Читать книгу The Sheriff's Proposal - Karen Smith Rose - Страница 9

Logan’s expression reflected a mixture of dismay, relief and worry.

Meg couldn’t keep herself from going to him. “How is Travis? Are his injuries serious?”

Logan raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Cuts and bruised ribs. A black eye. They kept him overnight for observation. He only gave them my number now because his doctor threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t. They wouldn’t release him on his own.”

Meg knew the drive to Richmond would take about three hours. She could imagine Logan’s concern, recriminations and hope as he drove. “Would you like me to go along?”

His green eyes gentled, then darkened with the same intensity that had been there right before she’d evaded his kiss. “I’d like that.”

An hour later, Meg sat beside Logan as he drove and wondered if she should have offered to come along. She’d called Lily so her aunt wouldn’t worry. But Logan had been silent ever since they’d gotten into the car. Meg felt as if she was intruding.

Suddenly he glanced at her. “I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”

“I understand.”

He grunted. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. You’ll probably wish you’d stayed in Willow Valley. Travis can be…” Logan sighed.

“Are you afraid he won’t want to come home with you?”

Logan adjusted his sun visor with a snap. “I know he won’t want to come home.”

“Even after what he’s probably been through?”

“I told you he hates me, Meg. And maybe he has good reason.”

“Logan!”

“He’s never said it, but he thinks his mother’s accident was my fault. And I’m not so sure it wasn’t. We had a serious argument. Travis came home just as she raced out of the house. An hour later, she was dead.”

Meg didn’t know what to say to ease Logan’s pain and guilt. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Since that night, he’s pulled away. Now I’m not sure all the talking in the world will help.”

Meg could feel Logan’s torment. He wanted to love his son, but he thought his son no longer loved him. Meg knew what it felt like not to have love returned. Love was more than saying words. It was a bond that transcended arguments and misunderstandings.

But not abandonment.

As long as Logan kept trying to communicate with his son, trying to reach him, that bond would live. Somehow she had to explain that to Logan. “I didn’t know how to talk to my parents. They were so far above me.”

He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“Their concerns were lofty. They cared about the history of civilization and their research, not about what I’d learned about basket weaving from a native girl my own age, or about the friendship we developed. They met my physical needs—they made sure I was safe. But a child needs more than that.”

“I couldn’t even keep Travis safe.”

Meg could imagine the feelings of responsibility as a parent—the immensity of protecting a child, guiding him on the right path. “Maybe if you talk to him about why he ran away…”

“If I know Travis, he won’t be in a talking mood.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“If I can chain him down,” Logan muttered.

A few minutes later, he switched on the CD player, and classical music filled the car. But as they drove closer to Richmond, the tension increased. Meg wanted to reassure Logan in some way, but didn’t know how. She was much too aware of his foot going from the brake to the accelerator, his large hands on the steering wheel, the curling black hair on his forearm and wrist, his tan skin. He drew her gaze again and again. Whenever she peeked at his profile, her stomach fluttered. His rich black hair was cut close to the nape. The lines around his eyes hinted at his forty years, but his strong cheekbones and his determined jaw gave his face vitality and power that wouldn’t diminish with age.

He’d shaved when he’d showered. Meg could smell spice, not strong, just part of his scent. Yes, she was too aware of everything about Logan MacDonald. She had been since the first moment she’d felt his presence in her aunt and uncle’s barn.

Logan followed signs to the hospital in Richmond. After he parked, he came around to the passenger side and opened Meg’s door. She stepped out, and he gave her a wry smile.

They entered the hospital, and Logan halted in the lobby. “The doctor gave me Travis’s room number. Would you like to wait here?”

Meg preferred activity to inactivity. “I’d rather come along if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. But I don’t know what Travis’s attitude will be.”

She smiled, hoping to ease Logan’s tension. “I’m not afraid of sticky situations. I get involved in them often.”

He smiled back. “I guess you do. I keep forgetting you’re a professional woman who’s been around the world a few times.”

“Forget?”

His gaze caressed her face. She could feel it and knew he wanted to touch her. “When I’m with you, I only think about the here and now.”

She knew what he meant. It was scary. With Logan, she felt different. Yesterday and tomorrow seemed far away. The feeling wasn’t only scary; it was also dangerous.

If she turned the conversation back to Travis, she could ignore the tugging she felt toward Logan. “What floor is Travis on?”

Logan’s eyes remained the same deep green. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Five.” When he broke eye contact and nodded toward the elevators, she walked ahead of him, knowing if he touched her, the tugging would become stronger.

They found Travis’s room easily. Logan paused outside the door, his jaw set, his forehead creased with concern. Then he strode in, as if he belonged in the hospital, as if he belonged in his son’s room.

Travis was dressed, sitting in a chair by the window flipping through a magazine. The sleeve of his shirt sported a long tear, and the denim of his jeans hung in strips over his knees. His school jacket lay across the back of the chair. The right side of his face was swollen, and his right eye was as black and blue as it could be. Meg saw Logan take a deep breath and realized how difficult it was for him to see his son in this condition.

The teenager looked up when he heard footsteps. Meg glimpsed fear in his eyes, relief and, an instant later, defiance.

Logan stood before his son. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Dad. Can’t you tell?”

Logan frowned. “I can tell you’ve gotten yourself into a mess of trouble. Are you ready to come home?”

Travis grunted. “I don’t have any choice.” He looked over at Meg. “Who’s she?”

“This is Meg Dawson.”

Coming closer to Travis, Meg extended her hand. “Hi.”

Travis scowled at his father. “Seems like you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.”

“Travis…” The anger in Logan’s tone was evident.

Meg dropped her hand. “Have you been busy, Travis?”

The sixteen-year-old looked at her curiously, then dropped his gaze. “Yeah. I sure have. Enough to know I want to be on my own.”

“That’s impossible until you’re eighteen,” Logan snapped. “You don’t even have a job.”

“Maybe I’ll get one. Maybe as soon as I get some money, I’ll leave again.”

Logan looked as if he wanted to shake some sense into his son. “You try it, and I’ll be more of a warden than I’ve ever been.”

“You mean you’ll lock me in my room? You might as well.”

Meg saw the distress Logan was trying to hide. She saw him try to make himself relax, and she knew his next words were a real effort. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

Travis’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t respond. Instead, he said, “You have to sign release forms out at the desk before we can go.”

Logan tried to hide his pain. “All right. I won’t be long.”

Travis watched Logan leave, closed the magazine and stared out the window.

“I only met your dad a short time ago, Travis, but I know he has been worried.”

The teenager looked at her then, as if assessing her. Meg let him study her. Finally he asked, “So how did you meet Dad? Did he stop you for speeding or something?”

She knew he was goading her on purpose. Instead of becoming combative, she asked, “Do you know Ned and Lily Carlson?”

Travis nodded.

“They’re my aunt and uncle. I lived with them on and off when I was growing up. I’m back for a visit.”

Travis grimaced. “Why would you want to visit Willow Valley? There’s nothing there.”

“My aunt and uncle are there, and I love them.”

“It’s a one-horse town.”

“Were you any happier in Richmond?” she asked softly.

His tone turned defensive. “I was on the streets. If I had my own place, it would be a lot better than Willow Valley.”

Her questions for him came from a deep place inside her. She’d never known a real home, and she wondered why he was so anxious to run away from his. “Would it? Or would you get tired of it the same way you got tired of Willow Valley?”

He took his jacket from the back of the chair. “I never liked Willow Valley. It wasn’t my choice to move there.”

“Did you give it a chance?” she asked quietly.

He remained silent and slung his jacket over his arm.

“Sometimes it’s not the place that matters but the people there or the work.”

He studied her curiously. “So what do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

She’d apparently piqued his interest. “Where do you usually live?”

“Washington, D.C.”

Travis’s eyes widened, and he looked impressed.

Logan came back into the room. “Everything’s set. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Travis mumbled.

Logan frowned and waited for Travis to stand. The teenager held his ribs. Logan moved forward, then stopped. The expression on Travis’s face told him to stay clear.

If Meg thought the trip to Richmond was tense, the trip home couldn’t be described. Logan asked his son questions about where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and Travis sullenly mumbled a few monosyllables. The muscle working in his jaw, his hands taking a strangle-hold on the wheel, Logan gave up and drove.

An hour from Willow Valley, they passed a few fast-food restaurants. At a red light, Logan asked his son, “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes or no, Travis.” Meg could tell Logan was at the end of his patience.

“Go ahead and stop. I don’t care where.”

Logan pulled into the next fast-food restaurant.

The silence at the table was deafening as Travis devoured two deluxe burgers and a large order of fries. After a slurp of his milk shake, he checked out Meg again. “Do you travel much with what you do?”

“Quite a bit. I have albums full of pictures. In fact, I’m going to be giving workshops at your high school on some of the places I’ve seen.”

“Yeah?” There was a gleam of interest in his eyes, the same green as Logan’s.

“Your principal and I have been discussing the best way to do it. Probably through social-studies classes. What do you think I can do so I don’t bore everyone?”

Travis shrugged. “Dunno.”

Logan frowned.

Meg didn’t give up. “What would make it interesting for you?”

The teenager thought for a while. “Not just a PowerPoint presentation. But talking about something neat that happened each place.”

Travis had a point. She didn’t want to do a travelogue or a lecture. Getting the kids involved would work the best. “I’ll have to think about that. If you come up with any ideas, let me know.”

His expression was doubtful.

“I mean it.”

Travis settled back in his seat with his milk shake.