Tempting the Deputy Page 16

  She nodded again, in a daze as he left.

  How could he sound eager, excited even? When all she felt was sick with guilt and anxiety?

  She climbed out of bed as she heard the door shut downstairs. Wiping the steam off the window, she watched him trudge through the new layer of snow.

  He waved as he got into the truck. She waved back.

  Her hand hung suspended in midair as the truck disappeared from view round the side of the stables—the urge to pee like a racehorse having disappeared with it.

  *

  Negative. Nada. No blue line. You’re not pregnant with Logan Tate’s baby.

  Charlie dumped the testing stick in the trash and washed her hands.

  Her still-shaking hands.

  Why didn’t she feel relieved? Pleased? Overjoyed? The problem was solved. This was good news.

  Except it wasn’t, because all she felt was numb and hollow and terrified. Exactly the same way she’d felt before peeing on the bloody stick and waiting the required two minutes to get the result.

  She sat back down on the toilet seat, trying to make sense of her reaction. As the Titanic-sized lump sunk back to the bottom of her stomach. She finally faced the truth. The pregnancy scare had been a distraction, or rather an abstraction. Just another way to avoid the feelings that she had been shoving to one side and refusing to acknowledge now for days, maybe even weeks.

  The feelings Logan had had the guts to voice and she hadn’t. Because Logan was brave and strong and bold… And she was a coward.

  She’d only gone and fallen in love with the man.

  She sunk her head into her hands, frustration and fear and confusion overwhelming her—and she wanted to cry some more. But she’d done all her crying yesterday and it hadn’t solved anything; if anything it had made the problem worse.

  She couldn’t do this. Logan would be back at four and he’d want an answer. Baby or no baby he would want to know—what she thought of him? Of them? Of the suggestion that she stay at the Double T? And attempt to build a life here?

  And while a part of her wanted so much to say yes. Let’s go for it. Let’s try. I love you. I love this country, this town—even after only three weeks it feels special. You feel special. Maybe one day we could even have babies together.

  A much bigger part of her—the scared little girl inside her—was simply terrified that she would make that commitment to him and then muck it up.

  I can’t stay.

  Standing, she grabbed her toiletry bag and swept everything inside. She raced into the other room, and located her pack in the bottom of the closet where she’d left it the day she’d arrived at the ranch.

  She shoved her clothes inside, then dragged the pack into Logan’s room, the room they’d shared. She shoved everything of hers in the room into her pack too, while trying not to look at the bed. Or the Deputy’s badge he’d left on the dresser.

  It took her a frantic half an hour to get everything packed. At which point she stopped running around long enough to have another problem slam into her.

  The project. Oh shit.

  She made a frantic phone call to McKenna Sheenan at Big Sky Photography and thanked God when the woman agreed to do Jonah Clark’s shoot, if the guy every replied to any texts. Then she called Ally Clark, Jonah’s sister-in-law, an event planner who had offered to help out with the scheduling and the hunt for a designer who would work for free if Charlie needed it weeks ago. Ally was surprisingly amenable, although obviously a bit surprised at the sudden rush. Charlie put together an email to her, attaching all the files of the shots she’d taken and detailing all the links and passwords to the calendar project’s social media properties.

  But the hollow feeling became a yawning chasm in her stomach as she pressed send.

  This was for the best. This was the way it was always supposed to be.

  By ten o’clock she had everything done. Her life at the Double T, her involvement with the project—it had all been erased. She’d even managed to dismantle the darkroom and pack it into boxes, ready for McKenna to come over and pick up the next day. She stuffed the black-and-white prints of Logan into her pack, just as Lyle appeared at the front door, returning from the stock check he’d been saddled with that morning.

  “Lyle, I need a lift,” she said, adrenaline and panic charging through her system.

  “Sure thing, sugar,” he said. “I’m heading in to help out with the house renovation. Logan texted me to ask me to nag you about something or other. So this is good. You can talk to him direct.”

  Her heart lurched. The guilt and grief all but crippling her. She’d texted Logan to tell him the test was negative two hours ago, then turned off her phone.

  “No, no, I need a lift to the bus station. I’ve got to head out of town. I’ve… I’ve been offered an important new commission.”

  Lyle frowned, noticing the bulging pack and boxes of darkroom equipment she had stacked next to the door.

  “Hold on a minute. You’re leaving? When are you coming back?”

  “I’m not. The project’s done. Or almost done. I’ve handed over the reins and all the shots to Ally Clark, and McKenna’s going to handle Jonah’s shoot when he finally stops behaving like a pill.”

  Lyle’s face hardened, the dancing light in his eyes she had become so used to disappearing. “What about Logan?”

  “What about Logan?” she said, struggling to sound nonchalant.

  He stared at her for the longest time. “You’re not even going to tell him?” he said. But there was no surprise in his voice—only the bite of cynicism. And, not for the first time, it occurred to her there was much more to Lyle Tate than the reckless flirt he pretended to be.

  “I’ll give him a call when I get a chance,” she said, even though she knew she wouldn’t.

  It would be too painful. Too hard for them both. Logan wouldn’t understand. Because he was strong and brave and dependable. He did everything straight and above board. He didn’t have doubts or anxieties. He was selfless, not selfish. Unlike her.

  And he would never run away from a problem. The way she had been doing her whole life. Which was exactly why it would be better for them both if she left.

  Lyle shouldered her pack and held open the door. “There’s a bus to Livingston at a quarter to eleven.”

  He hadn’t asked where she was headed. But she didn’t correct him. Because they both knew she didn’t have an important commission.

  Her heart imploded as she stepped off the old porch. She listened to her feet crunch in the snow as she followed Lyle to his truck and climbed into the cab.

  They didn’t talk during the drive into town. Because really, what else was there left to say?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Logan yanked down his mask and threw another length of drywall on the pile of debris he’d been accumulating all morning, the uneasy feeling that had been riding him downgraded a notch when he saw his brother appear in the doorway.

  “About damn time,” he said. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Demolishing the stud partition was dusty, backbreaking work, and it had gone some way to curbing Logan’s frustration with Charlotte, but not nearly enough.

  Why the heck hadn’t she answered any of his texts? He’d gotten one curt message to say the pregnancy test was negative—which had left him feeling more ambivalent than relieved—and then nothing. Not a damn word. And all his calls had gone to voice mail. It was now eleven o’clock and he hadn’t heard from her since eight. He kept telling himself to calm down and keep his mind on the construction work. She was probably just in her darkroom, or stooped over her laptop, busy playing around with her photos in Photoshop, or on the phone organizing some deal or other to do with the project.

  But something didn’t feel right. And after last night’s crying jag and the stunned look in Charlotte’s eyes when he’d laid his feelings bare this morning, he wasn’t convinced the radio silence was a good sign.

  Most of the other Firs
t Responders who had come together to fundraise with the calendar were dotted through the old timber-framed building—all of them much more comfortable pitching in with the renovations than taking their shirts off for charity. When Logan had arrived at eight, Kyle Cavasos had been taking point—because he had a knack for this stuff—and the fireman had directed him in here to show him how to saw through and then rip out the stud wall they no longer needed.

  But ripping down drywall had stopped being able to cure Logan’s uneasiness hours ago.

  “I had to do the stock check this morning, remember?” Lyle answered as he picked his way toward Logan through the debris. “That’s where I’ve been, so back the hell off.”

  Logan’s uneasiness shot straight into the danger zone at the surly response. His brother looked pissed—which wasn’t like Lyle at all; he was usually a pretty sunny guy, even when he had to devote his day off to manual labor.

  And Lyle had been due to join them over an hour ago—no way should riding out to check the pregnant cows in the calving fields have taken this long.

  “Why didn’t you answer my text about Charlotte?” he persisted—the uneasy feeling now tying his guts into greasy knots.

  His brother’s frown became more pronounced. “I’m not your messenger. You got something to say to her, you need to contact her yourself.”

  The evasive answer had alarm bells ringing in Logan’s head—the greasy knots turning to burning asteroids in the pit of his stomach. His brother knew something. Something he wasn’t saying.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Logan grabbed the front of Lyle’s shirt and yanked him close. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  “Leave me alone.” Lyle struggled out of his grip, his face turning red with fury. “She left, okay. She left you. And she’s not coming back,” he shouted, the words hitting Logan like blows. “I told you she wouldn’t stick, but you didn’t listen.”

  “She… What?” Logan choked on the word, the shock reverberating through him, making his knees feel like rubber.

  Why would she do that? After last night? After the past month? After everything he’d said to her this morning? How could she just leave? When she knew how he felt about her? When he was pretty sure she felt the same way about him?

  “I’m sorry, man,” Lyle murmured. The spurt of temper had been replaced with bone-deep regret as his brother placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I should never have brought her out to the ranch. I just didn’t think you’d fall for her…” His brother looked devastated. As if this was somehow his fault. “I screwed up. Like I’m always screwing up,” he added. “I’m sorry.”

  What the hell was his brother apologizing for? Charlotte coming to the ranch had been the best thing to happen to Logan for as long as he could remember. How could his brother not know that?

  Logan shook off the confusing thoughts.

  He didn’t have time to process Lyle’s weird apology right now. He had to stay focused, work this out, deal with one thing at a time. And the thing he needed to deal with first was getting Charlotte back.

  He’d scared her off, with his declaration that morning. He’d known she would probably freak out, but he’d gone ahead and said it anyway—before leaving her alone to do the pregnancy test. So now he had to handle the fallout from those dumb decisions.

  “Where did she go?” he asked.

  Lyle’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not seriously going after her? She just gave you the kiss-off? Haven’t you got any pride?”

  “So help me, Lyle, if you don’t cut the bullshit and tell me where she went in the next two seconds…” Logan’s voice rose to a roar in direct correlation with his temper—he did not have time for this. “I am going to punch you through what’s left of that goddamn wall.”

  “Jesus, man. Chill the hell out.” Lyle raised his hands in a defensive gesture, staring at Logan as if he’d just sprouted an extra head. “She got the bus to Livingston. It left about ten minutes ago.”

  “Here, take these.” Tearing off his workman’s gloves, Logan slapped them against Lyle’s chest. “Finish the wall.”

  “Where are you going?” Lyle asked as he scooped up the gloves.

  “I’m going to get her back,” he yelled over his shoulder as he charged through the house and shot out the front door.

  He ran to his truck and climbed in, then drove like a bat out of hell down 2nd and onto Main Street.

  This wasn’t happening, not again. Not if he could help it.

  His mom had died on him and he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it, because he’d been a terrified little kid.

  Then his father had grieved himself to death—and Logan hadn’t done a damn thing about that either, because he’d been more scared of people finding out his old man was a mean drunk than he was in getting the guy help.

  And Harry had died too, because instead of stopping to help his friend fix the tire on the side of the road that night, Logan had driven on by to get back to his cozy living room, a hot meal, and some dumb football game.

  But the buck stopped with Charlotte.

  No way was he losing her, or letting her throw away everything they could have together. Everything they could build. Not until he had done every single thing in his power to stop her.

  With that in mind, he hung a left at Our Lady of the Angels on Main Street then a right on Front and screeched to a halt outside the Sheriff’s Office. He could see Betty staring out the window, her eyes as big as saucers as he jumped into one of the cars, leant under the dash to deal with the ignition, and peeled out of the lot.

  He expected news of him hot-wiring his own squad car was going to be all over town in about five seconds, but he didn’t give a damn.

  He needed more authority than his battered truck if he was going to stop a bus.

  *

  Charlie felt sick. Sick and drained and so hollow inside her stomach felt as if it had been sucked into a black hole. But she had done the right thing.

  A clean break was best, for Logan as well as her. What was the point of pretending they could make a life together when they couldn’t?

  Even so it hurt to watch the snowy ridges of Copper Mountain, and the Ponderosa forest roll away as the bus lumbered its way toward Livingston.

  She swallowed heavily. They would be passing the place where she and Logan had met in a minute. The land looked different now, starkly white with its coating of snow, but still so breathtaking.

  Her heart cracked, rent down the middle by her own cowardice. But just as the bus came round the turn, a police car’s siren cut through the sound of people chatting and the bus’s laboring engine. The driver braked and everyone shunted forward, before the bus shuddered to a stop at the roadside.

  Charlie grasped the seat back in front of her, and stood up—trying to see past the heads of other curious passengers as the driver opened the door. A blast of cold air reached all the way to Charlie’s spot near the back.

  A man appeared in shirt sleeves and dusty jeans, his dark hair disheveled, his face grim. And then his blue eyes locked on to her face.

  Charlie’s heart galloped full tilt into her throat.

  Logan? Logan was on the bus. And now Logan was stalking toward her.

  She blinked several times, trying to clamp down on the whisper of hope whistling through her hollow stomach like a spring wind thawing winter snow.

  He stopped in front of her, looking mighty solid for a figment of her imagination. “Where’s your luggage?”

  “It’s in the hold,” she managed round the feeling of unreality.

  This could not actually be happening. She was dreaming this.

  No way would Logan Tate, law-abiding Sheriff’s Deputy, have just stopped a bus on the highway in his squad car for no reason.

  He reached up into the rack above her head and got her coat and camera bag, then gripped her arm and tugged her into the aisle. “Come on, this is your stop.”

  “It’s…what?” she said, but he was already escorti
ng her down the aisle—past the shocked expressions of the ten other passengers who were all staring at her as if she were an escaped convict who had just been caught.

  “Leave her luggage at the next stop,” he told the driver. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  “Yes sir, Deputy Tate,” the driver said.

  Wait a fricking minute, he’s not even on duty. Can’t you see he’s not wearing his bloody badge?

  She screamed the thought in her head, but she was still too stunned to make her tongue work.

  And before she could get her wits about her enough to shout the words to the driver for real, she had been bundled down the steps of the vehicle and was standing on the side of the road with a madman, shivering, while the bus disappeared in the distance.

  Logan wrapped the coat round her shoulders. “Put it on,” he said, as if he hadn’t just lost his mind. “It’s freezing out here.”

  She stuffed her arms into the sleeves, while he bent to slip the buttons into their holes. She couldn’t stop shaking—the sight of him, the scent of him, so wonderful and yet so terrifying.

  “Logan, what are you doing here?” she said, through her chattering teeth—the weird sensation of wanting to laugh and weep at exactly the same time tearing her to pieces inside.

  Why had he done this? Did he want to torture them both with a protracted goodbye?

  “What am I doing here?” he shouted back, the frustration emanating off him in waves. “What the hell are you doing here, Charlotte? Running off without a goddamn word?”

  Guilt assailed her. “You didn’t get my text?”

  “Of course I got your text. At eight a.m. And I’ve been trying to contact you ever since. And then Lyle shows up at Harry’s House to tell me you’ve left on the bus and you’re not coming back. Are you nuts? Why the hell would you do that?”

  She wrapped her arms around her midriff, the accusation, the anger, but most of all the stunned hurt in his tone like a knife in her gut. “I couldn’t stay. I just couldn’t. I had to go.”

  “Why couldn’t you stay? Why did you have to go? I want answers, Charlotte, not platitudes.”