“Uh, not quite.”
He shook his head—to get rid of the idea of kissing her again, and to send her on her way before he gave in to the need pulsing through his veins.
Raking his hands through his hair, he backed up another step. “The answer is no. I’m not pretending any damn thing with you, no matter how much you offer to pay me.”
She took a step forward. “Logan—”
“No. Go home, Joy.” He held up a hand as he spun to grab his notebook and guitar. She stood between him and the ladder down below, so he crossed to the loft’s open second floor sliding door and leapt down from there. Buster startled in surprise, pulling back against his reins.
Logan was a couple feet from the front porch of the house when he heard the thunder of the gelding’s hooves as Joy galloped away. He took the three stairs in one stride to avoid the sagging middle, and glanced back to see Palomino and redhead round the bend in his driveway, tail and hair streaming out behind them in the wind. Once they were out of sight, he leaned his guitar against the side of the house and sank down into his dad’s old, paint-chipped rocker.
Holy shit. What had just happened back there?
Elbows braced on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his face, raked his fingers through his hair, then sat back and closed his eyes as the scene replayed in his head. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected such a wild and uninhibited response from spoiled princess Joy Dolinski.
Only, he now knew she wasn’t nearly as spoiled as he’d originally thought. Taking care of June seemed like a full-time job these days. An emotionally draining task, judging by the strained expression on both their faces yesterday morning.
Al had told him playing along in June’s world helped to keep her from getting so upset, but Joy asking him to play fake fiancé was a little—no, a lot—overboard. And paying him a half-million to do it? As he’d said before, un-frickin’-believable.
He rubbed his hands over his face again, then sat forward to focus on the barn, and the reduced size herd of cattle in the field beyond. Oh, he’d be lying if he said Joy’s idea wasn’t tempting—especially considering she hadn’t so much as blinked when he said the dollar amount it would take to save the farm. But taking charity money from her was not something he was willing to do even with the sheriff’s sale looming just under two weeks away.
Hell, even Al had offered to buy the farm last spring and lease it back to Logan at a rock-bottom price, but his pride viewed that as charity, too. Especially after finding out that the Dolinski’s had loaned his father thousands of dollars over the years, and he’d never paid back a cent.
A picture of his father in the hospital bed flashed in Logan’s mind, but he ruthlessly shoved it away. Even the most sacred of deathbed promises weren’t worth that price.
Besides, if he took the cash and kept the farm, word would get out around town. The juiciest gossip always did in Redemption. Only, it wouldn’t take long for the ‘telephone’ game to change the story from the truth, to him using Joy so he could get his hands on her money. There were a few select people in town who loved to disparage his family.
No way in hell he’d go down that road. He’d work the land as long as possible under the Walsh name, and after the bank took over, he was outta here, just like his brother. Getting too close to Joy would be dangerous after they’d practically combusted with one kiss.
One damn hot—
No. He couldn’t jeopardize his chance to make a clean break when the time came to leave. Staying in town after losing the farm wasn’t a choice he would consider after all the years of struggle ended in the ultimate failure.
As he stared out toward the barn, words began to string together in his head. He reached blindly for his guitar as the song poured out of him as if written ages ago. He played the melody once all the way through, then scribbled everything down before he lost any of the words.
With the final sentence, he stared at the dark lead etched into the yellow paper, heart thudding hard in his chest.
His fingers clenched into a fist, crushing the top pages on the pad into a tight ball. He shot to his feet, and stashed everything inside the house before ghosts of the past chased his ass back outside to work.
*
Saturday night at Rowdy’s looked like it was…well, rowdy. Crowded parking lot meant crowded bar.
Good.
He didn’t drink often, but after the day he’d had, he’d gladly responded to Charlie Russell’s last minute let’s-have-a-night-out text. He didn’t dwell on his surprise at being included in the invite, just showered, dressed, and headed out. Anything to get his mind off a certain redhead and that frickin’ hot mess in the barn. Because unloading and stacking nearly three hundred bales of hay by himself hadn’t done shit.
Logan pushed inside and instantly spotted the usual crowd near the darts. Wes Carter and Charlie—brothers-in-law since spring—looked to be teamed up against Nate Cooper and Drew Porter. Nearby, a couple tables were pulled together with the rest of the guys; Caleb, Chase, Grant, Rick, and Matt.
Mike Donovan was missing; probably working. Not that they were friends now, but they used to hang out in grade school until life got in the way. By chance, they’d caught up over a beer together a couple weeks back, and the guy was all right. He’d have chatted with Mike tonight.
Wes happened to notice Logan’s arrival and motioned him over. He detoured to the bar for a pitcher first. Carter hadn’t grown up in Redemption like most of them, but he fit right in since meeting and marrying Tara. He’d heard the guy was a financial whiz. Too bad Logan didn’t have any spare cash lying around to have him play with.
There was a chorus of greetings when he arrived with the full pitcher, and he topped off a few glasses before pouring one for himself.
Drew glanced over from where he was waiting his turn at darts. “Wow, Walsh. It’s been a while.”
“Been busy.” He shrugged, skimming his gaze around the busy bar as he took a drink. “So what’s the deal?”