alone together in the pole shed? Other than that, their encounters had all been casual, public, superficial. The same politely chatting circle at a cocktail party. Nearby tables at a busy café. Two customers apart in the checkout line at the grocery store. Four rows down at the city council meeting.
Funny how you could fool yourself, he thought, watching her scratch an imaginary itch at her throat, then fidget with the neckline of her creamy blouse. The truth was, he hardly knew her. And yet…
“I know you’re busy,” she said. “I won’t take up too much of your time. But I wanted to talk about Sean. I’d like to know what he can do to make this up to you.”
“Nothing.” He shook his head firmly. “That’s not necessary. Let’s forget it, okay? I know he’s had a hard time this past year.”
“Yes. That’s true.” She swallowed. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about it. I guess everyone has.”
He couldn’t deny it. Eastcreek was a typical small Texas town. People talked. And when they had something juicy to talk about, like the fact that one of its social pillars, Harrison Archer, had gone stark raving mad and tried to kill two people, they buzzed like hornets.
Logan wasn’t a fan of gossip. He and Rebecca and Ben had been the subject of enough of it for him to know how little it captured of the real truth. But he couldn’t help himself. He had wanted to know. He’d wanted to understand more about that wildly mismatched Archer marriage, so he’d listened.
“I heard. I discounted about half of it, though.” He smiled. “I’ve been here long enough to know that Texans are just as good at embellishing as they are back in Maine.”
“In this case, half is bad enough.” She moved a little closer to Max’s cage, as if she didn’t want to meet Logan’s eyes while she talked. The hawk, who had been preening his wing, paused briefly, then apparently decided she wasn’t a threat and went back to work.
“The basic facts are true. Harrison did threaten to kill Trent and Susannah. He lured Trent out to Green Fern Pond, so that he could shoot him, and when Susannah found them, Harrison held them both at gunpoint. But I don’t think he would have done it, even if Sean…even if Sean hadn’t stopped him. I really don’t.”
She looked back at Logan, her fingertips hooked into the wire screening. “Of course, I don’t know for sure. He was very sick, and he was in a lot of pain. He had been for a long time.”
He knew she didn’t mean physical pain, although that had probably played its part. Pancreatic cancer wasn’t a merciful disease. But the pain that had truly destroyed Harrison Archer wasn’t the physical kind. It was emotional, and it had apparently eaten away his soul, his conscience and his common sense.
Logan knew he ought to stop her from going on. He didn’t have any comfort to offer in return for her confessional. And she didn’t need to lay out the details of her private tragedy, like an offering on the altar, buying his forgiveness for Sean.
He’d already forgiven the poor, unlucky kid, for what that was worth.
“You probably know that Harrison blamed Trent for his first son’s death.” She turned her head back toward the enclosure. Her auburn curls slid across her breastbone, the tips catching the sunlight. “He never got over Paul’s death. Not even… Not even after Sean and Harry.”
Though many people found that part of the story perplexing, Logan had always sort of understood. The first-born, the miracle, the child of your dreams. You might love again—in fact, humans were probably hardwired to love something, anything, just to survive—but you’d never love like that a second time. Never with your heart wide open, just asking to be smashed to bits.
“Poor Trent.” Nora took a deep breath. “He blames himself, too, you know. He shouldn’t. Paul died a few years before I came to Eastwood, but from what I hear the fire was just one of those impossibly tragic accidents.”
Logan shrugged. “That doesn’t make it easier. But you don’t have to tell me this, Nora. I think I get it.”
“I’d like to explain, if you don’t mind listening. I think it might help you to understand Sean a little better.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile. “Anyhow, Harrison had just found out he was dying, and he wanted to avenge Paul’s death while he still could. So he…he took Trent out to the pond. It was the last place he’d ever been with Paul. Peggy, Harrison’s first wife, called us, and we came as fast as we could. We had no idea what we would find. And Sean…he ran ahead…”
She’d been telling the story with impressive composure so far. But finally, when she spoke about Sean, her voice trembled. Her eyes were shining, anguished, the muscles around them pulled so tight it hurt to see.
He picked up the hammer again and inspected the handle, which had felt a little loose when he was working earlier. He needed to resist this irrational urge to move toward her.
What was he going to do? Take her in his arms?
Oh, man. This was why he’d decided it was better to steer clear of her. There was something about her that wormed straight into the weakest chink inside him.
What exactly was her magic? She was small, only about five-four, he’d guess barely a hundred pounds. Nice figure, but she’d never stop traffic. She wore almost no jewelry or makeup, didn’t bother with ornamentation. She was soft-spoken and introspective.
She should have been easy to ignore.
And yet, ever since he’d moved to Texas eighteen months ago, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Not then, when she’d been a meekly married woman, clearly in the no-touch zone. And not now, when she was the epitome of Mrs. Wrong: a single mother with troubled sons. Vulnerable, grief-stricken and needy. Oddly innocent, incapable of the kind of no-strings fling he specialized in.
“Look, it’s really okay,” he said gruffly, trying to ignore the tenderness that was threatening to create itself inside him. Her problems were her problems. He couldn’t solve them. Hell, he couldn’t even solve his own. “I’m not mad at Sean, and the damage is easily enough repaired.”
“That’s very generous.” She finally turned completely around. Max grumbled, sorry to lose the attention, and the hope of a treat. “But, for Sean’s sake, I have to do more. I can’t let him get away with this. He needs to pay for what he’s done.”
Logan felt his chest tighten. He didn’t like where this was going.
“I’ll send you a bill. You can make him work it off. You know. Chores around the house. Teach him his lesson.”
She moved a step toward him. “That seems so remote from the crime, though, don’t you think? Is there any work he could do at the sanctuary? It would teach him so much more. He’d learn what you do here, for one thing. Surely, if he understood that what you do is so valuable, so unlike what his fa—”
She broke off awkwardly. But he knew what she meant.
Harrison Archer, whose family tree had put its roots down in Texas before it was even called Texas, had never thought much of Easterners, and he damn sure didn’t think much of wasting a hundred acres of prime horse and cattle country to nurse a bunch of half-dead hawks and barn owls back to health.
He’d undoubtedly passed that disdain on to his son, the heir-in-training to all the Archer arrogance. Logan hadn’t connected the father’s attitude to Sean’s outburst, but perhaps Nora was right. If Sean hadn’t heard so much at home about how worthless Two Wings was, the urge to do it violence might not have been so close to the surface.
“You’ve got a point,” Logan said, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be nice to have next-door neighbors who don’t think Two Wings is a waste of space. But I’m afraid Sean’s re-education will have to be done at home. We have only about six weeks before we open Two Wings to the public, and I’m just too