Crazy Little Thing Called Love (33 page)

“Van, nothing's impossible if you want to make your marriage work.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Your mother and I have survived a lot of moves. I don't even know how many TDYs. Every marriage has challenges. You have to figure out how you and Logan are going to make your marriage work—for both of you.”

“That's why I went to Oklahoma, Dad. And I—” She couldn't explain to her father that she was tired. Tired of waiting for Logan to come home. Tired of wanting to have a real marriage. Tired of hoping Logan would want to be with her again.

“And what?”

“And . . . I realized Logan doesn't want to be married anymore. He's happy in Oklahoma, pursuing his dream of storm chasing. Being married doesn't fit in his life.” She leaned against her father's shoulder. “I'm not going to insist on counseling . . . or anything like that. Sometimes it's best to let go—say goodbye. I'm good at that.”

The echo of that conversation faded. What would her dad say if she told him that Logan had wanted to try again?

And what about her mother? That was a ridiculous question. She knew what her mother would say about giving Logan a second chance:
Why are you repeating your worst mistake, Vanessa?

Vanessa slipped off the wedding band and placed it back into the box, closing the lid. She placed it in the top drawer of her dresser. It was all a rhetorical question, anyway. She'd told Logan no. She was marrying Ted.

She lined the figurines up along a bookshelf. Two on the top shelf, two on the middle, two on the bottom shelf. The lovely ladies curtsied, swayed, and danced . . . tugging a smile onto her lips. She traced the graceful outlines of one lady's gown with the tip of her forefinger.

When Logan had given her these precious beauties, he'd loved her. Imagined a future with her. He said he'd never stopped loving her. But then why eight years of silence? Surely his love would have conquered his fear.

They'd both grown up. Matured. But that didn't mean they were meant to be together. And she was adult enough to know that. And as beautiful as the figurines were, she knew she couldn't keep them. But she'd deal with that problem another day.

First she needed to talk to Ted.

It had only been a little more than twenty-four hours . . . but still . . .

What had happened to the uncomplicated man she'd dated for two years? The man who was so easy to love? They'd never argued even once until yesterday afternoon—and then he'd stormed out of Mindy and Jett's house and hadn't called her since. It was time to make things right with her fiancé and get back to planning their destination wedding.

First she'd finish hauling her suitcase back to her bedroom. Then she'd fix herself a soda and call Ted.

A sharp rap on the front door caused her to stop in the middle of the living room.

All right, then, first she'd answer the door—although who would be showing up at her door after ten o'clock at night . . . ?

“Ted
?
”

Was the man going to make a habit of showing up when she least suspected it?

“Hello, Vanessa. May I come in? Of course, I wouldn't blame you if you shut the door in my face—”

“I'm not going to shut the door in your face!” She stepped back, holding the door open wide. “I'm just surprised to see you—”

“Well, you did give me your flight information, so I knew you'd probably be home by now.” Ted smoothed his hand over his hair. “I'm sorry I didn't call.”

“It's okay . . . I'm sorry about what happened in Florida.”

“I didn't even know I could be the jealous type until I saw you on that motorcycle with your ex-husband, Nessa.” Ted paced the carpeting, still wearing his tan trench coat. “I fly down to surprise you—and get the surprise of my life.”

“I'm sorry.” How many times did she need to apologize? As many as it took.

“No,
I'm
sorry.” He stopped in front of her. “You've never given me a reason not to trust you. I'm sure you had a perfectly good reason for going on a motorcycle ride with Logan.”

Silence fell between them. Stretched.

She did have a reason . . . and apparently Ted wanted to hear it.

“It was nothing, really. Just . . . for old times' sake.”

Ted's brow furrowed over the rim of his glasses. “For old times' sake?”

“Yes . . . we drove past the high school . . . and went to Destin. That's all.”

Ted nodded. “Okay, then. If you say that that's all . . . then fine. I'm sorry I overreacted and didn't give you a chance to explain.”

“And I'm sorry I upset you. It won't happen again.”

“I know there's nothing going on between you and this guy. It's been ten years.”

“Eight. Logan and I have been divorced for eight years.”

“Well, I'm not going to argue over a technicality.” Ted took her left hand, rubbing his thumb across her fingers. “I trust you.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry for all the melodrama.”

“I have something for you.”

Vanessa stared at their hands. “What?”

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small jeweler's box, flicking back the lid. “This.”

Her engagement ring nestled against the crimson velvet background. She'd forgotten all about it. “It's resized already?”

“Yes. When I took it in, I asked them to rush the repair, hoping it would be ready before you came back from Florida. It took a little longer than I expected, but thanks to Cressida, well, here it is.”

Vanessa couldn't resist admiring the ring. The diamond was set on a thick white-gold band—elegant in its simplicity. She and Ted had visited a few jewelers, allowing her to try on different styles of rings. In the end, he'd surprised her with this one—and she loved it.

“I know I should probably do this with a little more fanfare and probably not in the middle of your living room when you've just gotten back in town—” Ted slipped the ring out of the box and then placed it on her finger again. “—but since we're already engaged . . .”

Vanessa held her breath as the ring slid into place.

“How does it feel now?”

It was . . . perfect.

The weight of the ring on her finger seemed to anchor her heart back into place—back to Ted. To their future.

Seeing Logan again—experiencing a hurricane with him and even helping save not one, but two people's lives with him—didn't mean she'd fallen back in love with him. The lure of what had been and, yes, even the man that he'd become, had confused her.

But only for a moment.

She twisted the ring around her finger. “Yes, it fits.”

“Whew.” Ted pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “For a minute there I thought we were going to have to send it back to the jeweler again.”

Vanessa turned the ring around and around on her finger. Why did the stone seem so big? Maybe they should have selected a smaller one? “No. Not at all. I'm so glad you brought it to me. I've missed wearing it—I've missed you.”

As Ted pulled her close, Vanessa relaxed in the shelter of his arms. This was right where she wanted to be—in a steady relationship. Ted didn't do drama. He wouldn't leave her and go chasing after some uncontrollable dream. She fit in his life—and he fit in hers.

Logan had offered her a marriage of youthful passion that had burned out, fast and furious. Ted offered her reliability and constancy . . . and love, too.

She was an adult now. Passion was a lot like adrenaline—a momentary burst of emotional energy that faded and left you . . . exhausted.

Or worse . . . alone.

It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.

—GARRISON KEILLOR (1942– ), AMERICAN AUTHOR AND HUMORIST

S
omeone was in his apartment.

Logan stood with his hand on the front doorknob and hit the light switch, illuminating the short hallway that led into the living room. His keys jangled as he tossed them on the table just inside the door. So much for surprising the unknown intruder.

A few easy steps forward and he was in the living room. “Who's here?”

A shadowed form rose from the couch as Logan flicked on the floor lamp to his right.

Max.

“Hey, man. I thought you were never coming home.” The other man wore an old Tim Tebow Broncos jersey and a black pair of cargo shorts.

“The disadvantage of giving you a house key. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” Max tucked his hands in his pockets, jiggling his loose change. “Hadn't planned on waiting quite this long.”

“I went to the gym, and then I took a drive.”

“Figures. Something on your mind?”

“I'm thirsty.”

Max's uneven gait signaled that he'd followed Logan to the kitchen. Logan opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. It was after eleven. A little late for a Coke—even for him. “Why don't you head on home?”

“Are you kidding me? I waited this long. I'm not leaving until I say what I wanted to say.”

“Listen, Max, I'm not discussing my decision about the team with you—”

“Yeah—about that.” Max stood in the doorway of the galley kitchen, blocking his way. “You were the one who formed the Stormmeisters, remember that? All those times we talked and dreamed and planned about the future?”

Logan gulped back some water. No need to answer Max. That was all in the past.

“We were a team—the whole one-for-all, all-for-one kind of a gig.” Max held his ground, balancing on his walking boot. “I've got your back, you've got mine—and everybody has a say.”

“What's your point, Max?” Logan twisted the lid off a second water bottle.

“Don't rush me. Apparently you had all sorts of solo in-your-head ‘team' discussions that excluded everyone else. So I'm not leaving here until I've had my say. Like I said, if you'd come home earlier we wouldn't be doing this heading on to midnight.”

Logan gulped back some water. Fine. Max could talk himself sick—and silent.

“Did you know I was invited to join another storm-chasing team, Logan? But I chose you, because I was a new believer and I knew you believed in God, too.” Max leaned against the archway as if they were enjoying a casual discussion about football. “Yeah, I wanted to go after tornadoes—but I thought, if I'm going to do something as outlandish as hunt down tornadoes, I'm gonna do it with somebody who knows he's not in charge of the universe. Someone who knows there's a God who is in control of our world and our lives.” Max snorted. “It's hard to remember that when you're staring at what's left of a town after an F4 or F5 tornado has dismantled all the houses. I liked that we prayed before we took off every morning. That we prayed at the end of the day. I wasn't just trusting you—I was trusting you and God. Every day.”

Logan wanted to interrupt—to insist his decision wasn't about not trusting God.

“So this choice of yours to leave the team. Let's call it what it really is, okay? You betrayed the team.”

Logan stiffened. He wasn't betraying anyone.

“I'm not calling you Benedict Arnold or anything, but I mean, come on, man. You don't talk to any of us? We're a team . . . we're friends . . . and you do something like this? Decision made, no discussion?” Max covered his eyes with his hand. Took a breath. “And what is this thing with Vanessa?”

The question came out of nowhere, the words pushing Logan up against the wall. What was going on?

First, Max is confronting me about quitting the Stormmeisters, and now the guy thinks he can talk about Vanessa?

“Hey, my personal life is my business. I haven't asked you about what's going on with you and Julie.”

“You could have.”

“What?”

“I said
you could have
. It's what friends do. Talk to each other. Ask each other what's going on. And yes, Julie and I are dating. But I'm not here to talk about that.”

“How convenient for you.”

“Julie isn't engaged to someone else, Logan.” Max advanced toward him, the protective boot clunking on the floor. Was he going to take him down this time? “What has gotten into you? I don't know you anymore. You were the one who always talked about doing the right thing. And now you're going after Vanessa. I saw you cornering her at the airport—”

“We were talking—”

“Did you kiss her?”

“That's none of your business.”

Max shook his head. “And that answer is as good as a yes, man.”

“She's
engaged
—not married.”

“To some people, being engaged to someone is as good as married. Would you want someone kissing your fiancée?”