The Loner (10 page)

"What happened to him?"

"I was working for the Long Bar Ranch in Eastern Colorado when we tangled with a gang of cattle rustlers. Bastards shot him right out from under me. What about Will? Does he have a horse?"

"You are not buying Will a horse."

"But—"

"No. Will already owns a horse, a bay gelding Suzanne and Ben gave him for his eleventh birthday."

"What about a dog? A boy should have a dog. I always wanted a dog when I was growing up. We adopted a stray one time, but something about him made one of the girls sneeze. Nana Nellie made us give him away."

"No dogs, either, Grey. You can give him all the baseballs you want, but I absolutely draw the line at things that breathe."

"But a dog—"

"He already has a dog. A mutt named Sly."

"Sly, hmm? That's a good name for a dog. But you know, dogs are often better behaved when they have a playmate of their own. Maybe we could get Sly a companion."

"No. Sly doesn't need a companion. One dog is plenty for our household."

"Spoilsport."

"Yes, it's another word for mother, I'm told."

He laughed and paid for his purchases, making arrangements to have what he couldn't carry with him boxed and delivered to the station in time for tomorrow's train. As they departed the mercantile, Caroline shook her head at the packages in his arms. "Your extravagance is ridiculous. I don't know whether to thank you or scold you."

He teased her with a wink, then suggested, "Instead, why don't you tell me more about our son. Is he a good student?"

"When he wants to be. He's quick at mathematics, and he has a curious mind that helps him excel in science. But he's a horrible speller, and don't even get me started about his Latin lessons."

"Latin? Why does the boy need to know Latin?"

Caroline halted abruptly. "Oh, my. That's amazing. You sounded exactly like him."

"Oh, yeah?" A smile hovered on his lips and the gleam in his eyes betrayed his delight at the thought.

Watching him, Caroline was once again struck by how wrong she'd been about Logan Grey. This wasn't a man who had turned his back on his child. Impulsively, she said, "I have a sketchbook. Suzanne had a talent for drawing, and Will was her favorite subject. Would you care to see it?"

He grinned with pleasure. "I'd like that very much."

"It's in my room at the Blackstone Hotel."

"Good. I can leave these packages there." He shifted the shopping bags into his left hand. "I don't know why I didn't have everything boxed up and sent to the train station."

"You weren't through playing with your new toys," Caroline observed as he brought the brass spyglass up to his right eye and pointed it toward the Texas flag flying atop the courthouse.

He shot her a wicked grin that she felt clear to her bones. When he followed the grin with another wink, her toes literally curled.

Oh, dear.
With that one exchange, all the old feelings came rushing back. The desire she'd felt for one man, this man, welled within her, burgeoned and bloomed and heated her blood. Her cheeks flushed and her mouth went dry.

She was so ashamed. She should be beset with worry for Ben, but instead she was brimming with lust for Logan Grey. Dear Lord, she'd be mortified if he noticed.

"Are you hot, Caroline?" Logan asked. "Your face is all red."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Really. A little thirsty, perhaps." She gave a shaky little grin and increased the speed of her steps.

Logan ambled along behind her, his attention divided between the events of the morning and the saucy sway of Caroline Kilpatrick's—no, Caroline Grey's—hips.
His wife's
saucy, swaying, curvy hips. When she arrived at Addison's office, she'd expected to be served with divorce papers. And she hadn't been happy about it.

Interesting. Not as interesting as her curves, but still interesting. What would happen after he rescued the boy? And he refused to think of any other outcome than that. Did she want to stay married? To maintain the status quo? Hell, what did
he
want? He had a financial responsibility, yes, and he'd see it through. But what about beyond that?

Divorce? No. Absolutely not. He knew the stigma divorce attached to a woman. Might as well call her a whore. He couldn't do that—wouldn't do that—to Caroline. Or to Will. But what was the alternative? Just walk away?

Or, maybe stay? The possibility floated through his mind like a dream. He could stay. Have a wife. Be a husband. Make a family. Make a home.

Whoa. He glanced up at the sky. Had he been out in the sun too long or what?

Logan didn't stay. He didn't want to stay. Never had, never would. He'd been a wanderer since the day he left Piney Woods Children's Home and the life suited him. His job suited him. He had freedom to go where he wanted, when he wanted. He lived in the here and now and that was the way it was gonna stay. He wasn't cut out for family life.

He'd learned that lesson all too well.

No, staying wasn't an option. Divorce wasn't an option. So what options did they have?

Logan veered around a broken jar of molasses lying on the sidewalk. Hell, he didn't know. This was all so fast. He was still digesting the fact that he had a kid.

His gaze fastened on the flash of bare ankle her swaying skirts displayed, and against his own better judgment, he indulged in the fantasy of having a wife—this wife—do all the wifely things a woman can do for a man.

Whoa. Don't go there, Grey. You're asking for trouble.

Yeah, but a little trouble sounds so good right about now.

He closed the distance between them as they approached the entry to the Blackstone Hotel, and with his hand familiarly at her waist, he ushered her inside.

Heavy doors and thick walls shut out the sounds of the city outside. Dark paneling and upholstery in reds, greens and golds created a rich, wealthy atmosphere that encouraged muted voices. As they walked farther into the lobby, the heavy scent of lilies clashed with that of cigars. Logan wrinkled his nose. He never had liked lilies. Made him think of caskets.

Caroline dug her room key from her handbag as she led him up to the third floor. Her room was nestled against the staircase. Small, it contained only a bed, a little chest and a writing desk and chair. Her satchel sat in the chair, so Logan dumped the shopping bags atop the writing desk, then while Caroline removed her hat and set it atop the chest, he sat at the foot of the bed, thinking about how strange this situation was.

It was as if they were really married, having returned from a shopping trip for their child. They were comfortable with each other. Familiar. Easy.

Oh, hell. This was scary.

In the process of pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the writing desk, Caroline's hand jerked and water splattered on the desk. "Oh, for crying out loud," she murmured, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and wiping it up.

It flusters her, too,
Logan realized. Ordinarily, he wasn't so slow on the uptake where women were concerned, but recent events would knock any man off his game. Now that he'd noticed, what would he do about it? What did he want to do about it?

Hell, Grey. You 're chock-full of questions today. How about an answer or two ?

"Water?" she asked, shoving a glass in his direction.

"No thanks."

She nodded, then tossed it back like a shot of raw whiskey. Yep, she was flustered all right. And nervous about being alone with him in a hotel room. Did she think he'd lose control and ravish her?

He tucked his tongue into his cheek. The notion did have a certain appeal.

Come to think of it, that was what happened last time they'd been alone together in a hotel room. He'd certainly lost control and they'd ended up ravishing each other for most of the night.

Still, he'd like to think he'd gained
some
control in the past decade and a half. But then again, her beauty had ripened and matured in that time, too, making her all the more desirable.

His body stirred.

Maybe she had reason for concern.

"I brought the sketchbook because I thought you might like to see it. Sketchbooks, actually. I brought two. I have a series of them. Suzanne started a new one every year on his birthday. I brought Will's first-year book and his sixth-year. Do you want to see them both?"

"Sure."

She opened her satchel and removed a pair of leather-bound books. Handing one to him, she said, "This is his baby book."

Logan's attention shifted from the mother to the son when he opened the book to see a rendition of a smiling infant with rosy cheeks and a tuft of red hair atop his head. "He has red hair? I thought you said it was dark."

"When he was born his hair was red, yes, but it didn't last. It darkened as he grew older."

Logan grinned and turned the page. "Plump little bugger, wasn't he?"

"He was hungry all the time and that hasn't changed. Keeping that child fed has been one of my greatest challenges."

Logan paged slowly through the infant pictures. Before this moment, he'd never had much interest in babies. He found it nearly impossible to relate to them. But with this little guy.. .everything was different. Look at that smile. Caroline said Will had his smile, but she was wrong. That smile was just like his mother's.

"I confess that little babies terrify me. They seem so fragile that I'm afraid I could break 'em."

"The McBride sisters all have little ones. Hasn't being around them gotten you past that fear?"

"Nope. I stay away from the infants—for good reason. When I was ten or so, someone abandoned a newborn at the orphanage and Nana Nellie asked me to give it a bottle. My hand shook so much that I put bubbles in the milk and gave the baby gas. Nana Nellie never asked me to help with him again."

Caroline laughed. "I was so young and inexperienced when Will was born that I did some of the dumbest things. It scares me now to look back on them. That poor baby—it's a wonder he didn't bleed to death from all the times I accidentally stuck him with diaper pins."

"Live and learn, I guess." In so many areas.

Logan continued to turn the pages of the sketchbook, watching his son grow up before his eyes. Will sitting up and playing with a variety of toys. Will chewing on a red ball. Banging a spoon on an overturned pot. Gleefully knocking down a tower of wooden blocks. He got a little gooey inside when he saw the drawing of his son holding a cowboy hat bigger than he was over his head, his green eyes alight with delight, his smile wide and showing off a pair of new teeth.

"He does have my eyes," Logan said, speaking past a blockage of some sort in his throat.

"Yes. Like I said yesterday, you certainly left your stamp on him. I knew he looked like you, but I didn't realize just how much until I saw you again."

"I'll bet he's not all like me." Curious, he glanced up at Caroline. "Tell me how he's like you."

She thought a moment, then shrugged. "Oh, I don't know."

"Come on. I know there's something." Logan wanted the answer as much to learn about his wife as about his son. "Tell me. Will is...?"

"He has a temper like mine," she finally said, a rueful tip to her smile. "It flashes hot and fierce, but we tend to get over it fairly quickly."

"What else?"

"Will inherited my sweet tooth. I'm a fool for chocolate, and Will is just as bad." Smiling, she added, "We have contests to see who gets the last piece in a box of chocolates."

Logan studied his wife, then glanced back down at one-year-old Will. "He has your smile, Caroline. Bright and open and infectious. That's a real nice gift you passed along to our boy."

Color stained her cheeks. "He's a happy child. Or at least he was. I haven't seen his smile very often since Suzanne died."

He detected a glimmer of guilt in those gorgeous eyes of hers. "You can't blame yourself. From what I can see, you've been a good mother. That's all any kid could ask for."

"I love him. He's hurting and I can't fix it. That makes it hard for me."

Logan took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "We'll bring him back safe, Caroline. Don't doubt it."

After she gave him a shaky smile, he resumed his perusal of the sketchbook and saw his son learn to crawl, then walk. Four of the drawings included sketches of Caroline, and Logan lingered over those. Lord, she'd been young to face all that she'd faced. Seeing her in these drawings drove that point home, and admiration at how well she'd managed washed through him.

"Can I see the other one?" This time when she handed over the book, he grabbed her arm and tugged her down beside him. "Tell me about the pictures as we look at them."

"I can do that standing up."

"I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking up at you. This way is more comfortable."

Unsettled, Caroline shifted her weight on the thick feather mattress and established a good foot of space between them. Logan countered by closing the distance as he opened the sketchbook, propping it half on his lap, half on hers. He breathed in her lemony scent and studied the first drawing, which depicted Will playing with a dog. In his mind's eye he saw another child playing with a different dog, but he ruthlessly buried the memory, cleared his throat and said, "Now, that's a cute kid. You say he's six years old in these pictures?"

"No. I thought I had a different book. This is actually his five-year-old book."

"Gunslinging Suz was quite an artist."

"I have a beautiful watercolor of a sunset back home that she painted, but she always said that Will was her favorite subject."

"She loved him. You can see it." Logan carefully thumbed through the pages, stopping at one that showed Will staring at a barber pole, his expression etched with horror. "Tell me about this one."

Her smile turned wistful. "He'd just had his first haircut in the barbershop. What a battle that was! Will has a cowlick right here—" she gestured toward the crown of her head "—and it got to where no matter how I tried, I only made it worse when I cut it. I decided I need professional help and, oh my stars, that turned out to be a mistake. Will took one look at the barber's chair and turned and started screaming."