Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  “Where the heck did that come from?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I grew up by this pond. What did you expect?”

  “Not that.”

  She smiled. “My dad and I used to skip rocks all the time.”

  “He ever teach you to throw a baseball?”

  Though she didn’t answer, her smile grew as she started walking along the muddy shoreline. “So which house are you moving into?”

  Greg’s curiosity was fully piqued. Miss Carrie Ashworth played baseball. And from the gage of that throw, pretty dang well. Then he remembered. Zach lost his baseball in that raid—his dad’s baseball. How often had Carrie played with Zach and her dad? Greg would pester Zach about that another time. For now he looked through the fog up her hill. He hadn’t planned on telling her which house he was moving into, but then he’d miss seeing her reaction.

  He pointed. “That one there.”

  She followed his gaze and went rigid. The house he’d chosen was directly across the street from hers.

  “Too close for comfort?” he guessed.

  Though her lips didn’t answer, her panicked expression did. Sure, the introvert might have a crush on him that came and went depending on the day, but not enough that she wanted him living across the street from her, invading her space.

  “Don’t get all excited,” he said. “I was just tryin’ to get as far from Jeff and my grandma as possible. You’re halfway in between, so unless you wanna give up your house, I’ll take the one across the street.”

  She sighed. “Have you found a good spot to fish yet? I can’t be gone too long.”

  “This spot’s as good as any,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Prepare to be wowed.”

  “Okay. But…where’s your pole?”

  The pole? Shoot.

  Thinking fast, he grabbed the slingshot from his back pocket, glad he’d shoved it in there before leaving the house.

  She gave him a cynical look. “You’re going to teach me to fish with that? I don’t think I can shoot it, let alone aim it at a moving target under water. Why can’t you just use a fishing pole like normal people?”

  “Since when have I been a normal?”

  “True, but still…a slingshot?”

  “Tell you what. When you find twenty feet of twine and a sturdy branch, I’ll teach you to fish the old fashion way. For now, watch and learn.”

  She still looked skeptical. Quite skeptical, actually, and he decided Carrie was a lot smarter than he gave her credit. He’d caught every one of those other fish with his grandpa’s fishing pole, but he wasn’t about to let her call his bluff—especially after she killed him skipping rocks.

  Bending down, he found four small stones, spherical this time. He dropped the first in his slingshot pouch. Pulling back the rubber, he fired a practice rock into the water. Like expected, it angled downward, piddling toward the pond floor. Needless to say, he and his mom hadn’t eaten much fish coming north. So he decided to stall—or actually, get to the point.

  “What’d Oliver say yesterday?” he asked. “Besides the sweep.”

  “He said you asked him to help with the marriage license, and that he might also be the one to marry them, which is really great.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

  So Oliver hadn’t told her about his little predicament at work. Greg wasn’t surprised. Oliver worried that if Carrie found out, she’d insist on giving everything back, which she would. Hopefully Oliver was trying Greg’s suggestion. It was risky, but in Greg’s mind, the guy didn’t have many options. Oliver had to pull the plug on that Jamansky guy once and for all before Jamansky took them all down.

  But…that still left question number two unanswered.

  He dropped another stone in the pouch. “Did Oliver…ask you out?”

  She jerked up. “What?”

  “That’d be a big fat no.” For all the time Greg spent coaching him, the guy could have at least tried.

  Oliver!

  “Why would Oliver ask me out?” Carrie said, anger rising. “Greg?”

  He studied the lazy water. “‘Cause I told him to.”

  thirty-nine

  EVERYTHING WENT SILENT behind Greg. He turned.

  Predictably, Carrie’s mouth hung agape and her eyes were stuck in the open position.

  “In my defense,” Greg said, “he’s been wantin’ to ask you out for a while. I just gave him the courage to try. Or at least, I thought I did. What exactly did he say about the wedding?”

  “Just that he’d find a way to make it official,” Carrie said. “He also said you invited him to dinner after, which was very nice, but that’s it.”

  “Did he offer to pick you up?”

  She went deer-in-the-headlights on him.

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You said, ‘Oh, that’s okay, Oliver. It’s only three houses away. I can walk.’”

  Her hands flew to her mouth. “He was asking me out?”

  “You’re killin’ me here. Seriously. Both of you might as well dig my grave and throw me in right now. Tell me you at least offered to eat with him, dance with him, somethin’?”

  Her expression hardened. “Why do you keep butting into my love life?”

  “Maybe I’m sick of Oliver checkin’ out the competition.” He grinned just to make her cheeks color.

  They did.

  “Why…how…” Her eyes darkened. “What did you do?”

  He fired another useless pebble into the pond. “Bein’ the smart guy that I am, I just mentioned how my girlfriend’s clan back in North Carolina designed this kinda barricade or that. After a few times of hearin’ Nicole’s name, Oliver opened up and started talkin’ about you.”

  Her soft lashes lowered. “Like what?”

  “He asked if you ever talked about him. I assured him you did—though I left off the part where you about told him to take a flyin’ leap last week.”

  She chucked a pebble at him. It hit his arm with surprising force.

  “Wow,” he said, glancing down. “I’m seriously impressed with that arm of yours. That actually hurt.”

  She paled. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t mean to. I just…”

  He rolled his eyes. She still had a long ways to go.

  “Anyway,” he said, “Oliver asked if I thought he had a chance with a girl like you. He thinks you’re out of his league—which you are—and that he’s too old for you—which he is—but I told him to go for it anyway.”

  She started along the muddy shoreline again, careful with each step to keep from sliding into the stagnant pond. “Are you sure he thinks it’s a…”

  “Date?” Greg supplied when she couldn’t. “He wanted it to be. You better hope he still thinks it is. Would you have said yes had you known?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “I guess.”

  He studied her less-than-enthusiastic response, disliking it for more than one reason. “Why are you tellin’ everybody you wanna date Oliver when you obviously don’t?”

  “I did—I mean, I do. Never mind. I’ll shut up so you can fish.”

  Greg followed her, feeling another of his great plans unravel. Oliver would never buy a half-interested Carrie. Not only that, but Greg had stalked her this morning for nothing. Although being with Carrie wasn’t all bad. His grandparents’ house had become a flurry of emotion. Between his mom dying and getting married, his grandma hadn’t done anything but cry from grief and cry from joy. He couldn’t take any more. But he’d never seen Carrie cry. Not during his jerky days, and not even with the whole Jeff mess, which made her a safe bet on the morning of his mom’s wedding.

  Safe.

  That’s the word Greg had been looking for. Carrie wasn’t sweet. She wasn’t perfect—or maybe she was both, but he didn’t particularly like that about her. But she was the least pushy person he knew. It took very little effort to make her hate him, which came in handy for a guy like him. Yes. Carrie was definitely safe.

  She rubbed the morning chill from her arms. �
��What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I feel different about Oliver? It’s not like I’m trying to be picky.”

  “No kiddin’,” he said. “From what I heard, you even considered me for a bit.”

  “Exactly.”

  He laughed, happy to see Carrie growing a spine.

  “You know,” she said, “I decided the other day that if I could combine Oliver, Braden, and you, I’d have the perfect man.”

  Greg cocked a brow. “Braden, eh? I didn’t know he was in the running.”

  She spun around so fast she nearly slipped on the mud. Her fair skin couldn’t begin to contain her embarrassment, and he decided she wouldn’t be half as fun with a different complexion.

  “He’s not,” she said. “He’s too young and Amber’s completely in love with him. But if he was a few years older, I’m not sure I’d be nice enough to stay away from him. That guy is something else.”

  “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You take a little bit of Oliver, a little Braden, add a dash of Greg, and voila…Carrie’s perfect man?”

  The coloring in her cheeks grew. “I don’t think this spot is good for fishing. I’ll check the other side.” Then she took off, practically running to escape his question.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, following.

  She shook her head. “Why do I always end up having conversations with you that I shouldn’t, Greg?”

  “And who should you be talkin’ to? My grandma? Little Jeffrey? Near as I can tell, they’re your only friends around here.”

  She stopped. “Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Growing up I had plenty of friends. At least, I think I did.” She frowned. “It’s just that all the women in our clan are…”

  “Self-centered, bratty gossipers?”

  For a second it looked like she might agree with him, but she was too generous to admit it. In typical Carrie fashion, she placed all the blame on herself. However, he didn’t want to shut the small window the introvert had cracked open—a window she rarely opened for anybody, let alone him. So he tried again.

  “So…a little Oliver,” he said, “a little Braden, add a heaping cup of Greg, and out pops Carrie’s perfect man?”

  She sighed. “Something like that. Any chance a guy like that exists?”

  “He’d be a strange sorta mutant, but I guess you can dream. What does Oliver contribute to the beast?”

  “That’s easy,” she said, smiling. “I’d take Oliver’s goodness. He’s the most generous person I know.”

  “Debatable, but for the male population at least. And Braden?”

  Without warning, she whirled around and shoved a finger in his face. “If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Greg, I’ll burn your new house down with you in it. Do you understand?”

  With her blue eyes flashing and head tipped back, it occurred to him how beautiful Carrie really was. Depending on the light, her hair waved dark blonde to golden red, and her freckles, which had once been probably deemed ‘cute’, had faded somewhat, adding to her soft charm. He definitely liked her feisty side, and it was hard not to provoke her all the time. Although if she had this much spice, he might be giving Oliver a run for his money. Not that it’d be much of a run.

  “Got it,” he said. “So, what does the mutant get from Braden?”

  “I thought we were supposed to be fishing,” she whined.

  He grabbed another rock and—without aiming his slingshot—fired it into the water. “Oops. I missed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “All the Greg stories I hear, and I bet you can’t hit a thing with that slingshot.”

  “Oh, ho, hold on a sec,” he said. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

  Turning, he whipped out another rock, dropped it in the pouch, aimed, and snapped off a branch twenty yards away. As her brows shot up, he grabbed another rock and spotted his next target.

  “Squirrel for lunch?” he asked.

  She spotted the furry thing scampering up a nearby tree and grabbed his arm. “No, stop! I believe you!”

  “Watch his tail then.”

  Greg pulled his slingshot back and let it fly. The rock skimmed the tip of the fluffy tail, startling the squirrel to high heaven. The squirrel dashed away, terrified, but unharmed.

  Carrie watched long after it disappeared. “How does it work fishing?”

  It didn’t.

  He crept along the water’s edge, slingshot ready, although his eyes were far from alert. “How about I show you after you tell me about Braden.”

  She hugged herself. “I guess Braden has all the personality and charm. You should see him with Amber. He has her wrapped around his little finger.”

  “Maybe he’s charming around you ladies, but around us guys, all that charm goes out the—”

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

  “Alrighty.”

  Without trying to, they made it to the back side of the sprawling pond. He kept pretending to search the cold water as he waited for her to finish the last of their intriguing conversation—the only part he really cared about.

  “So…?” he prompted when she still said nothing.

  “What?”

  “Oh, c’mon, Carrie. What part of me would you use to make your little nonexistent man? And I promise,” he added with a smirk, “I won’t get mad if you say more than one.”

  For a long minute, she didn’t answer. She stared into the fog with a faraway gaze. Her house had vanished along with the rest of the neighborhood, saving them from the rumors that would surely circulate if they were spotted together.

  Finally, she faced him. “I’d take your age.”

  “My age?” he repeated. “Not personality? Not unbelievable charm or my fun-loving nature? But…my age?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I get it.” He shook his finger at her. “You’re messin’ with me. You’re tryin’ to get back at me for all the times I’ve teased you. Clever.”

  Leaning down, he looked into those baby blues of hers, knowing she’d never be able to lie to his face. “You’re tellin’ me the only thing I can offer your little perfect man is my age?”

  She held his gaze steadily. “Yes. Is that bad? Braden’s too young and Oliver’s too old, so I’ll take your age. What are you, twenty-five, twenty-six?”

  He fell back. Flabbergasted. Offended.

  Enraged.

  He started around the pond again at a furious pace. She struggled to keep up. Not that he cared anymore. So much for her being safe. So much for her little crush.

  My freakin’ age!

  “I suppose after the way I’ve treated you, I deserve a slam like that,” he said, “but I thought you knew me better now, at least enough to say I’m good for somethin’ other than my stupid age.”

  She huffed to keep up. “I’m sorry, Greg. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Yeah? Well, you did.”

  “Don’t be mad. What do you think you can offer?”

  “Plenty.” Whirling, he ticked them off on his fingers. “I understand women better than most men—at least I thought I did until now. I got enough charm to blow Braden outta the water, and I was top of my class at UNC. You said yourself I gotta good mind for runnin’ things. I’m a great kisser—though I guess you wouldn’t know that—and I thought I was at least somewhat tolerable to look at.” He paused, struggling to think of something else, but in his agitated state, his mind was too garbled. Still, he tried. “You want me to keep goin’?”

  She laughed. “I guess you could contribute your confidence, although some might call it an ego.”

  “Ego! Are you kiddin’ me? After a slam like that? I can’t believe it. I’ve lost everything. Stupid freakin’ age!”

  As Carrie tried—in vain—to apologize again, he ran through the list. Oliver was nice, Braden had the charm, and Greg was the right age. That was hardly enough to make a perfect man.

  Then he had it.

  In a sudden burst of inspiration, he blurte
d, “You never said which one of us has the looks.”

  She froze, eyes wide in horror.

  A slow smile split his face. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  She ducked her chin. “I think Zach needs breakfast.”

  Then she took off.

  There was no way he was letting her escape. He grabbed her arm and spun her back around. “C’mon, Carrie. I know it’s not Oliver. So who is it? Me or Braden?”

  She answered by diverting her gaze and blushing head to toe—though not in that order.

  “I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “Finally. One redeeming quality.” Carrie was attracted to him–quite a bit from the looks of those cheeks.

  She yanked free. “I hardly call good looks redeeming, Greg. You should be thanking your parents, not yourself.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll take it.”

  He laughed, thrilled to have broken through her deceit. She’d been so convincing, too.

  She started again at a brisk pace. He was only too happy to follow.

  “Which part of me do you like most? Eyes? Hair?” He swept off his Yankees cap and rubbed his mop. “Though in all fairness, my hair’s longer than I like right now. Or how about my smile?” he added, flashing his best one. “Or is it the whole package?” He held out his arms so she could take a good look.

  Her color deepened, if possible. “I can’t believe you can think those things let alone say them out loud.”

  “Hey, bluntness runs in the family. Blame it on the genes.”

  Grinning, he shoved his hat back on. “So you think I’m good-lookin’, huh? What else are you holdin’ out on me? Brains? Brawns?”

  “Would you stop?” she said. “You’re driving me crazy. I think we should talk about something else.”

  “Now when we’re onto somethin’, you wanna change the subject?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk about you then.”

  “No! That’s so much worse.”

  “Relax. I was just gonna ask what you’re wearin’ to the wedding today.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “You did not just ask me that. What are you, a girl?”

  “No. I’m a man, a good lookin’ one of the right age,” he added happily. “Shouldn’t that make me the most qualified to tell you what you look good in?”