Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (23 page)

My heartbeat steadily spikes to alarming rates as we all say our goodnights and disperse to our own vehicles. The moment Logan shuts my door I feel the confines of the truck cab start to cave in on me. By the time he gets in and starts the truck, I feel the beginnings of a panic attack brewing. I can’t get the window to roll down and fresh air to fill my lungs fast enough.

“Allie, what’s wrong?” He stops the truck from pulling out of its parking spot.

“I think the fireworks got to me.” And not the ones that exploded in the sky.

“What do you need?” The panic in his voice is barely masked by his need to help.

“Just to breathe. I’ll be fine. Let’s go home.”

He nods, but my choice of words strikes another nerve within.

Like a sucker punch to the chest, everything suddenly makes sense.

The fear. The attraction. The empty feeling in my gut.

I miss home. But it’s not the apartment in California I miss. It’s the feeling of family I had when I first moved in with Maggie and Walt. It’s the feeling of belonging and feeling like had a role to fill in our little family. The feeling like I was needed and wanted, loved and cherished.

That would explain the attraction to Logan. He has his own ways, albeit almost always completely contradictorily, of making me feel wanted. Even though he has fought to keep me at arm’s length, he specifically asked for me to write the article. The way he listens to the smallest of details about my hopes and dreams, and then uses them to open up to me. The way he grabs my hand or places his own on my back when we’re in a crowd, like he doesn’t want to lose sight of me.

But I can’t feel the same way about him. The very essence of our current circumstances forbids me to allow myself to have anything more than a professional curiosity of him. Showing any kind of an emotional attachment to him could ruin my integrity and ultimately my career. Not to mention that I’ve put my heart out there so many times and all it’s ever gotten me is brokenness and loneliness. My heart is already too frail, and when he crushes it—because he will—I’ll have nothing left but an empty shell.

So as he drives us back to his ranch, I gulp in the fresh country air and make my resolution.

I have walls I need to reconstruct. I have to guard my heart and I have to put myself first.

Because falling for Logan and his family will only break me.

Chapter Twenty

The sun peeks through the curtains and I roll over for the millionth time since I first laid my head on my pillow five hours ago. I tried everything to get my mind to slow down long enough for me to fall asleep. I checked all my favorite blogs, even some I don’t like, read every article that even mentions the word football, but nothing could take my mind off the moment Logan’s lips almost met mine.

I didn’t leave an opportunity for us to talk about what that almost kiss meant last night. As soon we got back to the ranch, I made myself scarce, but in the shadows of the night, my mind played out every possible scenario. After several different dreams where I skipped back to the part where his warm, calloused hands crept up my face and wrapped his fingertips in my hair, the abandon in his eyes throwing caution to the wind and those full lips would have met mine,  I forced myself awake and to get a grip on reality. Although every rational thought in my brain tells me I’m lucky that we didn’t actually kiss, my body and heart are singing different tunes. Both crave the attention and both are longing for the type of affection Logan could offer. And because my heart and my mind are at war with each other, sleep never truly takes me under.

My ears perk just like Hank’s when I hear clanging in the kitchen. Throwing the covers off me, I jump up and rush around to hop in the shower. Thirty minutes later, the delightful smell of bacon wafts into my room and I rush through getting ready, throwing on some running shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt over my tank. I braid my hair across the top of my head, ensuring that the little hairs framing my face stay put during my run and grab my running shoes before heading to the kitchen for water. My stomach is rumbling, but one would think that with the amount of calories I consumed last night, I wouldn’t be so hungry. I guess when I take into consideration the fact I danced to the point of losing my mind and almost kissing the object of my assignment, I shouldn’t be surprised about my appetite this morning. The scent of sizzling bacon doesn’t help matters, either.

Just as I’m about to round the corner, I hear the back door open and Travis’s obnoxious laugh along with about half a dozen sets of clompy boots enter the kitchen.

“Mornin’, boss. Have a good night?” Travis asks, causing the snickers to start.

“Gentlemen. Anyone hungry?” Logan’s cool tone is clear, he’s not taking anyone’s crap this morning. I stop just as the wall ends, keeping to the security of being unseen, not sure if I want to walk in on this just yet.

“Oh yeah. Got any extra hot, young blondes on the menu?” a voice I don’t recognize retorts.

“Yeah, boss, I saw you sizzling up the dance floor with Miss Allie last night. Looks like the two of you were getting pretty cozy.” More laughs from the peanut gallery.

“Logan doesn’t get cozy, guys. He gets things done.” Travis’s innuendo causes an uproar that makes me want to round the corner and start swinging at smug faces.

A metal spatula hits something hard, a frying pan maybe, and the chortles stop abruptly. I jump at the sound and can feel the tension radiating through the wall.

“I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep the endless commentary that you all seem to have on my life to yourselves today.”

“What’s wrong, boss? Allie not put out—” Travis’s voice stops abruptly and I start to turn around until I hear the threat in Logan’s voice.

“You will
not
talk about her like that. In fact, if you want to stay and earn your paychecks, any and all of your remarks about Miss Mooreland will be kept to yourself from here on out. Is that understood?”

A chorus of “yes, sir” comes from the entire crew. Logan’s fierce protection of my dignity makes me smile, but scares me at the same time. I need to keep the line between us thick and impassable.  Filling my lungs full of resolve, I square my shoulders and turn the corner.

And feel my lungs deflate like a balloon.

Every moment I spend with Logan Lassiter causes me to see him in a different light. This morning is no exception. His touseled hair and thin five o’clock shadow are telltale signs that he got about as much sleep as I did. And the consuming fire that was in his eyes last night is now a single flame, still burning, still holding out hope for what I know can never be.

“Mornin’, Allie.” The kid from the auction greets me, pulling my gaze from Logan’s.

“Morning, Dean. Gentlemen.” I politely nod at the rest of the group now gaping at me from various spots around the large kitchen.

“You’re up awfully early.” Travis starts to give me a snarky smile, but Logan’s quick draw keeps me from saying anything.

“That’s enough.” Logan’s stone cold stare hits Travis and he wipes the smirk off his face and retreats with a plate full of food to the table in the dining room, mumbling a half-hearted apology as he passes me.

“I’m just getting a water bottle. I’ll be out of your way in a moment.” I reach into the fridge and do my best not to look anyone in the eye, but my stomach betrays me and growls so loudly it could do voice overs for
The Lion King
.

“Here. I saved you a plate.” I would have caught Logan’s tender voice in a stadium of obnoxious Rattler fans. It physically hurts to keep my eyes from meeting his.

“Thank you, but I’m going to work out before I eat.” I see his shoulders slump out of the corner of my eyes and I consider yanking the plate from his hand just to appease his downtrodden mood.

“Okay, well. It’ll be in the oven whenever you’re ready. But you know you shouldn’t work out on an empty stomach.” He puts the plate down on the counter and stretches out to reach into a cabinet and pull out a protein bar for me. “Eat this. You’ll probably burn through it quickly though, so…”

So don’t stay away too long. He doesn’t have to say it, but I get the message and it hurts to take it in.

The problem, Mr. Lassiter, is that as much as I’d love to hang around, fall into those arms and let you sweep me off my feet, I can’t risk the integrity of my work by doing so.

“Okay, thanks.” I turn, stopping only to finish pulling a water out of the fridge. Before I can make my final escape, he stops me once again.

“Are you coming out today?”

“I’m actually going back into town to help with more clean up. And get a few quotes, if the opportunity arises,” I add in a stern tone. He isn’t going to stop me from getting what I need. The sooner I can finish this article, the better. For both of us.

“Oh, okay.”  His lack of demanding I do no such thing, throws me off guard and I finally do meet his eyes. His face is completely expressionless, but those eyes…he’s struggling.

“Allie, can we, um, talk tonight?

“I don’t think there’s much to—”

“For the article, I mean.”

“Oh.” Yes, the article I am here to write. About him. “Um…sure.”

“I’ll be done around six.”

“Sounds great.”

I turn and start my mantra.

I have a job to do. I have a job to do.

***

Six o’clock arrives much sooner than I’m prepared for.

For starters, I got caught up with the ladies at the shelter and was running late getting back to the ranch. Most had stories about Drew and Logan as boys and how they always knew when some prank was played in the community, Drew was the mastermind while Logan was usually the unwilling accomplice. Sheriff Perry showed up with some of the leftovers from the dance for the shelter and shared a few stories of his own. He had quite the tale of the only time either of the boys did any kind of time in the slammer. The three of them—yes, the good sheriff was ironically involved—had egged Judge Templeton’s house when Logan was about ten. Apparently Sheriff Perry and Drew had convinced Logan that eggs were great for pitching practice because they didn’t break windows. The good judge recommended the boys spend an hour in an empty cell to teach them how drab a career in crime would look like, then he sentenced the boys to cleaning every egg off the windows and siding of his home. Poor little Logan had no clue that hardened egg yolks were hard to clean off windows, but he learned a valuable lesson of not always believing what his big brother tells him.

By the time I make it back to the ranch, Logan is already cleaned up and waiting for dinner. He had texted to have me pick up the order he put in at Lilly’s for burgers and her homemade waffle fries. His soapy scent wafts from where he stands between the living room and kitchen, remote in hand, his attention divided between awaiting my return and whatever James is reporting on his evening edition of my show when I scurry into the kitchen and lay out our dinner on the island.

“I’m sorry. I got caught up at the shelter.” I give him a half-hearted smile and step around the island to head to my room. “I’m going to go change really quick. Got some of Mable’s cherries jubilee all over my shirt earlier. Man, that stuff is so delicious.”

A hint of a grin pulls at his mouth and I force myself not to stop and stare. Knowing I can’t really afford to waste any of the time that Logan will willingly talk to me, I shed my t-shirt and pull a fitted hoodie on and exchange my jeans for a pair of shorts. I grab my notebook and pen and check my face to make sure that I’m not rocking leftover dessert anywhere else. When I get back to the kitchen, the food and Logan are missing.

“Out here,” Logan calls through the open patio door. I step out and see he has set out our dinner on the table and is unceremoniously waiting for me. “Thought it was too nice a night to not enjoy it.” He points his hand at the seat across from him, as if to tell me to have at the burger and fries sitting in front of me.

“I thought you go on a cleanse after the annual square dance?”

His brows twist in confusion as he bites into his burger.

“Your sister made a comment—” he makes an annoyed face and I stop myself. “Never mind.”

“If you must know, I ordered a turkey burger and steamed broccoli.” He pops the lid on the small Styrofoam container beside him to show me his vegetable of choice.

“Ah. See, now that I should have expected,” I joke, trying to kick the elephant in the room off the patio.

“I can’t cleanse this week anyway. I have conditioning and camp this weekend.”

“Right. Just so you know, I’ve been asked to accompany you.” Logan stops with a mouthful of turkey burger to stare at me. “Well, I just mean, I’ve been asked to be at the training facilities while you’re there. Inman wants to show me how well you interact with the staff, or something like that.” I stumble over my words worse than a when Jimmy is sent a rouge snap.

“I see.” Logan leans back in his seat, wiping his mouth, his eyes watching my every movement. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing remarkable about how I interact with my coaches and team. I’m actually the quietest guy on the field.”

That doesn’t surprise me. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants me to report. ‘Logan’s exceptionally polite and takes every bit of instruction to heart, adjusting his every move to reflect just how coachable he is.’”

“Something like that.” He picks his burger back up and gives it his full attention.

“I can see you being that way, though.” He doesn’t look at me again, which is fine because I’ve started downing waffle fries like they’re the best thing since sliced bread. Lilly sure does know how to do waffle fries right.

We eat in silence until Logan’s dinner is long gone and I’m left to stare at half a double cheeseburger that I yearn to finish but have absolutely no room for. A breeze blows the wind chimes on the front porch and the faded melody mixes with the occasional moo and bird chirp. When another gust blows and rustles the wrappers and boxes, nearly blowing them off the table, Logan gets up to discard our trash.

“Would you like me to save that for later for you?” He stops and looks down at me, his body a mere few inches from me. When I find myself looking up at him, I feel a sense of protection in his stance. Like he’d walk through fire to make sure that I never have to endure a hardship. It’s relaxing and unnerving at the same time.

“No, I’m good.”

I turn my head and stare out at the field to keep the war going on inside from being noticeable. The wind is starting to pick up and the light cloud coverage starts to gain momentum, allowing thicker, slightly darker clouds to start to take their place. Something about the way the grass dances in the field reminds me about the night before. How it felt to be wrapped up in Logan’s secure arms, held so close that I knew there would be nobody trying to interrupt us. He made me feel like I was floating. Floating around a tent lit by twinkly lights and full of people who were taking a quick break from their troubles to celebrate the freedoms of our great nation.

But I can’t afford to float around with Logan anymore. I have a job to do. So when he returns, I adjust to face him, notebook in front of me and pen poised and ready to go. I turn on the recorder app on my phone and steady myself to put my game face on and get through our little interview.

“Before we get started, I want you to know our previous arrangement still stands. You’ll be answering your own questions again.” I think I see enjoyment flash through those eyes of his, but I ignore it.

“So tell me about this time in jail you did when you were ten.”