Montana Creeds: Logan

Briana gulped. “Bears?”

“They like to raid the orchard every now and then,” Logan said.

“In two years,” Briana said, her stomach doing a slow backward roll, “I haven’t seen a single bear.”

“They’re around,” Logan replied. “Mostly browns and blacks, but there is the occasional grizzly, too, and they’re bad news.”

“G-Grizzlies?” Briana echoed stupidly.

Logan sighed. “Dylan should have told you,” he said.

Briana barely knew Dylan Creed, but she had every reason to be grateful to him since he’d given her a place to stay when she needed it most, along with a generous supply of groceries and an old pickup to drive, and the faintly critical note in Logan’s voice put her on the defensive. “I guess the subject never came up,” she said stiffly.

“With Dylan,” Logan countered dryly, “the most important subjects often don’t come up.”

“I’ll watch out for Cimarron and the bears,” Briana said.

There was more Logan wanted to say—she could sense that—but he must have quelled the urge. “Good,” he said, after several seconds had ticked by. Nothing more, just Good.

A man of few words, then.

Call-waiting clicked in. Since Briana didn’t have caller ID, and since her better angels whispered that Logan had warned her and she had no cause to be hostile, she ignored the beeps. “Maybe you’d like to join us for supper tomorrow night,” she said, to make up for her bad manners.

A flush climbed her neck while she waited for Logan’s reply.

“Can I bring anything?” he asked presently.

“No need,” she said, strangely jubilant at his tacit acceptance. It was only supper, a simple neighbor-toneighbor courtesy. Mustn’t make a big fat deal of it. “Sidekick’s welcome, too, of course. Six-thirty? I get home from work at about five-fifteen, and I’ll need time to shower and cook and everything.”

More information than he needed, Briana reflected, blushing even harder. What was the matter with her?

“Six-thirty,” he agreed, with a smile in his voice. It was almost as if he knew she was red from her throat to the roots of her hair.

They said goodbye and hung up, and the instant the connection was broken, the phone rang again.

“Hello?” Briana said. Had Logan changed his mind about supper already? Remembered a previous commitment?

“Hey,” Vance said. “I just tried to call and—”

Briana let out a long breath. “I was on the other line.”

“Did you get my message?”

“Yes. You’re thinking of dropping in for a visit.” She lowered her voice, since the boys’ room was nearby and she wouldn’t put it past either or both of her sons to be glued to the other side of the door with their ears on broadband. “Alec is going to be seriously disappointed if you don’t show up.”

“How about you, hon?” Vance drawled, playing up the cowboy routine that had sucked her into his orbit the first time. “Would you be disappointed if I didn’t show up?”

Briana’s blood pressure surged. She waited for it to peak and go into a decline before she answered. “Not in the least,” she said. “We’re divorced, Vance. D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D.”

Atypically, he backed off. He was playing it cool, which meant he wanted something.

“What’s up, Vance?” she asked, as calmly as she could. If she came on too strong, he’d simply hang up on her, but she wasn’t going to roll over, either. “You didn’t make it to Stillwater Springs when Josh had his tonsils out last fall. You were a no-show at Christmas, Thanksgiving and both the boys’ birthdays. What’s so important that you’re willing to swing this far off the circuit to sleep on my couch?”

Vance’s answer was underlaid with one big, silent sigh of long-suffering patience. He was so misunderstood. “I just want to talk to you face-to-face, that’s all. And see the boys.”

And see the boys.

Always the afterthought.

“About what?” Briana demanded, still struggling to keep her voice down. “So help me, Vance, if it’s about wriggling out of paying your child support again—”

“It isn’t,” he interrupted, sounding put-upon. “Why does everything always come down to money with you, Bree?”

“If everything ‘came down to money’ with me, Vance Grant, you’d be in jail right now. Josh and Alec are your sons. Don’t you feel any responsibility toward them at all?”

“I love them,” Vance said, going from put-upon to downright wounded.

“Talk is cheap,” Briana said.

“Do you want me to come or not? I can be there Saturday.”

“I work on Saturday.”

“That’s okay,” Vance responded, magnanimous now. “I can hang out with the boys until you get home.”

Briana thought of Alec, his face so full of hope, and then of Josh, who’d threatened to run away if Vance made good on the visit. “Alec will be thrilled,” she said, in all truth. “Good luck with Josh, though.”

“What’s up with my buddy Josh?”

“I’d say he sees right through you, Vance,” Briana said. Josh didn’t need a buddy, he needed a dad—a concept well beyond Vance’s capacity to grasp.

“And that’s supposed to mean what?” Vance asked furiously.

True colors, Briana thought. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

Stop baiting him, said the better angel.

Sometimes she’d like to throttle that better angel.

“You figure it out,” she said.

“Look, I don’t need this. Maybe it would be better if I just stayed clear.”

Briana closed her eyes, but Alec’s image was still there, yearning for a visit from the father he adored. She had to stop thinking about what she wanted—never to lay eyes on Vance Grant again—and consider her children’s needs. Right or wrong, Vance was their dad, and as much as Josh protested, he wanted a relationship with him as badly as Alec did.

“I’m sorry,” she said, nearly choking on the words.

“You know what’s wrong with you?” Vance countered. He’d changed tactics again, turned the dial to “charm.” “You need sex.”