She posted her hands on her hips. “You’re ranked number one. In theworld, Logan. The spotlight never leaves you.”
He dropped his boots to the ground and rocked forward in his chair to sit up straight. “Ah, so youhavebeen following me.” She wanted to wipe that smug smile off his lips. When Logan Attwood knew he had the upper hand, he was unpredictable.
“It’s all anyone in town has talked about for days.” There, that didn’t give away the truth—that she’d followed every rodeo he’d ridden in since he left her, if only to make sure he wasn’t injured. Or worse, killed. “What’s it going to cost me?”
Logan prodded the fire again. “Cost you?”
She folded her arms across her chest, Gibbs’s leash dropping to the ground. Before she could snag it up, the traitorous dog sprinted for Logan. Dang if he didn’t lean into Gibbs’s affections, rubbing the dog with both hands and talking to him as if they were old pals, all the while keeping her dog safely away from the fire.
He spoke into Gibbs’s chocolatey fur without looking up at her. “When did you get a dog?”
“You and I both know you’re going to do the interview,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Doubt had begun nagging at her. He might flat-out refuse. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want in return?”
Logan stood, pouring a bucket of water on the fire. She’d forgotten how he towered over her. How safe she used to feel with him because of it. “Save your begging.” As the fire hissed and smoked, he sauntered toward the back door but paused before he opened it. Gibbs looked back and forth between her and Logan, as if wondering whom he should follow.
“You’ll have to tell your boss to find a new front-page story. I’m not doing any interview.”
Chapter 4
Logan
When Logan was growing up, the graveled drive onto his grandpa’s acreage was meticulously kept up. Fresh mulch, trimmed bushes, perfectly intact split-rail fencing, and always the right sprinkling of wildflowers.
Years ago, there’d been more family living here—Logan included—for a short time after his dad passed. But one by one, those family members passed away, too. First his grandma. Then his mom, never quite recovered from losing her husband from a heart attack. Now, only his grandpa remained there on the outskirts of town.
He felt a clutch in his chest as he rolled along that same graveled drive, now overgrown. Bushes grew rampant and wild. What flowers were left were choked out by weeds, and the washed-out mulch was nearly nonexistent. Pieces of the fence stood broken or missing entirely. “So sad.”
Gus, the family shepherd dog that used to run circles around his truck when he came back to visit, eyed him lazily from his shady spot on the front porch as his truck rolled to a stop.
He parked near the garage, mindful to leave the spot in front of the door open for his grandpa.
“Hey, Gus,” he called once out of the truck. He waited a moment, hoping the dog would run to greet him the way he used to, but he didn’t even lift his head. Logan wondered if it was an omen for how this visit might turn out. Grandpa hadn’t seen him yet; he still had time to get back in the truck and turn around.
His heart ached at the disrepair he faced in every direction. Weeds everywhere, a barn in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the roof of the main house was missing more than a few shingles. He made a note to have someone repair the roof before it got worse.
Though his grandpa hadn’t spoken to him much in the last two years, every month Logan still sent a check from his winnings to help with the upkeep. But as far as his bank statement indicated, his grandpa had never cashed a single one. Too much pride, he suspected. A family trait for certain.
Gus’s tail thudded against the worn porch boards like thunder. It took less than a minute for the front door to fly open.
“What’r’ya doing here?” Grandpa stood in the open doorway, one foot on the porch, the other tucked inside.
“I’m in town.” He kept a slow stride, cautious of each step that might result in a slammed door. “Thought I’d stop, see how things are going.”
He had a hard time keeping his eyes off all the things that needed attention. In his absence, so much had been neglected. He briefly wondered if it would have been different had he stayed. But he pushed out the thought as quickly as it came. The past was in the past. Nothing he could do to change any of that now.
“Things are fine.”
Gus lifted his head at Logan’s approach. The heavy gray in his once golden coat jarred him. They’d gotten Gus when Logan was fifteen, but the dog never seemed to slow down. He’d still been racing around chasing rabbits the last time Logan saw him. “You take Gus to the vet?”
“Don’t need to. It’s old age. He got old while you were out running around the country.”
His grandpa had, too. The creases around his eyes had multiplied, the wrinkles deepened. He still had his full head of white hair and prominent, if not notorious, mustache. But the strains of a hard life were evident.
“I could take him if you want, get him a checkup.”
“No.”
Logan slowly took the few stairs up to the porch, unable to drown out the loud creaking they made beneath the weight of his boots. He wasn’t sure whether his grandpa would even invite him in, but he was going to try anyway. “Got any coffee?”
