Chapter Fifteen

Hanna fully expected the notice of foreclosure to arrive first thing the next morning, but it didn’t. She expected a visit from Zack and, perhaps, if she was honest, a visit from Logan as well. She spent most of the morning preparing for them to arrive.

She was disappointed on all counts.

It was practically anticlimactic.

Though, if she were honest, only one count truly disappointed her.

Deep in her heart, she really wanted to see Logan again. Needed to.

She peppered her father with questions about Logan’s visit last night, but he had little to say, other than he seemed like a decent man who’d been truly very worried about her . . . and he could handle his chili.

But to Dad, that was about all it took to rise high in his estimation.

He often said he never had much respect for a man who couldn’t handle serious chili.

With a sigh, she’d let the topic drop.

Sidney had left late last night to head back to Fort Worth, because she had to work in the morning, and Mom was certainly no distraction, so Hanna headed out to her studio, the small greenhouse her father had converted for her, and painted the day away.

There was something about painting, something so spiritual and therapeutic. With each stroke, the fog surrounding her seemed to clear. As she created, she worked through the recent events in a way she never could have without this outlet. She thought about Zack and their relationship, remembering this conversation or that interaction.

She was surprised at all the little things she’d missed, all the clues, to his true nature. She suddenly understood why none of the other men in town ever asked her out, or talked to her, or looked at her. They weren’t indifferent to her. They were afraid of Zack.

She saw clearly why Randall Jones had refused to show her paintings in his shop—because Zack had told him not to.

And she had no doubt Zack had deliberately led her father into a bad investment, encouraged him into over-mortgaging the ranch. All to try to force her into a marriage with him.

It was creepy.

And with each revelation, her fury at Zack rose.

She couldn’t help being a little annoyed at Logan as well. And not just because she’d expected him to visit or call or something, and he hadn’t. She was annoyed because he’d had the opportunity to tell her the truth—that he knew who she was—but he hadn’t.

Why was it his duplicity hurt more than Zack’s?

Oh, she knew why.

She cleaned off her brush and sat back to study her painting. Then grunted and pulled out a fresh canvas, immediately beginning another.

The fact of the matter was, Logan meant more to her than Zack ever had. Or ever would.

She didn’t care if she never saw Zack again. Logan was another matter entirely.

As annoyed as she was at him, she wanted to see him. Ached to see him.

It bothered her that he didn’t call or text . . . until she remembered he didn’t have her number, or she his.

He’d come to her house last night to make sure she was all right . . . but had that only been because it was the gentlemanly thing to do? Was that the end of it?

Damn, she wished she’d set aside her embarrassment and gone downstairs last night. She wished she could have seen him at least one more time.

She thought about calling Cody to get his number, but decided that was stupid. And desperate.

If he really wanted to see her again, if what they’d shared had meant as much to him as it did to her, he would contact her. Wouldn’t he?

But he didn’t.

The week went by without a word from him.

Hanna tried to ignore the dust devil of panic swirling in her soul, but it was difficult.

Her dark mood was even more difficult to take because Dad’s was unaccountably cheery.

Any minute now the bank could—and would—foreclose. But he walked around the house whistling and puttering in the kitchen “perfecting his chili” as though the sword of Damocles didn’t hang over their heads by a thread.

And as his mood got lighter and lighter, hers sank into the doldrums. As hard as she tried to think of a way out of this pickle, she couldn’t.

On Thursday she received an email from Amy asking for a meeting to chat about the showing of Hanna’s work she was planning at the gallery. It was a relief to get out of the house, to get away from Snake Gully to the bustling city of Fort Worth.

Her desperation to find some other solution to her father’s troubles had become unbearable. It was naïve to think one gallery showing could change any of that, but it was a hint of hope, something she could hold on to.

If her paintings could capture some attention, there was the possibility her hobby could become a paying job. At the very least, it could become a source of income to support her family.

When they had to move out of the ranch, leave the only home she and her mother had ever known, it would be nice to have some money for a down payment on a house or an apartment. Or something.

Lord love him, her father seemed to be drifting even deeper and deeper into denial. The thought of losing him, as well as her mother, haunted her. It was bad enough that they would all be homeless as soon as the boom fell.

She met Amy at a coffee shop near her gallery. Hanna ordered a decaf Americano and Amy ordered her trademark caramel Frappuccino. She poked at the pouf of whipped cream with her straw.

“How . . . are you doing?”

Hanna disliked the way Amy studied her face. The bruises were fading, but even makeup couldn’t hide the worst of it. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. How are things with Zack?”

“Awesome.” Hanna forced a smile. “It’s over.”

Amy stared at her. Shifted in her seat. “And . . . how do you feel about that?”

“It’s a relief, really.” But there were other issues. Of course, she didn’t want to talk about that. None of her friends knew the truth about her family’s troubles, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Amy relaxed. “Good. I’m glad. I mean, I only got a glimpse of him that morning before he dragged you off. But I didn’t like his . . . energy.”

“He was angry.” A flush rose on her cheeks. Did Amy know that Zack had come to the Double Stud to find her returning from a tryst with one of the ranch hands? In her nightgown? God, she hoped not.

“Yeah.” Amy snorted. “I got that. I was pretty worried about you. When Sidney and Cody came back saying they couldn’t find you . . . both Porsche and I were worried sick. It was a relief when Sidney called to say you were okay.” She frowned. “And then I didn’t hear from you.” The pucker on Amy’s face was concerning. And the way she played with the paper from her straw.

“I’m sorry.” Hanna balled up her napkin. “I should have called.”

“You should have. But anyway . . . I have news,” she said.

A thread in her voice captured Hanna’s attention. “Yes?”

“We have to cancel your opening.”

Hanna’s belly sank. Straight to the center of the Earth. “What? Why?”

Amy’s grin was incongruous with this news. “Because, darling . . .” She pulled a slip of paper from her purse and slid it across the table. “Someone came in and bought every piece.”

Hanna stared at the check, a large, fancy document stamped with a familiar logo. It was familiar, but not familiar enough for her to remember where she’d seen it before. The amount scratched out in a bold hand stole her attention. It was not nearly enough to pay off the loan, but it was a healthy amount. A start. Aside from that . . . someone had come in a bought every piece. Someone liked her work. Loved it. Bought it. Her heart soared. Maybe there was hope. Maybe she could make a living at this.

“There’s more.”

“More?”

Amy sucked noisily at her straw before responding. Hanna shifted restlessly. “This guy, Rafe Wilder?”

“Yes?”

“He wants to commission you to paint more.” Amy named a figure that made Hanna reel.

“Are you serious?”

“Apparently his family owns a chain of restaurants. They’re redecorating. You know, freshening up their look. Anyway, they really like your paintings. Here’s his card. He wants to meet you on Wednesday at ten at their flagship restaurant in Dallas. Can you make that?”

Could she. “I’ll be there. With bells on.”

Amy grinned. “I’m so happy for you, Hanna.”

“Thank you, Amy,” she said with a grin. For the first time in months she felt happy. Free.

And nothing deflated her mood.

Until she thought of Logan.

And the fact he hadn’t contacted her.

And probably never would.

***

The next morning, Hanna and her father were having coffee in the kitchen, reveling in the news of Hanna’s sales as Mom rearranged pennies on the table, when Zack’s black truck screeched to a halt in the driveway.

Hanna’s gut clenched. The confrontation she’d been dreading was here.

Her father’s chair scraped against the wood floor as he stood.

Hanna stood as well.

“Honey,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

“No, Dad.” She shook her head and patted his arm. “We’re all in this together.”

By mutual accord, they walked slowly to the foyer, even though Zack was pounding on the door. Neither of them really wanted to face him. Aside from which, annoying him was far too tempting.

When her father opened the door, he pushed inside, first glaring at her and then rounding on her father. He held a paper up and shook it. “What the fuck is the meaning of his?” he thundered.

“Oh my,” Mom said, wandering into the foyer, her eyes wide.

“Grace,” Dad said. “Why don’t you go work on your knitting?”

“But such language.” Mom shook her head and tsked.

Hanna took her mother’s arm and led her to her favorite chair in the living room and turned on the TV, switching it to the channel with the Muzak she liked. And then she handed Mom her perennial scarf, but her attention was really on the confrontation in the hall.

Specifically, the fact that Zack repeated his question . . . and her father laughed.

Laughed.

Their world was crashing down around their ears. What on earth was there to laugh about? She edged back into the hallway, her concern for her father’s sanity rising. The need to protect him from Zack was rising as well.

“Well? What is this?” Zack waved the paper.

Dad took it and scanned it. “Well, I’m no banker, but it appears to look like a loan . . . paid in full.” Her father grinned.

Hanna’s knees locked. She nearly collapsed. “P-paid in full?”

Dad handed her the document and she stared at it as though it was written in Russian. “How? Why?”

Dad patted her on the shoulder. “Go on now, honey. Go see to your mom. Zack and I need to . . . have a chat.”

Ohh. She didn’t like that glimmer in his eye. She recognized that look from when she was a little girl just about to get a thrashing. She glanced at Zack.

Then again, maybe she did like that glimmer.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Bemused, she headed back into the living room, glancing back as her father escorted Zack onto the porch. When the latter appeared to be unwilling to leave, her father gave him a shove and growled, “Out.”

She crossed to the window and watched the two men as they conversed, her father calm and relaxed, and Zack becoming more and more agitated by the moment. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever her father was sharing did not please Zack in the slightest.

Zack glanced over his shoulder at the house and caught her watching through the window. A cold wind blew through her at his expression. He snarled something to her father and then, to her shock, Henry Stevens, the most gentle man in the world, hauled off and hit Zack square in the jaw. Though he was a much larger man than her father, apparently her dad could still pack a wallop. Zack reeled back.

And then he bristled and his muscles bunched. Hanna knew he was preparing to bowl her father over, the way he’d bowled over his opponents on the football field. And everywhere.

She was about to run out, to break up the tussle—go for the gun, perhaps—when her father said something, something that made Zack freeze. His face went pale.

He glared at the house again and then, incomprehensibly, backed away. He hopped into his truck, threw it in reverse, and roared away in a spray of gravel.

Hanna met her father at the door. She crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “Do you want to tell me what just happened?”

Her father chuckled. “I just explained things to that boy,” he said as he made his way into the living room. He watched Zack’s retreat down the long drive with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“What did you explain?”

“I explained that if he ever set foot on this ranch again I’d shoot off his balls.”

“You didn’t.” Hanna gasped through a laugh.

“Of course I did.” He turned and tugged her into a hug. “After what happened between you . . .”

“Nothing happened.”

He pulled back and studied her face. “I know what happened, baby. I’m not blind. And the fact of the matter is, if he comes back, I will shoot him.”

She knew her father. She had no doubt he was determined to make good on his threat. “But what about this?” She held up the paper, the paper ostensibly freeing them from their debt.

“Oh, that?” Her father scrubbed at the stubble on his cheek.

“Where did you get the money to pay off the loan?”

His grin was wide. It sent a thrill of happiness through her to see the lines of worry erased from his face. “I sold my chili recipe. Some big company in Dallas.”

Her jaw dropped. “Daddy. That’s wonderful!”

“Logan took them a sample and, well, they bought it.” He puffed out his chest. “Looks like my recipe is gonna be featured as the ‘Eye-Poppin’ Chili’ in restaurants across the Southwest.”

But Hanna had lost the thread of the conversation.

One word had stolen all her attention.

Logan.

He hadn’t just walked away after all.

He had, in fact, saved them.