Page 19 of Embattled Return

Logan glared at her as he walked into the bathroom, trying not to limp too much. “No, I’m not fucking eighty, but I have had a long day today.”

She waited, leaning against the hotel door, as he finished brushing his teeth and tucking in his shirt. He’d pulled on a pair of khakis and a button-down, solid dark blue shirt. He’d brought a tie, but he didn’t think he’d wear it. Too stuffy. Using the wall for balance, he headed back to the open suitcase on the stand beside the TV. Unzipping one side, he drew out the brown leather loafers he had brought. They weren’t as comfortable as his boots and didn’t give him nearly the same support, but he could make do for a couple of hours. The brown suit jacket still had a few wrinkles from being in the bag, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He pulled it on and smoothed it down.

Logan was very aware of Marigold watching him get ready. He slid his forearms through the arm cuffs of the braces, settling them. Then he grabbed his wallet and hotel card from the dresser. He desperately wanted to snatch up his ball cap, but he’d already combed his hair, very carefully positioning some of the hair over his burns. As soon as he went outside the spring wind would blow it to hell, but he had to try. He very rarely went out without something on his head anymore.

He turned to stand in front of her. “Is this all right?”

Her gaze drifted over him. Was that appreciation he saw in her eyes?

“Yeah, you’re good to go. Do you have your phone?” Marigold asked, jerking his attention back to her.

Logan paused and felt his front hip pocket. He must’ve slipped it in when she’d knocked. “Got it.”

He followed her out the door, making sure it latched behind him. Then he walked down the hallway shoulder to shoulder with her to the elevator. Logan tried not to be self-conscious of the way he moved, but something had changed just now. She’d been pretty before, but now she was... relevant to him.

Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t here for any reason other than to find the Walter family. He didn’t have time for any personal entanglements. The awareness in his body apparently didn’t seem to agree.

The scent of orange wrapped around him.

* * *

Marigold knewshe could have called the man a cab, but that hadn’t felt right. Logan deserved more than a generic ride from a potentially dangerous driver. Denver seemed to have more than its fair share. It had been an eye-opening experience the first time she’d driven Interstate 70 through downtown.

But it was more than that, too. John Palmer had never asked her to escort someone before, so that made her suspect that the guy was a little more important than the average joe for some reason. Before they left for the day, Palmer had asked her to make arrangements for Logan to get to the dinner. He had not specified that she was supposed to drive him. Marigold had taken that responsibility on herself, because she was curious. From what she’d heard, the guy didn’t have anyone really, and he was out here on a ghost hunt.

Marigold knew she was too soft-hearted, but there was no way she couldn’t feel for the lonely man. It was obvious he’d been through something devastating. The scars on his face had that pink, raw look, like they could still be incredibly painful. It made her want to reach for cream to soothe the hurt, but she knew the pain had to be beyond anything over-the-counter medicine would even touch.

Plus, he was younger than a lot of the guys at LNF. The original partners were in their late thirties or early forties. Duncan was at least in his late forties, if not a little older. Logan seemed to be barely into his twenties. Or maybe that was just the way he appeared to her. His brilliant blue-green eyes, which reminded her of sea glass, seemed much older, like they’d seen the worst in the world and returned to tell the tale. And maybe he had.

There was just something about the guy that called to her. Maybe fate had put them on a collision course so that she could help him find his family or something. She didn’t know. What she did know was that the few minutes it had taken her to deliver him to a hotel hadn’t been enough.

When he opened the door of his room, looking a little rumpled and hazy-eyed, she felt bad, but not enough to leave. Then she’d found herself wondering if that was what he would look like after making love, his dark curls standing out from his head. That shocked her, because she’d literally only known him a few hours. The last guy she’d slept with hadn’t had it so easy. It had taken him weeks of dates and conversations to get into her bed, and as soon as they’d slept together she’d known it had been the wrong move.

So, why was this guy ringing alarm bells in her gut?

Her eyes lingered on him as he finished getting ready, and she imagined the reverse happening. Would he go through the same process to get undressed?

And then, as if she hadn’t been struggling enough trying to keep her thoughts off her face, he’d asked for her opinion on his outfit. Holy hell, that had been hard, trying to sound so unaffected by his presence. Even with the scars, he was a striking man, with his height and dark hair and light eyes, hell, his presence. She didn’t think he understood how much he affected her.

The pain she could see him struggle with made her heart hurt. He didn’t appear to need the crutches moving around the room. Or maybe he was just acting like he didn’t need the crutches for her sake. She certainly hoped he wasn’t putting on an act for her. Eventually, he’d fitted the braces to his arms, and they’d left the room, walking side by side down the corridor. She wished she could save him the pain she could see him struggling with.

Her car was in the turnaround of the hotel. As he struggled to wedge himself into the seat, Marigold circled the car to get in. After working with so many vets for the past few weeks, she’d learned exactly what not to do with injured veterans. Number one was pity them, and a close number two was offer them any kind of help. If he were truly struggling, she would, even at the risk of having her head snapped off.

The VW cranked like she was supposed to, and they took off. The restaurant Duncan had rented was around the loop a little to the North, and they probably should have been on the way already. She shifted again as she merged onto the highway.

“This car is amazing,” he said. “What year is it?”

“It’s a seventy. My dad had it restored before he went overseas. It was his first car and he wanted to pass it on to me.”

Logan ran his hand over the dash. “It’s in amazing condition. He did a really good job.”

“Thank you. It’s a bit of upkeep, but I can’t imagine driving anything else,” she told him honestly.

“How does it handle the Denver snow?”

“You know, not too bad,” she laughed. “As long as it’s not ass deep she actually goes pretty well because of the front-wheel drive.”

Logan nodded his head, turning to look out the window. The conversation seemed to be at an end, if she let it. No, there was too much to learn about him.

---