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He felt a premonition that he wasn’t going to like whatever came out of her mouth next. “Did they find the boy?” he demanded. “The sheriff’s department hasn’t been notified—”
“Oh, yes, they found him after only a couple of minutes, hiding in the back with the comic books. But not before she made a total spectacle of herself running around screaming for him.” She sniffed. “He didn’t answer. Not that I blame him, I guess. If I had her for a mother, I’d probably be hiding, too. It probably looked like a good place to stay lost, as not many people make it back there.”
Patience wearing thin after her salacious account—it wasn’t like Mrs. Hutchinson to be so malicious and it made him uncomfortable to be a part of it, even if in a peripheral way—Logan asked, “So who is it? Who’s back in town?”
She grinned. “Paige Matthews. And from the amount of food she picked up at the grocery store, she’s planning on staying a while.”
Her words sent him reeling, the way she’d intended them to. She kept talking, telling him more—he was sure—about Paige’s ill-fated trip to the market, but he didn’t hear her. Couldn’t hear her over the buzzing in his ears and the shock that was ricocheting through him.
Paige Matthews was back in town.
Paige was back.
In town.
Paige Matthews was back in town.
The words looped in his mind as he tried to figure out what they meant when strung together in that order.
Trying to get them to make sense.
And more than anything, trying to decide how he felt about them.
Fumbling an excuse he knew didn’t make much sense, he headed up the street in a kind of daze. He knew Mrs. Hutchinson—and plenty of other people—were watching him, but in those first few moments, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Couldn’t bring himself to fake his way through this bombshell.
It had been so long since he’d heard anything about Paige, so long since he’d even allowed himself to think her name.
He didn’t get far before someone else stopped him to report the same news. Again and again, people stepped forward to tell him about Paige, each one adding a new little detail about her—and her son—until he felt as though he’d run the gauntlet.
Had he seen what kind of car she was driving? one person asked.
A ninety-thousand-dollar BMW, someone else imparted. Of course, she’d gotten it illegally. Hadn’t they always known she was going to turn out to be a drug dealer’s girlfriend? He’d tried to put that rumor to rest by mentioning the latest movie she’d been involved with, but he’d known his protests had fallen on deaf ears when the same person asked if he thought Paige was on the run from her drug-dealing boyfriend.
Did he know why she was back?
Logan’s simple morning walk through town had turned into a nightmare. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he cared.
Yes, he and Paige had been an item a million years ago. And, yeah, she’d screwed him over totally and completely. But that didn’t mean he wished her ill, didn’t mean he wanted any of the things the towns-people were speculating about to be true. Any more than it meant he wanted to see her.
Sure, he might be curious about what she’d been up to. And why she had chosen now—when he’d been in Prospect a little over eighteen months and was finally getting comfortable with his new life—to come back to town. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he would be asking her any of those questions any time soon.
If they met up, when they met up—this was Prospect after all, and there were only so many places to frequent—he would be polite, courteous. Treat her the way he did any of the other people under his protection. Because that’s what she was to him—all she would ever be to him. Maybe she’d meant something to him in the past, but that was a long time ago. The present and future were a whole different story.
He was the first to admit he’d made a lot of mistakes in his life. But from the time he was a kid, he’d made a point of not making the same mistake twice.
And Paige had been more than a youthful mistake. She’d been a goddamned natural disaster that had ripped apart the very fabric of his life. And it had taken him too long to get over her to ever let her back in again.
Pasting a wide—and hopefully not glazed—smile on his lips, Logan continued toward the diner in as straight a line as he could manage. He didn’t know much about Paige anymore, but he knew he was going to lose it if he had to hear one more ridiculous rumor about her. Or her son.
Then Ruth Oberly stepped into his path and asked if he’d had a chance to see Paige Matthews’s son yet. When he’d told her he hadn’t, she’d looked at him blandly and said that she thought the boy looked just like his father.
Logan’s back went ramrod straight at this new piece of information, and he had to force himself to relax. Normally, he didn’t mind the gossip that was part and parcel of living in a small town—it was relatively harmless, after all—but Paige’s child was still a raw spot for him.
The knowledge came as a surprise, and not a pleasant one. In fact, he was so busy trying to wrap his mind around the implication that one look at the kid had given Ruth a good idea of who his father was, that he nearly missed the diner. Logan had spent a lot of hours trying to convince Paige to tell him the truth about which of his high-school classmates had gotten her pregnant and the thought that he might finally be able to find out, after all these years, had him reeling.
Which was perfectly normal, he assured himself. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have history together. After Paige had left Prospect, he’d spent weeks—months—lying awake wondering about her. Wondering if she was okay. Wondering if the father of her kid was helping her out. Every time one of the guys from Paige’s side of the river had left town, Logan had wondered if he was the one. If he was sneaking off to be with Paige, wherever she was.
Eventually he’d left himself, gone to college, and memories of her had faded to bittersweet regret. Sure, she’d creep up on him sometimes, but he figured that was normal, when all was said and done.
First love was a bitch, after all. Sure, he’d gotten over her, moved on with his life, even gotten married to a woman he’d loved. But that didn’t mean memories of Paige—memories of them—didn’t catch him off guard every once in a while. They’d sneak in when he least expected it—a glimpse of the swings at the park, the teasing scent of lilac in the woods, a stray word about her sister and the crazy house Penny had bought with the hope of turning it into a bed and breakfast—and suddenly he’d be right back there, crazy in love with a girl his parents wouldn’t let in the front door.
But that’s all they were, he assured himself. Just memories. And if hearing about her son was a kick in the ass, the sting would quickly fade. After all, her betrayal had happened a long time and a lot of women ago. He had more important things to worry about these days than ancient history.
And yet, he found himself thinking about her. The idea that Paige was here now, that the answers to all those old questions were suddenly within his reach, had him thinking about things that were better laid to rest.
Frustrated, out-of-sorts, his earlier enjoyment of the day completely gone, Logan pushed open the door to the diner. And got a hell of a start when nearly every face turned toward him, the low buzz of conversation coming to an abrupt halt.
Okay. Never comfortable being the obvious topic of conversation he reminded himself of all the positive reasons to living in a town where he knew well over half the population. There was always someone to talk to, always someone around to lend a hand.
Even with the good points outweighing the bad, it didn’t mean it was always easy. Especially not when people were interested to see what his reaction would be to the knowledge that Paige, and her son, were back in town. Well, they’d learn soon enough it was no big deal. He and Paige were nothing to each other anymore.
Glancing around the diner with a friendly smile, he breathed a small sigh of relief when his gaze landed on Joni. There was nothing like a date with one woman to lay old gossip about another to rest.
Grinning for real this time, he started toward her table. There was nothing wrong with him, a hamburger, a piece of peach pie and some time with Joni wouldn’t fix.
Focused on his target, Logan didn’t see Paige until he was almost on top of her. And when it finally registered on him that the pretty woman at the next table was the grown-up version of his high-school sweetheart, it was too late to do anything but stare.
And stare he did, his mind cataloguing all the differences between this woman and the girl he remembered. Her platinum-blond hair was a lot shorter, cut into a sassy style that suited the woman, but not the vulnerable young girl who’d once confided to him that she liked him because she didn’t have to play a part for him.
Her heart-shaped face was thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, her green eyes darker and more wary than they had ever been. Only her lips were the same—lush and a little lopsided, their raspberry color as tempting as ever.
She was wearing a violet tank top that showed off curves much more lush than he remembered and, though he told himself to move on, to pull out a chair at Joni’s table, he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there, willing Paige to look at him.
At first, he didn’t think she was going to, thought she was going to pretend to be oblivious to his presence. But as he contemplated doing something stupid to get her attention, she met his gaze with her own unflinching stare. For one long, indefinable second, it was as if they were back in high school, when it had been only the two of them no matter how many other people were in the room.
He heard her catch her breath, felt his own hitch in his chest. His hand reached out to her of its own volition and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to trace the familiar dusting of freckles on her cheeks, as if nine years and countless arguments didn’t lay between them.
He started to say something, stopped. Tried again, stopped again. Then the moment was gone, her attention diverted by a young voice asking, “Mom, can I get my milkshake now? I ate all my green beans.”
Her expression appeared stricken before she turned her attention to her son. For a second Logan couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then he looked toward the boy sitting across from her, his black curls gleaming under the restaurant’s warm, yellow lights, and Logan’s entire world caved in.
He felt his jaw slacken and his eyes widen as a thousand different questions exploded in his head. As he looked over Paige’s son, Logan told himself that it couldn’t be. That he had to be mistaken. That Paige wouldn’t have his child without telling him.
The words circled his brain, a particularly ineffectual mantra. Because even as he was talking to himself, even as he was trying to convince himself that he was wrong, that he was making a huge mistake, he knew he wasn’t. This child—this lively, eight-year-old boy with the silver eyes and small birthmark on his right cheek—was his son and he didn’t even know the kid’s name.
The realization was a blow that nearly brought him to his knees. Shock and sorrow warred within him, followed by the beginnings of a rage so powerful it made him shake.
His child had existed in the world for eight years and he hadn’t known.
His child had grown and laughed, hurt and played, for eight years and he hadn’t known.
His child had—
“Hello, Logan.”
Screw pleasantries. There was only one thing he wanted from her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Paige raised one blond eyebrow, smiled serenely, coolly as if the same moments that had just blown Logan’s world to hell and back had barely affected her.
“I did tell you. You chose not to believe me.”
That was it. No explanation, no plea for forgiveness, no acknowledgment of guilt. A few simple words that did nothing to lower his blood pressure, and nothing to set this situation to rights.
“You know that’s a bunch of bull—”
“No milkshake today,” she announced to her son, to their son.
As much as Logan resented her interruption, the still-functioning part of his brain appreciated it. This was not the place—in full view of the curious patrons, of his date…of their son—to give vent to the rage boiling inside him.
“We’ll get one next time,” she continued, speaking to their boy. “We need to get back soon or Aunt Penny’s going to send the cavalry after us.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “There’s no cavalry anymore, Mom. Now the army uses tanks.” He turned to Logan. “Who are you?”
Logan had no idea where to begin to answer that, so he kept quiet. Let Paige field the question.
“He’s just someone I used to know. Back when I was in high school.” She reached for her purse. “And the fact that there’s no cavalry anymore is an even better reason for us to head home. Can you imagine a tank rolling down Main Street?”
“That’d be cool! Do you think it would point its big gun at the diner?”
“I can only hope.” With that cryptic comment, Paige stood, dropped some money on the table then herded her child toward the door.
Damn it, the child was his. Not only hers, his, too. And he had no clue what to call him. “What’s his name?” Logan demanded, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. Not that he cared. Worrying about what others thought seemed worse than stupid when he was watching his child walking away from him without a backward glance.
She turned then, and it was the first hint he had she might be experiencing the same anger he was. “None of your damn business.”
Then she was gone, leaving behind a silence so complete that the slamming of the door echoed like a gunshot.
PAIGE COULD BARELY CONTROL the fury as she headed toward her car.
How dare Logan try to embarrass her in public?
How dare he accuse her of not telling him about Luke when she had begged him to believe that she was carrying his child?
How dare he pick this fight in front of Luke?
If she had ever needed more proof of what an abysmal father he would make, she’d gotten it. He hadn’t cared about Luke’s feelings, hadn’t cared about anything but his own righteous outrage. Bastard. The next time he came around—if there was a next time—she would run him off with a baseball bat if she had to, small-town cop or not. No way was that son of a bitch getting anywhere near her son. Not now. Not after all this time. She’d see him in hell first.
“Mom, slow down!”
She’d been so locked in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Luke scrambling along beside her, his short legs working overtime in an effort to keep up.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She stopped abruptly, tapped Luke on the nose. “I forget sometimes that your legs aren’t as long as mine.”
“Why are you so mad? Is it because of that guy?” he asked as they resumed walking, though at a much more sedate rate.
“I’m not angry. I just didn’t realize how late it had gotten. The delivery men are going to be at Aunt Penny’s any minute and I need to be there to tell them where to put the supplies. If I’m not, she’ll end up letting them put the stuff anywhere and it will be a disaster.” She paused, ruffled his hair. “Unless you want to help me haul everything upstairs to all the bedrooms?”
“Yeah, right. You nearly killed me the last time we did that.”
“Exactly.”
They lapsed into silence, but Paige didn’t delude herself into thinking that Luke was going to buy her answer about Logan for long.
Sure enough, as she hit the button to unlock the car doors Luke ambushed her. “Was that man my dad?”
She stared at him, mouth open, as her brain scrambled for an answer. She didn’t want to lie to him, knew if she did it would turn around and bite her in the ass. After all, eventually she’d have to admit to Luke that, yes, Logan was his father.
But how could she do that now? How could she blurt it out in the middle of the street as though it was no big deal? Luke might be advanced for his age, but he was still an eight-year-old boy. How much of what had happened between her and Logan could she expect him to understand?
She closed her eyes, prayed for divine intervention. Nothing. Seemed that truth was her only option. “Yes. That was the man who fathered you.”
Luke nodded, as though he’d been certain of it all along. Knowing him, he probably had been. “Why did he say you never told him about me?”
Because he’s a lying, deceitful, distrustful bastard who wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him over the head. The words were on the tip of her tongue and she had to make a conscious effort to bite them back. Jeez, and she’d thought she was over Logan’s betrayal? Obviously, denial wasn’t only a river in Egypt. It was alive and well in Prospect, Oregon, as well.
She tilted his chin up so that Luke was looking directly into her eyes. She didn’t want there to be a mistake about this, didn’t want him to think for one second that she resented him because of his father’s attitude toward her.
“I’m not sure why he said that. I suppose because things between us weren’t particularly good when we broke up and he didn’t want to believe that you were his.”
“Why not?”
Because he’s a lying, deceitful, distrustful bastard who… “I don’t know, sweetie. I spent a lot of nights staring at the ceiling trying to answer that same question myself. But you know what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“That’s what you were going to say. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ And you’re right. It doesn’t. We’ve done great without him so far, so who cares whether he wanted me or not?” He gave her a small smile right before he slipped into the car and closed the door gently behind him.
That action more than anything—more than the too quietly spoken, the too mature words, more than the pain in the smile—convinced her that her son missed having a father far more than she had ever known. Luke, so exuberant and full of life, only closed doors softly when he was badly hurt. Normally she had to remind him at least four or five times a day not to slam the door so hard.
They’d talked about his father through the years—of course they had. She didn’t normally bring him up, but whenever Luke had asked about Logan she’d tried to be as honest as she could, without airing all of the difficulties and arguments they’d had after she had found out she was pregnant.
It had seemed to be enough for Luke, the knowledge that she loved him more than anything or anyone else on earth. She’d done everything in her power to make up for the fact that he didn’t have a father, and she’d always thought she’d done a pretty good job of it. Luke hadn’t even known he was missing a dad until he’d gone to kindergarten and figured out that almost all of his classmates had two parents, even if not all of them lived together.
They’d talked about it then, and numerous times since, but obviously she’d missed something. Sometime between kindergarten and third grade he’d decided she wasn’t enough.
The knowledge hurt, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous. He was a boy—of course he’d missed having a father around. She’d expected that.
What she hadn’t expected was for Luke to try to keep his feelings from her, to try to protect her from his pain when it was her job to protect him.
So how was she going to fix things? She walked around to her side of the car. How was she going to make things better for Luke when he was saddled with such a no-good jerk for a dad?
Part of her wanted to blame the town, wanted to blame Penny and her stupid bed-and-breakfast, for dragging them back here. They’d been doing okay in L.A. Better than okay. They’d been doing great. They had their groove, their routine, and it had worked for them.
Coming here had disrupted all that. It had hit her hard and had obviously had the same kind of effect on Luke, though he hadn’t told her about it. But it had been stupid to think that it would all work out. That her smart, precocious child wouldn’t figure out that in returning to her hometown, she was putting him—for the first time in his life—in close proximity to the man who had fathered him.
What had she thought? That if Logan saw them on the street he wouldn’t make the connection? Or that if he did, he wouldn’t care? After all, he hadn’t tried to contact her once after she’d left town, hadn’t so much as asked Penny where she’d gone. She knew that, because she’d asked her sister about him every time they’d spoken. Penny’s answer had always been the same—Logan acted as if she didn’t exist.
He’d cut her—and their child—out of his life so completely nine years ago that it was hard to imagine that he would suddenly have questions about that child. About her child.
Obviously, she’d been an idiot. Sighing, she opened the car door. It wasn’t the first time she’d been stupid and it wouldn’t be the last. But she was horribly sorry that her son had been caught in the middle of the whole, dirty affair.
She was about to slide into the car when Logan caught up to her.
“You think you can walk away from me like that?” he demanded, his voice low and furious. Despite herself, the tone sent shivers down her spine as it reminded her of all the fights they’d had when they’d been together. And all the making up they’d done when they’d gotten over the anger. “We haven’t settled anything yet.”
It was almost a whisper and her stomach tightened in response. Logan was one of the few people she knew whose voice actually got quieter the angrier he got. If he was yelling or cursing, it was no big deal. But the second his voice became deadly calm, she’d know she was in for it.
The day he’d kicked her out of his life, she’d had to strain to hear him.
This time she wasn’t a stupid seventeen-year-old girl who worshipped the town’s golden boy. This time she was a grown woman who was more than capable of holding her own against him, or anyone. She glanced into the car, caught a glimpse of Luke’s rapt face, and knew that even though she could, she still wasn’t going to take Logan on. Not here and not now, where her son could piece together how angry she was at his father.
“What I think is that now is not the time to deal with this. Luke is watching and the last thing he needs is to see the two of us fighting.”
“What he needs is—”
Paige could tell it was taking every ounce of willpower Logan had not to continue with what he was saying. But he bit it back, bit back all the accusations she could tell he wanted to level at her. She could see them in the darkest depths of his silver eyes, see them in his tense jaw and shoulders, in his fists.
Slowly, very slowly, his hands and jaw relaxed. Then he blew out a long breath and said, “We need to talk.”
She wanted to disagree on general principle, to tell him that there was nothing she wanted to talk to him about. But another look at her son changed her mind. Luke’s fascination with Logan was hard to miss.
Swallowing the bitterness that welled inside of her, she answered. “Yeah. I guess we do.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. In a few days—”
“A few days isn’t acceptable. I want to talk to you today.”
“Yeah, well, I gave up worrying about what you wanted a long time ago, Logan. I’m not here to see you. I’m here to help my sister. So if you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to work around my schedule.”
“Your schedule? You have my kid and you have the nerve to talk to me about schedules?”
A million responses came to her—none of which were fit for polite company but all of which she wanted to say. “How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“I want to talk to you today.” He ground out the words in a voice so harsh it hurt her ears. And still she wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t give in.
Her son was too important for her to roll over and play dead. And if his father thought differently, then he was in for a rude awakening. She’d never been one for power struggles, but on this front, she was digging in. There was no way he was going to move her.