Before You Go (YA Romance) (8 page)

“I’m serious!” She backed up, pointing the gun at his chest, wondering frantically if she had the nerve to pull the trigger.
Shit
! She didn’t even have her finger on the trigger!

“I’m serious, too.” He looked and sounded surprisingly calm. “Why don’t you put that down and let me explain.”

“No way!
I’m getting away!” She started walking backward, big, sloppy steps that had her tripping over roots and fallen branches.

As Logan advanced, she scuttled more quickly, so when she fell, she fell so fast she didn’t know she had until she heard a round of gunfire straight out of the movies. She tossed the gun,
then
wriggled in the mud like a spastic cat.

She got up running. Logan took her down a second later. She found him on top of her, his head framed by a black sky filled with ridiculously bright stars. He pressed her wrists into the mud and straddled her waist.

She shrieked again. “Stop it! Stop! Let me go!”

Logan shook her wrists. “I was holding Juan’s spot! He’s a guard!”

“A guard?”

“There are guards here, Margo.
About two-dozen of them.”
Logan moved off her, and Margo felt a sharp, quick ache inside her chest.

“There are?” She rubbed her pounding head, realizing that her hair was wet.

“There sure are.” The syllables were stretched like putty.

“You’re drawling,” she pointed out.

“You got me, city girl.”

She sat up, and Logan’s hand swung down to pull her to her feet.

There was a moment—just a fleeting second—where the two of them were standing face-to-face, just starting at each other. To her surprise, it felt…good. Then Logan dropped her hand. His face turned hard.

“You must
be wanting
trouble.” He turned away.

“What?” she breathed.

“Don’t leave the casa at night.”

She stood there, feeling electric and empty all at once.

8

The “gift” she’d taken from her Cindy’s closet was definitely a puzzle. The lines between pieces were well-disguised, but Margo was able to trace them with her fingernail. It was annoying how the pieces wouldn’t budge at all, no matter how she prodded it, but Margo was grateful for the stupid thing. It was a decent distraction.

She dropped the cube into her lap and took a bite out of her pimento cheese sandwich. Oscar had made it for her, but only on the condition that she
try
the peanut butter and banana fold-over that was still untouched on the other side of the plate. She’d taken it up to her room and noticed immediately that Logan had been there. The bathroom door was open, and… yes, he’d had a shower. He had
not
slept in the room the previous night, or the night before. And he had
not
been at breakfast the morning after their encounter, or the one after. But he
had
sneaked in at some point, so clearly he was avoiding her.

Margo polished off her sandwich and got up from the desk, formulating a plan as she crossed the room.

She shut the door, locking it this
time,
and wiggled into her skin-tight crimson breeches. She pulled a white tank-top over her head,
then
fixed her hair so it fell in loose curls down her back. She dabbed some gloss on her lips, smiled weakly at the mirror, and set
off.

Although the hottest part of the day was over, it was still amazingly hot outside. The ground was steaming, the air so humid she was sweating as soon as she set off, trying to ignore the guards who followed her, watching covertly from the trees. Her heart was hammering by the time she came out of the woods—on the side of the forest opposite the runway—and spotted the big brown barn. It sat in the middle of a pasture, alone except for a few scraggly trees.

Margo followed the pebble path around a final cluster of pines, and all of a sudden there he was—Logan, spraying the barn with a hose. Seeing him again jolted her, like putting a 9-volt battery against her tongue. An uncomfortable flush swept her from head to toe, lingering longest in her cheeks.

His pale blue t-shirt clung to him like a second skin, so she could see every flicker of his heavy muscles. He was a big guy, with powerful thighs and a large, rangy frame, but compared to the bulk of his shoulders, his hips seemed slim.

Stupid girl.
So what if he’s pretty?

She marched toward him like a warrior charging an enemy, every inch of her tight and ready to spring. One glance was all he was handing out, so she prepared to talk to the side of his head. She was almost surprised when he lowered his arm and turned to look at her, bored and expectant all at once.
 

“I’m here for a tour of the stables. You
know,
the one you promised.”

“Not now.” He squeezed the nozzle and water spurted, directed from her to the wall at the last second. “Martinez is in the south pasture, checking on the bulls. And I’m doing this.”

“Spraying the barn?”

“Come back this afternoon.”

“Look,” she said, sticking one hand on her hip. “All I need is for someone to show me where you keep the gear. I can do the rest on my own. Like I told you, I know how to ride.”

His blue eyes flicked over her. “All the same, you better wait for Martinez to get back.”

“Because you’re busy,” she said slowly.

“Because I think you need to get the tour from him.” He clenched the hose handle tighter after that, shifting his body and attention back to the barn.

Margo put her other hand on her hip. “You know what? You’re a prick.”

His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but she shook her head. “You don’t have to like me, but we’re both stuck on this island, and let me tell you this: I don’t like rude Southerners any more than you like…me. And I’m not impressed that you’re smart and
science-y,
or that you stand around with guns and take care of horses.”

She turned and stalked around the barn, not caring where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get away. She had been wrong to think she could smooth the prickling feelings she had for him. She couldn’t make them taper off or disappear. Her desire sloshed and boiled and steamed inside her chest, bubbling like water on a stove. Her response to him was mortifying, made ten times worse because she didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it—and it was getting worse. Every time she saw him, it got worse.

She walked down a wide, stall-lined hall and pushed, without thinking, through a worn wood door. A massive Arabian stallion snorted at her. Spotting the tack room beyond some boards to her right, Margo let out a tight laugh. She stood on her tip-toes and stroked the horse’s muzzle.

*

Logan
raised his arms above his head, spraying the side of the barn with no real focus. It didn’t matter if the damn thing was clean or not. He’d only grabbed the hose after Margo came out of the woods.

He had to be doing something when she came, because there was no way he was spending any time with her. Every shift of her weight in those ass-tight pants made him ache.

Stay Away.

And he would. He had to.

Dr. Zhu was investing in him.
Grooming him.
She paid his tuition, let him earn enough money to support his mom and sister,
introduced
him to the right people. He was one of several candidates competing for the same prize: leadership of her company’s first deep-space mission.

His life was about getting it. The shuttle wouldn’t launch for a decade at least, but the board at Equirria Enterprises wanted astronauts picked early.

He was a desirable candidate. An 18-year-old MIT junior with a
weighted
4.0 GPA and honors in ROTC. He would finish his degree in astrophysics and microbiology in a year,
then
join the Air Force. They’d foot the bill for a medical degree. He’d finish in three years with a specialty in space medicine, and after spending time flying F-22s, he’d do a little test piloting. It was the old-school way of getting onto a space mission, but Logan thought it was important that he have real experience, in addition to the stuff on his curriculum vitae.

This—being here for the summer—was huge. He had an opportunity none of the other candidates had: to work in Cindy Zhu’s observatory. He did not—DID NOT—need to screw things up by getting too close to her daughter.

He pointed the hose up and sprayed. The breeze broke up the larger droplets, so what landed on Logan was a fine, cooling mist.

Still he remembered the way Margo’s eyes had flashed and her shoulders had trembled when she told him off. It made him feel restless, itchy.

He dropped the hose and scrubbed his hands through his damp hair. He couldn’t focus on a thing but her! The interest he’d never been able to give to any of his girlfriends burst the reservoir for her, and damn if he knew why.

He sighed. Maybe he did. The fact that she didn’t seem to have anybody… Logan could relate.
And the resiliency, the attitude in the face of it.
It felt trite to even think, but there was just something about her…

She was also hot, so that helped.

He turned around to see how far she’d gone, but he couldn’t spot her. He shaded his eyes with one hand, looking further, in the trees. He spotted a guard, but no Margo.

Just as he was turning to check the stables, he heard a thunder clap, the sound of hooves beating dirt, and the warbling whinny of a horse. Logan ran into the stable on putty legs, praying she’d taken off on Buckles or Gamma.
But no.

The end stall was empty. Margo had taken Apollo, his every-morning project. Apollo, their one and a half year old—the only horse in the barn that wasn’t broken.

9

His antics matched her mood, so at first, Margo was happy to let the stallion run. She tightened her thighs around his girth and leaned over his muscular neck as they flew between giant hay bales. Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes, testament to the horse’s amazing speed.

When they crested a hill, she tugged the reigns, but the hotshot horse didn’t get the point. He barreled down the grassy incline, nearly losing her on a bump. When she jerked the reigns, he pranced and spun.

It took all her strength to work him out of his frantic spiral. When she got him straightened out, she directed him left, trying to gently reverse course with a wide u-turn. The horse whined and tossed his glossy black head, whipping right instead.

“Whoa!”

She tightened the reigns. Most horses didn’t like the metal bit cutting into their mouths, but this one didn’t seem to care. In fact, the pain seemed to invigorate him. He took off like a champion, headed straight for a row of pines. Through their thin trunks, Margo could see a glittering creek, and beyond that, on a distant hill, the airport tower. She prayed the water would slow the stallion down.

It didn’t.

He wove between the trees and ran toward the creek at breakneck speed. When he saw the water, all his muscles shuddered, but he was going too fast to stop. Margo tried to cut left, where the creek bent slightly; it would give him a few more seconds to slow down.