Читать книгу The Sheriff's Proposal - Karen Smith Rose - Страница 7

After supper that evening, Meg weeded the flower garden by the front porch. As Lily peered over her shoulder, the older woman said, “I want to plant yellow and orange tulips this year and put pink ones out back.”

“They’ll look pretty in the spring with the daffodils,” Meg responded, her mind on Logan MacDonald, not the flower garden.

Ned pushed himself back and forth on the porch swing, his head covered by a straw hat. “I should go see if Manuel is still tinkering with his truck. Maybe I can learn something.”

“Carmen and the baby are napping,” Lily replied. “I checked them before I came out.”

Meg had looked in on them, too. She’d stood for a long time watching mother and baby, an unfamiliar longing deep inside her.

Suddenly a yellow-striped kitten scampered out from behind a yew and brushed against Meg’s leg. She smiled at Leo, a stray she’d found and befriended soon after she’d returned to Willow Valley.

Ned stood and came to the edge of the porch. “A reporter called from the Willow Valley Courier. He wanted to do an interview with Manuel and Carmen, but they didn’t want to talk to him. They’re very private. I told him to call Logan for the details.”

Meg glanced at her uncle. “I’m hoping we can convince Manuel to stay for a week or so.”

“It’s a shame Logan couldn’t stay for lunch.” Lily cast a quick look at her husband.

“He’s a fine man,” Ned remarked as if on cue.

“Fine” wasn’t quite the way Meg would characterize Logan. Strong. Decisive. Intuitive. “Who’s Travis? I heard Doc ask Logan if he’d heard anything about him.”

Lily tidied a few strands of hair that always came loose from the chignon at her nape. “Travis is Logan’s son. Logan moved his family here about five years ago. From what he’s said and I’ve heard, Travis never liked Willow Valley. Coming from Philadelphia, I guess that was natural. Logan wanted to give him somewhere wholesome to grow up. But Travis wanted none of it.”

“So he ran away?”

Lily exchanged a look with her husband. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

Ned added what he knew. “About a year after they moved, Logan’s wife was in an accident and died. It was tough on the boy. Afterward Travis gave Logan quite a few headaches—coming home late, drinking, grades slipping. Logan was at his wit’s end and tried to get the boy help. But Travis wouldn’t go to the appointments with the counselor. One day about four months ago, he just up and ran off. He’s only sixteen, and Logan’s worried sick.”

“The police are still looking,” Lily explained, “and for the first two months, Logan searched for the boy himself as far as Richmond.”

Meg sat back on her heels, forgetting about the weeds. “Doc mentioned a private investigator.”

Ned grunted. “Logan’s trying everything he can to find Travis.”

Her heart aching, Meg said, “Logan must be in unbearable pain. Not knowing where his son is, imagining the worst. How does he go on?”

“He’s a strong man,” Ned answered.

“A good man,” Lily added.

Ned pushed his hat back on his head. “Rumor has it Logan’s marriage was rocky before Shelley died. But Logan never talks about it.”

Meg couldn’t forget the look in Logan’s green eyes when Doc had asked for news of Travis.

“Are you going to see Logan again?” Her aunt’s tone was filled with eager interest.

“What?” Meg asked dropping her gardening trowel.

“Honey, I can read you like a book. You don’t ask idle questions.”

“Aunt Lily…”

Her aunt laughed. “It would be good for you to get out, go to dinner, date a man.”

“You know dating is the furthest thing from my mind.”

Lily’s smile faded. “I’m worried about you, child. You’re not the same person you were before that terrible man shot you.”

Most of the time Meg tried not to think about it. She just wanted to get over it. The problem wasn’t the shooting. It was the terror, the panic and the trapped feeling that still gripped her sometimes. But she hadn’t had a nightmare in over a week. That was progress. “I’m fine, Aunt Lily. You and Uncle Ned and Willow Valley are all I need.”

“For now,” her aunt pronounced.

Petting Leo, who’d curled in a ball by her knee, Meg decided she wasn’t going to ask what her aunt meant. She didn’t want to know.

The following morning, Logan drove to the Carlsons’ farm. He was curious to see how Manuel and Carmen were faring. He wished he could do something for the young couple, but he knew Manuel wouldn’t accept charity.

He was halfway down the lane when he saw Manuel packing the back of his truck. As he drove closer, he saw Meg standing by the open passenger door. She was gesturing to Manuel and speaking fast while Lily and Ned looked on. Logan could guess what was happening.

He parked on the gravel patch beside the blue compact. Climbing out of his car, he heard Meg speaking to Carmen. All he caught were the words quédese, “stay,” and unos pocos días, “a few days.” Carmen spoke quickly and gestured to her husband. As Logan approached, he could see the tears in the young woman’s eyes.

Stopping beside Meg, he denied the sudden surge of adrenaline rushing through him. “They’re leaving,” he said, summing up the situation.

“Yes, and they shouldn’t. I’ve talked to Manuel till I’m blue. But he won’t listen.”

“Has Carmen tried?”

“She says he’s the head of the family—he makes the final decision. But, Logan, just look at her! She needs rest and care…at least for a few days. Doc wants to make sure Tomás—that’s what they named him—is nursing adequately. But Manuel insists he can’t take advantage of our hospitality.”

The baby in Carmen’s arms wriggled and cried. Carmen looked as if she were close to tears herself.

Meg spoke to her in Spanish. Carmen let her take Tomás. As the baby squirmed, Meg positioned him on her shoulder as naturally as any mother and patted the infant’s back. She looked so…beautiful, standing there like that.

Giving himself a mental shake, Logan said, “I suppose Doc is afraid if they leave, Carmen won’t seek out proper care if she needs it.”

“That, too. But I can’t convince Manuel to stay.” Meg gently rubbed her chin against the baby’s downy black hair.

Logan was gripped by an emotion so strong he knew he had to get away from this woman. “I’ll talk to him.”

Meg took a quick glance at Logan’s broad back as he went to the truck. He’d taken her by surprise when he arrived. She’d never expected he’d come back and check on Carmen and Manuel. Yet maybe with the birth of Tomás, he’d felt involved in their lives, too. It proved one thing about him—he was a caring man. She could never see Todd caring about this young couple, whether they stayed or left. Why hadn’t she seen his selfish streak sooner? Why hadn’t she recognized his self-absorption? His story, his career, his needs, always came first. Actually it was an old pattern, one she’d learned with her parents. But finally, at age twenty-nine, she’d realized in time that her needs mattered, too.

Logan called, “Ned, come here a minute.”

Meg could hear the low rumble of the men’s voices but couldn’t tell what they were saying as they walked toward the barn. When they reemerged, they were all smiling. Manuel came over to Meg and Carmen. “We stay. A little while. If I have work.” He helped his wife from the cab of the truck.

Carmen squeezed Meg’s hand. “Gracias.”

Meg shook her head. “No hicenada especial.”

Carmen gazed at Logan. “Gracias.”

He smiled. “De nada.”

Meg handed Tomás to the young Mexican woman. Manuel put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the house. Lily and Ned followed.

Closing the door of the cab, Meg turned to Logan. “What did you say to him?”

“It was what Ned said. I reminded him of all the machinery that needs a good overhauling and the back field that has to be mowed before winter. Manuel is going to take care of that and, in return for the work, he’ll accept room and board for his family.”

Meg clasped Logan’s arm. “What a wonderful idea!” His skin was hot under hers, the hairs on his forearm rough against her fingers. His green eyes darkened, and her heart raced. She removed her hand.

“Not wonderful. Just expedient. The trading of goods and services. I’m not so sure we shouldn’t do it more often.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Did you have breakfast?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not officially on duty for a half hour or so. How about going to the bakery with me for a doughnut and a cup of coffee?” When she hesitated, he added, “I get tired of my own company sometimes. I thought maybe we could just…talk. But if you’re too busy—”

“No, I’m not too busy. A cup of coffee sounds good. Aunt Lily makes me herbal tea. Even after all these years, I just can’t get used to it.”

Logan laughed, a deep, masculine sound that warmed Meg through and through. “She tries to serve it to me when I visit.”

“You visit? You haven’t since I’ve been here.”

“Yes, well, circumstances the last few months have changed my habits.”

Meg saw the pain again. “Aunt Lily told me about your son. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Sorrow, blame, regrets. None of it matters except finding Travis. But I don’t go on wild-goose chases anymore, driving into the dead of night, speeding down a highway, hoping when I get wherever the road takes me I’ll find him. Now I spend my time printing more pictures and flyers, studying the computer data bases, keeping in touch with contacts on other police forces and my private investigator…and working. Working to forget.”

Although Meg had always enjoyed her work, she knew about working to forget. She wanted to clasp Logan’s arm again, to say she understood, but touching him was dangerous. Doubting he needed her understanding, she nodded toward the house. “I’ll make sure Carmen is settled again and meet you at the bakery on Elm. Then you don’t have to drive back out here.”

The bakery bell tinkled as Meg pulled open the door. Logan sat at one of the five black wrought-iron tables for two. She’d had second thoughts about meeting him, and thirds. Why had she accepted the offer? Because she liked Logan MacDonald, besides feeling attracted to him. If talking could ease his pain concerning his son, she’d listen.

A mug of coffee waited at the empty place across from him, along with two doughnuts and a muffin. Meg couldn’t suppress a smile as she sat down. “Do I look underfed?”

His gaze brushed over her quickly. “No. You look just right.”

She felt the heat creep up her cheeks again. No other man had ever made her blush. She chose the cranberry muffin and pushed the other pastries toward him. “Aunt Lily tries to feed me constantly. She always has.”

“She mentioned a few times that you lived with them when you were a teenager.”

Meg had accepted Logan’s invitation expecting to talk about him, not about herself. But he was obviously fishing for her background. Picking up her coffee, she took a sip before she said, “My parents are anthropologists. For my first twelve years, I traveled with them most of the time—mainly in Central and South America, but I also spent time with my aunt and uncle. At twelve, I decided I’d rather stay in Willow Valley than globe-trot.”

He gazed at her a few moments as if he was trying to see what she wasn’t saying. She wasn’t even sure herself about all the emotions that surfaced when she thought about those years, when she thought about her parents not wanting her. Even though she’d had her aunt and uncle, she’d still felt abandoned.

Logan added cream to his coffee. He offered one to Meg, and she shook her head. “A purist,” he teased.

“What’s the point of caffeine if you dilute it?”

He grinned. “On my fourth cup, I find it more palatable. I have a pot sitting in my office all the time.” Leaning back in his chair, he broke off half of the doughnut and ate it. “So, at twelve you didn’t want to globe-trot, but for your adult life, you have.”

“I didn’t go into this profession to travel. That just goes along with it sometimes.”

He leaned forward again, his hand almost brushing hers as he rested it on the table. “Why did you choose to be an interpreter?”

Instead of touching his large hand, as she wanted to do out of curiosity to see what would happen, she toyed with the paper around her muffin. “Because I wanted to help people understand each other. I had a talent for languages because of my upbringing. I was always amazed by the difference in the way people treat each other when they can understand each other. There’s less fear, less anxiety, less suspicion.”

He pulled his hand back and wrapped his fingers around his mug. “How many languages can you speak?” His knee briefly touched hers under the table, but he moved his away.

“Four fluently, not counting dialects.” She sipped again at her coffee.

“You’re uncomfortable talking about yourself, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t expect to have coffee with you and talk about me.”

He smiled. “Why not?”

“Because I thought you might want to talk about Travis.”

He went silent and his jaw tensed. If she’d ever seen a man in pain, that man was Logan. She waited.

His voice deeper, his words terse, he responded, “I think about him day and night. Believe me, I don’t want to talk about the thoughts that are running through my head. And you don’t want to know what they are.”

They sat at a stalemate, Meg wondering if Logan kept all his feelings bottled up, not just those about Travis. She understood his need to keep a lid on his emotions. She did the same thing.

Logan’s cell phone beeped, breaking the tension. “Excuse me, I have to take this call.”

Meg watched Logan as he took the call. The calls for him must be a constant source of hope, but disappointment, too. His face remained neutral. As he began talking, he rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t getting news of his son—not good news anyway.

After he ended the call, he said, “I have to cut this short. Cal needs me at the office.”

She stood. “I need to get back, too.” All of a sudden, Meg knew that getting involved with Logan would be more complicated than being involved with a photojournalist who always considered his career more important than their relationship. She didn’t need involvement; she needed peace. As they walked to the door and she said goodbye, she knew the less she saw of Logan the more peaceful she’d feel.

A few days later, Meg picked up the Willow Valley Courier. When she saw her own picture on page one, the same picture that had run in newspapers across the country five weeks ago, memories overwhelmed her. By the time she’d finished the article, the numbness had worn off and she was furious.

Logan’s comments to the reporter about Manuel and Carmen were strictly factual. But he had included her in the mix. Inadvertently or not, he’d dragged her into their drama. He might be sheriff, but she had a right to her privacy just as Manuel and Carmen did. She sat and fumed for a few minutes, then suddenly decided to tell him how she felt.

Meg drove to the sheriff’s department and turned off the ignition before she changed her mind. When she pulled open the door to the office and stepped inside, she saw Cal Martin, one of Logan’s deputies, sitting at the front desk.

In a crisp tone, she said, “I’m here to see Sheriff MacDonald.”

Cal looked her over. “And your name?”

“Meg Dawson.”

Cal’s gaze flashed with recognition. He pointed to the closed office in the back. “Just knock on his door.”

She could feel Cal’s eyes on her back as she crossed the room. Seeing Logan sitting at a massive, scarred wooden desk, she rapped sharply on the glass-paneled door.

He looked up and rose from his chair, opening the door in one quick motion. She’d stood face-to-face with him before, but today his shoulders seemed broader, his legs longer. She should have done this by phone.

“What’s the matter, Meg?”

No doubt her color was high. She hadn’t bothered to run a brush through her hair, and her old cutoffs and short, sleeveless knit top didn’t add to a sense of self-confidence. Boy, she really hadn’t thought this through.

She slapped the paper on his desk and her purse on top of it. “That’s what’s wrong. Why did you mention me and Costa Rica?”

Logan’s brows arched. “Everything I told the reporter is a matter of public record. Doc Jacobs delivered Manuel and Carmen’s baby boy in Lily and Ned’s barn. You acted as interpreter. The reporter was the one who remembered you’d made news before. I just confirmed it.”

“Why did you have to mention me at all?”

Her voice had risen with her question. Cal was looking at her and Logan.

Logan firmly clasped her arm and tugged her away from the door so he could close it. “What’s going on, Meg?”

Feeling embarrassed for making herself a spectacle, she stepped away from him. “Carmen and Manuel turned down the interview. I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to one. This…this—” she waved to the picture “—was unexpected. That’s all.”

Logan’s gaze probed hers until she looked away. She took a few deep breaths, then pushed her hair behind her ear, staring at her picture in the paper, the picture of her and Ramón Pomada standing at the car on the airport runway after the kidnapper had run to the plane. She involuntarily clutched her shoulder, remembering the way it had hurt. She remembered…

Logan was close again. “Meg,” he said gently, “what are you thinking?”

“I, uh, I guess I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should have realized even old news is still news in Willow Valley.”

Logan rested his hands on her shoulders. “Have you talked to anyone about what you went through?”

She looked over his shoulder, trying to deny the emotions swelling inside her. “Just the debriefer.” Her breaths were coming quicker.

“You weren’t allowed to give interviews, were you?”

Her chest tightened, and the air in the room suddenly got thinner. “The governments involved thought it would be better if I didn’t. They just gave the facts.”

“So why did the rehash of the story bother you now?”

His gentle voice stirred her emotions into chaos, making her feel too vulnerable. “The picture,” she murmured as she felt tears prick at her eyes. Now she really felt foolish. She ducked her head and stared straight into Logan’s chest. She could see each breath he took, could feel the warmth of his hands on her shoulders…and wished she was anyplace else but here.

He tipped her chin up. “It’s okay to let it out. If you haven’t yet, you’re going to have to soon or it will eat at you.”

“But I…” She couldn’t stop the tears.

He pulled her against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

Logan couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Meg. Her reaction seemed to have surprised her more than him. He suspected she wasn’t used to leaning on anyone. From what she’d said about her childhood, she’d learned at an early age to depend on herself. When he’d invited her to have coffee with him, he’d acted on impulse. He’d found himself thinking about her often, wanting to know more about her, weighing the pros and cons of seeing her again.

Right now she was a woman who needed a shoulder…his shoulder. With his arms around her, her hands pressed against his chest, he wished she could just let go of her ordeal and its effects, but it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was. He could feel her quick breaths, feel the tension as she resisted his support.

The scent of roses teased Logan, Meg’s curves against him felt too right and holding her aroused him. The warmth between them became heat. Her top was a thin barrier as his thumb slipped from the material to her bare skin. His desire grew stronger, and he closed his eyes. Bittersweet pleasure. His life was a mess. She’d go back to her job after Thanksgiving. Even if he wanted just a—

Meg abruptly pulled away, avoided his gaze and reached for her purse. She took out a tissue, blew her nose, then faced him. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She looked at the file cabinet behind him. “I’m not like this. I don’t cry. I don’t overreact.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what to talk about.”

“Maybe how terrifying it is to be held hostage?”

She shook her head. “I just want to forget it.”

“I’ve been in the middle of gang wars and drug deals. I understand, Meg, I really do.”

She took a deep breath, and he wanted to pull her into his arms again. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Dinner?” She looked surprised he’d asked.

He’d surprised himself. “Yeah. I’ll cook something at my place. And if you want to talk about Costa Rica, you can.”

She gave him a weak smile. “And if I don’t want to talk about it?”

He could think of something else he’d much rather do than talk, starting with kissing and ending with… “If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to talk.”

She moved closer to the door, but it also brought her closer to him again. “Lily might need my help if Carmen and Manuel are still here.”

He thought about stepping away from her, but didn’t. “I think she and Ned can handle one evening by themselves. Don’t you?”

When Meg slowly nodded, her shiny hair barely brushed her shoulders. It was as natural and free as she was. He wanted to touch her hair, to touch her. Leaning forward, he felt led by a force greater than them both.

She gazed into his eyes and he couldn’t help but slip his hand along her neck under her hair and lower his head.

Meg waited for Logan’s kiss, thought about it, was eager for it. He’d felt so strong and sturdy and safe as she’d let him hold her. But now, as she gazed into his eyes, she knew he wasn’t safe. There was passion there, and yearning and needs only a woman could fulfill for a man. If he kissed her, they’d tap the need—in both of them.

But Logan didn’t kiss her. Instead, he removed his hand from under her hair, the touch of his fingers as they slid along her neck leaving a burning heat she wouldn’t soon forget. When he raised his head and dropped his hand, she felt a loss of something she suspected would curl her toes.

A slip of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. With a nod, he gestured to the outer office. Cal stared directly at the two of them through the glass pane.

Logan’s tone was wry. “This isn’t the most private place in Willow Valley.”

She backed away from Logan and picked up her purse on the desk. “Sometimes I wonder if any place is private in Willow Valley.”

He studied her carefully for a moment. “We’ll have privacy tomorrow night.”

Flustered, her emotions swirling, not only from what had almost happened with Logan but from the confusion the picture in the paper had stirred up, she moved toward the door. “All right. Can I bring anything?”

He shook his head. “Just yourself.”

If she was making a mistake, she’d find out tomorrow night.