A Second Chance at Crimson Ranch (7 page)

Chapter Six

T
he following week, Logan walked into the local hardware store, Ted's Building and Supply, which sat on the edge of Crimson. Ted's had been around as long as Logan could remember. He was happy to see that it hadn't been run out of business by any big-box stores, as had happened in many other small towns around the state.

Still, he'd avoided coming in until now, keeping busy with projects at the community center that didn't involve new materials. He told Olivia it was to give her time to re-establish her credit. The truth was he didn't relish an encounter with Ted Stephens, the store's long-time owner. Olivia hadn't questioned him, though, just apologized for the additional complication of dealing with her ex-husband's debts.

She was so pure in her desire to do the right thing that she was willing to stand up and take the fallout for a betrayal she held no blame in creating.

Every day Logan was amazed and humbled by her. She kept moving forward no matter what. He knew she was making calls to potential funders and applying for grants to raise additional money for the community-center project.

She came by the building each day to talk about her progress and to see if he needed anything to help his work, as though keeping him happy was her priority. Her faith in him made him want to work harder just so he could enjoy the look on her face as her vision of the building took shape.

She continued to make an effort with Jordan Dempsey, and although she never pushed him, Logan noticed the kid was beginning to soften under her kindness. Monday morning she'd shown up with a portable refrigerator along with healthy drinks and snacks to stock it. She'd asked Logan for help moving it into the building but made him promise not to tell Jordan the food came from her.

Logan had wanted to kiss her again at that moment, which made it the same as most other moments they were together. He hadn't done it, of course. She was hurt and fragile, that much he knew. He was attracted to more than simply the way she felt in his arms. He liked talking to her, listening to her ideas and the way she made him feel as if he had something of value to add to the conversation. He wasn't going to let his lust mess up anything, no matter how much he wanted her.

It was a new experience, having someone believe he was better than he'd ever been given credit for. He might not deserve her faith in him, but he was smart enough to try to keep it for as long as he could.

With that thought in mind, he forced himself to approach the front desk of the store where Ted Stephens stood bent over a stack of invoices. Although Logan's legs felt like lead balloons and his mouth was coated with dry fear, he cleared his throat. The old man looked up, pulling off his reading glasses as his mouth gaped in recognition.

“Heard you were back in town,” Stephens said without missing a beat.

“I'm working for Olivia Wilder on the community-center project.”

“Nice lady,” Stephens commented. “Lousy husband.”

Logan nodded. “I have some things to pick up and a decent-sized order to place. Before I do either of those things, I wanted to talk to you. To apologize again and tell you that if you don't want me in your store, I don't blame you. I'll respect your decision and handle things however you see fit.”

The man rubbed a wrinkled hand over his face. He'd been old when Logan was a teenager, but now he looked positively ancient, with deep lines furrowing his suntanned forehead and his gray hair turned shockingly white.

“You get along all right after you left town?”

Logan shrugged. “I managed.”

“If you hadn't called 911 that night, Artie would have died.”

“I didn't know Jim had a gun. That hadn't been part of the plan.”

It had been a stupid plan to start with, capping off two years of idiot moves trying to numb the pain of his sister's death. The incident at Ted's occurred the summer after high school graduation when Logan had just turned eighteen. He'd been getting into more and more trouble, everything from drag racing on the county highway to underage drinking. When his buddies had suggested that they get a bunch of spray paint from Ted's and tag the high school, Logan had gone along with them even though he'd known it was wrong. Ted's nephew, Artie, had been working that Friday night. Artie was in his late-thirties, a doughy pushover of a man, a guy who wouldn't give them any trouble.

Except he'd refused to sell them the cans of spray paint, knowing full well how they'd planned to use them. Logan's best friend, Jim Thompson, had pulled out a gun and things had gone to hell in an instant. Artie'd been shot, then Jim grabbed the cash, yelling at the other boys to follow him out. But Logan hadn't been able to move, riveted by shock at the sight of blood spreading across Artie's white T-shirt. Instead of fleeing, he'd grabbed a towel from behind the counter and had tried to slow the bleeding as he'd called an ambulance. Jim had been arrested and Logan had left Crimson, finally terrified enough by the trajectory his life was on to change it.

“Have you seen Jim since then?”

Logan nodded. “A couple of years ago, after he got out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I tracked down Artie, too. He seems to be doing well down in Denver.”

“Yep,” was Ted's only response.

“I should have realized what was going to happen and stopped it before Artie got hurt. I'll always regret that night. I'm sorry, Ted. This community center means the world to Olivia and I'd like to work with you. But you probably don't want me darkening your door. Just say the word and—”

“You were an idiot,” Ted interrupted. “But from what I hear, you've turned out all right. I know you had it rough growing up. All of you kids did. Everyone knew how your dad got when he drank and that your mom wasn't strong enough to stand up to him.”

“She did her best,” Logan argued. His mother hadn't been perfect, but at least she'd loved him. That was more than he could say for his father.

“The town should have helped. Someone could have stepped in when things got bad.”

“You weren't responsible for us.”

“Someone should have been.” He straightened the stack of paper and cleared his throat. “You've made amends for the past, Logan. I don't hold any bitterness for what happened. You're welcome here, son.”

Logan felt emotion coil and then loosen inside him. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

Ted lifted the phone receiver and pushed a button. “Harry, to the front.” His voice echoed over the store's intercom. “We have a customer who needs assistance with an order.”

Logan smiled at the older man. “Thanks, Ted.”

“Do good on the community center, son. This town deserves it, and I have a feeling Olivia Wilder needs a break.”

“I'll do my best,” Logan assured him.

* * *

The next few days passed quickly for Olivia. She kept busy working on funding for the community center and checking on progress in the building. She loved spending time there with Logan, watching the center come to life through his hard work. A sense of ownership and pride was beginning to bud inside her. She was no longer so embarrassed by her situation.

The fact that she was doing something in Crimson—something
for
Crimson—gave her the confidence to be a part of the town once more. She took baby steps, a visit to the local coffee shop and bakery she liked so much, an early-morning trip to the grocery store in town. Yes, she'd gotten some obvious pitying stares, but most people had either been kind in their sympathy or steered the conversation to topics other than her cheating spouse.

She began to think of the community center as hers. When she got word that a national foundation was considering her request for funding for a director's salary, hope bloomed that she could actually create the future she wanted.

She held tight to that feeling as it helped chase away the fear and uncertainty that niggled at the corners of her mind. She spent more and more time at the building site, despite her inexperience with anything construction. She'd set up her laptop in an out-of-the-way corner or talk to Logan as he worked. At first, she thought she might be bothering him but he seemed to like her company, asking her questions about her past and keeping the conversation going until hours had passed without her realizing it.

Today she wanted to help and needed to be busy. After several frustrating hours dissecting family history with Mille, she'd headed to the community center. Walking in the front room where Logan was working, she picked up a hammer.

“Show me what to do.” She waved the tool in front of her.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You're going to break your finger with that thing.”

“I need to help.”

“You do help. Without your tenacity and talent for funding, the place would be gutted for condos now.”

“I need to do more. I want to be more.”

His smile was so indulgent it made her want to grind her teeth. Whenever she'd wanted to try something new and different as a child, her mother had told her, “Don't attempt to be better than you are.” Those words became almost a personal mantra Olivia had carried with her for years. But she was tired of living according to other people's labels for her.

She gazed around the empty room, then back at Logan. “Please.”

“Have you ever painted?”

“Is that a trick question?”

He shook his head. “I don't mean a canvas. I'm talking about walls.” He turned and rummaged through a cardboard box sitting against the far wall. “Most of the rooms will be sprayed since the construction is new, but there are a few areas in the front around the staircase that need a brush and roller.” He pulled out a gallon paint can and bristle brush. “I was going to have Jordan work on it this week, but if you want to get started, I'll keep him busy upstairs.”

Slowly, she lowered the hammer. “I'll do it.”

He eyed her dark jeans and cashmere sweater. “I have an old T-shirt in my truck you can wear so your clothes don't get messy.”

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, realizing her outfit didn't match her request. It felt a little like her life right now. She was reaching for things she wanted but wasn't quite sure that who she was fit with her new desires.

Especially as they pertained to Logan. She met his eyes, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

“Thanks,” was her only answer.
Fake it till you make it
could become her new words to live by.

He handed her the paint can and brush. “There's an opener in the box. I'll get the shirt and meet you in front.”

She spent the next several hours working by herself. She managed to finish almost the entire section of wall around the staircase. In the process, only about half her front was covered in paint.

She listened to the sounds of Logan and Jordan working in other parts of the building, the whir of power tools and the sounds of muffled conversation drifting out to her. She didn't mind being by herself. Olivia had always been comfortable with silence, probably because there'd been so much of it in her house growing up.

Logan checked in on her occasionally, complimenting her progress at the same time he laughed at the mess she'd made. She didn't care, though. She lost herself in the rhythm of the work, ignoring the ache in her shoulders and back as she concentrated fully on her job.

It was the first time since Craig had left that she was able to completely block out her feelings of abandonment and the constant question of whether he would have stayed if she'd been different. Right now, with the paint brush in her hand, being different didn't matter. It was enough just to be.

“You don't have to finish the whole thing tonight.”

Logan's voice behind her pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced up, surprised to see the sun fading outside the windows. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

She scrambled up, dropping the brush into the plastic tray. “I've been painting for over three hours?”

“You seemed happy enough so I didn't want to disturb you.”

“I like the progress of it and being able to do something productive.”

He nodded. “You were certainly productive,” he said with a smile. “This job would have taken Jordan the better part of a week.” One eyebrow lifted. “Keep this up and I may have to hire you on full-time. You'll give the professional guys a run for their money.”

She grinned at the teasing compliment. “Is Jordan still here?”

“I sent him home an hour ago.”

“Oh.” Somehow knowing she'd been alone in the building with Logan as evening fell made her stomach do funny things. “I'm sorry if I kept you late.”

“You apologize way too much,” he answered and bent to retrieve the paint tray.

“Force of habit.”

“We'll have to work on that.” He traced one finger across her cheek. The light touch sent a shiver through her. “I'll clean up this stuff. You might want to wash in the bathroom before you go. You have paint...well...you should see for yourself.”

Olivia felt her cheeks grow hot. “Good idea,” she said, and turned for the back hall that led to the bathroom.

“You didn't tell me it was everywhere,” she said to his back fifteen minutes later. It had taken her that long to scrub the white streaks of paint off her cheek, forehead and nose. She'd looked ridiculous and chided herself for reacting to Logan the way she had when he'd probably been laughing at what a disaster she was.

He wiped his hands on a towel as he put the clean paint brush next to the utility sink. “I liked your enthusiasm for the job even if your technique needs a little finesse.”

“Maybe you should have been a politician,” she pointed out, hoping he thought the color in her cheeks came from scrubbing off the paint and not as a reaction to his comment. “You certainly have a way with words.”