The Sheriff's Proposal. Karen Smith Rose

ten minutes later, Logan opened the screen door. “Iced tea or soda?”

      “Iced tea.”

      He gave her a smile that made her knees wobble although she was sitting.

      She heard the ring of the phone in the kitchen and Logan’s deep rumble as he answered it. A few seconds later, he came outside, his expression grim. “That was a hospital in Richmond. Travis was mugged.”

      Chapter 4

      Logan’s expression reflected a mixture of dismay, relief and worry.

      Meg couldn’t keep herself from going to him. “How is Travis? Are his injuries serious?”

      Logan raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Cuts and bruised ribs. A black eye. They kept him overnight for observation. He only gave them my number now because his doctor threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t. They wouldn’t release him on his own.”

      Meg knew the drive to Richmond would take about three hours. She could imagine Logan’s concern, recriminations and hope as he drove. “Would you like me to go along?”

      His green eyes gentled, then darkened with the same intensity that had been there right before she’d evaded his kiss. “I’d like that.”

      An hour later, Meg sat beside Logan as he drove and wondered if she should have offered to come along. She’d called Lily so her aunt wouldn’t worry. But Logan had been silent ever since they’d gotten into the car. Meg felt as if she was intruding.

      Suddenly he glanced at her. “I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”

      “I understand.”

      He grunted. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. You’ll probably wish you’d stayed in Willow Valley. Travis can be…” Logan sighed.

      “Are you afraid he won’t want to come home with you?”

      Logan adjusted his sun visor with a snap. “I know he won’t want to come home.”

      “Even after what he’s probably been through?”

      “I told you he hates me, Meg. And maybe he has good reason.”

      “Logan!”

      “He’s never said it, but he thinks his mother’s accident was my fault. And I’m not so sure it wasn’t. We had a serious argument. Travis came home just as she raced out of the house. An hour later, she was dead.”

      Meg didn’t know what to say to ease Logan’s pain and guilt. “Have you talked to him about it?”

      “Since that night, he’s pulled away. Now I’m not sure all the talking in the world will help.”

      Meg could feel Logan’s torment. He wanted to love his son, but he thought his son no longer loved him. Meg knew what it felt like not to have love returned. Love was more than saying words. It was a bond that transcended arguments and misunderstandings.

      But not abandonment.

      As long as Logan kept trying to communicate with his son, trying to reach him, that bond would live. Somehow she had to explain that to Logan. “I didn’t know how to talk to my parents. They were so far above me.”

      He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

      “Their concerns were lofty. They cared about the history of civilization and their research, not about what I’d learned about basket weaving from a native girl my own age, or about the friendship we developed. They met my physical needs—they made sure I was safe. But a child needs more than that.”

      “I couldn’t even keep Travis safe.”

      Meg could imagine the feelings of responsibility as a parent—the immensity of protecting a child, guiding him on the right path. “Maybe if you talk to him about why he ran away…”

      “If I know Travis, he won’t be in a talking mood.”

      “There’s always tomorrow.”

      “If I can chain him down,” Logan muttered.

      A few minutes later, he switched on the CD player, and classical music filled the car. But as they drove closer to Richmond, the tension increased. Meg wanted to reassure Logan in some way, but didn’t know how. She was much too aware of his foot going from the brake to the accelerator, his large hands on the steering wheel, the curling black hair on his forearm and wrist, his tan skin. He drew her gaze again and again. Whenever she peeked at his profile, her stomach fluttered. His rich black hair was cut close to the nape. The lines around his eyes hinted at his forty years, but his strong cheekbones and his determined jaw gave his face vitality and power that wouldn’t diminish with age.

      He’d shaved when he’d showered. Meg could smell spice, not strong, just part of his scent. Yes, she was too aware of everything about Logan MacDonald. She had been since the first moment she’d felt his presence in her aunt and uncle’s barn.

      Logan followed signs to the hospital in Richmond. After he parked, he came around to the passenger side and opened Meg’s door. She stepped out, and he gave her a wry smile.

      They entered the hospital, and Logan halted in the lobby. “The doctor gave me Travis’s room number. Would you like to wait here?”

      Meg preferred activity to inactivity. “I’d rather come along if you don’t mind.”

      “I don’t mind. But I don’t know what Travis’s attitude will be.”

      She smiled, hoping to ease Logan’s tension. “I’m not afraid of sticky situations. I get involved in them often.”

      He smiled back. “I guess you do. I keep forgetting you’re a professional woman who’s been around the world a few times.”

      “Forget?”

      His gaze caressed her face. She could feel it and knew he wanted to touch her. “When I’m with you, I only think about the here and now.”

      She knew what he meant. It was scary. With Logan, she felt different. Yesterday and tomorrow seemed far away. The feeling wasn’t only scary; it was also dangerous.

      If she turned the conversation back to Travis, she could ignore the tugging she felt toward Logan. “What floor is Travis on?”

      Logan’s eyes remained the same deep green. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Five.” When he broke eye contact and nodded toward the elevators, she walked ahead of him, knowing if he touched her, the tugging would become stronger.

      They found Travis’s room easily. Logan paused outside the door, his jaw set, his forehead creased with concern. Then he strode in, as if he belonged in the hospital, as if he belonged in his son’s room.

      Travis was dressed, sitting in a chair by the window flipping through a magazine. The sleeve of his shirt sported a long tear, and the denim of his jeans hung in strips over his knees. His school jacket lay across the back of the chair. The right side of his face was swollen, and his right eye was as black and blue as it could be. Meg saw Logan take a deep breath and realized how difficult it was for him to see his son in this condition.

      The teenager looked up when he heard footsteps. Meg glimpsed fear in his eyes, relief and, an instant later, defiance.

      Logan stood before his son. “How are you?”

      “Just fine, Dad. Can’t you tell?”

      Logan frowned. “I can tell you’ve gotten yourself into a mess of trouble. Are you ready to come home?”

      Travis grunted. “I don’t have any choice.” He looked over at Meg. “Who’s she?”

      “This is Meg Dawson.”

      Coming closer to Travis, Meg extended her hand. “Hi.”

      Travis scowled at his father. “Seems like you’ve