Page 28 of Embattled Return

Logan shifted from the stool and settled his crutches. He’d never taken his suit jacket off, so he was ready to go. He was glad for it as he walked through the restaurant door the hostess held open for him and he walked into the brisk air. “When does it normally warm up here?” he called as they walked across the lot.

She gave a bark of laughter. “I have no idea. I just know my power bill has been outrageous because I can’t get used to the cold.” She fingered the faux-fur collar of her thick wool coat. “Yeah, we could get cold in Arizona, and even some snow occasionally, but nothing like this. It’s been a shock for my system, too.”

They climbed into the beetle and she cranked the engine. Logan had to laugh when she dragged a blanket from the floorboard of the backseat and spread it across their laps, with the gear shift exposed. “Virginia doesn’t have snow like this either, does it?”

A shudder racked him, and he tucked his hands beneath the blanket. He kind of wished he could wrap the damn thing around himself. “We get cold and some snow, definitely, but not so late in the season. Right now, Virginia has grass growing and flowers sprouting.”

Marigold nodded, blowing into her cupped hands as they waited to pull out of the lot. “Well, you’ll be happy to know she’ll be warm by the time we get to the house,” she laughed. “Sorry. I’ve upgraded everything I can in here but the heater is original.”

Logan wished he had three more blankets piled on him. As she’d predicted, the car was just beginning to get warm when they pulled into the driveway of a charming three-story Victorian. There were whimsical turrets on each corner, and a massive wraparound porch. He leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “That’s a lot of lights. She must love Christmas.”

Marigold nodded. “She does, but those aren’t the Christmas lights. Those are the all-year lights.”

He frowned and squinted. “Is it purple?”

“No,” Marigold told him firmly. “It’s called Magnificent Merlot. You’ll love it even more in the daylight.”

Logan turned his head to look at her, not sure if she was joking or not. In the glow from the dash lights he could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Seriously?”

She shrugged as she pulled into a small paved lot in the back of the house. There were two other cars there, a Subaru wagon and a Ford truck. Marigold turned off the ignition, but before he could get out she rested a hand on his arm. “Listen, Mrs. Marshall is a little... different. But she’s lovely. Really. Just...smile and nod and try to go along with what she says. She’s harmless, I swear, and I love her to pieces. She made my transition up here so much easier.”

Logan was a little alarmed, but he nodded. “Okay.”

They left the car and went up the back steps. The porch was decorated with cute little statuary and furniture, and he had a feeling it was beautiful in summertime. Marigold crossed to a heavy oak door with a stained-glass inlay of tall flowers. He thought maybe they were orchids, but he didn’t know much about plants. It was stunningly beautiful. There was a modern keypad on the door, and Marigold keyed in the code. Pushing open the huge door, she stepped inside.

“Mari, hang up your coat and come in here,” a voice called from the depths of the house. “I could hear that damn car of yours coming all the way down the block.”

Grinning, Marigold hung her coat on the wall near the door, and offered to take his, but he shook his head. It was much warmer in the house, but he was still fighting a bit of a chill. When most of your bottom half was burned, it was hard to regulate body temperature. When too hot, it was hard to cool because sweat glands had been burned. Too cold and the muscles didn’t always contract in shivers the right way. His body was broken and he had to consciously take care of regulating his own temperature. So, the jacket stayed on because he was cold. And damn, he missed his hat...

Logan followed Marigold down a short hallway. It opened up into one of the most beautiful kitchens he’d ever seen, with white granite countertops and dark gray cupboards. There was an older woman standing at the stove, leaning over and looking at a tray of cookies on the stove top. The cookies were flat and a little toasty on the edges. He could only see the woman wore a light purple sweater-set with matching pants, and had bright white hair, a little mussed in the back like she’d been napping in a chair earlier. She turned to Marigold and pointed at the cookies. “What did I do?”

Marigold leaned over the pan and poked at a cookie. “Not sure, Grandma. Did you put baking powder in it? Maybe the butter was too soft.”

“Well,” the other woman admitted, “I did fall asleep in my chair watching the news earlier. So, you think it’s the butter’s fault?”

Logan could see the grin Marigold was fighting. She motioned to him. “Grandma Nancy, this is Logan...”

“Oh, Mari, you found a boyfriend,” Grandma interrupted, her face lighting up. “I didn’t like the last one you had... man-buns just don’t do it for me.”

“No, Grandma,” Marigold laughed, her cheeks flushed. “This is Logan Vance. The Lost and Found group is investigating something for him and he’s in town for a little while. I told him your third apartment space might suit him better than the hotel, even if it’s just for a week or two.”

Grandma seemed disappointed that he wasn’t there as Marigold’s boyfriend, but she moved toward him with a smile, peering up into his face. “Oh, Marigold, he reminds me of my W.C.” She lifted an arthritic hand and Logan made himself hold still as she rested a palm on his scarred cheek. “Look at those eyes. My W.C. had eyes as beautiful as yours. They swept this girl off her feet so fast my mother and daddy didn’t know what happened,” she giggled. “Looks like you got into a tangle with something nasty. Gives you a devil-may-care look.” She winked at him and grinned, a silver crown shining on her canine.

Logan couldn’t help but smile back. He looked at Marigold. Her expression was wary, as if she were worried that Logan would rebuff Nancy’s advances, but he could tell the older woman meant no harm. And she didn’t mean to be condescending. The memories were there in her expression. He could hear the sincerity in her voice.

“W.C. was your husband?” he asked.

“For seventy years,” Nancy breathed. “He was my partner in everything. A part of me died when he did.”

Logan stared at her, incredulous. “You were married for seventy years?”

Nancy gave a nod of her head. “Married in 1947. We had seven children, seventeen grandchildren and...” she started counting on her fingers. “At last count thirteen great-grandchildren.”

“That’s so impressive,” Logan told her. “I don’t know how you even keep track of them all.”

Nancy grinned and tapped her temple. Her finger was bent with arthritis, but the nail was painted a deep maroon. “Ninety years young,” she told him, grinning. She picked up a tall thermal, glitter-encrusted cup. Ice tinkled against the aluminum on the inside. “Jesus juice. Keeps you young.”

Logan lifted his brows in surprise. The right didn’t work as well as the left, but he thought he pulled off the expression. “That’s incredible, Nancy.”

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