to drive back to his office. But once in his car, he didn’t put the key in the ignition. All he could think about was Meg Dawson—the way they’d connected, the way she’d left his house so abruptly, the way she’d stood in Michael Holden’s office, a wall surrounding her. Something had spooked her. And damn if he wasn’t going to find out exactly what it was.
He examined the visitors’ parking places and didn’t see a blue compact car. It was possible Meg had walked to the school. Ned and Lily’s place was about a mile away. Logan checked his watch every five minutes. Finally the sun blazing in his windshield urged him to get out of his car.
Twenty minutes later, Meg pushed open the door of the lobby and stepped outside. The sun shone on her brown hair, making blond strands glow. The gold buttons on her red sailor blouse gleamed. Her white slacks seemed to reflect the sun as a warm breeze blew.
Logan slid behind the wheel, shut his door and started the car. He moved on instinct rather than logic. Before Meg stepped off the curb, he’d driven in front of the entrance, reached across and opened the passenger door.
Her expression showed her surprise. “What are you still doing here?”
“I decided to take my lunch break and give you a ride home. You don’t have your car, do you?”
“No, but…”
He appraised her, from her silky brown hair to her sandals. “And you certainly don’t need the exercise, so hop in.”
“Logan, I don’t need a chauffeur.”
“Of course you don’t. And I don’t want to be one. Hop in anyway. We need to talk.”
“Logan, really…”
“Miss Dawson, we’re soon going to cause a scene if you don’t get in. Because I’m not leaving without you.”
She looked thoroughly frustrated with him as she slid inside, then slammed the door.
It was clear that whatever talking he wanted to do, he’d have to initiate. He pulled his car out onto the two-lane road and headed towards Lily and Ned’s. “Tell me what happened Saturday night.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I don’t see you as a woman who hides behind denial. You’re too intelligent for that.”
Meg stared out the windshield. “I’ve solved my own problems for a very long time. I’m not about to depend on someone else to do it now.”
“So there is a problem.”
“Let it go, Logan. Life’s like a puzzle. You just have to figure out how to fill in the pieces so they fit.”
He glanced at her profile. “Your philosophy?”
“Uncle Ned’s.”
Meg was making it very clear she wanted him to butt out of her life. And he should. Their roads wound in different directions.
After he cruised down the lane to the farm, he got out of the car quickly and went around to Meg’s side. She’d already opened the door. When she climbed out, she stood beside him looking nervous.
He was feeling a bit jittery himself, unsettled by the inner turmoil he felt whenever he was close to her. “I understand if you don’t want someone to problem-solve for you. But if you need to talk, I can listen.”
When she looked up at him, he wanted to kiss her. But he knew he’d scare her away. So instead, he gently tapped the tip of her nose. “You know where to find me.”
It was hard for him to leave her there, to drive away without another word. He’d give her some time. If she didn’t come to him, he’d be back to find out why she was afraid of him…of them together.
The terror. She could still feel terror. She was cold…so cold. Despite the heat. Despite the perspiration. She interpreted their kidnapper automatically. But her teeth were chattering, she hadn’t slept for three days and she was scared…scared she’d say or do something wrong. Think something wrong and put it into words.
The terrorist rattled off his demands. She conveyed what he wanted to the official on the phone. Suddenly their kidnapper shouted and waved his gun. Pomada yelled. Meg didn’t know what she’d said wrong. But she moved toward the man, hoping to reassure him—
He shot.
The searing pain brought her to her knees. No one helped her. She knew Pomada was afraid he’d get shot, too. She reached out anyway. No one reached back. Her ears rang, and dots floated in front of her eyes, turning everything to gray. She couldn’t pass out…she couldn’t…she couldn’t….
Meg awoke, drenched in sweat, the terror as real as it had been that day weeks ago. When would the nightmares stop? When would she forget?
Sunday afternoon, Meg drove to Logan’s house, not sure she was doing the right thing. But maybe Logan was the one person who could help her. Maybe he’d understand her fear of going back to work. She needed someone else’s perspective. Logan himself had said he’d experienced traumatic situations. How did he make himself do it again? How did he persuade himself to take the same risks or face the same challenges when he’d narrowly escaped injury before?
Meg rang Logan’s doorbell, not wanting him to solve her problem but hoping he’d share his experience. When he didn’t answer the door, she rang the bell again and reminded herself she was here to talk about her work, not to satisfy her curiosity about her attraction to him.
Both the sheriff’s car and Logan’s sedan sat in the driveway. The garage door was open, so he had to be around. She descended the porch steps and followed the path around the side of the house. A low buzzing became louder as she rounded the corner. Logan was using a hedge trimmer on the spirea. His bare back, tanned and muscled, gleamed with sweat in the bright sun.
Because of the buzz of the trimmer, he couldn’t hear her as she walked toward him. She stared at the strong column of his neck, his hair damp and wavy on his nape, his straight spine, his khaki shorts riding low on his hips. The sparks inside Meg flicked against her warning to herself, threatening to ignite with a matching response from Logan.
Suddenly he turned around.
She stopped and took a deep breath. But that didn’t help because she inhaled sun and male, potent enough to make her head spin.
Logan’s stare was intense, then he smiled. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Her gaze went straight to his chest—a broad chest covered by black hair. A mat of it whorled around his dark male nipples then arrowed down the center, disappearing under the snap of his shorts. Meg felt herself getting hotter the longer she stared. “I, uh, thought I’d ask about your perspective.”
“On…?”
“What happened to me in Costa Rica. There’s something you don’t know.”
He came closer. Her fingers tingled, and she realized she wanted to touch him. There was no point denying it.
“Why don’t you sit on the deck while I shower? Then we can talk.”
Meg
