Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2) (5 page)

If he didn’t
already know how anxious Samara was about moving in on time, he’d never be able to tell from her behavior among his students.

Logan watched with amazement as she wandered among them, Jade clinging to her like a little monkey.

“You’re doing a lovely job on this,” she said, patting James on the shoulder. “You should be very proud.”

The boy’s face, still softened with baby fat, went incandescent. He ducked his head, mumbled a
thank you,
and nearly impaled himself on a length of baseboard.

Huh. Logan’s praise had never affected him that way.

Then again, Samara wasn’t being paid to encourage him. She’d be dynamite in the classroom. There was a quiet nurturing sincerity about her. It wasn’t motherliness, exactly. More like a kind and very hot aunt.

Frighteningly hot.

She needed a bit more weight on her bones, but every pound she had was in exactly the right place. His fingers tingled. He could still remember how she felt in his arms, that silky skin pressed against him, their awkward, urgent, desperate high school fumbling.

How they’d managed not to go all the way, he couldn’t imagine.

What would happen, if they got another chance?

‡

“Y
ou’re the one
who designed the project in the first place, Logan.”

Frank Stern had been the principal of Livingston High School for twelve years, during which time he’d lost his smile and his marriage, replacing them with forty pounds and a jaundiced attitude.

“If you change the rules now,” he continued, “forget about getting approved for next year.”

Frank considered Logan impassively from across his government-issued desk. Except for a pen, a single sheet of paper and an oversized computer monitor, the desk was empty. No photos of his kids, no potted plant, no coffee mug, nothing. He’d once done great things for the school. But he’d had concerns about Logan’s pet project from the start.

“It’s an administrative hoop, Frank. I’m simply asking that we request parental approval for extracurricular work hours. The kids know that completing a job within an owner’s time frame is essential in this business; so do their parents. Rubber stamp it and let’s go.”

Frank went on as if Logan hadn’t even spoken.

“I’m surprised you’d jeopardize this after you lobbied so hard to get it in the first place. You ran the fundraisers. You’re the one who secured the arrangement with the city. You’re the one who talked to the local Trade Association about taking these boys on after graduation. You promised that the students would fulfill the tasks laid out as stipulated.”

“Which they have,” said Logan. “But since we are running behind schedule, and this is causing the purchaser great inconvenience, it’s reasonable to have them work extended hours to make up the shortfall.”

Frank shook his head. “As long as they’re working under the LHS umbrella, we stick to school hours. That’s non-negotiable. I’m sorry, Logan. I’m sure you can work something out with the purchaser.”

He turned back to his laptop and Logan understood he was dismissed.

“I’ll make it work.” He got to his feet, extending his hand. “I appreciate your time, Frank.”

The principal glanced up, as if mildly surprised. “Of course. Of course.”

The man had engaged the cooperation of his staff, but not their love, and it saddened Logan that the ordinary niceties of social interaction were unexpected.

He walked down the hallway, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet. The shiny floors, the walls full of colorful notices, posters, art projects, murals, trophy cases. So much pride here.

The upcoming football game between Livingston and Marietta high schools featured heavily on the walls. Working in Livingston while living in Marietta had never been a problem for him. He cheered until he was hoarse for his school team. Then, when he went home at the end of the day, he lifted a glass in congratulations or commiseration or defeat with whoever happened to be at the bar. He had good friends on both sides of the rivalry and he liked it that way.

Now, however, he had to find a way not to let one house in Marietta ruin a Livingston project that spanned both towns.

He wouldn’t let his students down.

But he couldn’t let Samara down, either.

*

Early that evening,
Samara lifted the key to her new house with shaking fingers. She was already feeling anxious about leaving Jade asleep in her room at Bramble House, under Mabel’s crusty supervision. Now, finally able to make an undistracted progress check, alone, she was anxious about what she’d find.

But as she unlocked the kitchen door, she noticed the scent of something tangy wafting up. Looking down, she saw a hose attached to the side of the house, and on either side of it, herbs.

An herb garden, gone wild!

She’d grown basil in her Manhattan windowsill, but this, oh this was the real thing. Dill grown tall nodded at her and thyme crept between the broken paving stones at her feet. She bent forward and let her fingers drift over the soft spikes of fragrant rosemary and on to a stand of leafy bee balm, inhaling the scent of tea and sweet spices.

Her mother had grown herbs the summer they’d lived in Marietta, and the luxurious aromas brought with them images of the greenery she’d tended in hopes of brightening up their dumpy shack.

Samara straightened up, shaking off the bittersweet memories.

She stepped over the threshold, forcing her thoughts back to the present. She and Jade had spent enough time in limbo; they needed to be settled. Time was ticking! They couldn’t afford to waste a single minute, yet when she surveyed the kitchen, it appeared as if no one had been inside all day. If anything had changed, Samara couldn’t tell.

But when she flicked the switch in the front room, the light shone soft and warm over the room. A beautiful light fixture now covered the bare bulb, and surrounding it was a sparkling panel made of the same beautiful embossed tin as in the master suite.

Her annoyance dissolved. Clearly Logan had been here.

Of course he had. He promised he’d get it done and he was a guy who kept his word. It wasn’t Logan’s fault that the house was behind schedule, she understood that. She didn’t want him to jeopardize a project so long in the making, and something that would do so much good to students who needed the hand up.

Samara hugged her elbows, surveying the big empty walls. This time, they didn’t loom as much as they waited, patient and expectant, for her and Jade to bring them back to life.

She bit back a grin. This was her house!

However, in the meantime, she still had a truckload of furniture arriving in less than a week, and an unfinished house full of workers, sawdust and equipment.

Samara took inventory of the remaining tasks: the technically challenging work was mostly in the kitchen. The upstairs trim needed to be installed. Most of the painting was yet to be done. Everything needed cleaning.

His students couldn’t work overtime, and they needed the plumbing credit, she understood that.

But
she
could paint.
She
could clean.

And after forming a wholly unexpected and somewhat uneasy alliance with Mabel, Jade’s preference was to remain at Bramble House rather than accompany her mother to “the boring place.”

Hope lifted her spirits.

They had six days left.

She pulled out her cell phone.

“Logan?” she said. “I have an idea.”

*

It was the
sort of hair-splitting Logan hated.

“You’re not covered by the school’s insurance,” he told Sam. “Until the house is approved for occupancy, you’re allowed in only to assess the progress.”

“I’ll get extra insurance,” she countered. “I’d never put the school at risk, or put you in a position that could damage your job or the project.”

Even over the phone, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her. The silky voice.

The word
position.

In the space of thirty-six hours, he’d lost his mind. Just like high school.

He was actually considering altering his professional
raison d’etre
to fit her needs.

A sliver of resentment, long forgotten, quivered to life. He thought he’d burned that thing out but apparently not.

She hadn’t wanted him to run for student council, either, way back. After she left, he revelled in his triumph as president, all the while knowing that his campaigning had taken time away from what would turn out to be their last month together.

But if he’d withdrawn his name for her, he’d have done it for nothing.

At seventeen, everything seems an impossible, heart-breaking, life-changing crisis. Only years later would you recall it with fond, head-patting maturity, tinged with embarrassment, perhaps. In the moment it was everything.

It was your life.

He dealt with such drama on a daily basis, after all.

But he hadn’t expected to still harbor, at thirty-three years of age, remnants of the essential human conflict: wanting someone else’s happiness so, so badly – but not at the expense of your own happiness.

And he desperately wanted Sam to be happy.

“We might have to do it on the down-low,” he said.

She chuckled, a throaty sound that made his inner teenage boy spring to life.

“We can manage that, don’t you think?”

‡

S
amara bent her
head as the minister began his closing prayer. It had been years since she’d been to church. After an hour with Logan last night, during which they negotiated what could and could not be done by her, he convinced her to attend the worship service.

If she wanted to be part of the community, she had to start joining in things, he said. Bob would be welcome, too, he assured them.

She’d refused to let him escort them, but she and Jade and Bob had slipped into the back pew, after everyone else had entered. Jade was happily doodling pictures of dogs while Bob snoozed, her white-tipped tail flapping gently against the ancient hardwood floor whenever Jade touched her.

It was actually rather soothing.