Page 33 of The Songs of Fate (War of Fate)

He looked more like a “catch a wave” kinda guy than a “sit in a tree wearing camo” man, but I guessed he could be both.

“What’s your family like?” he asked.

“Well, it’s just my dad now. My mom died when I was little. I don’t really remember her.” I traced a line with my nail in the dirt. “My dad lives outside of Dallas on a ranch. He moved there when my mom passed so he could be on his land with his animals. He likes the solitude, but he’s definitely a worrier.” I sighed and looked up at Logan. “I think every phone call starts with his anxiety about my life in one way or another. He’s sweet, though. He’d hate it if I told anyone, but he’d rather feed the deer that come onto his land than shoot them.”

A low chuckle left Logan’s lips as he threw the chocolate at me.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said.

“Me too.” I shrugged. “Truth is, she’s been gone so long it’s all I know. It’s just my normal.”

“I understand living in a weird normal. I mean… my family is odd so I get it, a little. I know you answered, but ya want some more?” He held the whiskey out to me.

“Tell me about your family,” I said, lacing my fingers around the bottling and taking a giant gulp of liquid fire before handing it back to him.

“I have a brother I see a little too much of.” He laughed. “Older brother, and he is a habitual pain in my ass. My parents live, well, everywhere.” He waved his hand around, holding the candy before chomping on it and sighing. “They are odd, to say the least. Both hippie-loving free spirits who go really wherever the road takes them in their RV.” He laughed. “I was born in Texas, raised a cowboy. They taught us how to live off the land, and make what we needed. But really, their hearts were meant for California. Is there a state more liberal than California? I probably should’ve been raised there instead.”

Oh, a cowboy. That explains the whiskey. But no accent. How strange.

“I’m still not sure how we ever got along, but I manage to keep my mouth shut when I see them once a year.” Logan propped a muscular arm over a bent knee and looked at me.

“You don’t have an accent like you lived in Texas.”

“Yeah, it’s been muted over the years after I moved away. Now it only comes out when I drink… lucky you.” He winked.

I didn’t think it was possible to find him more attractive.

“Your family seems like fun,” I said.

“Yeah, they can be,” he muttered and then flashed his eyes to mine. “But I prefer boundaries. Especially when it comes to them. And they have no idea what that means.”

I could understand boundaries—walls so high people would need a pickaxe and an oxygen tank to climb at that altitude. However, Logan was doing some serious damage without an axe.

What would Jason think of Logan?

They were such different men.

Ugh, I wish I could hit myself over the head with that proverbial pickaxe right about now.

“I get it.” I motioned for the bag of candy.

“Speaking of boundaries, can I ask why wanting to know if you have someone was so loaded?” He handed me the bottle of whiskey instead.

I swallowed the acid burning in the back of my throat and reached for the bottle. Setting it into my lap, I looked down at the amber liquid glistening next to the dancing flames. The glass was cold from the crisp air as it rested on my knee.

Slowly releasing a long breath, I drew another circle in the dirt next to a maroon-colored rock. “Secret time—I haven’t been with someone in three years.”

“Why?” Logan whispered barely loud enough to hear.

Please don’t look at me with pity. I might go crawl into a hole if you feel bad for me. I shouldn’t have said anything… it’s the whiskey and the impending doom inching closer.

My fingertips outlined the label on the bottle as I continued to stare into the tan liquid. I tensed my hand over the body of the whiskey and pulled it to my lips, filling my mouth.

I settled my eyes on Logan. I swallowed the liquid. My throat constricted against the tickling blaze, sending a shudder down my back. The warmth spread over my face and chest rapidly. A small warm glow coursed through my veins.

“My husband died three-and-a-half years ago.” I waited for the showering of condolences that would make me want to knock my face into the closest rock wall.

I glanced up at Logan. His eyes were dark, but they didn’t look like pity. “You wanna talk about it?”

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