The Sheriff's Proposal

She nodded and, when his fingers slipped away, she wished he was touching her again. She took the picture with her to the sofa. “Tell me about him.”

Logan sat beside her, his knee barely brushing hers. “He’s sixteen, thinks he’s the smartest kid in the world and is more rebellious and stubborn than any teenager I’ve ever known.”

“He’s a junior?”

“Yes. At least he would be if he came home.”

“What does he like to do?”

Logan looked at a loss for a moment. “Besides getting in trouble, I don’t really know. We haven’t had an amicable conversation in a long time.”

Logan’s expression was full of regret for all that had been. “The last time we talked, he called me his jailor. If he wasn’t home by curfew, I’d go out and find him. I think he hated me.”

“Logan.”

“That’s the truth, Meg. And now I can’t sleep at night wishing I’d handled everything differently. If I could just find Travis, I’d tell him I don’t care if he wears three earrings or torn jeans or shaves his head. I’ll even make his curfew an hour later. I just want him home.”

Meg reached out and covered Logan’s hand. “Doc said the whole town is praying. Is there anything else anyone can do?”

He sandwiched her hand between his and gently rubbed his thumb over the tops of her fingers. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do except pray.”

She stared into his eyes, feeling his pain, feeling his need, drawn to him in an elemental way. Finally Logan cleared his throat and released her hand. “I have the chicken wrapped in foil on the grill. We’d better get to it, or it’ll be too dry to eat.”

Supper. That’s why she was here.

Logan had already set the picnic table. A light breeze stirred the paper napkins under the silverware. Steps led from the deck down to a long yard separated by a spirea hedge from the next-door neighbor’s property.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There’s a salad in the refrigerator.”

Besides the salad, Logan’s refrigerator was practically empty. Two bottles of beer, two cans of soda, a hunk of Swiss cheese, the remainder of a head of lettuce and a package of carrots sat on the top shelf. Other than that, his cupboard was bare.

Meg carried the teak salad bowl outside. Logan had just placed the chicken on a platter and unwrapped the foil from two baked potatoes. As she slid onto the bench, he straddled the one on the other side and gave her a quick grin. “I forgot to buy butter at the store. But I have salt and pepper. I don’t cook often.”

“You don’t spend much time here, do you?”

He swung his other leg under the table and raised his head. “No. Is it so obvious?”

“Nothing out of place in the living room, a spotless kitchen. Sure signs.”

“I spend most of my time in my office. When I’m hungry, I run up to Gibson’s Grocery.”

“Chips and cookies?”

“Uh-oh. The lady is on to me.”

She smiled. “Quick and filling. I do the same thing when I’m on the run. I get tired of cucumber sandwiches at receptions and hotel food.”

“Where’s your home base?”

“An apartment in Chevy Chase.”

“Are you looking forward to getting back?”

When she was traveling, she did. Her apartment was sunny, comfortable and close to anything she needed. “I’m enjoying my time with Lily and Ned. D.C. and foreign embassies seem a world away.”

Logan delved into world affairs with Meg as they ate. He was a stimulating conversationalist, quick to catch her train of thought, a good listener. Her stomach would jump whenever he smiled. His deep voice, lower when he disagreed with her, carried a timbre of authority, yet he listened when she explained her views. They both veered away from personal subjects. That moment in the living room had been too fraught with emotion, too tempting, too dangerous, to explore further, at least right now.

The sun slipped behind the clouds, streaking them and the sky with orange, pink and purple. The passage of time seemed inconsequential as shadows vanished into dusk and fireflies blinked under the maples in the yard.

Suddenly Logan stopped in midsentence. “We forgot the wine. Some host I turned out to be. I set it on the counter, so it’s not even chilled.”

“Perfect with ice cubes,” she teased.

“You are kidding.”

“Nope.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

She called after him, “Just half a glass.”

Climbing from the bench, she straightened her belt and wandered to the railing, folding her arms on the weathered wood.

It wasn’t long before Meg felt Logan at the back door, watching her. But she didn’t turn around. Whenever their gazes connected, the tumult inside her was too unsettling for her to analyze. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the glow of the kitchen light. The door opened and shut, and she found herself holding her breath, which was silly.

At least, she thought it was silly until Logan stood beside her and offered her a glass of wine. When he handed her the juice glass, she realized the trembling inside her extended to her fingers. She took a sip and set the glass on the balustrade.

He did the same. “We didn’t talk about Costa Rica and what happened to you there.” His voice was low, and in the shadows he seemed almost larger than life.

“It’s not necessary, Logan. I’m fine.”

“That’s a generic word that doesn’t describe or explain anything. You’re not a generic woman.”

Logan made her feel feminine and special. As she was growing up, tagging along with her parents, she’d often felt she was a bother. She’d thought she’d put all that behind her—the feelings of loneliness and isolation. Costa Rica had stirred them up, and being cared for and loved by Lily and Ned hadn’t eased them but had brought even more confusion to the surface. And now Logan, making her feel she was special…

“Meg?”

Even in the darkness, her eyes sought his. Connected to him for the moment, she felt the impact of her loneliness, more loneliness than she’d ever felt before.

Logan stroked her hair away from her cheek, and she trembled. When he bent his head, she knew she wanted his kiss and needed his kiss. But panic rose within her. In an instant, she realized she was as afraid of involvement with Logan as she was of returning to her profession.

Afraid? Of doing the work she loved? Why?

The questions alarmed her almost as much as the thought of drowning in Logan’s embrace. She pulled away from him, confused and afraid, but not sure of what.

“I have to go, Logan.” Her voice was firm although her insides were quivering. Always keep an outwardly calm appearance. Always hide personal feelings. Always smile and act gracious. She’d learned to hide her feelings from her parents, and her profession reinforced her inner rules. Often she had to hide her thoughts while she conveyed someone else’s words. But she didn’t want to think about it now; she just wanted to escape.

Logan didn’t mention the almost-kiss. But he did confront her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s getting late, and Lily and Ned will worry.”

“You’re a big girl, Meg.”

She summoned up a smile. “Lily forgets that.”

“You don’t have to run off just because we were getting a little too intense.”

Intense. Yes, and turned-on, too. Ignoring his statement, she plowed on as if he were a foreign diplomat and she were his interpreter. “Thank you so much for dinner. I enjoyed it.”

Logan frowned. “I did, too. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

Not until she straightened out her thoughts. Not until she knew what was scaring her so. She nodded and went to the door. “I can let myself out. Really, Logan, I had a lovely time.”

She reached for the door, and he didn’t move. Maybe he realized if he came toward her, she’d run even faster.

“Tell Lily and Ned I’ll stop by soon,” Logan said in a low voice, reminding her she couldn’t run from him forever. “I want to see Manuel, Carmen and the baby again before they leave.”

Opening the door, she stepped into the kitchen. “I will. Thanks again for supper.”

Meg let the door shut behind her. Logan didn’t follow her, and she told herself she was glad. But when she reached her car and turned on the ignition, she wondered how different the night might have been if he had.

The morning was clear, the sky blue, the air carrying the lingering fragrance of the last days of summer. Meg had decided to walk to Willow Valley high school Monday morning for her appointment with the principal instead of driving. She needed the time alone to think.

After she’d left Logan’s apartment Saturday night, she’d returned to Lily and Ned’s and sat on the porch in the old wooden swing. For the first time in a long time, she’d remembered the conversation she’d overheard when she was twelve. The conversation that had changed her life.

“Meg was an accident that never should have happened,” her mother said to her father. “But everything has worked out. She’s only held us back a few times. If she decides to stay with Lily while we go to New Delhi, that’s her choice. She’s old enough to make it.”

At that moment Meg had realized she was old enough to make a choice and decide what was best for her. She would stay with her aunt and uncle permanently while her parents traveled, and accept the love her Aunt Lily and Uncle Ned could offer—because her parents apparently had none to give.

Swinging and staring at the moon last night long after midnight, she understood why she was afraid to get involved with Logan. When she was a child and her parents left her at her aunt and uncle’s while they traveled, she’d learned that attachment hurt. Loving her parents, wanting their love in return, she’d discovered abandonment hurt even worse. Nurtured by Lily and Ned, she’d missed them when she traveled with her parents. But staying at Lily and Ned’s, she’d longed to be with her parents. The situation was confusing for a child. At twelve she’d tried to end the confusion by staying in Willow Valley.

When she was an adult, her relationship with Todd had just reinforced the fact that attachment led to hurt. She’d made friends in D.C. But they were social friends, not friends in whom she’d confide. She’d never confided in Todd, either, not about her deepest feelings and dreams. Yet she’d let Logan see a vulnerable side of her she usually kept hidden. She could still feel his arms around her, the brush of his fingers against her cheek. Her attraction to Logan had taken her by surprise. Yet she could cope with that. After all, she didn’t have to be around him. She didn’t want to get involved, so she’d simply stay away. The solution to that problem was easy.

But her career and her fear of returning to D.C. were another matter. She loved her work. It was important and necessary. Yet she was scared that she’d be put in a situation again where her interpretation skills could be a matter of life and death. She was afraid of the responsibility, afraid of getting hurt again, but most of all, afraid of making a mistake. She could have cost everyone involved their lives. It was her fault that their kidnapper had started shooting. Thank God she was the only one who’d gotten hurt. But what about the next time? What if…?

Meg hurried across the parking lot of the high school, trying to chase her thoughts away. Entertaining doubts would only give them more power. She swung open the door to the building and headed for the office. The lobby had a familiar recently polished floor smell, and she smiled. During her time in high school, living with her aunt and uncle, she’d finally experienced a sense of belonging and stability that had been missing from her first twelve years.

When Meg opened the door to the office and stepped inside, the secretary smiled at her. “Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Michael Holden at eleven-thirty.”

The door to the principal’s office stood open. Meg heard two masculine voices. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken…

Michael stood in the doorway and motioned to her to come into his office. He was six feet tall and in his late thirties. He’d accepted the position as principal of Willow Valley high school the year before. Lily had introduced Meg to the man after church services one Sunday. Meg didn’t know much about him—just that his blue eyes twinkled when he smiled and his voice was gentle yet strong enough to persuade recalcitrant teenagers to listen to him. He’d e-mailed her, asking her to consider participating in an assembly for the students. She’d made this appointment with him to discuss it.

Except she hadn’t expected to see Logan MacDonald standing in the principal’s office. In his uniform, he always seemed to be taller, broader, a force she couldn’t ignore.

Logan stared directly at her, as if he were trying to see something inside. “I had a meeting with Michael this morning. He’s organized a local parents’ group that will go to work as soon as a child is lost or missing.”

The Sheriff was making it clear his presence here had nothing to do with her. Without waiting for a response from her, he said to Michael, “I’ll call you after I’ve spoken with my P.I. again. Meg, I’ll see you soon.”

His tone was cool and polite, reserved in a way it hadn’t been before. But she knew it was better for both of them if they limited contact. After all, she’d be going back to D.C. eventually. She focused her attention on Michael Holden and the program she wanted to present to his students.

Logan left the school, fully intending to drive back to his office. But once in his car, he didn’t put the key in the ignition. All he could think about was Meg Dawson—the way they’d connected, the way she’d left his house so abruptly, the way she’d stood in Michael Holden’s office, a wall surrounding her. Something had spooked her. And damn if he wasn’t going to find out exactly what it was.

He examined the visitors’ parking places and didn’t see a blue compact car. It was possible Meg had walked to the school. Ned and Lily’s place was about a mile away. Logan checked his watch every five minutes. Finally the sun blazing in his windshield urged him to get out of his car.

Twenty minutes later, Meg pushed open the door of the lobby and stepped outside. The sun shone on her brown hair, making blond strands glow. The gold buttons on her red sailor blouse gleamed. Her white slacks seemed to reflect the sun as a warm breeze blew.

Logan slid behind the wheel, shut his door and started the car. He moved on instinct rather than logic. Before Meg stepped off the curb, he’d driven in front of the entrance, reached across and opened the passenger door.

Her expression showed her surprise. “What are you still doing here?”

“I decided to take my lunch break and give you a ride home. You don’t have your car, do you?”

“No, but…”

He appraised her, from her silky brown hair to her sandals. “And you certainly don’t need the exercise, so hop in.”

“Logan, I don’t need a chauffeur.”

“Of course you don’t. And I don’t want to be one. Hop in anyway. We need to talk.”

“Logan, really…”

“Miss Dawson, we’re soon going to cause a scene if you don’t get in. Because I’m not leaving without you.”

She looked thoroughly frustrated with him as she slid inside, then slammed the door.

It was clear that whatever talking he wanted to do, he’d have to initiate. He pulled his car out onto the two-lane road and headed towards Lily and Ned’s. “Tell me what happened Saturday night.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I don’t see you as a woman who hides behind denial. You’re too intelligent for that.”

Meg stared out the windshield. “I’ve solved my own problems for a very long time. I’m not about to depend on someone else to do it now.”

“So there is a problem.”

“Let it go, Logan. Life’s like a puzzle. You just have to figure out how to fill in the pieces so they fit.”

He glanced at her profile. “Your philosophy?”

“Uncle Ned’s.”

Meg was making it very clear she wanted him to butt out of her life. And he should. Their roads wound in different directions.

After he cruised down the lane to the farm, he got out of the car quickly and went around to Meg’s side. She’d already opened the door. When she climbed out, she stood beside him looking nervous.

He was feeling a bit jittery himself, unsettled by the inner turmoil he felt whenever he was close to her. “I understand if you don’t want someone to problem-solve for you. But if you need to talk, I can listen.”

When she looked up at him, he wanted to kiss her. But he knew he’d scare her away. So instead, he gently tapped the tip of her nose. “You know where to find me.”

It was hard for him to leave her there, to drive away without another word. He’d give her some time. If she didn’t come to him, he’d be back to find out why she was afraid of him…of them together.

The terror. She could still feel terror. She was cold…so cold. Despite the heat. Despite the perspiration. She interpreted their kidnapper automatically. But her teeth were chattering, she hadn’t slept for three days and she was scared…scared she’d say or do something wrong. Think something wrong and put it into words.

The terrorist rattled off his demands. She conveyed what he wanted to the official on the phone. Suddenly their kidnapper shouted and waved his gun. Pomada yelled. Meg didn’t know what she’d said wrong. But she moved toward the man, hoping to reassure him—

He shot.

The searing pain brought her to her knees. No one helped her. She knew Pomada was afraid he’d get shot, too. She reached out anyway. No one reached back. Her ears rang, and dots floated in front of her eyes, turning everything to gray. She couldn’t pass out…she couldn’t…she couldn’t….

Meg awoke, drenched in sweat, the terror as real as it had been that day weeks ago. When would the nightmares stop? When would she forget?

Sunday afternoon, Meg drove to Logan’s house, not sure she was doing the right thing. But maybe Logan was the one person who could help her. Maybe he’d understand her fear of going back to work. She needed someone else’s perspective. Logan himself had said he’d experienced traumatic situations. How did he make himself do it again? How did he persuade himself to take the same risks or face the same challenges when he’d narrowly escaped injury before?

Meg rang Logan’s doorbell, not wanting him to solve her problem but hoping he’d share his experience. When he didn’t answer the door, she rang the bell again and reminded herself she was here to talk about her work, not to satisfy her curiosity about her attraction to him.

Both the sheriff’s car and Logan’s sedan sat in the driveway. The garage door was open, so he had to be around. She descended the porch steps and followed the path around the side of the house. A low buzzing became louder as she rounded the corner. Logan was using a hedge trimmer on the spirea. His bare back, tanned and muscled, gleamed with sweat in the bright sun.

Because of the buzz of the trimmer, he couldn’t hear her as she walked toward him. She stared at the strong column of his neck, his hair damp and wavy on his nape, his straight spine, his khaki shorts riding low on his hips. The sparks inside Meg flicked against her warning to herself, threatening to ignite with a matching response from Logan.

Suddenly he turned around.

She stopped and took a deep breath. But that didn’t help because she inhaled sun and male, potent enough to make her head spin.

Logan’s stare was intense, then he smiled. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Her gaze went straight to his chest—a broad chest covered by black hair. A mat of it whorled around his dark male nipples then arrowed down the center, disappearing under the snap of his shorts. Meg felt herself getting hotter the longer she stared. “I, uh, thought I’d ask about your perspective.”

“On…?”

“What happened to me in Costa Rica. There’s something you don’t know.”

He came closer. Her fingers tingled, and she realized she wanted to touch him. There was no point denying it.

“Why don’t you sit on the deck while I shower? Then we can talk.”

Meg went up the stairs to the deck and settled in a lawn chair while Logan wound up the cord to the hedge trimmer. He climbed the steps and opened the door, his gaze lingering on her. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

She heard the underlying message. He didn’t want her to run away. As he went inside, she closed her eyes. She’d never been afraid of life or the challenges it presented. But right now she felt like running far away and hiding. She made herself sit still and wait.

Not ten minutes later, Logan opened the screen door. “Iced tea or soda?”

“Iced tea.”

He gave her a smile that made her knees wobble although she was sitting.

She heard the ring of the phone in the kitchen and Logan’s deep rumble as he answered it. A few seconds later, he came outside, his expression grim. “That was a hospital in Richmond. Travis was mugged.”

Chapter 4

Logan’s expression reflected a mixture of dismay, relief and worry.

Meg couldn’t keep herself from going to him. “How is Travis? Are his injuries serious?”

Logan raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Cuts and bruised ribs. A black eye. They kept him overnight for observation. He only gave them my number now because his doctor threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t. They wouldn’t release him on his own.”

Meg knew the drive to Richmond would take about three hours. She could imagine Logan’s concern, recriminations and hope as he drove. “Would you like me to go along?”

His green eyes gentled, then darkened with the same intensity that had been there right before she’d evaded his kiss. “I’d like that.”

An hour later, Meg sat beside Logan as he drove and wondered if she should have offered to come along. She’d called Lily so her aunt wouldn’t worry. But Logan had been silent ever since they’d gotten into the car. Meg felt as if she was intruding.

Suddenly he glanced at her. “I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”

“I understand.”

He grunted. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. You’ll probably wish you’d stayed in Willow Valley. Travis can be…” Logan sighed.

“Are you afraid he won’t want to come home with you?”

Logan adjusted his sun visor with a snap. “I know he won’t want to come home.”

“Even after what he’s probably been through?”

“I told you he hates me, Meg. And maybe he has good reason.”

“Logan!”

“He’s never said it, but he thinks his mother’s accident was my fault. And I’m not so sure it wasn’t. We had a serious argument. Travis came home just as she raced out of the house. An hour later, she was dead.”

Meg didn’t know what to say to ease Logan’s pain and guilt. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Since that night, he’s pulled away. Now I’m not sure all the talking in the world will help.”

Meg could feel Logan’s torment. He wanted to love his son, but he thought his son no longer loved him. Meg knew what it felt like not to have love returned. Love was more than saying words. It was a bond that transcended arguments and misunderstandings.

But not abandonment.

As long as Logan kept trying to communicate with his son, trying to reach him, that bond would live. Somehow she had to explain that to Logan. “I didn’t know how to talk to my parents. They were so far above me.”

He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“Their concerns were lofty. They cared about the history of civilization and their research, not about what I’d learned about basket weaving from a native girl my own age, or about the friendship we developed. They met my physical needs—they made sure I was safe. But a child needs more than that.”

“I couldn’t even keep Travis safe.”

Meg could imagine the feelings of responsibility as a parent—the immensity of protecting a child, guiding him on the right path. “Maybe if you talk to him about why he ran away…”