Crazy Little Thing Called Love (25 page)

“What?”

His arms tightened around her. “I couldn't find you, Vanessa. I couldn't find you—”

Logan's voice broke.

“I'm right here. I'm safe.” Vanessa murmured words of comfort, enduring Logan's crushing embrace. When his breathing evened out and his hold on her eased, she shifted so that the two of them could stretch out on the couch. “Stop thinking about it. It's just a bad dream.”

Logan settled against her, an unexpected laugh surprising her. “This old couch isn't really big enough for both of us, you know.”

She arranged the blanket over both of them. “We'll manage, Mr. Hollister. We'll manage.”

“I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“You weren't in bed, so I came looking for you.”

“Missed me, didja?” Another chuckle warmed her skin.

“Yes, if you must know.” She brushed her hand down his back. “Do you have nightmares often?”

“Not anymore.” His shoulders lifted and fell in a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. “I used to have them all the time right after the tornado. Mom insisted I see a counselor for a while. I kept trying to explain that the tornadoes didn't scare me. I was just sad about Mom Mom.”

“Would it be so bad to admit you were a little scared, too?”

“Not to you.”

“I won't tell anyone.”

“I love you, Vanessa.”

“I know you do, Logan.” Her unspoken words hung between them. She filled the void by pressing a kiss to his lips.

There. Didn't actions speak louder than words?

Experience is not what happens to you; it's what you do with what happens to you.

—ALDOUS HUXLEY (1894–1963), BRITISH NOVELIST

S
he would figure this out. She would. She would.

If she kept her eyes shut, and kept repeating those words, Vanessa would convince herself—eventually.

But then she'd open her eyes and see the massive tree that had demolished the Wrights' back porch . . . and she'd have to repeat the eyes-shut-say-the-words process all over again.

“It's pretty bad, isn't it, dear?” Mrs. Wright stood beside her, her face shaded by a straw hat decorated with fake sunflowers.

“Yes, ma'am. It is.”

“There was a man here this morning. It wasn't even seven-thirty. Ringing the doorbell, offering to remove the tree for me.”

How had she managed to sleep through that? “Oh, no. You didn't sign anything, did you?”

“No. I told him that I couldn't let him do anything because my husband was still sleeping.”

Thank you, God, that Mrs. Wright was so concerned about her husband.

Vanessa pulled her hair up in a haphazard ponytail. No time to braid it today. All around the Wrights' backyard, trees lay twisted and fallen to the ground, evidence a hurricane-spawned tornado had stalked through the yard. It wasn't much better out front.

She shouldn't have let the older woman talk her into staying here last night, either. No, she should have ignored Mrs. Wright's request to go look at the house and driven straight to Mindy's, who had offered to put up all three of them.

But she hadn't. And so she'd spent the night at the Wrights', without any electricity, sleeping in their daughter's bedroom because she wasn't abandoning the couple. It was time to speak some truth.

“You can't stay here another night.”

“I know.” Mrs. Wright followed her around to the front of the house, latching the gate to the fence. “Ruth already called this morning to say she's coming to get us this afternoon—but I hate the thought of leaving the house empty.”

“We'll contact the police department and ask them to drive by and make certain everything's okay. Let your neighbors know you're going to Tuscaloosa. Let's go see how the home health care worker is doing with Mr. Wright.”

Humidity sullied the air inside the house. The suitcase they had taken to the shelter still sat at the base of the stairs. Vanessa lugged it to the bedroom, where Christina's voice mingled with Mr. Wright's grumble.

“I'm trying to sleep!”

“Mr. Wright, it's time to get up and get dressed.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Wright paused on the landing. “I need to go in and help her.”

“That's fine. I'll come help you pack—”

A loud knock on the front door stalled Vanessa's offer.
That tree guy better not be back offering to “help” with Mrs. Wright's tree.

“I'll be right back. Let me see who that is.”

Her boots clomped on the carpeted stairs, and she yanked open the door. “May I help you—
Logan?
”

“I was actually here to offer the Wrights some help, Vanessa.” He stood on the brick doorstep, hands tucked in the back of his torn-at-the-knees jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt showing off his broad chest and strong arms. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“How are they today?” He slid his sunglasses up onto the top of the ball cap covering his hair, revealing the warmth of his blue eyes.

“Well, let's see. Mr. Wright doesn't want to get out of bed. Mrs. Wright wanted to cook breakfast—without any electricity. And there's a huge tree in their enclosed back porch.”

“Looks like we showed up at just the right time.”

“We?”

He motioned back down the driveway behind him. “
We
—Brady, Max, Jules, and me. And Caron and Alex. Caron brought along some food she and my mom made.”

Vanessa stepped outside and tried to peer around Logan. “You're kidding me.”

“Nope. And the guys and I have a couple of chain saws. The challenge will be keeping Max away from the machinery.”

“I can imagine. We'll let him entertain Mr. Wright.”

“Fair enough.” Logan stepped off the porch. “Want to come say hello?”

“Absolutely.”

An older truck and a four-door sedan sat in the driveway next to her rental car. Caron jumped out of the passenger side of the sedan and ran up to her, giving her a hug before she realized what was happening.

“Oh . . . my . . . gosh, Vanessa! It's so good to see you!”

“You, too, Caron.” Wisps of blond hair peeked out from underneath a distressed gray flat cap. “Blond?”

“Yeah, I know. I get bored . . . so I play around with my hair color. Right now this hair color works for me.”

“And Logan said ‘Caron and Alex' as if you two were connected or something . . .”

“You don't miss a thing, do you? Alex and I are dating. I don't know if you remember or not, but his family lived next door to my parents for a number of years when we were growing up.”

“Well, it's been a long time . . .”

“True. And back then I didn't like him
at all
.”

“No, as I recall you liked a new boy every month.”

“True. True. But, hey, that was high school, right? Except for you and Logan—” Caron faltered to a stop. “I am so sorry, Vanessa. I can't believe I just said something so insensitive.”

“It's okay.” Vanessa pointed to the picnic basket Caron had dropped at her feet. “So, what's in there?”

“My mom and I made sandwiches. Ham and cheese. Turkey. Tuna salad. Packed some chips and cookies, too. Nothing fancy.”

“This is wonderful. The Wrights had a tree fall onto their back porch—”

“Hey, Hollister!” Logan's voice rang out across the area.

Without thinking, Vanessa turned and hollered back. “Yeah, Hollister?”

“Can you come show us through the house? I want to get a look at the back porch.”

“Be right there.” Vanessa stopped at the sound of Caron's giggle. “What?”

“You two. ‘Hey, Hollister!' ‘Yeah, Hollister?' Made me feel like I was back in high school again.”

“Oh. That. Yeah. It was . . . just . . . nothing.” Vanessa motioned toward the house. “You want to come with me?”

“I'll wait for the rest of the crew and catch up with you. Go ahead.”

Vanessa took a few steps away.

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“It's great to see you again.”

“You, too, Caron. You, too.”

Vanessa led Logan to the Wrights' backyard. The ground was churned up around the fallen tree's bare roots, and the porch was smashed—cleaved in two.

Logan stood with his hands on his hips, his ball cap turned backward on his head, sunglasses shading his eyes.

Vanessa picked her way among the debris and broken branches. “Thank God they weren't home.”

“You got that right. They would have been killed.”

“I know. I've thought the same thing over and over again.”

“Why is it I can still hear that crazy cockatiel Mr. Chips?” Logan huffed out a laugh. “Always called you ‘pretty girl, pretty girl.' Smart bird.”

“Mr. Wright said he never taught him how to say that.”

“That's because he didn't—I did.” Logan tossed a smile over his shoulder.

“You did not.”

“Yes, I did. Mr. Wright had tried to do it before, but he told me that he gave up. I just tried again—and Mr. Chips learned how to say it. The bird just needed the right enticement.”

And she needed to get this conversation back on track.

“So what do we have back here?” Alex walked around the side of the house, Brady following close behind.

The appearance of the two men stalled the conversation while Logan discussed what needed to be done and then Brady and Alex disappeared around front once more. Probably a good thing. Vanessa was off-kilter again—and she and Logan had only been talking for all of five minutes.

“What we have is a destroyed back porch. Nothing we can do about that—except start removing the culprit.” Logan paced back and forth. “No electricity, right?”

“Right—not sure when it'll be restored. The Wrights are going to stay with their daughter in Alabama. I'm expecting her sometime later this afternoon.”

“And where are the dogs?”

Vanessa blinked away the slight sting in her eyes. Must be overtired. “Mrs. Wright doesn't have them anymore, Logan.”

“I guess that's one—or two—less things to worry about. Those two were a handful.”

“You liked those dogs, Logan Hollister—I know you did. I caught you sneaking them pieces of food all the time!”

“Guilty as charged—but Mr. Wright did it all the time, too.”

“Both of you ignored Mrs. Wright's strict order not to feed those dogs!” Once again, Logan had her laughing when she shouldn't be.

“And they loved us for it.”

“You're impossible.”

He winked. “I never said otherwise, love.”

Her smile trembled for a moment, and her laughter stopped, his offhand endearment as effective as a noose strangling their easygoing banter.

“Hey, boss, you requested these back here, right?” Brady appeared around the corner of the house hauling a chain saw. Alex followed close behind, carrying the second chain saw.

“You would be correct.” Logan pulled a pair of work gloves from where they were tucked in his belt. “Where's Max?”

“Right here.” The other man shuffled through the damp grass on his crutches, Julie by his side.

“I told you to stay clear of the chain saws.”

“Do you see me carrying a chain saw? Turning on a chain saw? Going after the tree with a chain saw?”

“No—but there's no need for you to be out here around this mess.”

Julie shrugged. “That's what I tried to tell him.”

Vanessa figured this was her cue. “I'm having some problems with Mr. Wright this morning, Max—”

“I'm not a babysitter—” Max stumbled as Julie pulled away one of his crutches. “Hey!”

Julie pointed the crutch at Max. “Stop talking before you fall flat on your face and embarrass yourself even more. No one's asking you to babysit that wonderful old gentleman. I loved talking with him while we were in the shelter. In fact, he promised to teach me how to play chess—and I'm going to see if he's up to doing that now.”

Julie stalked off, disappearing to the front of the house.

Brady made a slicing motion across his throat with his free hand. “Oh, dude, you made the great and powerful Julie angry.”

“Yeah—she took off with one of my crutches, too.”

“If I were you, I'd hobble on after her and apologize.” Logan nodded toward the house. “And let her win a few games of chess.”

“You're probably right.” Max lifted his crutch a few inches off the ground in a brief wave and then made his way back around to the front of the house.

Vanessa didn't know if she should stay here or follow Max. “Is Julie going to give him his crutch back—without bruising him?”