Montana Creeds: Logan

Logan didn’t respond, even to nod, nor did he meet her eyes. He knew she was referring to Jake, the man he both loved and hated, with such intensity that most times, he couldn’t separate one emotion from the other.

“He won’t rest until you do,” Cassie went on. She stepped into the teepee then, sat down on the ground across from him, graceful despite her size.

Logan blinked, came out of the meditation, or whatever it was. He smiled. “Still telling fortunes, I see,” he said, referring to the client she’d been with when he arrived.

“It’s a living,” she said, with a little shrug and a partly sheepish smile.

“You don’t need to read cards to make a buck, Cassie,” he pointed out, as he had at least a hundred times before. “You get a regular check from the tribal council.”

“Maybe it isn’t about the money,” Cassie suggested mildly, laughing a little when Sidekick gave her a nuzzle with his nose and tried to sit in her ample lap.

“What do you tell them?” Logan asked. “Your clients, I mean?”

“Depends,” Cassie answered, “on what I think they need to hear.” She regarded him with a focus so sharp that it was unsettling. “Did you call Dylan and Tyler?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Dylan basically blew me off. I left a message for Ty, but he hasn’t called back.” He grinned. “Off the hook,” he finished.

“In your dreams,” Cassie said.

“Is this the part where you tell me what you think I need to hear?”

“Yes,” she replied succinctly.

He huffed out a sigh.

Sidekick arranged himself on Cassie’s broad thighs, and she didn’t push him away. Instead, she stroked his back idly, though her attention was still on Logan, one hundred percent. It felt a little like a ray of sunlight coming through the lens of a magnifying glass, searing its way through the brittle inner shell meant to hide his secrets.

“Jake won’t rest until you’ve come to terms with being his son,” Cassie said.

Logan bristled. “What do you mean, he won’t rest? He’s dead, gone, crossed over, whatever. Maybe they let him into heaven, but I’m betting he gets his mail in hell.”

“So bitter,” Cassie said, in a tsk-tsk tone. “No one is all bad, Logan. Including Jake Creed.”

“He was a son of a bitch.”

Cassie frowned. “Wrong. Your grandmother was a fine woman.”

Logan said nothing. He’d never known his grandmother, or his grandfather, either. They’d both died long before he was born, and Jake neither told stories about them nor kept their pictures around.

“People come into this life with agendas to fulfill, Logan,” Cassie told him quietly. “Sometimes they’re simple. Sometimes they’re complicated. Jake did what he was supposed to do.”

“What? Raise hell?”

“He made you strong.You and Dylan and Tyler.You’re as tough as the walls of this teepee, all three of you.”

“It would have been easier,” Logan said, “if he’d just named me Sue.”

Cassie laughed. “Easier isn’t necessarily better,” she pointed out.

Logan wanted to refute that statement, but even with all his legal training, he couldn’t come up with a solid argument. “I called my brothers,” he said. “The ball is in their court. What else is there to do?”

“You haven’t been to Jake’s grave, have you?”

Logan stiffened, shook his head. Cassie, it seemed, had eyes everywhere, in the bushes, in the trees, in the walls. She’d always known, somehow, what he’d done and what he hadn’t done. Worse, she believed she had the right to comment.

“His things are still packed away, too. That’s convenient, isn’t it? Because then you don’t have to remember quite so readily.”

“I came back here, didn’t I?”

Again, Cassie executed a half shrug. “You won’t stay if you don’t settle things with Jake,” she said. “I know what your dream is—to make the name Creed mean something good—and I can tell you that it’s more than just a dream. It’s a quest—the most important thing you’ll ever do.” At this, she paused and looked up and around at the interior of that teepee, as though her ancestors were hovering in the air or something. When her brown gaze collided with Logan’s, he felt like a butterfly with its wings pinned to a mat. “You’ll fail if you don’t own who you are—all of it. Not just the law degree, and the fancy silver belt buckles you won at the rodeo, and all that money you’re pretending you don’t have. You’ve got to accept that you’re flesh of Jake Creed’s flesh, bone of his bone, blood of his blood, and nothing is going to change that.”

Logan shifted, got to his feet. “He was a bastard,” he said. “If I could be anybody else’s son—anybody’s—I would.”

“Well,” Cassie said implacably, moving Sidekick gently off her lap and then accepting Logan’s hesitantly offered hand so she could stand, “you’re not. That’s one thing I know for sure.”

“Maybe you should have told him,” Logan said, seething. “He used to say otherwise. He said Teresa was a whore—did you know that? Practically every time he got drunk, which was often, he told me she’d been catting around, and I probably wasn’t his.” He leaned in a little, despite the flinch he saw in Cassie’s broad, kindly face. “And you know what? I wished to God it was true back then, and I wish it now!”

Cassie stood her ground, like she always had. It was a trait he blessed her for, even when he hated what she said. “How’s that working out for you, Logan?” she asked quietly. “All that wishing?”

He glared at her.

She waited.

“You’re so sure he wasn’t telling the truth, for once in his miserable, worthless life?”

“Teresa was faithful to her husband. She loved him. She loved you.” Cassie drew in a long, somewhat quivery breath. “Besides, you have Jake’s bone structure. His temper, too, and that mile-wide stubborn streak that ought to be in every dictionary under ‘Creed.’”

“Great,” Logan said, sagging a little on the inside, now that he’d let off steam. “And what am I supposed to do with all this information, oh, great medicine woman?”

“Break the curse,” Cassie answered. “Make different choices than Jake did. Find a woman, love her with your whole heart and mind and body and spirit. Make babies with her. Stick with her—and the children—for the duration.” She paused, regarded him with a kind of warm sorrow that got under his skin in a way her challenges hadn’t. “You’ve been running ever since the day they put Jake in the ground,” she went on, touching his arm. “Coming back here was a big thing. I know that. But until you can forgive Jake—really forgive him—you’ll be stuck, no matter where you go or what you do.”

Logan thrust a hand through his hair. “I can’t,” he said.

“Then you and your dog might as well get back in that old truck and move on, because you’re wasting your time here.” Tears glittered in Cassie’s wise brown eyes. “In all the ways that really count, Teresa was my daughter. I know what Jake put her through—Maggie and poor Angela, too. I had to let it all go, Logan—the hatred, the need for revenge—because it was devouring me from the inside.

“Look at your life. Your brothers are strangers to you. Twice, you married the wrong woman. The ranch—your legacy—is practically in ruins. You can’t just ignore all of that. You have to make it right.”

“How?” Logan demanded, furious because it was all true. Both his wives, Susan and Laurie, had been good women. He’d never raised a hand to either one of them, barely raised his voice, in fact. But in his own way, he’d been no more available to them than Jake was to Teresa or Maggie or Angela. “Short of committing bigamy—”

Cassie smiled. “Those marriages are behind you,” she said. “Did you part friends?”

Friends? Logan ached. He’d loved Susan, or thought he did. And when they weren’t having monkey sex, they’d been giving each other the cold shoulder. Now, she was happily married to a balding dentist with a slight paunch, and expecting her second child. He’d given her a settlement when his company took off, several years after their divorce, and she’d put it in trust for her children. Still, the last time he’d seen Susan, he’d known by the look in her eyes that she could barely restrain herself from spitting in his face.

“Not so much,” he admitted. He still talked to Laurie sometimes—usually when she needed something. She’d used her divorce settlement to open a hair salon in Santa Monica, and the last time they’d spoken, she’d told him all about her recent wedding ceremony on a beach at sunset.

She’d married herself. White dress, veil, cake and all.

Still, it had to be an improvement over being married to him, Logan reflected ruefully. Except, if he did say so himself, for the sex.