Texas On My Mind. Delores Fossen
the doorknob.
“Go,” Logan growled to the news crew. He glared at the photographer. “And if those photos or anything else about this situation show up anywhere, you’ll deal with me.”
Logan didn’t wait for their reaction. The blind spots were getting even spottier. From the looks of it, Riley wasn’t faring much better in the pain department.
Riley stepped in right before Logan shut the door, and his brother volleyed glances between Trisha and him. It didn’t help that the front of Trisha’s dress was still hiked up, and he could see that sad excuse for panties.
“Trisha wanted to surprise you,” Logan summarized. Some people probably would have just let this all play out, but he wanted to hurry things along. “I’ll take a nap while you two have fun.”
“Thank you,” Trisha said at the exact moment Riley said, “I can’t. I need to talk to you, Logan,” Riley added.
Shit on a stick. That didn’t seem like an end to a conversation but rather the beginning of one Logan didn’t want to have.
Riley turned to Trisha. “I haven’t seen Logan in months. We need to get some family things settled.”
Translation: Riley didn’t want what Trisha was offering behind those red panties.
“Plus, I’m in pain. It was a rough session of PT today.” Riley rotated his shoulder and winced. Probably not fake, either, like that family-things comment.
Riley never wanted to discuss family things.
“I’ll call you,” Riley told Trisha when she didn’t budge.
Maybe the last bit of her dignity kicked in because the woman finally scurried to gather the rest of her things. Of course, she had on woodpecker heels, too, and they hammered against the hardwood floor. Trisha turned, heading toward the back of the house, but then she stopped.
“I just thought...” she said to Riley. “Well, I just thought I could cheer you up. I mean, I thought you might be feeling a little blue what with Claire marrying Daniel and all.”
Translation: pity sex.
And judging from the way Riley’s expression soured, he might just be in need of pity something. That wasn’t the expression of a man who’d just learned a friend was getting married. No. But then, Riley had always had a thing for Claire.
“Call me,” Trisha reminded Riley. She dropped a kiss on his cheek. Paused. As if waiting for Riley to do something more than make it a cheek kiss. When he didn’t, Trisha finally left.
“Sorry about that,” Riley mumbled. He was wearing his uniform, and with the exception of that weary, pained expression, he looked every bit the part of a military superstar. Which from all accounts, he was.
Logan considered repeating that part about needing a nap, but instead he found himself sinking down on the chair across from Riley. “Want to talk about it?”
Riley dropped the back of his head against the sofa and let out a long breath. “Which part—Trisha or the PT?”
“Both. Or neither,” Logan amended. “Or you can talk—briefly—about Claire and Daniel.”
Riley lifted his head and made eye contact with him, and for a moment Logan thought Riley would question that briefly part. To the best of his knowledge, Riley didn’t know about the migraines, and Logan wanted to keep it that way. Besides, his little brother no doubt had him beat a thousandfold in the pain department.
“Claire hasn’t decided if she’s marrying Daniel, but he did propose again, and he gave her a week to decide. There’s only one day left on his deadline. Trisha wants a repeat of what we did in high school. The PT’s going nowhere.”
Logan dismissed the first two topics, went with the last one. “How much time do you have left on your medical leave?”
“A month, maybe less.” He aimed his eyes at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. “If I can’t pass a physical, I might be given a medical discharge.”
Riley said it in the same tone as someone would admit they were dying from cancer or some other horrible disease. But he wasn’t dying. He just wouldn’t be able to lead the life he wanted more than being near family.
“Are you still having flashbacks?” Logan asked.
That got his eyes away from the ceiling, and Logan earned a glare for his question. “Who said I was having them in the first place? Hell. Claire told you?”
“No. One of the ranch hands heard you when you were sleeping on the back porch, but if Claire knows, at least you’re talking to someone about it.”
“I’m not talking to her about it. Not talking to you about it, either.”
Logan decided it was a good time to listen. Besides, it was easier to deal with the spots if he didn’t have the sound of his own voice echoing in his head.
“I can’t get kicked out of the Air Force,” Riley snarled. He motioned toward his uniform. “This isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. I help people. I rescue them. I save them from dying. Most of the time,” he added.
Logan nodded. This wasn’t anything new. “Man-rule number two—don’t be ordinary.”
“It’s man-rule number one,” Riley snapped.
Right. The headache must have fuzzed his memory up a little. As often as Logan had heard those rules, he should have remembered. “I don’t need to know the number of the rule to know what it means, Riley. You left home because you wanted something more than this place could offer.”
Logan’s strong suit wasn’t being warm and fuzzy, and clearly he missed the boat this time, too.
“You stayed because you chose to stay,” Riley reminded him.
Ah, hell. That was not the thing to say right now. It wasn’t the first time it’d come up, and sometimes Logan just walked away from it.
Not today, though.
“I stayed to make sure the business that Dad started didn’t go under,” he reminded Riley. “I’m the one who made it what it is today. The one who went to parent–teacher meetings for Anna—”
“You stepped up to do that.”
“Yeah. But Lucky and you could have stepped up, too. You didn’t, and neither did he. When you say you don’t want to be here because it’s ordinary, just remember you’re calling my life and everything that I’ve worked for ordinary, too.”
Logan stood and said the rest of what he wanted to say while he was walking away. “I need that nap now.”
The migraine, and this conversation, had caught up with him and was already kicking him in the nuts.
* * *
CLAIRE OPENED HER back door to take out the trash, and that’s when she saw it. A creature was just sitting there on the steps. It was in the shape of a ball, with gray fur sticking out in every direction.
And it had one eye.
She shrieked, scrambled away from it, banging her hip against the kitchen counter, but all the commotion didn’t stop it from coming closer. It just ambled in the house as if she’d given it an invitation.
“Whoa,” Ethan said. He scooted down from his booster seat where he was eating his lunch. “Cat.” Or rather “tat.”
Claire had already picked up the broom to try to shoo it out, but she gave it another look. Maybe it was a cat. It squalled, a sound that a cat might make, so maybe Ethan was right.
“Don’t get too close, Ethan,” she warned her son. If she could catch it, she’d take it into the vet to make sure he or she was okay and wasn’t the survivor of some radiation experiments.
But Ethan didn’t listen. He