Crazy Little Thing Called Love (16 page)

He passed other evacuees, just as soaked as he was, trudging to the arena. Parents herding their children—some carrying babies, some pushing strollers containing both children and grocery bags filled with food, as well as diaper bags. Children carried their own little backpacks, most hugging a stuffed animal or toy or carrying a book. Some people carried metal lawn chairs while others lugged camp cots. Even more surprising, some families had made a fast-food run on their way to the shelter and hefted bags of burgers and fries or chicken and super-sized sodas.

“Everyone prepares for a hurricane in their own way.” Logan muttered the words to himself as he scanned the crowd inside the gym. Where had his team staked a claim?

No . . . no . . . no . . . there! To his immediate right, setting up at the base of one of the sections of fixed red stadium seats, Julie and Brady spread out a blanket and arranged two of the suitcases on one end while Max leaned against the retaining wall.

“I see the accommodations aren't quite ready.” Logan added his suitcase to the line. “Should I call the front desk and complain?”

Julie, always cheerful and ready for a laugh, picked up on his banter. “If you can find anything that remotely resembles a front desk, I will turn down your bed for you tonight and put chocolate on your pillow.”

“Okay, then. I'll see if I can find out who's in charge.”

“Don't know if you got the lowdown from the Red Cross rep when you came in, but we all need to check in. Name, address, that sort of thing.” Max pointed out where the organization had set up a check-in point. “They like to know who's staying in their shelter.”

“Got it. I don't suppose we can give you all of our driver's licenses and let you handle that?”

“Worth a try.”

“Good.” Logan ran his hand through his wet hair. “I just realized I forgot the bags with the flashlights and batteries and radio we purchased on the way in. I'm gonna make a run for the car again.”

“Going back out in the storm can't be any more dangerous than going into the store and trying to buy those supplies.” Brady saluted him. “See you soon, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

As he made his way through the ever-growing crowd back to the exit, two women stumbled in just ahead of a family. One clung to the arm of the other, bent over, her face hidden by a wide-brimmed rain hat. Logan stepped over and put his hand out, steadying the women.

“Thank you . . .” As the taller woman spoke, she looked up, her words fading.

Vanessa.

The thought of trying to pull off a fancy-meeting-you-here with his ex-wife lasted for all of five seconds. Instead, he nodded, transferring his attention to the other woman, who was removing her hat, water dripping onto the floor that was already dotted with puddles.

Recognition jolted through him a second time, along with the urge to hug the diminutive older woman. “Mrs. Wright . . . how are you?”

She peered at him through hazy gray eyes. “Logan?” She reached out and pulled him close, apparently not caring that both of them were wet through. “It's so good to see you.”

“Where's Mr. Wright?” Had he asked the wrong question? The last time he'd seen the man he seemed as old as Santa Claus—maybe older.

“Vanessa left him in the car—it's parked right outside. She said she'd get me inside first and then go help him. He's having a little trouble getting out of the car. Doesn't want to use his walker.”

His walker?

“How about if I go help him—maybe bring in your luggage?”

Vanessa, who'd stood quiet while he talked with Mrs. Wright, gave him a quick nod. “Let me get Mrs. Wright settled, and I'll come help you—”

“I've got this, Vanessa.” He waved off her protest. “Help Mrs. Wright get dry.”

It wasn't hard to find the rental car idling by the entrance. Logan rapped on the front passenger window and then opened the door, squatting down so he was eye-level with Mr. Wright.

“Good morning, Mr. Wright. It's Logan Hollister. I don't know if you remember me—”

“Logan!” The older man peered at him from beneath the brim of a Seminoles baseball cap. “I told Vanessa I wanted a ride on your motorcycle, but I don't think this is such a good day for it, do you?”

Logan swallowed. Adjusted his response. “No, sir, I don't think so, either. I don't like to ride in the rain. Not safe. Can I help you get inside?”

“Well, now, son, I dunno. Why don't we wait and see if this lets up soon?”

Logan's shoes and socks were soaked, as were the bottom of his jeans. Meanwhile, Cressida dumped more water down on his head. How was he going to convince Mr. Wright the hurricane had no intention of “letting up” anytime soon?

“Need some help?” Vanessa's voice sounded just over his shoulder. Why wasn't he surprised she hadn't listened to him? “Mrs. Wright insisted I pack a wheelchair and a walker—both of which he refuses to use. Now, I like independence as much as anyone, but I would prefer to have him inside before the hurricane makes landfall.”

“Agreed.” When Logan looked at her, cold rain pelted his face. “He, um, wants to see if it'll
let up
.”

The way her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open caused a renegade chuckle to slip past his lips. Within seconds she giggled, and then they both gave way to laughter, the sound almost blocking out the storm.

Vanessa came to her senses first. “Okay . . . this is no time to be standing around laughing. Be serious.”

“Right.” Logan stood and swiped the moisture off his face to hide his smile. “My bad.”

“Let me have another try—”

“Vanessa, go back inside. I'll do this.”

“Well, let me at least get the luggage.”

He gripped her wrist, holding her still. “My team's in there—the guy with a brace on his leg is Max. And then there's Brady—you remember him . . .”

“Yes.” Vanessa tensed at the mention of Brady's name.

“Have him help you—and then tell him that he needs to go get the radio and flashlights.”

“I can do this—”

“Just tell him, okay?” He couldn't blame her for not being thrilled about being here with his team—especially Brady. But he couldn't worry about that now. “We've been here all of fifteen minutes, and he's already bored. A bored Brady is a bad, bad thing.”

Man, he'd forgotten how he loved to make Vanessa smile—and he'd managed it twice in less than thirty seconds.

“Go on. I've got a stubborn gentleman to deal with here.”

He squatted down beside the passenger door again. “Hey, Mr. Wright, I don't think it's going to stop raining anytime soon. How about I help you get inside?”

The old man shook his head. “Not as spry as I used to be.”

“Well, that's okay. We can take it as slow as you need to—or I can give you a piggyback ride.”

The older man stared at him for a moment, and then a rusty laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest. “A piggyback ride. Now, wouldn't that be a sight for my wife? I haven't had a piggyback ride since I was a little tyke. But if it's all the same to you, I think I'll walk.”

It'd been worth a try, and Logan knew he would have gotten a full-fledged laugh out of Vanessa if he'd carried Mr. Wright into the gym on his back. But he could at least tell her about the offer—maybe see another one of her smiles.

•  •  •

Life was never dull when Logan Hollister was around—not that he was responsible for the hurricane arriving twenty-four hours sooner than expected.

No. Logan usually brought the storm with him.

Vanessa found a hair tie in her jeans pocket and secured the end of her braid, tossing it behind her shoulder. For eight years, she hadn't talked to Logan. Hadn't seen him—except for when he showed up in the national news, usually standing tall in the midst of the devastation left behind by a tornado. And then she comes to Destin and immediately runs into him again in the middle of the Gulf—when they're both rescuing a drowning teenager.

And now she comes across him again during the mandatory evacuation for a Category 3 hurricane. Why was Logan at the shelter and not at his parents' house? Was Mindy wrong about his parents still living in Niceville?

Vanessa's gaze kept wandering to the double doors, but Brady made it back inside with two plastic grocery bags before Logan and Mr. Wright did.

“They're fine. Slow but steady progress. The old guy—”

“Mr. Wright.”

“Yeah, sorry. Mr. Wright is going to need some dry clothes by the time he gets in here.”

“I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, Brady.”

“No problem. Logan mentioned it. He said he'd handle it once they make it inside, but I thought you might want to have stuff ready.”

As another group of people entered, Vanessa backed away from the doors leading into the building. There was no sense in standing around wondering when Logan and Mr. Wright would make it from the car to the building. Logan would get them inside as fast as he could.

Mrs. Wright sat in one of the canvas camp chairs, chatting with a woman who'd commandeered the other camp chair. Logan's teammate had set their luggage nearby, along with the cots. She could at least put some order to all of this, after she found some dry clothes for Mr. Wright.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Wright? Your husband's clothes are going to be soaked. What will he want to change into?”

Putting her hand on the other woman's arm, Mrs. Wright focused on Vanessa. “Oh, well, he's going to want a nap when he gets in here.”

“Understood. But we'll have to get him into dry clothes first. So why don't we select those now and have them all ready for him?”

“You're right. Let me look in the suitcase. You don't have to do everything.”

Vanessa moved the suitcase closer to where the older woman sat, taking a moment to acknowledge the younger woman. “Hello. I'm Vanessa Hollister.”

“Yes, I know. I'm Julie Cabot, one of Logan's teammates.”

She knew? What did that mean? What did she know
exactly
?

“Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you.” She sounded as if they were having high tea. “If you don't mind helping Mrs. Wright, I'll go wait for Logan . . . I mean, for Mr. Wright.”

Julie stopped her with a hand on her arm. “If you give me your driver's license, I'll take that and Mrs. Wright's over and check you both in at the Red Cross station. They want everyone in the shelter to check in.”

“Thank you.”

“And we have some beach towels, if you want to use those.”

“Thanks . . . again.”

Grabbing two multicolored beach towels from the pile of supplies, Vanessa returned to her post by the doors just as Logan shepherded Mr. Wright out of the storm. Once Logan helped Mr. Wright out of his drenched overcoat, Vanessa wrapped a striped blue and yellow beach towel around his shoulders. The old man's body trembled, but whether from cold or exhaustion, Vanessa didn't know.

“Here—” Vanessa held up the other towel. “—I brought one for you, too.”

“Don't worry about me.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “I won't melt.”

His smile held the hint of years past, and before she even realized what she was doing, Vanessa reached up and wiped away the trickles of water from of his forehead. In less than a second Logan's smile vanished, his hand slipping over hers so that their fingers grazed one another.

Vanessa stilled. “Thank you for helping with Mr. Wright.”

“I'm glad to do it.”

“I know.”

“I—I met Julie. She's helping with Mrs. Wright. If I can get her husband's driver's license, I'll go over and give that to her.” She dropped her hand away from his face, fingers curling into a fist. “You should probably—”

“Go help him get into some dry clothes. You're right.”

She backed away, fighting against a feeling of breathlessness. “And then I'll find out who's in charge and let them know I'm a paramedic. It's probably unnecessary, but it's always nice to go say hello.”

“Good idea. And I should text my parents, let them know where I am.”

So his family
was
still in town. Then why was he here?

“Right.” She fingered the damp ends of her braided hair. “I should do the same . . . text my parents, I mean. And Ted. My fiancé. I'm sure they're watching the news.”

Logan's face paled, his jaw tight. He cleared his throat—the tenuous connection between them lost. “Yes. I'm sure they're all worried.”

“Exactly.” They stood, staring at each other, as if there was more to say. But there wasn't. “Okay, then. I'll check in with you—”

“After I get Mr. Wright into dry clothes.”

“Thanks again.”

“No thanks needed.” No smile. His blue eyes seemed to be icing over. “He was always nice to me—and I know how much you love both of them.”

“I did. I do.”

Logan was the first to move, prompting Vanessa to go find her iPhone.

She needed to text Ted. Now.

The sand was cool beneath her feet as Vanessa held up the hem of her long purple dress with one hand. Her strappy high heels dangled at her side from her other hand. Beside her, Logan carried an oversized beach blanket, the cuffs of his black pants rolled up around his ankles.

“You okay with leaving the homecoming dance early?”

“Yes.” Slow dancing with Logan had been wonderful—the strength of his arms around her, listening to him sing along to the music, song after song. But when he'd kissed her during Celine Dion's “The Power of Love,” and said, “You ready to get out of here?” she hadn't hesitated to agree. On the drive down in his father's sedan, he'd kissed her at every red light. How did Logan know how to kiss like that?