Willow Spring (25 page)

At this, though, she gave her head a saucy tilt, and said, “Want to see how long it lasts? Then go out with me. Just you and me, someplace private. Let’s forget about Mike’s overprotective streak and just act like two normal adults who want to go out and have some fun. And if he can take
that,
then sure, fresh start all the way.”

Logan felt put on the spot. Did she want to be with him, or was this just a test for Mike? Or both? And should he go or turn her down? What did he really want to do? If you took Mike completely out of the equation, did he really want to be alone, someplace private, possibly intimate, with Anna?

The truth was—a month ago, yeah. A month ago, he’d been fascinated by her, drawn to her.

But now . . . something held him back. Same as on the ferris wheel.

And that was when he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Amy. She held a cat-shaped watering can and had just stepped outside to water the petunias in her flower boxes. And he could feel her pain at unexpectedly seeing him with Anna as keenly as any touch. Damn it. That was why running into Anna had felt so wrong just now.

He made eye contact with Amy for only a brief, hurtful second before she looked away, focusing on her flowers.

But it drew Anna’s eyes to her, as well. Turning back to Logan, she lowered her voice. “You and Amy—how’s that going?”

He swallowed past the small lump rising in his throat. “Not very well.”

Anna bit her lip uncertainly, tilted her head, appeared sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “But maybe her loss is my gain. So what do you say, Logan? Want to get together?”

But he could barely even begin to weigh the idea of going out with Anna in this moment. Because even if it kept sounding like the easy answer, like a fun escape from everything else going on, deep down he just . . . didn’t want to. Just like the idea of confiding in her—it turned out his heart simply wasn’t in it.

But his bigger problem at the moment was the way his stomach still clenched at knowing the very sight of them together had upset Amy. And even if she’d hurt him in ways, too, well . . . hurting her back crushed him. Hell, maybe he never should have made love to her in the first place. Maybe friends weren’t meant to be lovers.

What a mess he’d made . . . of everything.

Seventeen

“He could not see her in a situation of such danger

without trying to preserve her. It was his duty.”

Jane Austen, from
Emma

“W
ell?” Anna asked.

Shit. Why did he always end up feeling stuck between these two women lately? How had his life gotten so complicated?

“I, uh . . . I’m sorry, Anna, I don’t think I can. I really like you, but I’m just . . . not in a place where I should be dating anybody right now.”

Her soft scowl managed to hold a hint of playfulness. “I’m not asking for your letterman jacket or anything, you know. Just getting together, having some fun.” She tilted her head in the other direction. “I don’t really know what’s going on with you, but seems to me like you could probably
use
some fun.”

And yeah, that was probably true, but at this point in time, fun with Anna Romo just seemed wrong on
lots
of levels. “You might be right—but I’ll have to pass, okay?”

She gave a teasing eye roll that made him thankful she could be so understanding. Especially since he was beginning to feel like he’d accidentally led her on. “Your loss, Whitaker,” she said.

“Probably so,” he told her. But Logan was learning there were many different kinds of losses, and some mattered a lot more than others.

A
nna sat on the couch at Mike and Rachel’s place, Mike at her side showing her pictures from Italy on his laptop computer. “That’s Dona Romo and her oldest daughter, Elisabetta,” he explained of their distant relatives. Then he went on to explain the twisting branches of the Romo family tree.

And the pictures were wonderful, she couldn’t deny. And Logan was right—Mike was in a great mood since coming home. But she still felt smothered. She’d felt smothered when he’d called her at Lucky’s place, inviting her over for dinner and pictures, just the two of them tonight because Rachel was doing some pre-wedding activity with Tessa. She’d felt smothered even as she’d agreed to come. She’d felt smothered as he’d grilled two steaks on the back porch, all the while talking about family, family, family, and how he wanted to host a big Romo reunion once Lucky got back from his honeymoon. And now she felt smothered as Mike told her all about their Italian heritage.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care—she did. It was that it was . . . just too much. Too much too soon. Ever since she’d shown up in this town, it had been heaped upon her in a way she couldn’t have envisioned.

She’d come here, she’d sought out her family, she’d asked for all of this. And yet . . . the only real problem lay with Mike. Yes, she could feel Lucky’s quieter and maybe slightly more awkward affection all around her, and her parents called her every other day to talk for a little while—but they just didn’t make her feel suffocated in the way Mike did.

She found herself remembering a phone call with her friend, Julie, back in Indy, this morning. She’d been complaining to Julie about all of this, and then admitting that she sometimes felt like she was being a shrew, when Julie had said, “I just think you’re so courageous to be there at all. And you could be running away from it, but you’re not. I’m not sure I could be half as brave in your situation.”

The words had heartened her, reminded her. She
was
courageous. Life with her mother had forced her to be. And it was nice to know someone besides her realized what a strange situation she’d put herself into here.

“Rachel and I are already talking about going back, maybe next year, and I was thinking you could come with us,” Mike was saying now.

And at any other moment of her life, she’d have leaped on an invitation to go to Italy. But all she could say at the moment was, “Um . . . I don’t know. Who knows what I’ll be doing by then.”

He just cast her a perplexed look. Which she supposed she could understand. After all, who turned down a trip to Italy?

“You know, before I went, I was thinking mainly about the sightseeing—but when I met the family still there, it was pretty freaking amazing. Just . . . to see somebody on the other side of the world that looks like you, and has your name, but leads a totally different kind of life. It’s an incredible way to reconnect with the family’s past, Anna.”

And that was when something in Anna snapped. “I don’t
want
to reconnect, Mike—I’ve reconnected enough already.”

He drew back, clearly stunned. “Huh?”

Suddenly, she could barely breathe, and she knew she should probably measure her next words carefully—but she just didn’t want to. “I’m tired, Mike. I’m tired of learning the name of every Romo relative in a thirty-mile radius, and now even the ones in Italy. I’m tired of being the main attraction of every event in this town. I’m tired of trying my damnedest to stay happy and upbeat and be my real, normal self while you keep trying to turn me into some angel who doesn’t exist anymore.” She stopped, took a breath, her heart beating too fast. “I’m just . . . tired of all of this. And I’m still not sure it’s working out.”

He’d sat staring at her, mouth open, the entire time, and now he blinked. “Not working out? What do you mean? We’re your family.”

“And you’re smothering me. Not the whole family, though—only you. And I know you mean well—everyone tells me that all the time. But knowing you mean well doesn’t make me feel any less suffocated. My God, I can’t even go on a date in this town!”

“What do you mean?”

It frustrated her to see him look so baffled. “What do I mean? That the one guy in this town who I really liked, who I felt comfortable with and drawn to, you drove away.”

He blinked again, leaned forward slightly. “Who, Logan?”

“Yes, Logan—who else?” The man exasperated her. “He’s so loyal to you and so worried about upsetting you that he doesn’t want anything to do with me now. I’ve practically thrown myself at him because of it—because I just wanted to have some fun, some normal fun with someone whose last name isn’t Romo—but you’ve managed to send him running in the complete opposite direction.”

Now, she noticed, Mike looked tired, too. And despite herself, maybe she felt a little guilty for yelling at him, for appearing thankless for how much he cared about her. “Anna . . . Logan has kind of a lot going on right now. So, even if part of it is about me . . . it might be some other stuff, too.”

“Amy, you mean?”

She watched as he drew in his breath. “Yeah, he told me about that a couple days ago. So I’m sure that’s part of it. But there’s more, too—stuff I can’t really share. I’m just saying . . . it might not all be my fault.”

Okay, she supposed she’d figured out there was more to Logan than met the eye. The fact that he’d given up being a fireman in exchange for a job as a bartender created questions. And maybe she was in a place in her life where she hadn’t really been ready to
ask
those questions—she was dealing with enough fresh answers of her own. But it still stung to find out Logan’s waning interest might be based on anything besides Mike’s attitude. Because Mike’s attitude, that was something they could get past. But she didn’t know if she was ready to deal with anything deeper. Damn it, she’d just wanted to find one fun, uncomplicated ray of light in the maze of cobwebs her life had become—and she’d wanted that ray of light to be Logan.

She had no idea if her jumbled emotions showed on her face, and she didn’t really care, either. She was still in no mood to mince words. “Logan aside,” she said softly, “I just don’t know if I can keep on like this, Mike, being a part of this family in the way you want me to be.” Yes, Julie had made her feel courageous this morning, but maybe at the same time, her friend’s words had somehow given her permission to . . . stop. Stop being brave. Stop trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

And with that, she got up and headed toward the stairs, trying now to speak evenly, calmly. “I’m going to get the rest of my clothes, then head back to Lucky’s.” Though she’d moved from Mike and Rachel’s guest room upstairs, she’d later realized she’d left behind some dirty laundry in the hamper and hadn’t been back to get it before now. “And Rachel promised to lend me a couple of books,” she went on as she climbed the steps. “She said they were somewhere upstairs, but I don’t think she got around to looking for them.”

She sensed Mike following her up the staircase, and then heard him behind her. “Wait, Anna—at least let me help you.”

That was fine—he could help if he wanted. But she remained overwrought, feeling like she did want to run away now. And not just from Mike and this house, but also from this town. And maybe even this entire existence she’d found here. She’d wanted to know where she came from; she’d wanted to find the people who’d lost her. But she just hadn’t expected it to be so . . . pervasive, to take over her entire life.

“Do you know where Rachel keeps books?” she called over her shoulder as she reached the second floor, still tense and a bit rushed, even though she was trying to hide it a little more. She looked to the right, toward closed doors she’d never had the need to enter. “Maybe in the storage room?” That was how Mike had once identified one of the closed doors when she’d asked.

And as she reached down to turn the doorknob, she heard Mike say, “Anna, wait, don’t.”

But it was too late. She was already inside the room.

And she knew exactly what it was the moment she saw it. It was
her
room. From when she was little. Left the same, all these years. “My God,” she whispered. To think she’d slept right down the hall for weeks without knowing this was here.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said behind her, his voice smaller than usual. “I never meant for you to see this.”

“You lied,” she said softly. But the lying part didn’t really matter. What mattered was that someone would leave a child’s room like this for twenty-five years after she was taken. Colored pillows and stuffed animals covered the pink canopy bed, and a pink ballerina border circled the room. A little white dressing table still held a small child’s brush and hand mirror.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said even more quietly now. “That we never changed it. I didn’t want you to think . . . we were crazy.”

She looked up at him, looked deeper than usual—into his eyes. And she wasn’t sure why, but somehow, standing in that perfect pink little girl’s room, she understood more. She felt more. Mike’s loss. To find out that first their parents had kept the room this way—and then even after the home became Mike’s, he’d kept it the same, too. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she whispered.

“We . . . we started out leaving it like this so it would be the same when you came home. And then, later, no one ever talked about it or suggested making changes—because it was like . . . to change it would be to stop hoping. And I never stopped hoping. Even when people told me I
was
crazy, I never stopped.”

Anna stood there, looking around the space, feeling almost as overcome with emotion as she had in the beginning, upon first meeting Mike and her family. Only this time she hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t expected to see this room. She hadn’t expected to
feel
this room, to sense that she’d once
known
this room. “I always wanted a pink canopy bed,” she said gently, drawn back into her childhood in a way that tightened her chest and stole her breath. “Now I know why.”

And most of all, she hadn’t expected to suddenly really
feel
—truly grasp—Mike’s pain over losing her. Even more than when she’d seen all the pictures of her in the house, in the albums. Even more than when she’d heard all the stories from the past. Somehow, now, standing in this “room that time forgot,” she finally, really got it.

And without even thinking about it, she turned and put her arms around his neck, hugging him warm and tight. Her big brother. Her big brother who loved her. She felt that more than in any other moment before, gut deep. And she realized that, despite everything, she loved him, too. “I love you, Mike,” she whispered against his chest.

“I love you, too, Anna,” he said, enfolding her in his embrace.

And they stood there like that for a long moment in which she tried her damnedest not to cry. Until finally she got hold of herself . . . enough that she could draw back and tell him the rest, the rest of what she had to say, even if he wasn’t going to like it.

“I love you, but . . . I’m just not sure what I want to do now. It’s . . . been a lot to take in, coming here to Destiny, trying to be a part of a family I don’t remember. And I feel like . . . like it’s sort of stolen my life, stolen me, the me who I was before I got here.

“I’ve never been part of a big family, never had siblings—nothing. I only had one woman who needed my care. And you know, I’m not even sure you really know me at all yet—the real, usual me—because you’ve never seen me in even remotely normal circumstances.

“I know everything you’ve done is out of caring about me, and I . . . actually treasure that more than I knew until this moment, Mike. But I’m not sure I can stay here long-term. I’m not sure of anything right now. So I just need to take some time to think, to figure things out. Without any pressure from you or anyone else.