The Sheriff's Proposal

Her cheeks pinkened. She avoided Logan’s gaze and looked at Doc. “Lily says Manuel and his family are welcome to stay until Carmen feels well enough to travel, but Manuel won’t agree.”

“We go north,” Manuel said in explanation.

Doc glared at the young Hispanic and said slowly, “Lily and Ned are good people. If they invited you to stay, they want you here. You must think of your wife and child.”

Meg put her hand on Manuel’s arm. “Carmen and the baby need a few days to get stronger. Do this for them.”

His almost black eyes searched Meg’s face, then his wife’s. In halting English, he said, “We stay tonight.” Then he lapsed into Spanish. “Sólo esta noche.”

Doc nodded. “We’ll start with that. Tomorrow’s another day.” He pointed to the door. “Manuel, you and Logan can carry Carmen to the house using that as a stretcher.”

Meg asked Manuel, “Lo entendió?”

“Sí.”

As Manuel helped Carmen and the baby get situated on the door, Meg slipped a folded towel under the mother’s head. When she did, the edge of her sleeve caught on the corner of the door, pulling it above her shoulder. Logan saw nasty red lines, healing but not completely healed. He remembered she’d been shot in the shoulder. He wondered just how serious the injury had been.

His gaze found hers. She quickly pulled the sleeve down, then fiddled with the towel swaddling the baby.

Logan and Manuel carefully and slowly carried Carmen to one of the guest bedrooms. Lily seemed to be everywhere, her smile warm, her manner gentle, making sure the new mother was comfortable. With a broad grin, Ned carried in a cradle. “I made this for Meg when she was born.” He winked at her. “I guess you don’t remember.”

She smiled fondly at the balding man. “I remember putting my dolls in it for their naps.”

Lily flicked back a stray strand of hair that had escaped her bun. “I’ll get it ready. We found a few baby blankets and kimonos in the attic. I threw them in the washer. We’ll be all ready for this little one in no time. Now, how about all of you come down to the kitchen and we’ll get some lunch.”

Manuel looked worried. “No trouble.”

Lily planted her hands on her hips. “Meg, tell him we have to eat. A few more mouths are not a problem.”

In Spanish, Meg explained her aunt’s philosophy. Manuel didn’t look convinced. Doc Jacobs motioned everyone out of the room. “C’mon folks. Let’s let mother and baby get some rest. Meg, after lunch I want to go over a few points with you about nursing. You can explain it to Carmen.”

Logan watched as Meg said a few last words to the young mother. Then she followed him into the hall.

Standing close to her, he blocked her from going down the steps. “How serious was the injury to your shoulder?”

“It looks worse than it was.”

“How bad?” he pressed.

Her back straightened, and she lifted her chin. “Does the sheriff want to know?”

“No. The man wants to know.” He wanted to know too badly for his own good. Something about Meg Dawson drew him. Maybe it had to do with them watching a new life enter the world.

Tension hummed between them for a moment—man-woman tension…and awareness.

Finally she let out a pent-up breath. “I finished with formal physical therapy in Lynchburg last week, but still do exercises every morning and night. I’ll recover completely.”

The vulnerability in her eyes told him she might recover physically, but he wondered about the emotional toll the incident had taken. He knew about emotional tolls. First there had been Shelley’s accident, then his son’s change in behavior…now his disappearance.

Logan’s job sometimes drew crisis situations like a magnet. But he was used to investigative work or breaking up a brawl in a local tavern. Personal crises were a different matter. He suddenly realized the last thing he ought to do was get involved in Meg Dawson’s.

He moved away from her and waited for her to start down the stairs. “I have to get back to the office.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You’re not staying for lunch?”

It was just a polite question. He didn’t hear interest in her voice. Thank goodness. “No. Duty calls.”

At the bottom of the steps, she waited for him. “Thanks for your help with Carmen and Manuel.”

“No thanks necessary.” She was standing close enough to touch, close enough that he could see golden lights in her eyes, close enough that he had to leave now. He stepped away from Meg toward the door. Then he left, unsettled, without saying goodbye. Because if he did, he might decide to stay for lunch, and he wasn’t looking for another complication in his life.

Chapter 2

After supper that evening, Meg weeded the flower garden by the front porch. As Lily peered over her shoulder, the older woman said, “I want to plant yellow and orange tulips this year and put pink ones out back.”

“They’ll look pretty in the spring with the daffodils,” Meg responded, her mind on Logan MacDonald, not the flower garden.

Ned pushed himself back and forth on the porch swing, his head covered by a straw hat. “I should go see if Manuel is still tinkering with his truck. Maybe I can learn something.”

“Carmen and the baby are napping,” Lily replied. “I checked them before I came out.”

Meg had looked in on them, too. She’d stood for a long time watching mother and baby, an unfamiliar longing deep inside her.

Suddenly a yellow-striped kitten scampered out from behind a yew and brushed against Meg’s leg. She smiled at Leo, a stray she’d found and befriended soon after she’d returned to Willow Valley.

Ned stood and came to the edge of the porch. “A reporter called from the Willow Valley Courier. He wanted to do an interview with Manuel and Carmen, but they didn’t want to talk to him. They’re very private. I told him to call Logan for the details.”

Meg glanced at her uncle. “I’m hoping we can convince Manuel to stay for a week or so.”

“It’s a shame Logan couldn’t stay for lunch.” Lily cast a quick look at her husband.

“He’s a fine man,” Ned remarked as if on cue.

“Fine” wasn’t quite the way Meg would characterize Logan. Strong. Decisive. Intuitive. “Who’s Travis? I heard Doc ask Logan if he’d heard anything about him.”

Lily tidied a few strands of hair that always came loose from the chignon at her nape. “Travis is Logan’s son. Logan moved his family here about five years ago. From what he’s said and I’ve heard, Travis never liked Willow Valley. Coming from Philadelphia, I guess that was natural. Logan wanted to give him somewhere wholesome to grow up. But Travis wanted none of it.”

“So he ran away?”

Lily exchanged a look with her husband. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

Ned added what he knew. “About a year after they moved, Logan’s wife was in an accident and died. It was tough on the boy. Afterward Travis gave Logan quite a few headaches—coming home late, drinking, grades slipping. Logan was at his wit’s end and tried to get the boy help. But Travis wouldn’t go to the appointments with the counselor. One day about four months ago, he just up and ran off. He’s only sixteen, and Logan’s worried sick.”

“The police are still looking,” Lily explained, “and for the first two months, Logan searched for the boy himself as far as Richmond.”

Meg sat back on her heels, forgetting about the weeds. “Doc mentioned a private investigator.”

Ned grunted. “Logan’s trying everything he can to find Travis.”