Rich, Rugged Ranchers. Kathie DeNosky

that why you’re here? To rub my nose in it?”

      He laid a hand on her shoulder, easing her back down. “Lay back. Don’t get riled.”

      “Don’t rile me then.” Her head plopped down on the arm of the sofa again.

      “You don’t like being wrong.”

      “Why are you helping me?” She turned her head to face him.

      “You don’t know my compassionate side.”

      “Do you have one?”

      “Are you feeling better yet?”

      Sophia stopped arguing with Logan long enough to realize she was feeling better. Almost as quickly as her stomach had become unsettled, it began to feel remarkably normal again. “Yes, I am.” She glanced into his eyes. They were so intense and stubborn one minute, and then so kind and caring the next. “I do feel better.”

      Logan nodded. “I don’t kick a person when they’re down.”

      “You mean you want a level playing field for when you destroy me?”

      “I never said I wanted to destroy you, Soph.”

       Soph?

      And then it all became clear. Just when she’d thought Logan might have come around and wanted to be civil to her, just when she thought the past was forgiven and they could start anew, she caught on to what he was doing. She still owed him her thanks for helping her recover from her suffering tonight, but now she knew the reason why. “It’s because of Luke, isn’t it? You promised to see me home safely and you’re a man of your word. You’re doing this for Luke. Not for me.”

      His eyebrows dented into his forehead. “You have a strange way of thanking a man.”

      Sophia’s ire sparked. Logan ran hot and cold with her and she never knew where she stood with him. Her frustration echoed in a shrewish raised voice. “How would you like me to thank you?”

      Instantly, his gaze swept over her as she lay on the couch. “Let me give you that bath and we can call it even.”

      The idea of bathing with Logan brought a different kind of queasiness to her belly. Images danced in her head. But she was weak where Logan Slade was concerned. He didn’t deserve her passionate thoughts.

      But then another thought entered her mind, an uncomfortable memory that had nothing to do with Logan at all. Don’t go there, Sophia, she reminded herself. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. But the image from her Las Vegas days wouldn’t leave her.

      She had been sitting in front of her dressing-room mirror backstage before her performance when she discovered the first note tucked under her makeup case. Bone-chilling fear had traveled along her spine when she read the words.

      You are too beautiful, Sophia. You will be mine one day.

      She’d received five similar notes, all with the same strange sentiment. What had freaked her out the most was that the person sending the notes had known a lot about her. She’d found envelopes printed with her name on the front windshield of her car or left for her at the motel where her mother worked. The actual words weren’t threatening, so she’d never gone to the police, and she’d never worried her mother about them, either. But Sophia had been frightened on more than one occasion when she’d sensed that someone had been watching her.

      After a while, Sophia started really looking at the faces of the men who would come to her shows. She began wondering if the note writer was among them, studying her.

      “Thinking about it?” Logan asked, taunting her to answer.

      Sophia returned her attention to the man who had rescued her this evening, the man who had invited himself to bathe with her. He had known what her answer would be before he suggested it. He wasn’t serious. Perhaps, if she had an inkling that he was, she might be persuaded to change her mind. Yes, join me in a bath, Logan.

      But Sophia was through playing his games tonight. She had enough bad memories to battle and now a queasy stomach to deal with. He’d been kind earlier and she’d wanted to believe that they could get along. She’d relished being in his arms while he carried her inside. She’d appreciated him staying to make sure she would recover. But had she only imagined his concern?

      “You should go now.”

      He looked at her sprawled out on the sofa and inhaled sharply, as if the idea of bathing with her hadn’t been a joke. “Yeah, I was thinking that same thing.”

      “Th-thank you for driving me home,” she said through tight lips that didn’t want to form the words. “And for … for helping me tonight.”

      He gave her a quick nod.

      Sophia turned away from him then, feeling mixed up inside. She closed her eyes to the sound of Logan’s footsteps fading away. There was no fond farewell from him. No “I hope you feel better,” and no “Call me if you need my help again.” It was a chilling reminder for her not to let down her guard with Logan. He would fool her time and time again, if she allowed it.

      The front door opened and closed, and then he was gone.

      Only then did Sophia realize that Logan Slade had his own key to the cottage.

      He could barge in on her anytime he wanted.

      Four

      Constance Branford offered Sophia a lemon poppy seed muffin with strawberry filling. She’d briefly met the lodge’s head cook yesterday on her tour with Ruth, and now Sophia sat beside her at a long country oak table, the only piece of furniture in the lodge’s spotless stainless-steel kitchen that wasn’t updated and brand-new. “Oh, no thanks, Constance. I couldn’t possibly.”

      Edward’s nana withdrew the basket. To avoid insulting the chef, Sophia quickly explained, “I had my first encounter with Kickin’s chili last night. My stomach is still touchy.”

      Constance made a tsking sound. “That’s not food,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know why the men go there. Edward’s been hounding me to let him eat there, but it’s not for a young one’s stomach. He’ll just have to wait.”

      Sophia smiled. The head chef certainly had her ideas about what constituted a good meal. “Apparently, it’s not for my stomach, either. I should stick to the lodge’s food.” She took in the broad range of pastries, biscuits and muffins set out and ready to be served. Behind them, two sous chefs were busy chopping up vegetables and preparing batters. She thought about how Blackie had made off with the spatula right under Constance’s nose and how Edward had offered her his apology. The boy had taken Sophia’s advice. Right in the middle of the table in a clear mason jar sat a small bouquet of wildflowers, picked straight from the fields outside the lodge.

      “Your grandson is a nice boy,” Sophia said.

      “He’s mischievous, like any ten-year-old, but yes, a good boy. He’s had a rough time without his parents.” Constance, whose eyes brightened when speaking of Edward, didn’t fit the mold of a white-haired, rocking-chair nana at all. The astute, intelligent woman who ran the lodge’s kitchen was quite capable, but there was an underlying current of sadness in her expression, too.

      “I know something about losing a parent. It’s never easy, but with a child …”

      Constance shook her head. “Edward’s parents aren’t dead.”

      Sophia blinked.

      “My son and his wife have drug addictions. It got really bad and the first seven years of Edward’s life were tumultuous. They left Edward with me, and I have legal custody.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Sophia had experience with her father’s addiction but poor Edward had to live through that turmoil with both of his parents. At least for Sophia, she’d been blessed with a loving mother to raise her, but the