Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2) (11 page)

A very teasing tone. His pulse quickened.

“A drywall virgin, huh? I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me.”

“Is that so?” She sat back against the wall, her knees bent, her hands resting lightly on them. She watched him, a small smile on her lips. “I thought my work would give me away. I must be a natural.”

He sat on the floor and stretched one leg out until it reached her foot. He gave it a nudge.

“Or you had a great teacher.”

She nudged back.

“Or you’re just so grateful that someone’s doing it with you, you’re overlooking my deficiencies.”

He tipped his head. “Gratitude plays a role, true. But on second thought, you could use a little more practice.”

She scrambled to her hands and knees, mock outrage on her face.

“Oh!”

Laughing, she pushed him until he fell over halfway and before he knew it, she was straddling him, arms up as if she was about to give him a pounding.

Without thinking, he flipped her over. She shrieked as he pinned her arms to the ground.

“No back talk,” he growled. “Or I’ll have to keep you after school.”

Her pupils were so big her eyes looked black, and her cheeks were flushed. Her breasts rose and fell quickly and her t-shirt slipped up just enough to see a strip of creamy skin above her jeans.

He’d never seen anything so completely sexy in his life. He pressed his pelvis against her to let her know that her little game had consequences.

“What will you do with me?” she said in a breathy whisper.

But before he could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

They sprang apart, fumbling to rearrange their clothing.

Flynn Goodwin stuck his head in the doorway. “Plumber wants you to go over the sink installation with us, Mr. S.”

“Of course.” Logan put down the trowel. He’d just slapped a pile of spackle on a perfectly fine section of wall.
Idiot.
“Right. Sam, you can keep working on, uh, what we were… working on.”

She blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Absolutely. It’s harder than I expected, though. I’ll need your help to finish.”

The twitch of that full lower lip sent a rush of blood straight to his groin. She was killing him.

He turned Flynn around and sent him back downstairs. Then he stuck his head around the corner.

“We’re not quitting until I’m satisfied you know what you’re doing,” he said in a low voice.

“Until we’re both satisfied,” she corrected.

Killing. Him.

*

Logan was gone
longer than she expected. Which was good, gave her a chance to let her brain start working again. What was she thinking, flirting with Logan like this, while his students were steps away, and so much work for each of them that they barely had time for lunch, let alone fooling around like kids.

Samara heard hurried footsteps approaching, and composed herself.

One look at her and Logan’s face fell. He walked to her side and took both her hands in his. She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze.

“Sam, you’re overthinking this,” he said. “It feels like it was just yesterday we were necking out under the bleachers. I want to be with you like that again.”

He drew her in and put his arms around her. No teasing this time, no pushing the boundaries little bit by little bit, in that irresistible and inevitable dance.

“No you don’t,” she whispered. “I’m still the new girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Logan. I’ve got better clothes now but inside, I’m even more broken than before. You’re still the hometown hero, the guy everyone loves. Don’t let me mess that up for you. Not again.”

She waited for his reaction. He had every right to be angry. Hurt. Disappointed.

The heat was still there, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice, but banked for now, comforting, soothing and soft.

But to her surprise, he chuckled.

“You’ve just spent way too much time alone, is what I think,” he said. “Stop analyzing everything, Sam. Just for a moment.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet and lingering, his tongue running lightly against her lips, the kind of kiss that made a girl believe she was good and beautiful, worth loving, and that everything would be okay.

She couldn’t help herself, she clung to him as if he was the only thing that might keep her from disappearing, resisting his love with everything in her.

His
love.

“You feel it, too. I know you do,” Logan murmured against her hair.

“Don’t, Logan,” she whispered.

“Getting a second chance together is a miracle, Sam. It’s a gift.”

It took all the strength she had to turn her face away from his. They’d loved once already – and lost.

“It’s not a gift, Logan. It’s a gamble.” A tear dripped onto his shirt, a small, spreading mark. “And I can’t afford to gamble.”

His breath came out in a hiss, but he tightened his grip around her.

“So we’ll take it slow then,” he said. “I won’t push you beyond what you want, Sam. But fair warning: I will push you. When this happens, it’ll be on your terms, because you want it as much as I do.”

Not
if
, but
when
.

She tried to pull away. “I can’t deny there’s something between us. And I’m so grateful that you’re here, when I really need a friend-”

“We were never just
friends
,” he bit out, refusing to let her go. “And we’re not going to start now.”

“But that’s all we should have been. I should never have let you think it could be something more. Dad couldn’t hang onto a job, so we always moved, just when I got settled into a school. I’d hoped…But I always knew we’d break up in the end.”

“We never broke up, Sam,” said Logan, enunciating precisely. “You left.”

“You knew I was leaving.”

“I knew you were leaving sometime that weekend! I didn’t know you’d disappear after final period on Friday!”

“I didn’t know either!” She finally broke away from his embrace. She bent down to put the lid on her paint can, grateful for a task that hid her face. “Turns out my dad had skipped out on the rent. My stuff was in boxes in the car. I had to go, right then and there.”

Years later, once she was finally earning a salary, she located the owner and paid the bill; he was gone now, but the man’s understanding had reminded her of all the good in Marietta.

“I searched for you at lunch that day,” she continued, quieter now, “but you were off campaigning for student council president, even though you knew it was our last week together. You chose to spend your time on that.”

“That was a mistake,” Logan responded. “But it was good that I won. It kept me too busy to miss you.”

Silence fell between them. Samara looked up.

“You really missed me?” she said in a small voice.

Friends always said they’d keep in touch, but they never did.

“Of course I missed you!” He paused. “Didn’t you miss me?”

She stood up and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought I’d die, it hurt so bad.”

“So why didn’t you write? I had no idea where you were. The post office told me you left no forwarding address, and that I wasn’t the only one asking.”

Sam squeezed her eyes shut at the memories of that year.

“I nearly went out of my mind.” Logan gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I didn’t know if you were okay, if your dad was back in jail, if you and your mom were in a homeless shelter somewhere.”

The old familiar shame welled up, making her squirm.

“I never meant to hurt you, Logan,” she said. “But it was just as well that things happened as they did. You were going places, your future was set. You needed the head cheerleader, or that girl who aced all the science awards, or that one who ran fundraisers for needy children. You didn’t need the welfare girl.”

“I married the head cheerleader,” said Logan through gritted teeth. “Six months of great sex, followed by four years of insecurity, accusations and way too much hairspray. She was runner-up to the welfare girl, and she knew it.”

That couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t have had such deep feelings. Could he?

“Logan.” She picked her jacket up off the floor and held it against her chest. Tentatively, she took a step toward him.

But before she could think of what to say – what could she say? – her phone buzzed.

When she pulled it out, she saw message notifications, both voice and text. She’d forgotten her phone was on mute. Her fingers started shaking.

“It was real then, and it’s real now,” said Logan.

But Samara barely heard him.

Every message was from Eliza.

Jade! My baby!

She fumbled and nearly dropped the device.

“Sam! One way or another, we’re going to deal with this!”

She scrolled to the most recent text.

Don’t worry. Minor fracture only. In casting room now.

The breath left her lungs.

Minor fracture?

Her pulse was thudding in her ears, drowning out all other sounds.

Don’t worry?

She shoved the phone back into her bag, without reading the earlier messages. Jade was hurt. Bad enough to need a cast!

“What’s going on?” said Logan, stepping in front of her.

“Something happened to Jade!” She brushed past him.

“What? What happened? Where is she?”

He reached for her but she shook him off.

“At the hospital, Logan. I don’t know why! But this is why we can’t be together. I’ll always choose her. Do you understand? You’d never be first in my heart.”

She ran down the sidewalk and leaped into her car. As she squealed out into the quiet street, she caught a glimpse of him in her rear view mirror, Logan, getting smaller and smaller.

‡

“E
xcuse me,” said
Samara, elbowing her way through the small group just inside the sliding doors of the emergency room.

Don’t worry,
Eliza’s message said.

Right.

A middle-aged man was seated at the chair at the triage window talking to the clerk.

She leaned over him. “Excuse me. I’m looking for my daughter.”

The clerk’s face tightened at the interruption. “Take a number,” she said, pointing to the dispenser.

“Jade,” said Samara desperately. “My daughter. I’m her mother, Samara Davis. She’s four years old. I’m not sure what happened but I know she went for x-rays and something’s broken. She was in casting! Please!”

The clerk’s expression changed. “One moment,” she said, but whether she was talking to the man in the chair or Samara, it was hard to tell.

Don’t worry.

Eliza wouldn’t have texted
Don’t worry
if it had been serious, right?

Except she wasn’t a doctor. How would she know? People always said that,
Don’t worry, everything will be fine, calm down, he’s okay, don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry!

The officer who called after Michael’s accident had said the same thing.

Minor injuries, they said. Lucky to be alive. Overnight observation, home tomorrow, they said.
Don’t worry.

Then there was a team of people clustered around his bed, machines and tubes everywhere, all practiced speed and efficiency, while the latte slipped from her fingers.

Panic clawed at Samara’s throat and she fought it down. That was different.

Don’t worry. Don’t worry.

The clerk kicked her rolling chair to a different desk, tapped the keys in rapid fire, then called to a nurse wearing green scrubs. Samara couldn’t hear the conversation, but she saw the young man frown and shake his head, before bustling away.

The chair clattered loudly on the tile floor. The room had gone quiet around them. Time slowed and a heavy stillness descended on Samara, that infinitesimal, endless moment that cuts a life into Before and After.

“I’m sorry,” said the clerk. She looked nicer now, concerned, wishing she had better news.

Samara’s knees buckled. She grabbed for the edge of the counter. She’d seen the same discomfort before, when they realized she was in the doorway, too late, the widow, clutching her child, milk and coffee splattered on her pants.