Logan's Child. Lenora Worth

said, “I thought me just being me was the reason you never came back here.”

      Not ready to discuss that particular issue, she ran a hand through her hair and leaned her chin down on her bent knees. “I had a lot of reasons for not coming back here, Logan.”

      He’d like to know each and every one of them. But he didn’t press her. That wasn’t his style. “Yeah, well, we all have our reasons for doing the things we do, sugar.” He looked away, out over the lush farmland. “I take full responsibility for what happened back then, Trixie.”

      Shocked, she glanced over at him. Did he know about the baby, after all? “What do you mean?”

      Logan looked back at her then, his dark eyes shining with regret and longing. “Our one time together—I should have stopped before things got so out of control.”

      “I played a part in that night, too, Logan.” And paid dearly for it She shrugged, hoping to push the hurtful memories away. “Besides, it’s over now.”

      “Is it?”

      She looked down at her clenched hands, not wanting him to see the doubt and fear in her eyes. “It has to be. We were young and foolish back then and we made a mistake. We’re adults now. We just have to accept the past and go on.”

      He nodded, then lowered his head. “Well, one thing is still clear—our lives are still very different. That much hasn’t changed. Just like then. You were the boss’s daughter, and I took advantage of that. I won’t do it this time around.”

      Ignoring his loud and clear message, she reminded him, “No, you didn’t do anything I didn’t let you do.”

      “Yeah, well, I could have been more careful.” His voice grew deeper, the anger apparent in his next words. “Then you saved my hide by begging your father not to fire me. The rich girl helping the poor, unfortunate stable hand.”

      She realized where some of his bitterness was coming from. By asking Brant not to fire him after he’d caught them together, she’d only added insult to injury. “You needed your job. Your mother would have been heartbroken if Daddy had sent you away.”

      “So you went away instead.” His eyes burned through her. “I’ve had to live with that all of these years. I’ve had to live with a lot of things.”

      Trixie reached out a hand to his arm, wanting to comfort him. What would he do, what would he think if he knew everything? “Logan, I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t apologize! I’m the one who blew it!” Suddenly afraid of being this near to her, of being this intimate with her, he hopped up to brush the dirt off the back of his jeans. “C’mon. You must be hungry. Mama’s probably got supper on the table by now.”

      Trixie took the hand he offered down to her, her eyes meeting his in the growing dusk. With a firm tug, he had her up and standing in front of him. Too close. Logan dropped her hand, then turned without a word to stomp away.

      She followed, wondering if she’d ever be able to figure out Logan Maxwell. She’d seen him at the service this afternoon, watching her with that bitter expression on his face. And…she’d seen him with the children. He obviously cared about his little wards. Especially that little boy who’d clung to him the entire time. What a cutie. Trixie had only glanced at the child briefly and then he’d been lost in the crowd of people trailing by to pay their respects.

      “Tell me about the children,” she said now as she hurried to catch up with him. “Grandfather said he’d explain. But I want you to.”

      Logan stopped to whirl around and stare at her. “You mean, you don’t know?”

      “Know what?”

      “That this ranch is now a part-time foster home for troubled kids?”

      “What?” Shocked, she looked around as if searching for some sort of justification. “Well, no. No one bothered to tell me anything about that.” Sighing, she added, “I’m so tired of everyone trying to protect me. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

      Logan kept walking, but slowed his pace to a comfortable gait. “Your father wanted the ranch to be a place where people could come and learn about nature and about life. Through a program with the local church, he set up a foundation called The Brant Dunaway International Farm. We grow food and livestock for underprivileged countries, and we train volunteers to go into the villages of these countries and teach the locals how to live off the land. Most of what we produce here is shipped out of the country to help these people.”

      Trixie had to let that soak in. Her father, the rowdy cowboy, doing missionary work for the church. “I don’t believe it.”

      “I can’t believe you weren’t aware of it.”

      “The only thing I heard from the lawyers was that I had inherited this land. Everything else got lost in the fog shrouding my brain.” Her head down, she added, “And well…I haven’t exactly kept in touch over the years.”

      “Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”

      Frustrated and unable to tell him her reasons for staying away, she said, “Could we just get back to the children?”

      He shot her a hard look. “Ah, the children. Does having them here bother you?”

      She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his question. “Well, no. I just want to know what’s going on.”

      “These kids come to us through the church—from broken homes, from foster homes, from parents who’ve abandoned them, from law officers trying hard to save them. Most of them are juvenile offenders—petty stuff, like stealing from the local convenience store or vandalism. Small-time crimes that could lead to worse, if someone doesn’t intervene. They’ve seen some ugly things out there beyond our front gates.”

      He stopped, taking a long breath. “We try to fix them—teach them pride and self-esteem, and how to be responsible and productive. We’re like a summer camp, only,” he glared over at her here, “only not for the rich and privileged few who can afford such luxuries. We cater to those who might never get a chance like this, and as corny as it might sound to someone like you, we try to teach them that there is some beauty and good in God’s world.”

      “As hard as it might be for someone like you to believe,” she said, her words tight and controlled, “I do have a social conscience, and I do care about the other human beings existing on this earth alongside me.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes, really. I just had no idea my father had such…such lofty ambitions toward saving the world.”

      “He didn’t try to save the world, Trixie. He just tried to make a difference on his own little piece of earth. And he worked long and hard and gave a lot of his own money to accomplish his goals. Things here were just starting to turn around when he got sick.”

      “He worked himself to death, didn’t he?”

      Logan heard the anguish in her question, but couldn’t find any sympathy for her pain. It was too little, too late now. “Yeah, Brant worked hard, as hard as anybody on this place. It was like…it was like he was trying to work off all his demons, you know.”

      “I do know,” she said, understanding more than ever what her father must have gone through. It didn’t help to know some of his pain had come from her own foolish actions. “I wish—”

      “Too late for wishes, sweetheart,” Logan said as they reached the house. Then he stopped just before the screened back door, and turned to face her. “But…it’s not too late for you to continue with your father’s dream. That is, if you don’t sell this place right out from under us.”

      “I haven’t made a firm decision yet,” she said on a defensive note.

      He smiled then, showing her the dimples she remembered so well. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said on a low whisper.