Already Gone Read online

  But eighteen months ago he’d come back. Only a week that time, and he’d been on the job. But he’d driven into town after having been absent most of his adult life, and felt emotions he’d thought dead and buried rise up like a phoenix from the ashes. And he hadn’t been able to put them back in the ground. To be in the place where he’d run wild as a kid, and be around people who’d known him as the son of the town drunk—good people who, instead of shuffling him to the side like he didn’t matter, had drawn him into their collective bosom—had him reevaluating his life. And wasn’t that a cliché.

  Hangman’s Loss had felt like home because of the Gallagher family. Mostly due to one woman, Trish Gallagher. His own mother had died when he was too young to remember her, but despite having four kids of her own to raise, his best friend’s mother had brought him into the fold. She’d made him realize what family could be, and he’d held on to that ideal.

  He’d thought he’d fucked it up royally when he’d left Maddy. He’d struggled when he tried to explain to her his need to leave. Hell, he’d struggled to understand it himself. Looking back, he now knew he’d never felt like he belonged, or that he deserved the adoration Maddy had heaped on him. He’d always felt like a poser, and outsider in his own town. He’d needed to know who he was and to make something of himself before he could ever consider the commitment Maddy had wanted from him.

  Not coming back for nine years had as much to do with knowing he’d hurt her as not wanting to see the disappointment in Trish Gallagher’s eyes. But a year and a half ago, after being gone all those years, he’d taken an assignment that had brought him back home.

  Driving for hours on the highway to where the mountains had begun to look familiar, there’d been that hard knot of tension growing in his gut. Because making that turn off the highway into Hangman’s Loss meant he’d see the Gallaghers. He hadn’t allowed himself to take the coward’s way and keep driving. So when the sign said Hangman’s Loss, he’d put on his blinker and left the highway. He’d stopped at the gas station on the edge of town, and there she’d been, Trish Gallagher, filling the tank of a crossover SUV. There’d been that moment of panic. Would she be mad at him, angry that needing to make something of himself had meant leaving her daughter, too? Or, worse yet, would she have trouble even remembering him?

  But she’d caught sight of him as he’d stepped out of his vehicle and made a beeline. He hadn’t been sure she wasn’t about to slug him; god knew that was her daughter’s default response. Instead, she’d reached up on her tiptoes and engulfed him in a hug, and he caught a whiff of the jasmine perfume he would always associate with her.

  The flood of relief was so acute he could only hug her back, eyes closed tight.

  “I always knew you’d come back,” she’d whispered. And when she’d drawn back, she’d put her hands on either side of his face and said, “Welcome home, Logan. It’s about damn time.” There’d been a shadow in her eyes, but the love was unmistakable.

  The job had dragged him back to Virginia, but now he’d returned on another assignment. And hopefully being home would help ease the restlessness he couldn’t seem to shake.

  Jason Barnes was such a solid guy. Built like a block wall with square shoulders, muscled arms, and large hands and feet, he easily lifted the whimpering dog, and Maddy moved ahead of him to open the back door. Thankfully Mariana had arrived and already had the first batch of muffins in the oven.

  “Get the keys out of my coat pocket and open the sliding door of the van.” She did as he asked, and within minutes the dog lay on a thick rug. “She’s too injured to put her in a crate. I’ll have to take it slow so as not to jostle her.”

  Maddy slid the door shut. “Thank you again for coming, Jason. I’ll be by to check on her after the lunch rush.”

  “You say she was outside the back door when you got here this morning? I’m surprised she didn’t freeze to death.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Maddy felt a twinge at the deception. “She doesn’t have tags, so you’ll scan her for a chip?”

  “Of course, Madison.” Jason sometimes got a wee bit testy if he thought someone was questioning his expertise. He stood by the van, jingling his keys in gloved fingers. The wind had died down, and the sun rose on a cold, clear day. “Well, I’d stay and have a cup of coffee with you if I didn’t have a patient to treat, but duty calls. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  She fought back a sigh at Jason’s way of telling her she should have offered him a cup of coffee. She should have, absolutely. But she’d been worried about the dog, thinking about Logan, and she had neglected to be courteous to her kind-of, sort-of boyfriend. That he could have asked for a cup of coffee wasn’t lost on her. But still, he had a point. He drove off, slowing to a crawl to navigate the dip of the gutter as he pulled out onto the street. Which showed he cared about his patient, not wanting to jostle her, and was therefore a good, decent person whom Maddy should appreciate more.

  Jason’s rear taillights disappeared from view at the same time Drew roared into the parking lot in his four-wheel-drive pickup. He might be only twenty, but with his innate sense of what needed doing, he was turning out to be an excellent employee.

  “Hey, boss.” He hopped out of the truck. “It’s colder than fresh shit this morning.”

  She didn’t bother to point out the illogic of his statement. “How’s Laney?”

  “Having trouble sleeping. Says the baby is going to be a soccer star, the amount he kicks around in there.”

  “Has she tried that tea I sent her?” She followed Drew through the back door.

  “Yeah, she says it helps some.”

  “Good.”

  Mariana carried a stack of clean plates to the counter. “I flipped the sign, Maddy.”

  “Okay, we’re open. Let’s have a good day, crew.”

  Maddy sat in her SUV, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Why was she even thinking of driving to his house? Why did she have a to-go container on the seat beside her, the second of two? The first she had delivered to Jason at the vet clinic. The injury had looked worse than it was, and the dog Maddy was already calling Sophie would make a full recovery. She had no ID chip and no tags. Jason’s receptionist, Michelle, had contacted county animal control, but no one had called or come in looking for a dog matching Sophie’s description. The clinic would put a notice and photo on social media, but in her heart, Maddy hoped no one claimed the dog. She’d been arguing with herself for the past month about whether to get a pup, so Sophie was like a sign from heaven—stop arguing, adopt me.

  Jason sometimes worked through lunch, so she’d taken him a sandwich. A little thank you for getting up so early when she’d called. He was such a good guy: saving animal lives all day. She wished he didn’t point that out to her quite so frequently. A few minutes ago, he’d shooed her out the door because he had an emergency C-section to perform on a pregnant French bulldog. Dogs have C-sections? Who knew? But five puppies for this mommy was way too many, and Dr. Barnes would valiantly save all their little lives.

  The second to-go container sat on the seat. She couldn’t throw away that much food, and despite the number of years he’d been gone, she figured she knew exactly where to find him. Maddy started the engine and backed out of the parking space behind the vet clinic. If Logan was where she expected, she’d check that he was still breathing, that the wound wasn’t infected, give him the food, then leave. Keep it short, to the point. Not personal.

  Within minutes she was zipping along the curving road that wound parallel to the river. The remnants from the last snowstorm glowed white from the shady spots, but luckily the day had warmed enough that any black ice had melted.

  The stop sign came into view, and she turned right, then followed the narrow, potholed road into the fold of the mountain. She hadn’t been up this way in years. It had seemed best to avoid this piece of forest, and those pesky memories that could still trip her up if she let them.

  A right at the dirt road took her to
the clearing in front of a small A-frame house. It looked better than she expected. The roof had been replaced. Instead of shingles, metal sheeting covered the steep pitch. The end of the porch that at one time had sagged now looked sturdy and freshly painted, the pine tree at the far end trimmed back. A pickup truck probably a dozen years old sat parked in front.

  If Logan had been living at the cabin and done the work himself, that news hadn’t traveled through the Hangman’s Loss grapevine. There’d been rumors that he was back in town, but she hadn’t seen him. She wondered if Brad knew and hadn’t dished. Her brother could be frustratingly close-lipped about such things.

  Not that Logan was under any obligation to let her know he was in town. She was glad he hadn’t come to see her. She had such mixed feelings about him. Anger, to be sure. But lately she’d started to wonder if maybe the anger was too much work to keep maintaining. Added to the anger was hurt, deep and powerful, plus a touch of resentment. But underneath it all, like coals banked under the ashes, alive but needing a breath of air to fan them to life, were feelings for Logan that had never disappeared. She’d tried to stomp out those embers, but some of them must have survived because seeing him that morning had them flaring with hope. Stupid, stupid hope.

  Not listening to the voice in her head telling her she was playing with fire, she hitched her purse onto her shoulder and grabbed the food and the first aid kit and stepped out of her car, securing the scarf around her neck to keep out the cold.

  She pulled off a glove to rap her knuckles on the front door, pushing back on the flood of memories. How many times had she walked through this door?

  “Logan?”

  A blue jay squawked from the branches of the pine, breaking the silence as she waited. What if he was in so much pain he couldn’t get to the door? The wound could be infected, or the bullet could have caused more damage than she’d suspected. “Logan, can you hear me?”

  She tried the doorknob. The sturdy handset was locked, and she’d bet the deadbolt was thrown, too. She knocked again, calling out his name, then stepped back, debating whether to try the back door. The snick of the deadbolt checked her thoughts, and a moment later the door pulled open.

  Chapter Two

  Under the week’s worth of beard his face looked drawn, and he’d taken off the beanie to reveal a serious case of hat head. “What do you want?”

  “To see if you’re breathing.”

  “Not dead yet.”

  When he leaned against the door, gaze fixed on her, she sighed in exasperation. “Look, I don’t want me to be here, either. I’ll change the bandage, then leave.” She waved the container with the café logo. “I’ve got food for you.”

  “What kind?”

  “Sandwich, berries, and a cookie.”

  “What kind of cookie?”

  “Really?” She glared at him. “Oatmeal.”

  He stepped back, and she didn’t think he caught her eye roll. He moved carefully across the room, and she followed him into the cabin. The inside looked cleaner, neater than before. His father had let things go. Hardly able to take care of himself, Bob Ross had neglected his son and his home. Logan had sworn never to return, yet here he was.

  “I brought you something else, too.” She set the bag and food on the dining table, and reached into her purse, coming up with a small bottle.

  “What’s that?”

  “Advil. I don’t have anything stronger.”

  “God bless you.” He took the bottle from her and shook out four tablets.

  “Have you eaten anything? That much is going to irritate your stomach.”

  He shook his head and picked up a mug. After tossing the pills into his mouth, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee she suspected was long cold. His eyes remained on her, watchful. “You looking after me, blondie?”

  “My name’s not blondie.”

  “Blonde hair, that makes you blondie.”

  She checked another sigh. “Seriously, I don’t want to look after you. But someone has to, and I don’t see people lining up at your door to do the job.” She studied him, trying to keep it analytical. “Let me see the gunshot wound. If it looks like you’re healing, you won’t have to see me again. I checked on Sophie, too, so don’t think I’m doing anything special for you.”

  “Sophie? You named my dog Sophie?”

  “Your dog? She’s my dog if no one claims her.”

  “I found her. And her name’s not Sophie unless she weighs eight pounds and has her toenails painted pink.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  He dropped his weight into a chair at the kitchen table. “How is she?”

  “Stable. Jason says she’ll survive.”

  “You bring the vet a sandwich, too?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Hell of a way to run a business, giving away food.”

  “Jason runs a business, too, and he didn’t charge me extra for the off-hour call to pick her up.”

  Logan frowned. “I’ll go in tomorrow to pay the bill.”

  “Since she’s mine, I’ll pay it. You gave up any rights you had when you brought her to me.”

  “Christ, I forgot that about you.”

  “What?”

  “People think you’re all sweet and agreeable, but they don’t know. You’re as stubborn as the day is long.”

  She ignored the effect of his words, the knowledge that no one had ever gotten her like Logan Ross. “Let me see the wound, then I can leave you to your splendid isolation.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, his beard making a rasping sound. “Right. Let’s get this over with.” Moving with deliberate care, he sat up and pulled the black thermal he wore over his head, then slumped back in the chair.

  Logan had a tough build. Right at six feet, he had a muscular, compact physique that spoke of caged energy straining to be unleashed. The tattoo of a coiled snake on his shoulder seemed fitting.

  Determined to ignore the pronounced muscles, the dark chest hair, and don’t forget the washboard abs, she peered at the gunshot wound. The gauze she’d taped on that morning had soaked through but wasn’t completely saturated. She thought that was a good sign. She flipped on the overhead light and pulled up the other chair to sit. The tape pulled off easily enough, but the gauze stuck to the wound. Fresh blood oozed and she glanced up to find Logan watching her with a kind of banked intensity she found disconcerting.

  “Stop staring at me.”

  “You still chew your bottom lip when you’re concentrating. And get that vee right here.” He touched a long finger to the spot between her eyebrows.

  “Do not.”

  “I’m the one looking and you do. Forgot about that, too. It’s cute.”

  “Yep, that’s me. Cute as a bug.”

  “Nothing wrong with cute.”

  “Says the guy who hasn’t been cute since he was two.” She rose to her feet. “Hold on a sec.” She rummaged in the kitchen, ran the tap, and returned a minute later with a small bowl of warm water. “Do you have a washcloth?”

  “Bathroom.”

  She hustled down the hall and into the little bathroom. Same chipped tile, same scarred vanity. The bathroom must not be high on Logan’s list of house maintenance jobs. She returned to the table with a worn washcloth.

  Dipping it into the bowl and squeezing out most of the water, she held it gently to the wound. She could feel his gaze on her averted face. “You’re still staring.”

  “Can’t help it.”

  She raised her eyes and felt like she was being devoured by the force of his gaze. “I mean it, Logan. Don’t think me coming here is more than basic human decency.”

  He knew better, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t wish things were different. He’d be a fool to think she’d forgiven him. That she’d ever forgive him. But that didn’t keep him from wanting to notice every minute detail about her. Her hair was short now, not the long fall of white gold she’d worn in high school. He’d liked that, but he liked this, too
. Wavy blonde curls and wide blue eyes gave her an elfin look. A couple months ago she’d have had a summer tan, but it had faded so the only color in her cheeks was a natural blush, the skin smooth as cream. He felt like a starving man being given the sustenance he needed to survive. He could survive without Maddy; he’d done it and would keep doing it. But he needed to hoard a new reserve of memories to allow him to exist without her.

  Working slowly, the small vee still between her brows, she pulled the gauze free of the wound. The soiled pad went into the trash, then she opened the kit. “I went online to research signs of infection.” She pulled out packages of clean gauze and a green tube of something.

  “Yeah?” Maybe if he kept her talking she’d stay longer. Pathetic on his part, but she didn’t need to know.

  “Yeah.” She rested her hands on his knees and bent forward to peer more closely at the injury. “I don’t see colored pus or red streaking away from the wound.” She laid cool fingers on his skin, pressing lightly around the site. “Not warm. Does this feel tender?”

  He didn’t allow any reaction to show. As much as he wanted to pull her close, settle her onto his lap, get reacquainted with those lips, he kept his hands gripped around the arms of the chair. Denying himself had become second nature.

  “Logan?”

  What had she asked him? “Ah, no. Not tender.”

  She spread whatever was in the tube over more sterile pads, then reapplied the bandages. “I really think you should see a doctor.” She met his gaze, then looked back to her task. “But since I can see that isn’t going to happen, you need to keep this clean and dry.”

  “Sure thing, doc.”

  She didn’t bother to respond, instead rising to her feet. She threw the gauze wrappers in the trash and pulled her big bag onto her shoulder, moving to the door. “Good-bye, Logan.”