“You have a lovely horse.” She stepped to the side and twisted, letting her skirt twirl about her just a little. She’d never been good at standing still. The rhythmic twisting, even in small doses, calmed her growing nerves.
Now that the initial excitement of the discovery, chase, and tackle had subsided, she was becoming acutely aware of the fact that she was alone with a man. A man who actually treated her like a woman. Not a sister, not a freak of nature with unnatural eyes. But an ordinary, normal woman.
“He’s very handsome,” she said. “Your horse.” The horse’s owner qualified for that descriptor, too. That wavy dark brown hair curling over his collar. Gray eyes that had softened from steel to the color of fluffy storm clouds. Tall. Strong. A little rough around the edges. “And friendly, too.”
He mumbled something beneath his breath about horse sense not being what it used to be, but Evangeline chose to let that bit of cynicism go without comment.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Shamgar.”
Evangeline tilted her head. “Is that from the Bible?”
“Yep.”
Heavens. He hoarded words like a squirrel did nuts. “Which part?”
“Judges.”
“Was Shamgar a judge?”
“Yep.”
Now he was being deliberately reticent. She could tell by the slight crinkling around his eyes. Zach did the same thing when he was trying to get a rise out of her. Well, after all the years she and the boys had grown sorghum, she knew one had to mill a lot of cane to extract enough juice to make even a single crock of syrup. She might not be the most patient person in the world, but no one could say she wasn’t persistent. If this was to be a battle of wills, she fully intended to be the victor.
Her gentle twirling became a little more forceful. “I don’t remember that one. Who was he?”
Her would-be rescuer shrugged. “All the Good Book says is that he saved Israel by striking down six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad.”
“What’s an oxgoad?” Not that she really cared, but he’d actually given her a response longer than a single word, and she wanted to keep the syllables flowing while the pump was primed.
Unfortunately, all he did was shrug again, killing her hard-gained momentum.
“Well, at least we know we have something in common, now,” she said.
He raised a brow in question. Apparently the pump handle had seized up completely.
Evangeline laughed. Really, he was stoic to the point of being ridiculous. “We both have pets named for characters from the Bible.”
“I suppose we do.”
“And speaking of names,” she said, keeping her voice deliberately light and teasing, “you seem to be holding yours hostage.” She smiled, expecting him to apologize and rectify the oversight.
He didn’t.
Instead, he just stared at her—his gaze frosting slightly, his features dulling, his expression becoming as still as a shallow pond in a breezeless summer. It was as if the fire within the vibrant man who’d selflessly attempted to save her life had been snuffed. And all because she’d asked him for his name.
Who was this stranger, and what was his true purpose for being here?
“I’ve given you mine,” she said, gently pressing for the answers she sought. “Now it’s your turn. The trust train runs both ways, you know.”
A veteran poker player should have more self-control, but Logan couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. “The trust train?”
She raised her brows to comical height. “What? Would you prefer a trust wagon?”
He shook his head at her inanity. She grinned, her mismatched eyes dancing.
What kind of girl was this? So ready to choose laughter over taking offense. It had been a long time since someone surprised him. He read people for a living, but this slip of a girl had done nothing but surprise him since he’d tackled her. First with her wild fighting style, then her pet boar. Who in their right mind wanted a pig for a pet? Then the barrage of little girl innocence and determined cheerfulness that made his skin itch with irritation even as it created a senseless craving for more. And just when he thought he could dismiss her as some kind of rainbow-loving idealist who had no true understanding of reality, she zinged him with a challenge, proving her sunny disposition hid a keen mind.
If the girl ever took to the tables, she’d be able to bluff her way into a fortune.
Logan peered at her earnest face, finally detecting a hint of suspicion in the line of her brow. “Train, wagon, whatever you want to call it, I don’t travel that road easily,” he admitted. “In my experience, trust is something people exploit.”
There. She’d been warned. What happened from here on out was on her head.
“That’s a pretty cynical view.” Her brow softened, her suspicion melting under the bleeding-heart compassion he’d noted earlier. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I can understand. People can be cruel. Hurtful. For no good reason.”
There she went surprising him again. Real pain flashed in her eyes. Logan’s jaw clenched. Who would hurt this sparkling delight of a woman? Then he remembered the saloon owner in Pecan Gap and that superstitious claptrap about her eyes.
And what of his own intentions? Logan tried to ignore the twist in his gut. He meant no harm to her personally, he rationalized, yet if he harmed her family, it would affect her. Just like Hamilton’s harm of Logan’s father had devastated him and his mother.
Enacting justice sometimes led to casualties. An unfortunate ramification, but not one that merited forfeiting his path. If he kept Evangeline close, maybe he could minimize the damage. Protect her from the worst of the aftermath even as he used her to advance his own ends.
A gentle touch to his arm made Logan jolt out of his thoughts.
“No matter how many people reject or betray you,” she said, her voice soft yet intense, “if you have even one person in your life that you can count on—really, truly count on—you can overcome any obstacle.” She stepped closer to him. “Trusting the wrong person might lead to temporary heartache, but trusting the right one provides a strength that can fuel you for a lifetime.”
Spoken by anyone else, that sentiment would ring hollow, but this girl’s eyes shone with such sincerity, such . . . belief that Logan’s cynicism found no foothold. “You are a remarkable woman, Evangeline Hamilton.”
Pink colored her cheeks. Her lashes dipped over her eyes. “I know what it’s like to be hurt by others.” Her lashes lifted, and the vivid contrast of her eyes struck him anew. “And I’ve learned to be careful—guarded, even—around people who aren’t family. But I’ve also learned how to recognize those with good hearts.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she stared up at him, and Logan had to fight not to squirm.
“You’re a stranger who won’t tell me your name nor reveal your purpose for camping on the border of my land. You’re reticent, stubborn, and have an obvious dislike of pigs.” She grinned momentarily before firming the line of her lips into a sober expression. “All marks against you. Yet you ran to my rescue when you believed me to be in danger, you’re familiar with obscure biblical characters wielding oxgoads, and you haven’t made a single comment about my eyes.” She glanced away. That last observation, tacked onto the end of the list, apparently carried the most weight.
Logan swallowed, an unwanted wave of protectiveness surging inside him.
“All marks in your favor.” She cleared her throat and turned her face back to him, those rare eyes probing beneath his carefully crafted mask of detachment—a detachment that seemed harder and harder to hold on to the longer he was in her presence. “I haven’t yet decided which column to lean toward. Any recommendations?”
Run away from me and never look back. The thought screamed through Logan’s brain, but the words never touched his lips. He would undoubtedly cause her pain by the time his game ended, but he didn’t want to send her away. She afforded him an advantage over his opponen
t. And beyond that, he actually liked her.
He’d spent such a large portion of the last seven years hanging around people he merely tolerated that he’d forgotten the pleasure that could be found in the presence of someone whose company he enjoyed. The men at the lumber camp were rough and crude, and when they weren’t swinging axes, they were swilling beer and swinging fists. And in the gambling halls, men were either weak-willed fools unworthy of his respect or sharps looking to steal his coin at the tables or at the point of a knife in the alleyway afterward.
So even though a true gentleman would send her away, he extended a hand and breathed easier when she clasped it.
“I’m Logan,” he said. “Your new neighbor.”
5
Warm tingles shot up Evangeline’s arm as Logan’s hand tightened around hers. His long fingers nearly pinched her smaller ones in the firmness of his grip, but the expression on his face made the discomfort inconsequential. There was something there. An old hurt, maybe? Bitterness? Fear? Whatever drove him, the desperation for connection she sensed was palpable. It throbbed in her heart, tugging on her sympathies until she felt a physical ache. He’d told her straight out that he didn’t trust easily, but she could feel that he wanted to. Deep down inside, he yearned for more than a solitary existence.
He was wounded. Lonely. Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t ignore his pain any more than she could ignore her own. Because it mirrored her own. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over the skin on the back of his hand in silent comradery.
He jerked at her touch, dropped her hand, and stepped back. His face went blank, all hint of vulnerability vanishing.
Well, all visible vulnerability, at least. She, better than anyone, knew that a soul’s sore spots didn’t really disappear. They could be buried, defended, and denied, but until they were loved, they wreaked havoc with a person’s peace. She still had a few tender places that ached when prodded, but Zach and Seth had loved and accepted her into a place where past hurts mattered less than present blessings.
Maybe God had brought her into this stranger’s life to do the same for him.
Evangeline smiled. “So, by neighbor do you mean you own the property next door?”
“Yep. Bought it a couple weeks back as an investment.”
“An investment? So you don’t plan to stay?” The disappointment twinging in her chest had no business twinging. For heaven’s sake, she’d only just met him. Sensing a kindred spirit didn’t mean she should feel a loss at the thought of him leaving.
“I haven’t decided.” He eyed her in a decidedly masculine way, one that made her itch to check her hair. Not that she could repair the damage with a few tucks and pats. Thanks to her sprint through the woods and subsequent tumble and skirmish with her rescuer, she’d need a brush, a mirror, and about a dozen new hairpins to tame the bird’s nest she felt drooping lopsidedly behind her left ear.
She’d finally met a man who didn’t seem to care about her contradictory eyes, and now her hoydenish behavior would probably run him off.
Evangeline straightened her posture and brushed away a few dead leaves still clinging to the front of her forest-green skirt. As if that would help. She felt slightly better when Logan ran a hand through his own hair and dislodged some leftover pieces of grass. Of course, all he had to do was flick the debris away from his shoulder to completely put himself to rights.
She sighed, missing the days when she had run around in Seth’s cast-off trousers with short hair and no thought for her appearance. Life had been much simpler before Charlotte Clem, wife of the local Baptist preacher, decided to interfere and teach her the art of being a young lady. Mrs. Clem was a dear woman with a big heart—and really, it would’ve been worse to meet Logan while running around in britches and shorn locks—but knowing the standard of womanhood he was probably accustomed to and realizing she fell woefully short at the moment did little for Evangeline’s confidence.
“I can’t be sure how long I’ll be around,” Logan finally said, breaking the silence that was growing increasingly awkward. “Depends on how long it takes to wrap up my business.”
“Selling your land?”
He gave her a look that warned her questions were veering into the realm of too personal.
She knew it was rude to quiz a man about his personal business, but how was she supposed to get to know him otherwise? A niggle of unease stirred in her stomach. If he didn’t have anything to hide, wouldn’t he be more forthcoming?
Then again, how many times had she and her brothers ducked questions about their past, needing to keep their secrets in order to keep their family intact? Nobody really believed they were blood kin, though some claimed they all came from the same mother but different fathers. That particular rumor was far from complimentary of their hypothetical mother, so Evangeline fiercely refuted it whenever it arose. She didn’t remember much about her true parents, but what she did recall filled her with warmth and love and happiness. She’d let no one speak ill of her mother, even a pretend version that hadn’t actually existed.
Perhaps she should grant Logan the same courtesy she wished to receive from others and stop prying.
“You know,” she said, backing the conversation up to a place where her footing had been more solid, “if you want to make the most of your investment, you should improve your acreage. Build a cabin. Clear some land. That sort of thing.” She’d vowed not to pry about his business, not to cease interfering. Besides, if she convinced him to linger, she’d have a better chance of getting to know him. A prospect that grew more tantalizing by the minute. “You’ll fetch a better price that way.”
His eyes crinkled just a bit, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Heat crept up Evangeline’s neck, but she brazened it out, keeping her smile in place and only twisting a smidgen from side to side as she waited for his response.
A response that took an eternity to arrive. He just kept staring at her, saying nothing. Nothing with his mouth, anyway. His eyes were a different story. They seemed to ask a hundred questions, peering at her with an intensity that made her believe he could excavate his answers without her uttering a word.
“You might be right,” he finally said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Elation surged through Evangeline’s veins and lifted her up onto her toes in a happy little bounce. “If you decide to build, I could ask my brothers to help you frame out the walls. They built the smokehouse we use for—”
“No.”
The forceful interruption smacked her back down onto her heels.
A muscle ticked in Logan’s jaw as he jerked his gaze to the right, away from her. “Sorry.” He fingered the scar by his eye again, then turned back to face her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I don’t want to be beholden to your brother. To anyone, actually. This is my project, and I’ll see to whatever needs to be done.”
“All right.” Her enthusiasm quickly buoyed. No help meant it would take him longer. Which meant he would stay longer. Which meant she had more time to forge a friendship.
Or something more.
She slammed the door closed on that thought. It was much too soon, and she still had too many questions about her new neighbor. Like why he had set up his camp in the thick of the woods right next to her property line when there were surely dozens of better sites across the rest of his land. And why the mere mention of her brothers had him snapping like a turtle going for a fish.
Come to think of it, being snappish wasn’t the only similarity between Logan and the crusty old turtle she used to play with down by the pond behind the smokehouse. Solitary creature. Hard shell to protect all vulnerable areas. Adept at camouflage.
That last one made her uneasy. The turtle used to cover itself with mud at the bottom of the pond until only its eyes would show, then strike whenever an unsuspecting fish swam within reach.
Logan wasn’t doing that, was he? Hiding his true purposes in order to hunt prey? Evangeline swallowed. If so,
who was his prey?
Don’t jump to conclusions, Evie. Snapping turtles only became aggressive when threatened. They were shy by nature, avoiding human interaction. Yet many considered them vicious creatures and went out of their way to destroy them. Rash decisions based on assumptions instead of facts too often led to needless suffering. How many times had she been judged based on appearances and not on her true nature? More than she could count. She’d not judge Logan until she understood him. And to understand him, she’d have to spend time in his company.
That scaly old turtle at the pond eventually allowed her to pet its shell and even the top of its head. After weeks of patience and kindness and a few dead minnows tossed its way, it eventually learned to trust her. Logan would too.
Hopefully.
Evangeline smiled up at him. “So . . . do you need anything?”
Confusion creased his forehead. “Need anything?”
“You know, like supplies and things.” Goodness. Could she sound any less intelligent? She pinched the edges of her skirt on both sides and twisted with a little more vigor. “When I was snooping around your camp, I didn’t notice much in the way of food.”
He raised a brow. “So you admit to snooping around my camp?”
“Of course.” His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at her blunt answer, and her twisting stilled as her confidence reasserted itself. “Do you admit to trespassing on my land?”
He grinned—an actual, both-corners-turning-up grin—then shook his head.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Figures. Your species is a stubborn breed.”
“My species?”
She was dearly tempted to respond with snapping turtles but decided to stick with a safer, yet no less truthful, reply. “Men.”
He chuckled, and the warm, low sound did odd things to her belly. “That’s not stubbornness, Miss Hamilton. It’s determination. Stubbornness is what affects the female strain.”
Evangeline clucked her tongue even as she secretly delighted in the teasing exchange. If this kept up, she’d be winning her turtle’s trust in no time. “Stubborn and deluded. It’s a miracle your kind has survived this long.”