103
I walk into the Cowherd Whiskey shaking water out of my hair. I’m soaked just from those few seconds outside.
“Really coming down, isn’t it?” George says.
“Really is.” I go around to the back of the bar and use some paper towels to dry my head. “You all punched out?”
“Yep. I’ve fed the kitty, and he’s all safe and sound in his bed. I’m gonna go home and enjoy a cold beer, watch some sports on TV, and go to bed early.”
“Good for you,” I say.
“You’re leaving for Florida soon, right?” George asks me as he puts on his hat.
“Yeah.”
“Good luck with that one,” he says to me. “And remember, she may have the ring, but it doesn’t mean she’s got his heart.”
I smile and wish I could believe him.
Because of the rains, The Cowherd’s nearly empty. As the hours go by, it never picks up. It’s starting to feel more and more like a never-ending shift when Skips pops by for an unplanned—and clearly uninvited—visit.
“Didn’t you squeeze enough information out of me and this old bar already?” I ask him.
He takes off his glasses and dries them off on his shirt before he takes a seat on a stool. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Well, whatever your request is, the answer is no.”
Skip holds up his hand for me to let him finish. “You and Logan are a real-life love story. What you did for him—silently and privately sacrificing your own heart so he wouldn’t suffer—that’s what legends are made of.”
“Skip, please.”
“I’m serious. You didn’t even want him to know. You did it all for him, not yourself. That’s true love.”
Yes. I do love him.
Fuck. I love Logan. I love him so much it hurts.
But—
“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” I say, my voice cracking.
Skip’s gaze searches my face. “And sometimes it is. Ever think maybe he’s doing the same for you?”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“Do you believe that Logan Wild would silently and privately sacrifice his heart so you wouldn’t suffer, Ms. Henwood?”
His tone is neutral, but something in his face…
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I say in a rush of words.
“Just a question.” He changes tacks. “Do you know Gigi’s mother has been to Darcy before?”
A chill goes down my spine, and I lean over the bar.
“She has?” I say, trying to ignore my racing pulse.
“She has. Four years ago. Do you know what you were up to four years ago?”
