Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (9 page)

“Struck a nerve I see,” I hear him say just before I slam the french door shut behind me.

***

I’m actually quite surprised that my stuff hasn’t been set out on the porch when I finally get back to the ranch. Setting the plastic bags down on the wooden porch, I say a quick prayer that Logan hasn’t locked me out. When the handle turns and the door gives, my whole body sighs in relief. Picking up the bags, I try not to fumble into the kitchen like a baby goat and wake Logan up. But when I hear his deep voice come from the shadows of the breakfast nook, I nearly jump out of my skin and totally fail to keep the wooden door from slamming shut.

“Where’ve you been?”

“For the love of all things holy! What are you doing sitting in the dark? You scared the snot out of me!”

He picks up the remote to the TV on the wall opposite him and mutes Ross Anders’ husky report on the Bobcats’ let go of Jared Watkins.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back and I…I didn’t want to leave things the way they were.” Logan leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, a determined look on his face.

Setting the bags on the island, I brush wayward hair out of my face and turn to him, placing my hands on my hips, ready to hold my ground.

“What’s all that?” he asks, nodding toward the overflowing bags.

“I’m going to make some cookies. Did you know that the grocery store in Walker closes at 6 every night? I had to go all the way into the city to get what I needed.”

“Cookies.” His brow deepens in confusion.

“Yeah, cookies. I bake when I…when I’m frustrated.” Those same brows rise in amusement.

“Frustrated.” He leans back in his seat and rubs a hand over his jaw, trying not to smile. “You’re frustrated.”

Turning away from him, I start pulling out the cookie sheet and silicon mats I bought and turn to wash them in the sink. He doesn’t say anything as I set about drying them and preheating the oven.

“You know, I have all that stuff.” His voice softens as he stands and makes his way beside me. “What can I do to help?”

Scoffing, I toss the bag of chocolate chips down a little harder than I intended. “Well, the point of me baking is to healthily get my frustrations out. On my own,” I add in case he missed my point.

His lips twitch, angering me more.

“What?”

“Cookies aren’t exactly what I would call healthy.”

Blinking slowly, I mentally count to ten while I debate demanding that he just go to bed already.

“You know what, never mind.” I think I see his shoulders shake as he makes his way back to the table.

I keep working my magic, stealing chocolate chips and trying really hard not to recognize that he’s watching my every move.

“You don’t need to babysit me. I’m perfectly capable of doing my thing and cleaning up after myself.”

“But what if I want some cookies?”

I nearly burn my hand on my knee-jerk reaction. He just…gah!

“You just pointed out that cookies aren’t exactly healthy. And what makes you think that you’re entitled to any of my goodies?”

His brows rise again in surprised amusement, making me wonder what I said now to cause such a reaction. Realization hits me like a snowball to the face.

“I—I didn’t mean it that way.” Curse you, terrible 2000’s hip hop.

“I’m sure you didn’t. And I don’t feel I’m entitled, but I do feel we need to finish our conversation from earlier.”

This time, my jaw cinches up. I have no intention of finishing our conversation from earlier, so I turn to start throwing all my measuring tools into the sink. Ignoring Logan’s ever-present gaze, I turn the water on and run a sink full of soapy water. Just as I’m about to turn the water off, he steps up beside me, a dish towel in hand. I consider glaring at him but when he picks up the teaspoon I just washed and starts drying it, I decide he can talk all he likes. Not like I’m going to share my story to him tonight.

“Cassady and I were pretty serious. I met her when I first got Hank and took him in to get him neutered. She took such great care of him and I was totally smitten for the little guy…we just clicked.” I notice him swallow, but I don’t say anything. “We dated for a couple of years, she never moved in or anything like that, but…I had a ring.”

He stops talking after that.

“What happened?” Irritation still laces my voice when I see his eyes narrow on the bowl he has over-dried.

“I realized she wasn’t someone I could trust.” The finality in his tone tells me that’s all I’m getting.

I pull the plug out of the sink and turn to remove the cookies out of the oven. Grabbing a spatula out of a jar next to the stove, I mull his words over. Trust. That’s what it boiled down to. If I was a betting person, I’d lay down serious money that’s his problem with me. Well with reporters in general, but I’m the one here, in his home, trying to pry details of his life out of him like they’re trade secrets. He doesn’t trust me to not report a scandal that may or may not be there. And judging by the evasiveness with which he’s approached nearly every subject I’ve thrown at him, the possibility of there being one is pretty high.

I make quick work of moving the cookies to a plate to cool and turn to face Logan. His hip propped up against the counter, his chiseled arms crossed over the tight heather gray t-shirt, his eyes dark and hooded. Sighing I lean against the counter.

“I was a freshman in college when I met Danny. He was in my algebra class and we hit it off after a study session. From that moment on, we were practically inseparable. Well, at least until I started working for the paper my sophomore year. When I got on there, I immediately signed up for every game or school event that involved the team. I weathered every game, rain or shine. I thought he admired that about me—my dedication to my field. He proposed after homecoming our junior year and I thought it was truly meant to be. Then I signed on to help some sports medicine majors do an investigation on the school’s team staff. It consumed most of the rest of my junior year, and by the time the article released, I had weeks before summer break. The article earned me a spot interning for a major sports network my senior year. I traveled—a lot. I ended up doing most of my classwork on-line and was home most weeks long enough to do laundry, catch dinner with him, and maybe get a nap in. For three months straight I lived out of my suitcase.”

Running my hands down denim clad thighs, I fight back the memories of the panic attack I had that night. “I was just wrapping up a four-day stretch of games. They were local enough that I thought Danny would have made time to make at least one of them. But he never showed, and by the time I stuck the key in the door to our apartment, I was spent and ready for some time with him. When I opened that door, the place was empty. White walls with tiny pinprick holes in them, dusty carpet that was in dire need of a shampooing, empty cabinets and drawers.”

The slight tensing of Logan’s biceps pulls me from the mental image of walking into the empty apartment. Taking a deep breath, I finish my story.

“The only items in the entire place were a worn football signed by Tom McArden that Walt had given me a few months after I came to live with them and a note.”

Picking up the plate, I offered a cookie to Logan. He glances down at the plate, stormy eyes asking me if I’m seriously going to end my story with that.  He reluctantly picks up a cookie and holds it up with a smirk. “I’ll come back to the fact that you have a football signed by the legendary Tom McArden. What did the note say?”

“It said that the football was all I truly cared about and that it was the only thing I really needed.”

Logan stops the cookie from entering his mouth and narrows his eyes. “He took everything else.”

“Everything. Didn’t even leave what clothes that I had left there. Which sounds weird, but…” Shrugging, I stuff a cookie in my mouth. The first time I had to tell that story, I cried all over Walt’s shoulder. He let me too, apologizing for the man who had broken my heart. But now…now it doesn’t hurt at all because Danny was right. The only thing I needed was football. And Walt. As long as I had both them, my life was perfectly complete.

Logan finally takes a bite of his cookie, completely baffled until the deliciousness of the cookie registers. “These are…amazing!” He tosses the rest of the cookie in his mouth and reaches for another, but something comes over me and I smack his hand away. Shocked eyes find mine before an delighted smile crosses his face.

“What? You said yourself that cookies aren’t healthy. You don’t want to lose that exquisite figure of yours, now do you?”

His lips press together in an attempt to suppress his smile. “Alright. I hear you.” He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. He exhales a slow breath, eyes fixed on the ground while he mentally processes everything I just told him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and timid.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” I wipe my hands again, feeling uncomfortable with his genuine sincerity.

“No, I do. I pressed you to talk about something that had to be tremendously painful. I’m sorry I pressed the matter.”

I try to suppress my own smile. “It’s not like I haven’t been doing the same to you. But can I ask, will you ever tell me what happened for you to lose trust in Cassady?”

The storm in his eyes settles, giving him an exhausted look. “Not tonight.” He pushes off the counter and walks past me, giving me a thoughtful smile. “Good night, Allie. Thank you for the goodies.”

As he steps into the living room, his bare feet padding quietly on the hardwood floor, I think I see his smile turn coy. Something about watching him walk away causes a sense of achievement to spring deep inside. I might actually earn enough of his trust to learn the truth behind Cassady. Something else blooms inside me too when I realize that I want to know what happened, but not because I want to report it.

But so that I don’t ever break any trust he has in me.

Chapter Nine

I’m beginning to love the mornings here on the ranch. It could be the overstuffed down comforter that wraps me in its warm embrace. Or the hypnotic way the wide paddle ceiling fan twirls slowly, sending a perfectly cool breeze across my cheeks, making me feel like I’ve fallen asleep on the beach. Or it could be the cheerful chorus of birds that sounds oddly enough like a song straight from Disney’s
Cinderella.
But each morning I wake up feeling refreshed and renewed, like I can take on the world.

But then I run into Logan in the kitchen and suddenly I barely have enough patience and energy to take him on. And after our weird conversations last night, I don’t know what mood to expect him in.

Which is why I decide to tiptoe my way into the kitchen this morning.

If I’m being completely honest, I half expect to find him in there stealing a cookie when he should be downing another one of his ridiculously gross looking smoothies. What I find instead is totally not anything I would have ever expected.

“Have you ever seen him leave cookies lying around like this?” Emma whispers to her mother, who is pulling the trash out of a can hidden in one of the lower level cabinets.

“No. Never.”

Emma picks up the plate and inspects the cookies, looking for what, I’m not sure.

“I made them. Last night.” I step out from behind the wall I might have been hiding behind and give the women a shy smile.

“Allie, honey. I hope we didn’t wake you.” Jillian’s surprise catches me off guard. She looks like I’m the last person she expected to see in her son’s kitchen.

“Oh, no. I…I’m still trying to get used to the time difference here. It’s still 6 am back home, so.” I shrug and nod at the cookies. “Please, have one.”

Emma smiles wickedly and picks up a cookie, shoving it in her mouth before anyone can tell her otherwise. A moan escapes her throat and I can’t help but giggle.

“These are amazing.” Emma holds the plate toward Jillian, her mouth unabashedly full of cookie.

“That’s what your brother said. They’re not my best, but they turned out okay for what I had to work with.”

Two sets of brown eyes stare at me with the oddest look of awe.

“Logan ate cookies?” Emma’s shock makes me chuckle.

“Just one. I wouldn’t let him have any more.”

Jillian shakes her head as she picks up a replacement bag for the trash. “I’m surprised he allowed sweets in his house at all.”

“Well, he didn’t know I was going to make them until I just showed up with the stuff to do so.”

Emma picks up a second cookie and steps away from the plate, determination to keep away from the rest of the batch warring with her obvious desire to consume the whole plate.

“What do you mean, ‘showed up with the stuff’? Didn’t he have the ingredients here?” Jillian slides the can back under the counter and turns to a pad of paper and a pen on the island.

“Oh, I don’t know. I, um…” Feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck, I reach for my own cookie and take a quick bite. “I bake when I get upset, so I just left and got what I needed.”

Jillian puts the pen down and slumps back against the sink. “When you get upset.”

“What did Logan do now?” Emma asks as she picks up a bottle of Windex and sprays down the windows of the breakfast nook.

Tossing the rest of the cookie in my mouth, I cross my arms over my too big tshirt. “Well, we…we both kind of pushed each others buttons last night.”

Jillian’s momma temper flares in her eyes and I know that Logan is in for a good talking to just as soon as she can get her hand on him. Where is he anyway?

“What buttons of yours did he push?” One thin eyebrow climbs up her smooth forehead and I suddenly feel bad for Logan.

“It’s really nothing. I—”

Emma clears her throat. Over Jillian’s shoulder, I see Emma’s eyes dart toward her mother before coming back to me and shaking her head.

“What buttons did he push, Allie?” Jillian’s stern tone tells me she’s had to use it in regard to Logan a time or two.

“Nothing serious. I was trying to get some information for the article, but he would only answer if I would answer my own questions so when I asked him about Cassady, he—”

Emma’s chin drops to her chest as she sighs at the same time that Jillian’s nostrils flare.

“So you know about Cassady, then?” Jillian asks in a strict tone.

“Well, I was here when she dropped Hank off, so I got to meet her. By the way she picked my bones with her eyes, I figured there were some unresolved feelings for Logan there. So…” I swallow and suddenly wish it were Logan standing in place of his mother. I think I’d rather be on the receiving end of his arbitrary mood swings than to be here under Jillian’s raging glare.

“And what did Logan tell you about Cassady?” Jillian’s head tilts back just a bit as if she’s bracing herself for whatever I’m about to tell her. Emma’s wandering gaze stops on me as she awaits the answer herself. Well, it seems our dear Logan keeps things from his own family, too.

Glad it’s not just me.

“He just said that they were serious until he realized he couldn’t trust her anymore. That’s all he was willing to give me in exchange for a cookie, so…”

“So you bribed him with cookies?” Emma stiffles a chuckle and I wish I had thought of that idea last night.

“No, but now that you mention it.” Emma goes back to washing the windows, but Jillian is a woman on a mission.

“So how did his response about Cassady upset you?”

“It didn’t, because he didn’t give me a response until after I had started making the cookies. No, he…he, um, asked about my most recent serious relationship.”

I pick up another cookie even though my appetite is long gone. When I finally get the courage to look back at Jillian, she’s wearing the sincerest of apologetic smiles.

“And he pushed for an answer when you didn’t want to give one.” Sucking in her bottom lip, she turns and picks up the full trash bag, making quick work to the back door.

“Like I said, we pushed each other last night. He’s not totally to blame.” I don’t know why I feel like I should defend him, but it’s out there floating in the tense atmosphere before I can take it back.

Jillian stops with her hand on the handle to the back door. When her rich, chocolate eyes meet mine a sad smile plays on her face, but she doesn’t say a word as she opens the door and steps outside.

***

As it turns out, Logan doesn’t seem to trust anyone. The whole reason his mother and sister have been meandering through the house is because he won’t hire a housekeeper. He covers Emma’s dorm tuition in the city in exchange for her weekly appearance to clean his house for him and do his grocery shopping. After last night’s conversation and watching the devotion for his family the night we were at their farm, I’m not all that surprised. Jillian just happened to want to spend time with her daughter while she was out for summer break, which is what Jillian had claimed when I didn’t ask, but when Jillian went to tidy up Logan’s study Emma said she wanted to make sure that Logan was holding up his offer to let me stay here.

That thought makes me chuckle as I excuse myself back to my room to work on the article. My chuckles die quickly though when I realize that I don’t have a lot to go on. So I spend the next three hours playing our recorded conversations over and over again until I could almost quote them. Shortly after I move to the floor to spread out my notes, Hank appears and plants himself as close to my crossed legs as he can get. It didn’t take him long to get just so bored with my conversations with Logan that he falls asleep. Now that he’s snoring something horrible, I wish I actually had the heart to kick him out while I try to get creative.

A knock on my door frame is a welcome distraction until Emma gives me a weird look.

“I didn’t know you wear glasses.” She leans against the door frame, politely not entering my space.

“Only when I have to stare at a computer screen until my eyeballs want to jump out of my head I do.” I pull the oversized tortoiseshell specs off my face and rub the ache out of the spot between my brows. “Please, come in.”

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt. I was just going to see if you needed anything washed. I’m working on Logan’s laundry now.”

I think I just fell in love with Logan’s sister. “You do not have to do my laundry for me. But I appreciate it.”

“I don’t mind at all. I do all of Logan’s, so.” She shrugs and gives me a full smile, adorable dimples and all.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you show me where the laundry room is and how to work everything.”

“Deal.”

Sharp, tiny little needles prick at my legs when I gently push Hank away and try to stand. Trying not to fall on my face and make a complete fool of myself, I hobble across the room and gather up an armful of my dirty clothes before I get full feeling back into my legs. Finally shaking the last of the sleepiness away, I follow a chuckling Emma to a little room opposite the gym I’ve never noticed before. It takes a little while for me to get her instructions, but after I finally get the machine to start cleaning my clothes, I lean up against the wall next to the door and watch as Emma folds a bunch of t-shirts and gym shorts, the pile is almost so high that it could topple over any second.

“You do a lot for your brother.”

She shrugs and gives me a content smile. “He does a lot for me and my family. I don’t mind helping him out where I can.”

“Logan says that you’re a PR and marketing major. Can I ask what made you want to get into something like that?”

She chokes out a laugh and gives me a “are you serious?” look. “I have two brothers who are walking disasters when it comes to public relations. Someone needs to keep their butts out of trouble.”

That brings me a smile to my face until I realize I have no idea what she means by that in regards to Drew. With Logan, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand the man would rather gouge out his eyes with a spork than talk to the media about himself. But with Drew, he’s always seemed to be one to not mind the attention. Before I can verbalize any of my questions though, she asks one of her own.

“So how long are you planning on staying here? At the ranch, I mean.”

“Oh, well, I’m actually supposed to fly out to some town upstate tomorrow. There’s this high school prodigy that is walking on as A&M’s star quarterback at seventeen. Apparently he was able to get his diploma a whole year early and finally signed with A&M last week. I’m supposed to meet up with him and the head coach for a blog post on Saturday. Then I’ll come back on Sunday. But if the inn’s back up and accepting guests, I’ll stay there instead.”

I smell him just before I hear his deep voice. “They just had the electrical updated, but the necessary renovations aren’t done yet. Hey, Em.”

I don’t know if I’m supposed to be disappointed that he checked with them already or relieved. “Oh, okay.”

She gives him a pointed look that I try to ignore. She picks up the basket she just piled all his clothes into and starts to excuse herself through the door that Logan and I are blocking. She reaches up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. “I’m almost finished. Just need to put these away.”

“I can do that. Just put the basket on my bed.”

She adjusts so that she can prop the basket on her hip and free one hand to salute him. His normally impassive expression twists in amusement as she walks away, the look fading as he turns his attention back to me and my uncomfortable fidgeting.

“I called when you didn’t come right back last night,” he explains as he crosses those gigantic arms over his chest. The skin-tight Under Armour shirt he just so happens to be wearing shows off every muscle, every chiseled line of definition. To say just watching him stand there is intoxicating and ridiculously distracting would be putting it mildly.

I don’t mean to push out my chest as I inhale deeply, but the movement catches his attention. So I mimic his stance and cross my arms too.

“It’s not a big deal.” It actually is. I’ve wasted a week already and I have nothing. I need interviews with Logan and quotes from at least another half a dozen people from this tiny little town I’ve barely seen.

One wide hand runs through his unstyled hair as he blows out a slow breath. “How’s the article going?” His curious eyes look at me, hoping that I say “well” screaming from depths of his blue-green eyes.

“Um, well…”

An apologetic smile pulls at his lips. “That good, huh?”

My own hands find my rat’s nest of hair, fingers tangling in the strands I just pulled back and left in a mess on top of my head. “Honestly? I still have about twenty questions I had hoped to get through by today.”

“How about I do my best to get through as many of them as I can tonight? Can you be ready around 6?”

His question sounds suspicious. “I think I can manage.”

He smiles shyly and turns to leave. I start to follow him, but he abruptly stops again, causing me to nearly plow right into him. Catching my shoulders this time, he sets me on my two feet and leans back so he can look me in the eyes. Without removing his hands, his tone softens and I think I might melt.