Page 18 of Whiskey and Wildfire

“I appreciate the gesture,” I said quickly. “But… uh… you know, my dad was an alcoholic and I… well, let’s just say it brings up a lot of bad memories.”

“Say no more.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Logan stepped back out the door and sat the bottle down on the small porch table before coming back with the pot pie. “If you like, we’ve got lots of sodas up at the house. I can get you whatever you like.”

“You don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I don’t mind.” He handed me the dish. “Besides, I haven’t eaten yet either so I figured we could eat together.” He paused, his gaze slipping down to the floor. “If… If that’s alright with you.”

I hesitated, my heart racing. Being alone with Logan was both thrilling and terrifying. Part of me wanted to send him away, to protect myself from these dangerous feelings. But a larger part couldn’t bear to let him go.

“Sure,” I finally said, my voice a bit hoarse. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

Logan’s face lit up with a smile that made my knees weak. “Great! I’ll run up and grab us some drinks. Any preferences?”

“Uh, root beer if you’ve got it,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You got it. Be right back!” He jogged off into the darkness towards the main house, taking the whiskey bottle with him.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, before shaking myself out of my daze. I needed to get a grip. This was just a friendly dinner between friends, nothing more.

I busied myself setting the table and dishing out the pot pie, trying to calm my nerves. The aroma of Mrs. Baker’s cooking filled the small cabin, making my mouth water. I was justpouring glasses of water when Logan returned, slightly out of breath.

“Got ‘em!” he announced triumphantly, holding up two bottles of root beer. “Mama says hi, by the way. She’s glad you’re getting some real food.”

I chuckled, taking the bottles from him. “Tell her thanks. This smells amazing.”

We settled in at the small kitchen table, the silence a bit awkward at first. I focused on my food, trying not to stare at Logan across from me. He looked good, freshly showered and changed, his hair still slightly damp.

“So,” Logan said after a few bites, “how’re you feeling after the drive? Pretty beat, I bet.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty worn out,” I admitted, taking a sip of root beer. “But this meal is already helping. Your mama’s cooking is something else.”

Logan grinned. “That it is. She was worried about you out there, you know. Said you work too hard.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at the thought of Mrs. Baker’s concern. “That’s kind of her. But it’s just part of the job. That’s what they pay me for.”

“Still,” Logan said, his eyes meeting mine across the table, “she’s right. You do work awful hard. I admire that about you.”

I felt my cheeks heat up at the compliment. “Thanks,” I mumbled, ducking my head to focus on my food.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and the occasional sigh of contentment. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I’d spent so little time actually talking with people in the past few years that I was out of practice. It had been a long time since I had a friend at all.

Logan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, uh, I wanted to thank you again for lending me your clothes out onthe trail. After that disaster with my tent...” He trailed off, a sheepish grin on his face.

I felt a flush creep up my neck, remembering my earlier fantasies. “Oh, it was no problem,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Logan’s smile widened. “Yeah, friends.” He paused, his expression turning more serious. “You know, I think I might’ve lost a couple shirts out there on the prairie. I’m sure some coyote is chewing on them right now.”

“I’ve got one of them actually,” I said, glancing back at the laundry room. “But it’s still in the washer. Must’ve gotten mixed in with my stuff.”

“It’s alright,” he grinned. “I’ve got a couple of yours too.”

He leaned back, stretching his arms up high so that his shirt rode up. I caught sight of his midriff, my eyes attracted to it like magnets. I didn’t have time to look away again before he caught me.

“You know, I’m not that tired right now,” he said nonchalantly. “I slept all day.”

“Same.”

“If you want, maybe we could watch a movie or something,” he offered innocently.

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