Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (36 page)

Oh, she'd truly believed that he had to go. There really was not another option, and Anna had meant every word she said to help him find the strength to leave. But there was a chunk of her heart—a selfish, no-good chunk—that had so wanted him to stay.

But then he shocked her by coming back and insisting that he would not leave her side. And he hadn't. From that minute on, he'd focused every ounce of his attention and care on her, on her comfort and her needs, and her relief had been profound.

Logan had held her hand, rubbed her back, whispered or yelled encouragement—whichever was most needed—and cried tears of joy when Scarlett had finally made her grand entrance.

After their daughter's birth, Logan contacted Anna's aunt, and Lola had quickly arrived with snacks and smiles and love and excitement. Logan had to leave then. Of course he did, and while it was somewhat easier the second time around, Anna wished their situation was different.

She missed him. Terribly so.

In the forty-eight hours since, she had sent him tons of pictures and several videos to share with his family. Naturally, they had talked some, in between the endless hours he sat at Zeke's side in the hospital in Cheyenne. Unfortunately, due to the small amount of time they had, the majority of the conversations were short and rushed and unsatisfying.

But since they couldn't change their circumstances, Anna chose to focus on her daughter. Tomorrow would take care of itself, one way or the other.

Scarlett blinked long-lashed eyes and yawned. She wriggled her body as if to say, “Hey, Mom! I'm kind of cold here. Could you stop gaping and cover me up, please?”

Smiling, Anna wrapped and folded and tucked the blanket around Scarlett, so she resembled a baby burrito, and said, “We're going home today, and wait until you see the beautiful room your daddy put together for you. We'll have to take lots more pictures to send him, to keep him going until you two can be together again.”

Hopefully, that day wouldn't be too far in the distance. For the moment, Zeke was holding his own, though he remained in intensive care. From what Logan had said, while Zeke's condition was still touch and go, the doctors were speaking in more positive terms about the potential for recovery. There was hope, at least.

Anna prayed that Zeke would grow stronger, would recover as much as possible, and return to his crotchety, cantankerous self. For his and his family's sake, and so Logan could come home and bond with their precious daughter. And for one additional reason, as well.

She'd very much like Zeke to know—in all good humor, of course—that her impractically narrow hips had produced an eight-pound, thirteen-ounce, twenty-one-and-a-half-inch-tall baby. Not puny, just...beautifully perfect.

Chapter Twelve

L
ogan's phone rang just as he started digging through his grandfather's desk drawers. He didn't know precisely what he hoped to find, but there had to be something hidden in Zeke's office that would provide a little relief. A few answers.
Something.

He glanced at the phone's display, saw Anna's name and winced in reflex. Not because he didn't miss her desperately...he did, but because it was becoming increasingly difficult to be here instead of there, with her and Scarlett. He couldn't return yet, though, no matter how much he wanted to. It would not be fair to his wife or his child.

Almost two weeks had come and gone since the day Logan had left Anna and Scarlett in Lola's care. It had been hell, leaving them. Devastating and unimaginable to walk out of the hospital, get in his car and drive away, knowing that his wife and daughter needed him.

The phone buzzed again, and Logan had the shameful thought of letting the call roll to voice mail. Of phoning her back when he knew what he was doing. But he had no idea how long that would take or, really, what that conversation would sound like.

So he picked up the phone and said, “Morning, Anna,” and he prayed he'd find his answers quickly. As in today, so he could return to Colorado before nightfall. Unfortunately, not knowing what he was looking for made that prospect doubtful, which meant he'd likely disappoint Anna before their conversation came to an end.

“Logan...hi,” she said in the soft, quiet manner that told him Scarlett was likely sleeping on her lap. “You...um...didn't check in yesterday, and I got worried that Zeke had a setback.”

“I'm sorry about not calling. I didn't mean to cause you any concern,” he said, working hard to sound natural. Normal. And not like a man drowning in confusion. “I should've realized you'd worry. He's good, though. Getting better every minute, it seems.”

Not all the way good, but definitely improving. Why, yesterday morning, Zeke had grumped about the “damn hospital staff” wanting to put him in a nursing home for the remainder of his recovery. An idea he so disliked that he'd flat-out refused.

Rather than wheedling or arguing, Logan found a secondary-care facility that was not a nursing home. Surprisingly enough, his grandfather accepted the compromise. He'd go there in another week, would stay for a couple more and then would likely be well enough to come home.

“Oh. I'm glad to hear that,” Anna said. “How...um...are you?”

“Busy. Tired. Trying to keep everything together here. How are you and Scarlett?”

“Also busy. Also tired,” she said. A large layer of guilt dropped onto the pile. Because yeah, he should be there helping. “She's a night owl, our daughter, so we spend a lot of time in that rocking chair. It's been my saving grace, especially at two in the morning.”

Ah, hell. If Logan tried real hard, he could see Anna and his baby girl, snuggled together in that old rocking chair. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he said, “I'll make sure to tell Mom and Grandma. It will make them happy to know the chair's getting used.”

Silence loomed for five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen...

“Since Zeke's doing better, when do you think you'll be able to come back here, Logan?”

There it was. The question he'd been hoping real hard to avoid until he could answer with surety. “I'm trying to work that out,” he said, speaking the God's honest truth. Just not in the way Anna likely assumed.

“Okay.”

And in that simple two-syllable word, Logan heard a world of hurt and confusion, along with the slightest thread of anger. He didn't blame her for those feelings. He just didn't know how to fix the problem. “I'm hoping soon, Anna. I miss you and Scarlett. There are just a few areas I need to figure out before I can leave. No more than another day or two, I think.”

“Or maybe,” Anna said, brightening her voice, “I could bring Scarlett to the ranch for a visit. So you don't have to rush through any of...whatever it is you need to take care of, and your family can spend some one-on-one time with her.”

She didn't sound pleading or needy. Sad, perhaps, along with the hurt and confusion and that thread of anger he'd already recognized. And the fact that Anna was attempting to bring the three of them together, when he should be doing the same, shamed him to the core.

Practically speaking, it had been only a couple of days that everyone and everything settled into an easier rhythm. With Granddad's heart surgeries behind him, work at the ranch had resumed at a more typical pace, and Logan's mother and grandmother were a lot less stressed. But even with that, Logan did not feel right about heading to Steamboat Springs just yet.

There were steps he needed to take before he could fully commit to Anna in the way she deserved, to the life he wanted with her and their daughter. He needed to be whole when he returned to them.

Problem was, he couldn't identify where the broken, cracked pieces were.

“I don't know, Anna,” he said. “Scarlett's awfully little, and it worries me, the idea of you two driving here by yourselves. Maybe if I can't straighten everything out as soon as I'd like, we can talk more about that possibility then?”

She sighed. Loudly. “All right. Let me know, I guess.”

“I sure will.” Then, because there weren't any more words in his head other than those he couldn't yet say, he chickened out and went with, “I hate to do this, but I have to run. Give Scarlett a kiss for me and I'll call later tonight.”

Maybe by then, he'd have better news.

“Oh. No. You don't,” she said, her voice suddenly strong. “You do not get to brush me off as if I'm an annoying telemarketer. I—I don't understand what's happening, but this is g-getting out of hand. You're doing it again, blocking me out instead of talking to me. And your daughter needs you here. I need you...to be here for her.”

She was right. In everything she said, and he was proud of her for speaking her mind. Along with that pride existed a huge dose of anger. At himself, for his seeming inability to do the same. Why couldn't he knock down this damn wall?

“I'm sorry—really, truly sorry—that this is taking so long,” he said. “That comes from my heart, Anna, so I hope you can believe in that and in...me, and I will try to make amends. As soon as I possibly can.”

“The thing is, Logan, I don't know what I believe. How can I? You don't let me in enough to speculate. And it's difficult, being here while you're there, trying to imagine what's in your head, what you're thinking.”

Damn it. “Anna—”

“I have to go,” she said. “The baby is waking up and she'll want to be fed.”

Without waiting for his response, she disconnected the call.

Logan sat there for a solid fifteen minutes, staring at the phone, considering the wisdom of calling her back and just laying it all on the line. Everything he felt, all of his concerns, his confusion and guilt, the sickening fear that lived in his heart. The one that made him question if he was a good enough man for Anna and Scarlett.

It was a terrifying, immobilizing type of fear, thinking that perhaps, he was not any better of a man than his father.

It wasn't reasonable. He hadn't cheated or lied to Anna, as his father had to the two women he professed to love. The situations couldn't even be compared, but the fear, the damn worry, would not dissipate, despite the many times he'd mentally rehashed the logic or the vast number of differences between himself and Denny Daugherty.

Everything he knew about Denny was in conflict. He'd cheated on his wife, betraying his role as husband and father, and made hefty promises he didn't keep to Carla. All actions of a dishonorable, untrustworthy man.

Yet Denny had also wanted Logan to carry his last name. He'd made an effort to be in Logan's life, to the point that somehow, Zeke had even let the man in this house. In the photos, Denny appeared happy to be spending time with Logan. These were signs of a good man. A decent man who was trying, real hard, to do what was right.

So what was Logan to think or believe about the man who sired him? What parts and pieces of him came from Denny? The good, the bad or some of both? And how could he create the life he wanted with the woman he loved, the daughter he cherished, if he did not know who he was? Seemed like trouble in the making. It scared him, the fear that he could hurt Anna as deeply as his father had hurt his mother.

And that fear had left him frozen.

Lord. Every time Logan tried to untangle the twisted threads of his identity, they just knotted together tighter and tighter. Who. Was. He?

Irritated, consumed with the want for answers...for peace, Logan returned to searching his grandfather's desk. Maybe he'd find more pictures. Maybe a letter from Denny was what had softened Zeke's views, and if so, maybe he'd find that. A dumb thought, really, because he doubted his grandfather would save anything for so many years, but he had to look.

He had to be sure. So he got to work.

When he'd dug through every file, every piece of paper, every last thing in Granddad's desk without finding so much as Denny's name scrawled on a Post-it, he gave up. He knew where to go for the answers he needed: his mother. Carla didn't like to talk about Denny, though, or that portion of her past, and getting her to open up at all had taken most of Logan's life.

It had been difficult for her to tell him about Denny's wife, his other son, Gavin—the brother Logan now knew and loved—because doing so brought her pain. Guilt, too, he suspected, for choosing to stay in a relationship with a married man. She also hadn't wanted to hurt Logan by having the truth diminish the pretty-picture view she'd painted when he was a little boy.

Problem was, he'd never fully believed that picture. Even when he was too young to understand why...he'd just known something was off. And he'd blamed himself.

Sighing, now more antsy than irritated, Logan left the office in search of his mother. It was time for her to fill in the rest of the picture so he could stop the wondering and the worrying that had started so many years ago. So he could finally get these questions out of his head.

He found her in the kitchen, alone, brewing a cup of tea. She looked up when she heard him, smiled and nodded toward the teapot. “Want a cup?”

“No, but thank you. I need to talk to you about Denny,” he said, the uneven timbre of his voice paying tribute to his rocky thoughts. “And please, don't tell me no.”

Stress lines creased her forehead, the area around her eyes. “There isn't a lot more to tell you, honey,” she said. “I'm being honest when I say that. You have every fact that I have.”

“Then maybe we need—I need—to knit those facts together in such a way that I can understand the type of man my father was.” Gesturing toward the table, he said, “Let's sit. I don't want to make you sad, but I can't...I can't move forward with Anna unless I know.”

“I see.” She slid her petite frame into a chair. Logan took the one directly next to her. “Shall I take that as meaning you're in love with her?”

“You should. And I don't know if she loves me or if she'll consider...” He swallowed, shook his head. “Right now, I want to talk about my father.”

Carla tightened her grip on her teacup and nodded. “Okay, Logan. Ask your questions and I'll answer them honestly. I'm just unsure of what it is you're looking to understand.”

Where to begin? “Why so many years of silence and secrecy? You, Grandma and Granddad... None of you would tell me anything but the barest details about my father until you realized I was going to find out what I could on my own.”

“That was my call,” Carla said quietly. “I didn't want you to know Denny was married, that I was his...mistress. I wanted to fill you with all the good of your father, since he was gone and couldn't speak for himself. Seemed kinder, I guess. But I see now that was a mistake.”

“To a certain point, no, it wasn't. When I was younger and couldn't properly understand the complexities, I think you made the right choice. Later, though, the silence just...ate at me.”

“I'm sorry, honey.” Carla sighed. “I did what I thought was best, and I can't change those decisions now. We have to move forward.”

She was right. So he set those frustrations aside and jumped right into the deep end. “If you were going to describe Denny Daugherty as a man, what words would you use?”

“Big-hearted. He was funny, always had a joke or two up his sleeve,” Carla said instantly. She closed her eyes as if imagining that Denny himself was standing in front of her. “He wasn't much afraid of failure, so he took his share of risks. He...he could sweet-talk just about anyone, and he... Well, Logan, he knew how to love. He did. But...”

Logan waited to see if his mother would continue. When she didn't, he said, “But?”

“Denny mostly only saw what was right there, in his line of sight. So, he'd come here to see us, and he'd promise that we would be a family. And he meant that promise.” Opening her eyes, Carla reached for Logan's hand. “But then he would go home to his wife and Gavin, and he'd be there, with them, and so they were all he'd see. Until he returned to us.”

“That sounds thoughtless to me, Mom.”

“It felt thoughtless. Still does,” she admitted. “I just don't think he ever meant it that way. Oh, how to say this? Whatever world Denny was in, that was the world he couldn't bear to give up. And in that world lived the people he refused to hurt. Until he left that world for another.”

Shortsighted. Selfish. “He wanted to have his cake and eat it, too?”

“Maybe, to a certain extent.” Carla bit her bottom lip. “Just not with conscious, deliberate thought. He was... I don't know, Logan. Nearsighted and impulsive, and mostly, he tried to make everyone in his life, everyone he loved, happy. He did not set out to cause pain.”