Crazy Little Thing Called Love (7 page)

But he did have a cute smile. Worth a second glance.

•  •  •

Logan exited the school a few seconds after Vanessa, careful to keep some distance and a few other students between them. After waiting in the school parking lot and watching her walk home for the past week and a half, he was beginning to feel a little bit like a stalker. Usually he sat on his motorcycle while Vanessa walked past him, and then he headed to work mowing lawns. If she looked his way, he waved hello. Some days she ignored him, but he got the feeling she knew he was there, watching her. Today he decided to mix it up a bit—only now he had to hang back and wait while she and Mindy talked on the steps.

Vanessa Hollister. What were the odds that the new girl in school would have the same last name as he did? And that they'd have the same math and science classes? Not that sitting near her meant anything. She was friendly enough—said hi to everybody, including the teachers, seemed to know a lot of kids' names already. But after watching her—and hoping no one else noticed—he could almost see a barrier surrounding her marked “This far and no farther.” The way she held her backpack on one shoulder, so that it half shielded one side of her body. The way she'd keep walking even as she said hello to the other kids in school. A nod. A wave. The briefest of smiles—and moving on. And how she volunteered in the office during lunch—avoiding the whole
Who do I sit with?
dilemma.

Her elusiveness made him want to get to know Vanessa Hollister better. To figure out how to earn more than a “Hi, Logan,” from her—to move past those two words where she barely even looked in his eyes. But what was he supposed to do? Wait at her locker and ask her if she knew that day's math assignment?

Lame.

So far he'd avoided being late to work despite his new habit. Waiting on his motorcycle for a few minutes didn't delay him that much. It helped that Vanessa had a routine.

Walk outside with Mindy. Talk for a few minutes until Mindy headed for the bus. Then head the opposite way, through the parking lot, walking home. By herself. Every single day.

That was his in.

All he had to do was wait for her. Ask the right question. And hope she said yes.

No one is brave alone . . . the bravest among us do not stand alone.

—ANNIE F. DOWNS (1980– ), AUTHOR AND SPEAKER

L
ogan gripped the opposite ends of the metal lat pull-down bar, closed his eyes, and exhaled. The machine was loaded with extra pounds. Maybe a ramped-up workout would overcome last night's memories still lurking in his brain.

And yet it was impossible to focus on his reps when his teammates crowded into the too-small hotel workout room. Brady was the only one of them even attempting to exercise. He'd commandeered a treadmill over in the corner where the TV was tuned to the local news. Max, his leg still encased in a long black brace from his ankle past his knee, leaned against the wall nearest the door, while Julie stood guard nearby.

“So, how's it feel to be a hero, boss?” Julie's question broke his concentration—again.

After Brady told them during breakfast about Logan going into the water to help rescue someone, Jules couldn't seem to stop talking about the teen's near-drowning. This was one year Logan wished he'd left the team back in Oklahoma when he came to Florida.

He wished he hadn't come back to Destin at all.

“Enough already.” He pulled the bar behind his back, slow and smooth. Paused. Raised it back to the starting position. “I'm not a hero.”

Brady, who had embellished the story in the retelling, hit pause on the treadmill and pointed to the television mounted on the wall, the sound turned off. “You watching this? That guy's video is on the news
again
. And from the way the witnesses described it, you were the one who saved that kid.”

“Vanessa—” He would not say “my ex-wife.” Just because they all knew who she was didn't mean he had to say it. “—went into the water first. I just hauled him back to shore.”

Brady wiped at the sheen of sweat on his forehead with one end of the towel resting on his shoulders. “From the video on the news last night, it looked like you hauled her back in, too.”

Logan performed a few more reps before replying. “Knock it off. Vanessa kept the kid calm and swam in herself.” Logan closed his eyes. Mere inches from his wife, who he hadn't been able to forget about for eight years, and he hadn't realized the woman swimming next to him, one hand clasping the teen's to help calm him down, was Vanessa.

Julie helped Max get settled in a chair, leaning his crutches against the wall. “You saw the updated newscast, right?”

Logan repeated another round of reps. “I've been avoiding watching it—no thanks to the three of you.”

“Well,
you
know Vanessa is your ex-wife. And
we
all know she's your ex-wife. But while the reporter didn't know it last night—he does now.”

Logan released the lat bar, the weights clunking against one another. “Meaning?”

“You know reporters—they have to go looking into everyone's background.” Julie shrugged, her smile lopsided. “And it didn't take him long to figure out you and Vanessa were married—‘former high school sweethearts,' he said.”

“Wonderful.” Logan stood, staring at the TV. “Why'd that guy have to be running around with his video camera?”

“Everyone wants their five minutes of fame—” Now it was Max's turn to chime in. “—even if it means videotaping someone else's five minutes.”

“It's sad but true. Think about all the people who we've encountered trying to chase after tornadoes who have no right being out there in the middle of a storm.” Julie, her straight dark blond hair pulled into a high ponytail, nudged Max's shoulder. “You ready to head to the pool yet? It'll do your leg good.”

“You're right, Mom.” Max tugged the end of Julie's ponytail, causing her to swat his hand away.

“I'm not your mom. Call me that again, and I'll push you into the deep end of the pool.”

He forced himself to his feet again, reaching for his crutches and ducking. The glass door closed on the sound of their laughter-filled banter.

Brady, who had abandoned the treadmill, sat beside Logan on a weight bench, running the towel across his shaved head. “You know, if you play this right we could get some free publicity for the team.”

“That kid almost
drowned
. Yes, it was thanks to his own stupidity—but I'm not going to use him to trump up attention for the Stormmeisters.”

Logan tilted up his water bottle, swallowing a gulp of water and the bitter taste of secrets. He needed to come clean. Tell the team his decision about next year. After all they'd been through, he owed Brady and Max and Julie honesty. Draining the plastic water bottle, he threw it in the trash, rubbing his hands against the material of his workout shorts, as if he could still feel Max's blood on them. “You about done here?”

“You're the gym rat, not me.”

Logan paused as a special news bulletin scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen. “What did that say?”

Brady crossed the room and turned the TV to face them more directly.

A HURRICANE WATCH HAS BEEN ISSUED FROM PENSACOLA TO PANAMA CITY. LANDFALL LIKELY TO BE WEST OF PANAMA CITY AND INTO LOUISIANA. FURTHER DETAILS AT NOON OR ON OUR WEBSITE.

“Huh.” Brady watched the words scroll past again. “Is that why I've been hearing jets all morning?”

“I hadn't thought about it until now, but you're right. The U.S. Air Force doesn't wait until the last minute before evacuating the fighter jets from the military base. During Hurricane Opal back in '95, they flew the jets to a base in Oklahoma—Tinker, I think.” Logan stood with his hands on his hips. “We'll watch the Weather Channel updates. You know as well as I do how unpredictable these things are. It'll probably stall out. We'll be fine.”

“Not in the mood to chase a hurricane around Florida?”

Logan led the way to the elevators. “We chase storms for our day jobs. I'm on vacation.” The thought of getting in a car, buckling in, and going after a storm caused his stomach to tighten and roll, as if he were standing on a ship that had encountered a sudden squall and pitched to the side. He clenched his fists and then eased his hands open again, shaking them at his sides.

Relax
. Any bad weather headed for the Panhandle wasn't his problem.

•  •  •

In high school, Mindy had always talked about envying all the different places Vanessa had lived. She'd daydreamed about stuffing some clothes in a backpack and trekking across Europe or going on a year-long mission trip to the Philippines or even South America.

But instead she'd met Jett during their sophomore year of college. Married him the week after graduation. And then come back to Niceville, renovating a fixer-upper like a star member of a flip-this-house TV team.

Mindy's landscaped yard set off a classic wraparound porch. Inside, the refurbished wood floors gleamed with a high polish, and walls had been removed to allow for an open-concept living area.

Mindy's interior design degree had obviously allowed her to pour all of her know-how and talent into the ranch-style home on a quiet cul-de-sac off John Sims Parkway. The rich colors on the walls flowed from room to room—deep greens, a New England blue, a weathered gray, and muted yellow. Each piece of furniture, understated lines and simple patterns, was arranged just so, while avoiding the artificial appearance of a showroom. Vanessa relaxed, knowing there were no bills waiting to be paid—none that she needed to worry about, anyway. No laundry she needed to wash. No plants dying of thirst.

But there were puppies.

Six rambunctious, yipping, brown, gold, black, and white puppies that romped and rolled through the house nonstop.

“They'll tire out eventually, I promise you.” Mindy stepped over two of the puppies as they played tug-of-war with a rope dog toy, holding two plates laden with carrot cake high above her head. “We've been fostering rescue puppies for a couple of years now. Jett and I never know how many we may be asked to keep. I have to admit half a dozen is a handful.”

“How long will you keep them?” Vanessa accepted the dessert, the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg blending with cream cheese icing as she cut a bite with the side of her fork.

“Until they're eight weeks old at least—and then they're taken to a pet adoption fair to find their families—we hope.” She set her cake aside, reaching for one of the golden brown puppies, its four paws adorned with white socks. Mindy scooped it into her arms before coming to sit beside Vanessa on the couch. “So, I was watching the morning news—did you know there's a hurricane watch for the Panhandle?”

“The front desk clerk mentioned it when I left the hotel this morning.” Vanessa moved her braid so that it fell behind her back. “And I noticed the wind has picked up a bit out on the island. Did they say anything else I should know about?”

“No, just to watch for updates.” Mindy cleared her throat, looking as if she were fighting to hold back a smile. “I also saw the video of you and
Logan
on the news this morning. Several times.”

Vanessa forced herself to swallow the bite of carrot cake, which suddenly seemed dry. Stale. “Oh. That.”

“Yes—that. Honestly, Vanessa, you and Logan rescuing a teenager from drowning? I thought you weren't even talking to him—”

“I'm not. Up until last night, I hadn't seen Logan in eight years.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Mindy, as crazy as it sounds, it was a complete accident—an insane coincidence—that Logan and I were on the beach at the same time. I didn't even know he was in Destin.”

“But we don't believe in coincidences, remember?” Mindy's smile, set in her still-freckled face, her now-wavy red hair pulled back by a black headband, reminded Vanessa of when they were eighteen-year-olds. When they believed anything was possible. And that God was in charge of the world. That he cared about even the small details of their lives.

“There'd be no reason for me to contact Logan because . . . I'm getting married again.”

There. Now she had Mindy's attention.

“What?” With a small yip, the sleeping puppy in her friend's arms jerked awake. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Vanessa mimicked her friend's little shriek of surprise before stealing the puppy from her. “That's the reason why I wanted to see you today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ted and I— Ted Topliff is my fiancé. He's an ER doctor in Denver. Ted and I are planning a destination wedding. And, despite the marital mishap in my past, Ted thinks Destin is a great location. I actually met with a wedding coordinator before I came over here today. And I'm here to ask you to be my matron of honor.”