THEY LAY ON their backs in the deep grass, holding hands and gazing up at the stars, while Briana’s old dog slept peacefully in the truck. The moment was as nearly perfect as any Logan had ever lived, and he wished it could last forever.
It was like some kind of holy benediction, that sprawling sky, black and velvety and sprinkled with a billion other worlds.
Briana sighed, warm against his side. They hadn’t made love, but it seemed as if they had—as if they’d joined souls in some inexplicable way, just by lying together under all that eternity. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
He drew her nearer, so she rested her head on his shoulder. Ran his hand the length of her braid. Dylan would have had some line ready, Logan supposed, but his throat was too thick for speech, too constricted with the sheer wonder of just being alive, and with this particular woman beside him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, spreading her fingers wide on his chest, probably feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat through her palm.
Women. If you weren’t talking, they thought there was something wrong.
Logan smiled. “More than okay,” he said.
She fell silent again.
He kissed her forehead, propped his chin on her crown.
A long time passed.
Briana broke the silence. “Who are you, Logan Creed?” she asked, very softly.
“Good question,” he answered. “Member of the Nevada State Bar Association. Wannabe rancher. Son of Jake Creed. Beyond that, I really couldn’t tell you.”
“You lived a different life, before you came back to Stillwater Springs, didn’t you?”
He gently displaced her to roll onto his side and, propping himself up on one elbow, looked down into her face. “Yeah,” he said. “I have a place in Vegas. I was married a couple of times.” He traced the curve of her cheek. “Wondering if I’ve got any dark secrets?”
Even in the delicate light of the stars and the moon, he saw her blush. She shook her head. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“What is there to understand?”
“You. You have another life, in another place. Why did you come back here?”
“If I tell you,” he said, “I might scare you off.”
She smiled. “Give it a shot.”
“I came back because I can lie in the grass here, and watch the stars. Because this is where I was born, and where I belong.”
“Not very scary so far,” Briana said.
He chuckled, kissed her. “Here’s the scary part. I want to rebuild the ranch—return it to its former glory, so to speak. I want a wife and a passel of rowdy kids, and I want to prove—to myself if no one else—that I’m not the kind of man my father was.”
She absorbed all that. Didn’t jump right up and run for the main road, which was encouraging. “What kind of man was your father?”
“He was a d—”
Briana stopped him, put a finger to his lips. “Besides the drinking,” she said, her eyes luminous and flecked with stray shards of starlight.
Logan thought. “Tough. Jake was tough. He had a temper. He worked as a logger his whole life, and even though we barely held on to the ranch, especially when he got laid off for the winter, we never missed a meal. We had shoes and went to the dentist every six months.”
“Was he abusive?” She’d worked up her nerve to ask that question; Logan knew that by the sudden tension in her body.
“Not so much physically,” he said. “He hauled us off to the woodshed a time or two, but it was that way for most kids, back then. When he got drunk, though, and that was often, he went berserk. He couldn’t hold in the rage then, the way he could when he was sober. We always went into hiding at the first sign of a bottle, Dylan and Ty and me, and lay low ’til it blew over.”
Briana’s hand made a slow circle on his chest. “I haven’t noticed you getting drunk and going berserk,” she said quietly. “Do you?”
“Not since the funeral,” Logan said, closing his eyes against the memory. “Swore off hard liquor the next day—God, what a hangover that was—and now I can barely finish a beer.”
“Did your dad want to build up the ranch and have more kids?”
His throat went tight again. He shook his head. “He didn’t want the three of us, let alone more, and he hated the ranch—a carryover from his father, I guess. The ranch thrived for generations, but when the Depression hit, nobody bought beef. Gradually, they shot and ate the few skinny cattle they had left, and I don’t think my grandparents ever got over it. Jake didn’t, either. Said the land was an albatross around his neck. After Tyler’s mother killed herself, things got a whole lot worse. He drank more, if that was possible.”
“Logan, can’t you see how different you are? From your father, I mean?”
“Can we talk about your dad for a while?” Logan countered. Just talking about Jake depressed him, made him feel hopeless, even with more money than he could ever spend. He’d expected wealth to make him happy.
It hadn’t.
She smiled, no doubt seeing images of Bill “Wild Man” McIntyre, king of the rodeo clowns, in her mind. “He liked to read,” she said. “We had a whole shoebox full of library cards, all from different towns, in half a dozen states. Once, he forgot to return a book before we left for the next rodeo, and we backtracked almost a hundred miles to turn it in and pay the fine. Fifty cents.”
“It never bothered you, growing up on the road that way?”
“I wouldn’t want to do it again,” she said, after a long time. “Not at this point in my life. But it was a wonderful way to live, watching the highway unroll in front of us, singing along with the radio while it blared Johnny Cash, or Patsy Cline, or George Jones. Our favorite was Tom T. Hall’s ‘Old Dogs, Children and Watermelon Wine,’ though.” She paused, sighed again. “Every Christmas,” she went on, “we headed back to Boise to visit my Aunt Barbara and her family. There was always a big tree, and special food, and lots of presents, but I could barely enjoy it, because I was so afraid my aunt would finally convince Dad to leave me behind so I could go to ‘real’ school. He never did, though. Not even when I hit my teens. He traded the camper in for a two-bedroom trailer—second- or third-hand, of course—when I turned twelve. Before that, I slept on a fold-down bunk, and he took the couch.”
“You never wished he’d settle down someplace? Not even once?”
“A few times, I did. Like when I’d see a bunch of girls my age, giggling in a mall, having lunch with their moms or their friends in the food court. And it would have been nice to have a mother—especially when I got my period, and I started thinking about boys.”
Logan felt a pang for the girl Briana had been, gave her a slight squeeze.
“Right before Dad decided to stop following the rodeo and stay in Boise, I met Vance.”
“Love at first sight?”
“More like lust,” Briana said.
Logan chuckled. “I can identify,” he said. “I married both my wives because I was young and stupid and I wanted to have sex with them. It never occurred to me—or to them, either, I guess—that we’d have been better off skipping the weddings and hitting the sack instead.”
As soon as he’d uttered those words, Logan wondered if he’d regret them.
“I guess things happen for a reason,” Briana said. “It didn’t work out with Vance, but I have Josh and Alec, so it was worth it.”
“They’re terrific kids,” Logan said. “And—”
“And?”
“And it’s getting cold out here. Let’s go back to your place.”
Logan sat up, got to his feet, pulled Briana after him.
“This,” she said, grinning impishly, “would have been a fantastic place to have sex.”
He laughed, kissed her. “A bed would be better.”
* * *
A WEIRD LITTLE THRILL jiggled in the pit of Briana’s stomach as they turned off the county road, headed for her house. In the backseat, Wanda gave a low growl.
Even before they pulled in and saw the back door standing open, Briana knew something was wrong.
Her first thought, as always, was of the boys. It was irrational to worry, she knew—they were at the drive-in movie, with Heather and Vance, probably gorging themselves on popcorn. Still, she groped for her cell phone as Logan slammed on the brakes, shut off the engine and hurtled out of the truck to sprint toward the house.
No one answered Josh and Alec’s shared cell phone.
Most likely, they’d shut it off to watch the movie.
Briana got out of the truck and hurried after Logan, forgetting Wanda, turning to go back for her, then thinking better of it.
He was just coming out of the hallway leading to her bedroom and the bath, and if she hadn’t known he was on her side, the expression on his face would have scared her half to death.
Someone had been there—and this time, they’d ransacked the kitchen. Emptied all the drawers. Broken every dish and cup.
She whirled to look at the lock on the back door, but it wasn’t broken. Had the intruder had a key?
Briana thought of the photo album, with all the pictures of her dad, her younger self, her babies, and ran into the living room.
The contents of the album were scattered all over the floor, some of them torn. Briana dropped to her knees with a cry of dismay, and started gathering them up with frantic scooping motions of her hands.
Behind her, she heard Logan on his cell phone, talking to Sheriff Book.
Her wedding picture, a memento she’d planned to duplicate and pass on to the boys when they were older, had been ripped down the middle. Alec’s first baby photo was in tatters, pieces no bigger than bits of confetti, Josh’s crumpled into a tight little ball.
Tears slipped down Briana’s cheeks, and she couldn’t stop making those awful sounds, those soft, keening wails of protest and despair and helpless fury.
Logan pulled her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her. She shuddered violently, trying to get her breath.
“Why would someone do this?” she cried, against his chest.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Sheriff Book will be here in a few minutes.”
Briana shoved back from Logan. “Sheriff Book!”she ranted. “What good is that going to do?” In the distance, Wanda’s bark, though muffled, grew more urgent.
“I’ll get her,” Logan said.
Briana nodded, made herself look around the living room, past the pool of ruined pictures in the middle of the floor.
The couch cushions had been ripped open, the curtains torn down. The TV screen was smashed to glinting shards.
Briana put a hand to her mouth, turning in a slow circle, her stomach roiling. She was on her way through the kitchen, determined to see what had been destroyed in the boys’ room and her own, when Logan came in with Wanda.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t go in there.”
She broke and ran, trying to beat him to the hall, but he was faster. He caught her by the arm.
“No, Briana. Not yet.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s worse than bad.”
She began to shake.
Logan led her to the table, sat her down in the nearest chair. Handed her her purse.
She found her cell phone, dialed again.
Still no answer.
Her children. What if this person had somehow gotten to Alec and Josh?
“What’s Vance’s number?” Logan asked calmly.
Wanda had slumped heavily onto Briana’s feet. She was scared. That made two of them—three, counting Logan, who had turned a dangerous shade of gray at the jawline.
Briana struggled to remember the number, gave it to Logan when she did. In the distance, a siren shrieked.
“Vance?” Logan said, into his phone. “Logan Creed. Are Josh and Alec with you?”
A frown creased his forehead.
Briana got hold of the phone in a single grab. “Vance?” she croaked. “Where are my children?”
“Relax,” Vance said. “I got a chance to put in some overtime, so Heather went ahead and took them to the movies.”
Logan stood still as death, even as the siren grew louder and Wanda began to bark.
“They’re not answering their cell phone,” Briana said, raising her voice to be heard over the dog and the sheriff’s arrival.
“They must have gone to that multiscreen place out on the highway,” Vance said. “They’d have had to turn it off. And stop yelling.”
Sheriff Book loomed in the doorway, then came over the threshold. His gaze sweeping the demolished kitchen, he gave a low whistle.
“I need to talk to Alec and Josh,” Briana insisted. “If you can get hold of Heather, do it!”
A bulb must have gone on in Vance’s head around then. “Is something wrong?”
Duh, Briana thought. “Someone’s been in the house,” she said, finally catching her breath. “They trashed the place. I have to know Alec and Josh are all right, Vance.”
“I’ll go get them, bring them there—”
“No!” Briana cried. She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help much. “Not until I can get this place cleaned up. I don’t want them to see it the way it is.”
“Are you alone out there?” Vance asked.
“No,” Briana said. “Logan’s here, and Sheriff Book. Track Heather down, Vance. Ask her to have the boys call me right away. Okay? Can you do that?”
“I can do that,” Vance said wearily.
They hung up without goodbyes.
By that time, Sheriff Book and Logan had disappeared from sight. They were in her bedroom, by the sound of it, their words muffled and sharp around the edges. She caught the occasional muttered expletive.
Briana clasped her cell phone tightly in her right hand and willed it to ring. She stood, whispered to Wanda that everything would be all right, and made for the bedroom.
What she saw when she reached the threshold stopped her cold.
The word bitch was scrawled on closet doors, in what looked like lipstick.
The bed, the window and the walls were covered in shining red, and Briana thought it was blood, for one terrible moment, before she caught the fumes in the air.
Spray paint.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, bending to pick up a small tube lying at her feet, halfway under the dresser. The lipstick was hers—she’d bought it at the drugstore in Choteau, when she picked up the birth-control pills.
Birth-control pills.
Had she really been lying on the ground with Logan, in a mountain clearing, not even an hour before, marveling at a sky so full of stars it could barely hold them all?
Logan slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“That’s it,” Sheriff Book said, snapping his radio off his belt. “I’m having Brett Turlow brought in for questioning. Try not to touch anything until I’ve had the state police bring in their crime-scene people.”
Briana bit her lower lip, nodded numbly.
The cell phone rang, vibrating against her palm.
She answered immediately. “Alec? Josh?”
“Mom?” Josh said urgently. “Are you okay? Dad said somebody broke into our house—”
“I’m okay,” Briana said, dizzy with relief. “So is Wanda. H-how was the movie?”
“We didn’t go,” Josh said. His voice sounded small, and a little shaky.
Briana’s heartbeat quickened again, like a racehorse hitting its stride on the stretch. “Where are you?”
“Dad said not to tell you.”
“I don’t care what your dad said,” Briana retorted. “I want to know where you are—right now.”
Sheriff Book had left the bedroom, though his radio could be heard crackling in the kitchen, along with the orders he was barking into it. Logan remained at Briana’s side, his arm still around her.
“He’s on his way to get us, Mom,” Josh said, wheedling now. “Can’t we just leave it at that? I don’t want to break my word.”
Briana closed her eyes, counted to ten, opened them again. “Joshua William Grant,” she said, “start talking.”
“We’re at the casino.”
“In the coffee shop.” Josh began to cry. “Alec’s here, and we’re okay. Honest.”
“Where’s Heather?”
Logan frowned, listening intently to Briana’s end of the conversation.
“She said she had to play some blackjack, and then we’d go to the movie, and we shouldn’t tell you or Dad because you’d just get all bent out of shape.”
Briana swallowed hard, looking up into Logan’s troubled eyes. “Listen, honey, you’re not in any trouble, and neither is Alec. Why did you shut off your cell phone, though? I was worried when I couldn’t reach you.”
“Heather borrowed it,” Josh answered. “She forgot to charge hers. She must have called Dad or something, because she came back and slammed it down on the table and said she hoped we were satisfied because now all three of us were going to catch hell. I called Dad because we were supposed to be staying with him, and he told me not to say—”
“Is Heather there now?”
“No,” Josh said. “Alec wants to talk to you.”
“Put him on in a second,” Briana said. “Listen to me, Josh. I want you to ask the nearest casino employee to get Jim if he’s around, or a security guard. You will not leave that place with your dad, do you understand? And you will definitely not leave with Heather.”
“O-okay,” Josh said. “But how are we going to get home?”
“Logan and I will come and get you.”
Logan nodded as she spoke.
“Do you understand?” she repeated, when Josh didn’t respond.
“Dad’s here,” he said. The next voice she heard was Alec’s.
“Mom? I’m scared. Dad looks really mad. Heather’s back, and he’s yelling at her—”
She and Logan were already moving, Wanda following while the sheriff waited for the crime-scene people. “Hold on, sweetie,” she said. “I’m on my way.”
Logan hoisted Wanda into the back of the truck and got behind the wheel, thumbing in a number on his own cell phone. “Dylan?” he said, as Briana buckled her seat belt, half listening, still trying to reassure Alec.
“I have to go now,” Alec said.
“Wait!” Briana cried.
But the call was disconnected.
“For once,” she heard Logan telling his brother, “I’m glad you’re a poker shark. Alec and Josh are in the coffee shop, and something is going down—I’m not sure what. Will you make sure nobody—and I mean nobody—takes them away before Briana and I get there?”
Briana’s heart was pounding, and she’d broken out in a cold sweat. Fumbling with her phone, she dropped it and had to grapple around for it on the floor.
“Thanks,” Logan said, and ended his call, shifting gears so fast that Briana was almost flung against the dashboard.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, prying the cell phone out of her hand.
“Heather,” she said.
“Yeah.”
Logan’s phone rang as they careened onto the county road. Poor Wanda was probably holding on for dear life in the backseat.
“Okay,” he said, after listening for a few moments. “Be right there.”
“Is Dylan with them?” Briana demanded.
“Yes,” Logan said. “Jim’s there, too. The kids are all right, Briana. Just a little shaken up and confused.”
“Vance…?”
“He and Heather got into a shouting match,” Logan said reluctantly. “They’re being held by the security people until everything gets sorted out.” He concentrated on the road, a long ribbon of moon-washed pavement that seemed never-ending to Briana. “Take a breath, Briana. You’re okay, and so are the boys. Right now, nothing else matters.”
“I don’t care what Vance says,” Briana ranted, “I’m not letting that woman near my children again!”
“Let’s wait ’til we hear everybody’s side of the story,” Logan reasoned. “It could all be a misunderstanding of some kind.”
“Thanks, Counselor,” Briana snapped, “but weren’t you the one who just implied that Heather might have been the one who trashed my house? She could have done it while the boys were sitting in the coffee shop waiting for her to finish playing blackjack. Blackjack!”
“I was thinking out loud. We don’t really know what happened yet, and it isn’t going to help if you blow a blood vessel before we can find out.”
Briana folded her arms. “Give me that cell phone,” she said, the contradiction between her words and her body language barely registering.
“No,” Logan said. “Alec and Josh are upset enough as it is.”
“That’s why I need to talk to them!”
“You can talk to them face-to-face in five minutes.”
“Can’t you drive any faster?”
“Not without breaking the sound barrier, no,” Logan said.
He’d barely stopped in front of the casino when she leaped out of the truck and ran inside, pushing past the valet who’d tried to open the door for her.
She found Alec and Josh in the coffee shop, sitting in a booth with Dylan, drinking milk shakes. They were both pale, and a little scruffy, but neither of them was bleeding.
Briana reached the table, opened her mouth to speak and nearly fainted. When the blackness and the circling stars receded, Dylan was holding her up and Alec and Josh were watching her with wide, frightened eyes.
“Sit down,” Dylan told her, easing her into the booth seat and handing her a glass of water from the next table over.
“Where’s Jim?” she managed to ask when the room stopped spinning.
“In the security room, with the happy couple,” Dylan said, as Logan burst into the equation.
Somewhat to Briana’s chagrin, both boys rushed to Logan, bypassing her completely. She saw him squeeze his eyes shut briefly as he held them against his sides.
“Can we go home now?” Alec asked, tilting his head back to look up at Logan, and still clinging to him as best he could with a cast on one arm.
“As soon as your mother can stand up,” Logan said.
Briana guzzled the last of the water Dylan had given her. “I want a word with Vance first,” she said.
“That can wait,” Logan said.
A stare-down ensued.
Logan won it. Briana was at the end of her rope, physically and emotionally, and she needed to get the boys out of there.
There had been enough crazy drama as it was.
“Thanks,” she said to Dylan.
He and Logan exchanged looks.
“I’ll explain later,” Logan said.
Dylan nodded. “Guess I’ll get back to my poker game,” he said. “Last hand, I had an inside straight.”
With that, he grinned at the boys, turned and walked away to return to the poker room at the back of the casino.
* * *
ALEC AND JOSH were too worn-out to tell the story. Logan made scrambled eggs and toast when they reached the main ranch house, while Briana got their sleeping bags ready in the living room.
They ate—though Wanda, Snooks and Sidekick got most of what was on their plates—and Briana put them to bed.
Logan waited in the kitchen, sipping coffee and giving her time with the kids. When she finally reappeared, she looked worn to a frazzle.
“I guess I overreacted,” she said.
“You’re a mother,” Logan replied, pouring coffee for her, because he still didn’t have any tea. “That’s what mothers do, isn’t it?”
She sat down at the table. “Thanks,” she said, as he handed her the coffee. “For calling Dylan. For driving me to town and—”
“Briana,” Logan interrupted. “Stop.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “If anything had happened to them—”
“They’re in the living room, Briana. They’re safe. Unless you want them to be nervous wrecks for the rest of their lives, you’d better reframe this as an adventure, not a kidnapping with potentially dire consequences.”
Her face was wet, but she was trying to smile. “You’re such a…such a—”
He grinned. “What?”
“Lawyer,” she finished.
He chuckled. “That could come in handy,” he said. “If it turns out you’re right about Heather, there will be some legal issues.”
She looked back over one shoulder, as if expecting to catch the boys eavesdropping. “Custody?”
“Suppose we talk about that tomorrow,” he suggested. “You’re a wreck right now. You won’t be able to think straight anyway.”
She considered that, nodded.
Logan cupped her cheeks in his hands, stroked away her tears with the sides of his thumbs. “Just for tonight,” he said, “let me make the decisions.”
She nodded again.
He stood, pulled her to her feet, steered her out of the kitchen, past the already sleeping boys, and along the hall, into his room.
“Extenuating circumstances,” he said, when she balked at lying down on the bed. “You won’t fit on the air mattress, and Dylan’s got dibs on the couch.”
He undressed her, shoes first, then jeans, then the shirt. “The boys—”
Damn, but she looked good in those lacy panties and that fussy pink bra. He’d figured her for the white cotton briefs and sports bra type, but he’d sure been wrong.
“They’re dead to the world,” Logan reminded her. “And I’m making all the decisions tonight, remember?”
“I remember,” she said, shimmying to get under the covers.
Logan sat down on the edge of the mattress, took off his boots. Hauled his shirt off over his head, stood to unbutton his jeans and let them fall to the floor.
Briana drew in a sharp breath.
“Sorry.” Logan grinned. “I forgot to pack underwear when I left Vegas.”
He switched off the bedside lamp and got into bed beside her.
She felt cold, so he pulled her into his arms.
“All the decisions?” she asked.
He kissed the top of her head. “All of them,” he confirmed.
They lay still for a long time, listening to the sounds of the old house settling as the temperature dropped.
When Briana was warm again, Logan kissed her, working the front catch on her bra as he plundered her mouth. She stiffened briefly, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
He moved down, to her breasts, tongued her nipples, one and then the other, until she moaned, entangling her fingers in his hair.
Then he progressed to her navel.
She arched her back and gasped his name.
“The walls are thick,” he murmured, against her soft, warm flesh. “Let go, Briana. It’s all right to let go.”
“Oh my God,” she whimpered, when he reached the juncture of her thighs. “Logan… I—”
“Shh,” he whispered, into the sweet, moist nest of curls he was about to part with his tongue.
She gave a strangled cry when he took her full into his mouth and suckled, his hands resting under her firm buttocks. He drank of her, like a thirsty man kneeling beside a stream.
She writhed, and pressed herself against him, her hips undulating.
He brought her to a climax, stayed with her until she’d stopped buckling with the violent force of her release. When he looked up, he saw that she was gripping the rails in the headboard with both hands. Her breasts and belly and thighs were damp with perspiration.
“That was—” she gasped “—that was…”
“What?”
“Wonderful,” she said.
“Good,” he answered, still holding her high, nibbling at the insides of her thighs. “Because I’m about to do it again.”
“Logan—”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t know if I can be quiet this time—”
He tasted her, made her groan again. “Like I said, the walls are thick.”
“But I—”
He took her again.
And the sturdy Montana logs surrounding that room absorbed her cries of pleasure, as they’d done so many times before over so many years, with so many other lovers.