Friendly Fire (5 page)

When she looked at the picture on the box, she was in awe. It was a way bigger, fancier model. Logan pulled open the box, and Julia found herself standing right beside him, looking at the machine, which had a lot more features than the broken one did. This was the one she’d wanted the first time, but she hadn’t been able to justify the price. It had two steam wands, a grinder, all electronic, and it would take her a day or two to learn how to work it.

Logan lifted the heavy unit from the box as if it weighed nothing. Only Julia knew how heavy this machine was. After all, she’d struggled alone with the last one. She set her hands on her cheeks, riveted, and nearly wept. No one had ever done anything this nice for her before. He had not only come through on his promise, which no man had ever done, but she also knew this unit had set him back quite a bit. She was truly humbled.

“I don’t know much about these things, but I’ve been assured this will work just fine,” he said. He was looking her way, and she could feel his gaze as he stopped talking.

He took a step toward her, and she should have moved, but there was something about him now—when he was together and collected. She couldn’t fight the desire to be around him. He made her feel cared for, which would have sounded odd if she’d told anyone. Especially considering what he’d done, and the fact that she’d only just met him.

“Logan, I don’t know what to say. This is just way too generous. You didn’t need to…” She couldn’t finish, as she had gestured to the machine and ended up brushing him with her hand. Her insides warmed from the touch, and he stepped closer, into her space... So close, she could have risen up on her tiptoes and set her hands on his shoulders to press a quick kiss to his lips. Though, in that moment, she doubted anything with Logan could be hurried and light.

He raised his hand slowly and brushed his fingers over her hair as if to brush it back, but her hair was too short. Maybe that was why his touch was so intimate. This was something a man hadn’t done to her in so long, if ever.

“You have the most enchanting eyes,” he said. “I’m sorry for how I reacted, and no, it’s not too much or even enough. You deserve it,” he added, then slowly dropped his hand, squeezing his fist as if fighting an inner battle.

“Why did you leave the marines?” she asked. No matter what happened, she really did want to know. It was important.

“Roadside bomb ended it for me. Medical discharge after they pieced my leg back together,” he said, setting his hand on the espresso machine and looking away. It was a gesture she recognized, a hint not to push.

“My father was regular army. He came back from the first Gulf War and was never the same, but then... I was just a kid,” she said. She didn’t know why she had told him. She didn’t talk about her father to anyone.

Logan turned his head, angling it as if he understood more than words could say. “What happened?” he asked, and she couldn’t explain her need to open up to him. She knew he would understand; as if he could already tell what her father had done.

“He’d lose it—not intentionally,” she said. “I let the door slam one time, and he pulled a gun. Scared me. I touched him when he was sleeping, and he took me down and dislocated my shoulder. He never meant to hurt me, but he did. He hurt my mother, too. We learned never to sneak up on him or wake him. We started to tiptoe around. One day, he—uh…” She stopped. Tears burned her eyes, and her throat had closed up.

Logan didn’t try to touch her or move closer. He said nothing as he waited for her to finish. The man could be so patient, and it seemed as if he had all the time in the world for her.

“One day, he must have had enough,” she continued. “My mother and I went to the store, and when we came home, he was sitting in the middle of the living room in a wooden kitchen chair, in just his underwear, with a gun to his head. He pulled the trigger. He had laid plastic out over the carpet…and when they came for his body, they said he had done it to make the cleanup easier.”

Logan didn’t flinch, but his gaze softened as he slid his hand over her cheek. “I must have scared you shitless by firing my gun. I’m sorry. That’s never happened before. It’s generally only…”

She watched, knowing he was holding something back. “What, Logan? Your nightmares and flashbacks don’t happen in broad daylight, or is this the first one you know of?”

He stepped back, allowing his hand to fall away. “Nothing like this,” he said. “I had to work through a lot, Julia. I can’t imagine what your dad went through to end his own life; and to do it that way to you and your mom. That was cruel. He must have been out of his mind. Whatever happened to your dad over there was obviously pretty bad. War has a way of messing people up so badly—they’re never okay again. Some can handle it and push it aside. Some can’t.”

Julia swallowed the thick lump jamming her throat. She’d often wondered what nightmare haunted her father; slowly taking over every bit of happiness he had. “So what haunts you, Logan?” she asked. His expression was blank, and when he stared back at her, he said nothing. He blinked and gestured to where her old espresso machine sat.

“Let’s get this out of here and get the new one installed so you can start using it,” he said, turning away. When he did, she knew he had closed the door on the conversation. Would she ever learn about the nightmare that still haunted him?

Chapter 8

L
ogan had been in a crappy mood since driving away from the cafe. After he had hooked up the new espresso machine, a man had knocked on the still-locked door to become the first customer of the day. They were obviously friendly, and she had introduced him as the new math teacher. He had red hair, was clean cut, and had an interest in Julia that Logan didn’t much like. Any fool could see this man had stopped by with an agenda and only one thing on his mind... Getting Julia to go out with him.

The sly bugger had pulled out all the stops, commenting on the color of her shirt; how it enhanced the shimmering green of her eyes. Her smile had lit up the cafe, and when he started talking about her daughters; Logan could have kicked his own ass for not realizing she had kids. The slick teacher didn’t stop there. He went on to praise her as a mother, talking about the amazing antics her twin girls performed at school, from how smart they were to how kind, helpful, and terrific…blah, blah, blah. It was everything a parent wanted to hear, the smooth bastard.

The final straw had come when Logan went to leave, carrying out the old espresso machine, telling Julia he’d take care of getting rid of it. She had thanked him, and he, of course, had nodded as she hurried back to the redheaded teacher; their voices light and chatty, her laughter pulling at his gut and setting his teeth on edge. He wanted that part of her for himself, not shared with another man—especially not the one sipping coffee with her now.

As Logan strode into the station, moody and distracted, Rose followed on his heels. He set his coat on the hook in his office and then stood in the doorway, glancing out at the empty room. No Clinton, and Jordy had yet to make an appearance. Well, Logan damn sure intended to take care of that right now.

“Rose, call up Jordy. Tell him to get his butt in here. And where’s Clinton?” he snapped as Rose set his messages on his desk. She looked up at him with an expression that told him she wasn’t buying his attitude, and he took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he added.

“Jordy was here,” she said. “He left as soon as he saw you pull in.” She angled her head like a practiced mother.

Logan grabbed the messages before glancing up at Rose. “He avoiding me or something?” he asked. He had four brothers, and they had pulled every antic possible, including the silent treatment. Coming from the toughest training ground in the marines, he knew when someone was avoiding him. This felt more deliberate; as if Jordy was intentionally screwing with him—and Logan Wilde was not a man to be screwed with. He set the messages down and leaned on the desk, both hands flat as he carefully gathered his thoughts.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Rose replied. “So what are you going to do about it, Sheriff?” she asked. Then she just waited, not nervously but as if she had already seen everything in life and could easily deal with whatever reply he gave her. He liked her. She was probably the glue that held this station together.

“Well, let’s just see how things play out when Jordy finally shows himself,” Logan said.

Rose started out the door. “Okay, Sheriff. I’ll call him now, and Clinton won’t be in until after lunch. Baby checkup,” she said. She paused, maybe from the puzzled look on his face. “He has a new baby girl, Sheriff, four months old, cute as a button. Annie is her name,” she said as if reminding him.

“Oh, yeah, right,” he said, remembering how Clinton had practically shoved that photo in his face. To him, all babies looked the same, but Clinton…well, he loved his wife and daughter, and Logan couldn’t fault him for that. “He’ll be in when?”

“Right after the checkup, Sheriff,” Rose replied, as if the question was ridiculous.

Logan obviously didn’t understand the protocol for a man taking his wife and baby for a checkup, but it wasn’t as if crime was booming. He sifted through the messages: the mayor, the fire chief—and Mick Rhodes, a plumber. “Why is a plumber calling me?” Logan asked.

“To fix the leak in the hot water tank. We have no hot water, remember?”

Frankly, he didn’t remember; and he was trying to figure out how a sheriff’s duties included fixing pipes and overseeing maintenance. He handed the message to Rose. “You’re now in charge of all maintenance,” he said. “Oh, and one more thing: What do you know about the math teacher, Brent Maloney?”

He hadn’t needed to write the man’s name down after Julia introduced them—he had burned every detail about the man into his brain, sizing him up. Was his dislike for Maloney just based on the fact that the man had set his sights on the one woman Logan possibly had feelings for? Julia did something to him that no other woman ever had; and the interest from Brent Maloney was putting Logan in a piss-poor mood.

Rose was considering something, tapping her lip with her finger. Her gold wedding band appeared dull and worn. “He’s the new guy, transferred in,” she finally said. “Took over from old Missus Harris, who’s been the math teacher for, well…for forty years, I reckon. Don’t know much about him, just that he’s a single guy from Chicago. He used to teach there but wanted out of the big city. He said he comes from a big family: two older brothers, three sisters. They’re scattered across the country, and his parents retired down in Florida.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “You sure know a lot for not knowing anything about him,” he said.

She just waved the paper in her hand at him. She started out the door and then hesitated. “You want me to get Clinton to check him out?”

“Yeah, and tell him to be discreet. I don’t want Maloney getting wind that we’re checking up on him.”

“All right, Sheriff,” she said.

As he stared down at the messages on his desk, Logan wondered what the mayor and fire chief wanted. The mayor, Ed Higley, had been the one to call and offer the job, as he was a friend of a friend. Actually, Logan’s former sergeant major, Bo Higley, was the mayor’s brother. He didn’t have a clue who the fire chief was, but he knew he should probably take time out to meet him. He tossed the messages on the desk, and Rose poked her head in again.

“Jordy’s here,” she said.

“Well, send him in,” Logan replied. He leaned back in his chair, the hinges squeaking, linking his fingers over his belt buckle and watching as a dark-haired man entered—square jaw, medium height and build, and eyes that were so dark they were closer to black than brown. He wore a tan deputy’s uniform, the star pinned to his chest, his gun holstered, his boots scraping the floor. He set his thumbs on his belt as he stopped just inside the office, and Rose pulled the door closed behind him.

Logan extended his hand to the empty chair. “Have a seat, Jordy. Glad you could make the time to meet with me.”

Jordy glanced warily at the chair and then pulled it back a bit, sitting and leaning back, spreading his legs as he gave a quick nod. He was quiet, held things close to his chest, was difficult to read. That could be a problem.

“So tell me, Jordy, how long’ve you worked here?”

Jordy blinked, pursed his lips, and said, “Eight years.” He had a deep voice and talked slowly, as if he thought carefully before speaking.

“What do you do here, exactly?” Logan said.

“I cover most nights, answer phones, break up fights, take crime reports, give speeding tickets, whatever needs to be done.” He crossed his stocky arms, holding himself in a way that made Logan pretty sure he could manage in a fight.

“So who do you answer to, Jordy?” he asked. There was no sense beating around the bush. If he was going to have a problem here, he needed to know now.

“I always reported to Sheriff Wilcox, the man you’re replacing. He knew that I knew my job, and he gave me free rein,” Jordy replied. He spoke as if this was set in stone and Logan was just going to go along with what had happened before.

“Consider your free rein gone,” Logan said. “You report to me now, and everything you do goes through me. I want to see you in here at a desk until I say otherwise.”

“And if I disagree?” Jordy added, a challenge Logan had only been given a couple times; always by arrogant fools who thought they knew everything. After Logan was through with each of those fools, they had sung a different tune.

“Then find another job,” he replied.

Jordy stood and stepped to the door, glancing back at the sheriff. “There’s a lot of talk around town about you shooting up Julia’s cafe; then more talk that Julia denies it,” he said. “Just so you know, I’m inclined to believe the folks who say you lost it when some car backfired. I know you were in the war and you've got issues, but just remember that I’ll be keeping my eye on you, too, Sheriff.”

He stepped out, and Logan, for the first time ever, let the challenge drop.

Chapter 9

J
ulia was in her bathroom, putting on eye shadow and mascara. She smoothed down her white blouse and newer blue jeans, to which she added her nice belt buckle; the silver engraved one that added that finishing touch and made her feel just a little more dressed up. The doorbell rang.