24
“Let’s go out the front,” Evangeline said, steering Logan out of the parlor and finally escaping the weight of her brothers’ stares.
Thankfully, neither Seth nor Zach had said anything, but the warning glances they’d shot her way hadn’t helped her rioting pulse. She could hear their admonitions to be careful ringing through her brain as if they’d shouted them aloud.
Being careful only got a gal so far. Sometimes she had to take a few risks to get what she wanted. And she wanted Logan—every complicated, secretive, heroic piece of him.
When he held the door open for her, she bustled through, then bounced up onto her tiptoes and leaned over the porch railing to pick the perfectly ripe peach she’d spotted between the branches earlier that morning. The tree was nearly done producing, but one luscious gift hung high, half hidden in the leaves.
Evangeline plucked it from the stem, wiped it gently on her bodice, then turned and presented it to Logan with a smile. “For you.”
All right, yes, she was trying to sweeten him up. She remembered how much he’d enjoyed the canned peaches she brought him in that first basket of goodies. Surely a fresh peach would be equally pleasing.
She needed him as pleased with her as possible before she owned up to her treachery.
Logan’s eyes met hers as he accepted the peach from her hand. His calloused fingertips brushed the back of her hand, and Evangeline’s breath caught. There was no dread in his expression now—only heat, appreciation, and a connection so intense, she wanted to wrap around him like a wisteria vine grabbing hold of a mighty oak.
Slowly, Logan pulled a knife from the sheath at his waist. Looking down, he ran the blade around the outer edge of the peach. Juice dripped from the ripe fruit, and the air thickened with its sweet scent. He wiped the blade on his trousers, slipped it back into its place on his belt, then cupped both sides of the peach and twisted gently until the halves came apart.
“Share with me?” He held out the half without the pit.
Evangeline took the fruit from him, her fingers lingering over the roughened feel of his hand before sliding down to the fuzzy peach skin.
Mercy. When had eating a piece of fruit become such an intimate activity? Warmth flushed her cheeks, and she had to duck away from the intensity in his gray eyes. She raised the peach to her lips, hoping to find relief in the mundane process of eating, but when she took a bite, a small rivulet of juice ran down from the corner of her mouth, further fueling her embarrassment.
Until the back of Logan’s finger gently brushed it away. Her gaze flew to his face, but he wasn’t looking at her eyes. He was staring at her mouth. Hungrily. Rather like he had in the cellar right before he kissed her. Her pulse thrummed, and her breathing shallowed. Heavens, she wanted him to kiss her again.
But not here. Not where Seth or Zach could see, should one of them happen by a window or decide to stroll out the front door. An all-too-likely possibility, given their interfering natures.
Instead of raising up on her toes and lifting her mouth to Logan’s as instinct demanded, she twirled around and scrambled down the front porch steps.
“There’s a pretty place down by the pond,” she called over her shoulder. She tried to smile invitingly, but she couldn’t quite manage the lighthearted gesture with all the strong emotions rioting through her midsection. “We could sit and talk.”
The lines of his face hardened just a bit, and his eyes cooled. The change was subtle, but Evangeline felt it pierce her chest.
He quirked a grin as if nothing of import had just been smothered, and jogged down the three stairs to join her. “Sure.” He sank his teeth into his peach half. He didn’t give her a chance to enjoy the sight, though, for he strode past her as if he knew exactly where they were going, effectively nailing the coffin lid shut on a moment that had brimmed with life and promise just heartbeats earlier.
It was for the best—or at least that was what Evangeline told herself as she traipsed after Logan while he made his way toward the smokehouse. Again, as if he knew exactly where the pond was located.
Her brow furrowed. She slowed her steps just enough to allow him to stay in the lead.
She’d never shown him her pond. She’d described it to him, might have even mentioned its general location, but not with enough detail for him to have formulated an internal map. Yet he marched west past the smokehouse as if the star of Bethlehem were igniting the sky and marking their destination.
When he ducked between the twin pecan trees that provided shade for the handful of large rocks at the pond’s south edge, Evangeline knew it couldn’t be coincidence. He’d led her directly to the only natural seating around the pond’s perimeter.
Pausing between the trees, she braced one hand against the trunk closest to her. “You’ve been here before.”
He stopped, his back still toward her. The sound of a heavy sigh met her ears a moment before he turned to face her.
“You’re right. I have.” He glanced in the direction of the house, his features so somber that Evangeline’s chest ached. “I grew up here.”
“What?” She shook her head, the action, unfortunately, doing nothing to shake the scattered pieces of what she knew of him into a picture that made any sense. “I don’t under—”
“Come,” he said, reaching out a hand. “I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
She slid her hand into his, the connection still warm, still comforting. Whatever he had to tell her, it couldn’t be too bad. Not when he touched her with such tenderness. In fact, she should be excited, she told herself as she let him lead her to the worn boulder where she used to sit and watch her snapping turtle. Logan was finally going to reveal his secrets. That meant he trusted her. Cared about her. Wanted to remove any barriers between them. That was a good thing, right?
Logan released her hand so she could sweep her skirts beneath her and take a seat on the stone. There wasn’t really room for him to sit beside her, but he stayed close, leaning a hip against the boulder.
Then he bent at the waist, picked up a pebble, and tossed it into the pond, sending ripples over the placid surface. The sight created an oddly unsettled feeling inside her. Not knowing what to do, yet not wanting to jabber about inanities when they both stood on the brink of a conversation that could dictate the direction of their future, Evangeline stuffed her mouth with another bite of peach.
Logan smiled, his eyes a little sad as he tilted his head toward the piece of fruit in her hand. “My mother would be glad to know her tree is producing so well.”
Evangeline swallowed in a rush and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “Her tree?”
“Mm-hmm.” He glanced away and lifted his own peach up for inspection, yet his eyes didn’t seem to focus on it. “She pestered my father for months about planting fruit trees around the house. Peaches. Apples. Pears. He’d grumble that they didn’t have the money for such frivolous things. She’d insist he wouldn’t consider them frivolous when she put up preserves and pear butter and baked fresh apple pie. It took nearly a year, but Pop finally brought a pair of saplings home and planted them, one on either side of the front porch. She babied those trees like they were her children. Watering. Weeding. Covering them with a sheet to protect them from frost and snow.” Logan shook his head. “I think leaving those trees behind was harder on her than leaving Pop’s grave.” He met Evangeline’s gaze. “She knew his fate, after all. But she had no way of knowing what would become of her trees. Thank you for taking care of them for her.”
Evangeline’s head swam. Logan’s mother had planted their peach trees. Nurtured them. Ensured their survival so the Hamiltons could enjoy their bounty.
With those peaches, Evangeline had paid Charlotte Clem for cooking lessons. With those peaches, she’d baked pies, put up jam and the syrupy preserves Zach loved to spread on his flapjacks every Sunday morning. With those peaches, she’d just tried to woo a man into a forgiving mood. A man more deeply imbedded in her family’s history than she could have ever fathomed.
“This was your home?” Why did that idea have such difficulty penetrating her mind? Logic grasped the concept, but she struggled to make sense of its emotional ramifications.
Logan nodded. “Yes.” He bobbed his chin toward the house. “I helped my father build the house you live in. The barn that stables your horses.” He swept his arm in a broad gesture. “I’ve explored every inch of this land. I know the best fishing holes. The best places to snare a rabbit. The best climbing trees.” Memories lit his eyes, fond boyhood memories, and for a moment his countenance lightened. But when he turned his face back to her, shadows clouded his eyes once more. “Do you remember the day I told you about my father? About why I hate gambling so much?”
The sweet taste of peach juice soured in Evangeline’s mouth. Her stomach cramped as trepidation twisted her insides. Thickness clogged her throat and blocked the words trying to exit. She managed a shaky nod instead.
Oh, yes. She remembered the heart-wrenching story of his father taking his own life. Leaving his wife and son destitute and alone. All because he hadn’t had the sense to cut his losses at the poker table. He’d raised the stakes higher than he could afford, and his family had paid the price.
How could a father do such a thing? Risk his family’s livelihood on the turn of a card. It was irresponsible. Foolish. But even that paled in comparison to what followed. Evangeline ached for the man who’d been broken by the consequences he’d brought upon himself, even as she bristled with indignation at the selfishness of leaving his wife and child alone to clean up the mess he’d created.
No wonder Logan so passionately sought to restore what had been lost. He’d been thrust into the role of provider while just a boy. A boy who mourned his father and no doubt wanted things to go back to the way they were.
So much pressure. The burden of responsibility. She’d seen the weight of that mantle on Zach’s shoulders for years. He’d carried so much from such a young age. Providing for them the best he could, doing whatever it took to ensure their survival, and keeping whatever darkness he encountered along the way deep inside himself so it wouldn’t taint her or Seth.
Logan and Zach shared a history that should never be forced on a child.
Shared a history . . .
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Oh, merciful heavens. They shared a history.
“I see you’re putting the pieces together,” Logan said, his voice tinged with regret.
The peach fell from her suddenly numb fingers and landed in the dirt at her feet.
Zach had won their home in a card game. She recalled the night he came home with that deed in his hand. He’d woken her up and showed her the paper. He’d been so happy, so proud. He’d promised she’d never have to sleep in a ratty hotel room or abandoned barn ever again. That they could make a place that would be safe for Seth. They would finally have a home.
She’d been so excited, she’d not slept a single wink the rest of the night. A real home!
Never once had she considered that their gain meant someone else’s loss. Neither did she understand why Zach’s enthusiasm soured a few days later. Why he put away his favorite deck of cards—the only thing he had from his father—and never touched them again. He never spoke of what happened. Never offered explanations. Just put his head down and worked to build the home they all wanted.
The home that should have been Logan’s.
She couldn’t meet Logan’s eyes. Could barely form the words that had to be said. “Zach is the one who beat your father in poker that night, isn’t he?”
Logan gently took hold of her chin and turned her face until her eyes met his. “No, Eva. Zach didn’t win that night. He cheated.”
She pulled away from Logan’s touch and violently wagged her head from side to side. “No! He would never—”
“He did.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “He cheated. Stole my father’s property and stole my father’s life.”
The animosity in his voice slapped her across the face. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Logan was mistaken. He had to be. Zach would never have done something so dishonorable. He was a good man. He worked hard. Selflessly. Did whatever it took to take care of their family.
Whatever it took.
Dear Lord. It couldn’t be true. Could it?