when they met his. “I know. That’s why I said I needed time to think. I don’t want to press the issue just because he scared me or because I want to punish him, you know? But if he’s a threat to other people…well, I don’t want that on my conscience either. I don’t know what to do.”
Logan hesitated. He knew what he wanted her to do. What he could tell her to do. But she hadn’t asked him, not yet. Silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure what it meant, either. Should he just tell her what to do? She didn’t strike him as the type to like being bossed around by a guy she just met. Or anyone, really. He cleared his throat.
“Uh, are you hungry?” He scanned the coffeeshop. It was less busy than it had been. “I could get us some muffins or something?”
“Okay, sure.” She gave him that same cautious smile. “A cinnamon chip scone would be great.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here.”
Her smile widened.
“Give me two seconds.” Logan moved to unsqueeze himself from the booth and felt her pull the table toward her again, freeing up more room for him to maneuver. He nodded his thanks. She didn’t even know him, and she was looking out for him. It’d been a long time.
Logan stood in the order line and forced himself not to watch her from a distance. Instead, he took a deep breath and focused on the pastry case.
“Hi! What can I get ya?”
He glanced up. He’d reached the front of the line already. “Hey. Can I get two cinnamon chip scones and one of those banana nut muffins?”
“Sure!” The barista rang him up and handed him a brown paper bag. “Have a good day!”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Back at the table, he set the bag in front of Charlotte before easing back into the bench across from her. She raised an eyebrow at him playfully.
“I’m thinking maybe tables over booths from here on out.”
His chest clenched at the suggestion that they’d be doing this again, even as her eyes filled with tears. He watched as she brushed them away and continued chattering cheerfully as if nothing had happened. Logan accepted the muffin she handed him, careful not to touch her. Whatever was going on with her, he was determined not to make it worse.
“Two?” Charlotte was holding one scone in each hand.
“Oh, yeah. I thought you could take the extra one with you. For later.”
Her eyes were still watery when she smiled at him, but he’d
take it. Making her smile as much as possible seemed like a reasonable life goal.
“So.” She tucked the second scone back into the bag, then cleared her throat. “You know more about the seedy underbelly of the world than I do. What do you think I should do?”
Logan set down his muffin and clasped his hands on the table. “Well, you were right when you said this is complicated, but maybe not for the reasons you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“You absolutely can press charges against the guy who attacked you. You’d be well within your rights and it might discourage him from doing it again. Maybe. But it wouldn’t keep him off the streets for long and it wouldn’t keep them from just picking another desperate kid to send after you.”
“Wait, what?” Charlotte’s smile had been replaced by a frown. He didn’t like being the one to put it there, but she deserved to know the truth. And she was strong enough to handle it.
“That’s part of why I wanted to talk to you today. To explain to you what I think is going on, and what you need to know to stay safe.”
“Okay.” Her eyes were still serious, but she looked more relaxed. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t know how familiar you are with what we do at Prodigal, but as part of our community outreach, Doc and I sort of keep tabs on the ‘seedy underbelly’ as you called it. A lot of the guys, myself included, have the kind of pasts we’d like to forget, but sometimes that’s impossible. Sometimes, they follow us into our new lives.”
Charlotte nodded and took a bite of her scone. She wasn’t running away. Good.
“We think—me and Doc—that probably the kid attacked you as part of an initiation ritual with one of the more violent biker gangs in the state. They don’t usually operate this far south of Mobile, but I know who they are. And they know me.”
“Because of your past.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, so what does this mean for me?”
Logan hesitated, wishing he could leave this part out. Or have Doc tell her. Anything to avoid the look of disappointment he was certain was coming his way once he revealed the truth. Her opinion meant a lot to him already, he realized.
Faith by Fire (Prodigal Brothers MC Book 1) Page 5
