style="font-size:15px;"> When Logan raised his hand, she knew he was going to touch her. His fingers on her cheek gave her a thrill of pleasure she’d never known.
His voice was husky when he asked, “How did you get so smart?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with being smart. The heart and the head don’t always speak the same language.”
He smiled. “I guess the trick is getting them to understand each other.”
She nodded and, when his fingers slipped away, she wished he was touching her again. She took the picture with her to the sofa. “Tell me about him.”
Logan sat beside her, his knee barely brushing hers. “He’s sixteen, thinks he’s the smartest kid in the world and is more rebellious and stubborn than any teenager I’ve ever known.”
“He’s a junior?”
“Yes. At least he would be if he came home.”
“What does he like to do?”
Logan looked at a loss for a moment. “Besides getting in trouble, I don’t really know. We haven’t had an amicable conversation in a long time.”
Logan’s expression was full of regret for all that had been. “The last time we talked, he called me his jailor. If he wasn’t home by curfew, I’d go out and find him. I think he hated me.”
“Logan.”
“That’s the truth, Meg. And now I can’t sleep at night wishing I’d handled everything differently. If I could just find Travis, I’d tell him I don’t care if he wears three earrings or torn jeans or shaves his head. I’ll even make his curfew an hour later. I just want him home.”
Meg reached out and covered Logan’s hand. “Doc said the whole town is praying. Is there anything else anyone can do?”
He sandwiched her hand between his and gently rubbed his thumb over the tops of her fingers. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do except pray.”
She stared into his eyes, feeling his pain, feeling his need, drawn to him in an elemental way. Finally Logan cleared his throat and released her hand. “I have the chicken wrapped in foil on the grill. We’d better get to it, or it’ll be too dry to eat.”
Supper. That’s why she was here.
Logan had already set the picnic table. A light breeze stirred the paper napkins under the silverware. Steps led from the deck down to a long yard separated by a spirea hedge from the next-door neighbor’s property.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“There’s a salad in the refrigerator.”
Besides the salad, Logan’s refrigerator was practically empty. Two bottles of beer, two cans of soda, a hunk of Swiss cheese, the remainder of a head of lettuce and a package of carrots sat on the top shelf. Other than that, his cupboard was bare.
Meg carried the teak salad bowl outside. Logan had just placed the chicken on a platter and unwrapped the foil from two baked potatoes. As she slid onto the bench, he straddled the one on the other side and gave her a quick grin. “I forgot to buy butter at the store. But I have salt and pepper. I don’t cook often.”
“You don’t spend much time here, do you?”
He swung his other leg under the table and raised his head. “No. Is it so obvious?”
“Nothing out of place in the living room, a spotless kitchen. Sure signs.”
“I spend most of my time in my office. When I’m hungry, I run up to Gibson’s Grocery.”
“Chips and cookies?”
“Uh-oh. The lady is on to me.”
She smiled. “Quick and filling. I do the same thing when I’m on the run. I get tired of cucumber sandwiches at receptions and hotel food.”
“Where’s your home base?”
“An apartment in Chevy Chase.”
“Are you looking forward to getting back?”
When she was traveling, she did. Her apartment was sunny, comfortable and close to anything she needed. “I’m enjoying my time with Lily and Ned. D.C. and foreign embassies seem a world away.”
Logan delved into world affairs with Meg as they ate. He was a stimulating conversationalist, quick to catch her train of thought, a good listener. Her stomach would jump whenever he smiled. His deep voice, lower when he disagreed with her, carried a timbre of authority, yet he listened when she explained her views. They both veered away from personal subjects. That moment in the living room had been too fraught with emotion, too tempting, too dangerous, to explore further, at least right now.
The sun slipped behind the clouds, streaking them and the sky with orange, pink and purple. The passage of time seemed inconsequential as shadows vanished into dusk and fireflies blinked under the maples in the yard.
Suddenly Logan stopped in midsentence. “We forgot the wine. Some host I turned out to be. I set it on the counter, so it’s not even chilled.”
“Perfect with ice cubes,” she teased.
“You are kidding.”
“Nope.”
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
She called after him, “Just half a glass.”
Climbing from the bench, she straightened her belt and wandered to the railing, folding her arms on the weathered wood.
It wasn’t long before Meg felt Logan at the back door, watching her. But she didn’t turn around. Whenever their gazes connected, the tumult inside her was too unsettling for her to analyze. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the glow of the kitchen light. The door opened and shut, and she found herself holding her breath, which was silly.
At least, she thought it was silly until Logan stood beside her and offered her a glass of wine. When he handed her the juice glass, she realized the trembling inside her extended to her fingers. She took a sip and set the glass on the balustrade.
He did the same. “We didn’t talk about Costa Rica and what happened to you there.” His voice was low, and in the shadows he seemed almost larger than life.
“It’s not necessary, Logan. I’m fine.”
“That’s a generic word that doesn’t describe or explain anything. You’re not a generic woman.”
Logan made her feel feminine and special. As she was growing up, tagging along with her parents, she’d often felt she was a bother. She’d thought she’d put all that behind her—the feelings of loneliness and isolation. Costa Rica had stirred them up, and being cared for and loved by Lily and Ned hadn’t eased them but had brought even more confusion to the surface. And now Logan, making her feel she was special…
“Meg?”
