A Promise to Protect (Logan Point Book #2): A Novel Page 12

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, if it is, you better make your move. I’m not the only one I’ve seen eying the good-looking doctor. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her with Ian a time or two.”

  A band tightened around Ben’s chest. This wasn’t ten years ago. Leigh wasn’t a shy college sophomore. Like a butterfly, she’d emerged from her awkward early college years into a beautiful and confident woman. Bottom line—she’d grown up.

  He couldn’t say the same for himself. The more he thought about getting married, the more it scared him. Commitment. Responsibility. Sure, he could commit to the responsibility of running the sheriff’s department. He didn’t shoulder it alone. He had Wade and Andre, and a half dozen other deputies.

  “You okay, Ben? I just meant you should either cut bait or fish.”

  “I’m fine. And for your information, she’ll only be here for another ten months. Then she’s off to Baltimore.” He stood. He was not interested in a future with Leigh Somerall. “I’m going to get a candy bar. See if you can find out when Billy Wayne started that website, and I understand Mrs. Gresham has taken a couple of weeks off from work. We’ll take a ride out and talk to her.” And hope Jonas Gresham wasn’t there.

  And that Wade wouldn’t bring Leigh up again.

  Ben climbed the Greshams’ block steps and rapped on the screen door. The solid wood door stood open, and from somewhere in the house, a twangy country singer crooned about love gone bad. A thin layer of red dust from the gravel road in front of the frame house covered the glass-topped table on the porch. When no one appeared, he rapped again.

  “Maybe she’s out back,” Wade said. “But I’m telling you, she’s not going to know anything about Billy Wayne’s activities.”

  They retraced their steps and went around to the back of the house. Ancient oaks shaded the dirt yard. “Mrs. Gresham, you back here?” Ben called.

  “Over here.”

  They both looked in the direction of the voice. A petite brunette walked toward them, a pail in her hand. Blackberries, Ben saw when she reached them.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” she said, putting the pail on a homemade round picnic table. A strand of hair had worked its way out of the ponytail that hung down her back, and she tucked it behind her ear. “Been expecting you. You want to talk out here or in the house?”

  A light breeze stirred the air. He could imagine how stuffy the house would be. “Here will be fine.”

  Ruby Gresham sat on a bench and fanned. “Sure is hot.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben replied. He cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about Billy Wayne.”

  She looked off into the distance. “Wish I could say I was surprised. He just never was the same after Tommy Ray—” Her hands fluttered to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Sheriff . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Ben flinched and struggled for something to say.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Gresham,” Wade said. “Tommy Ray’s death affected us all.”

  She hunched her thin shoulders. “He was a good boy.”

  Ben found his voice. “Did you know anything about Billy Wayne’s gambling debts or his website?”

  Leaning forward, she shook her head. “He thought he was growed up. Learned how to play poker from his daddy. Weren’t no better at it than him, either.”

  “How about the website?” Wade prodded.

  “Jonas Junior showed it to me after he got kilt. Wished I’d a looked at it before. Might could’ve helped him if I’d knowed he was that angry.”

  It didn’t look like Ruby Gresham would confirm Ben’s suspicion that someone other than Billy Wayne had built the website. “So you think he put it up?” he asked.

  “He liked fooling with that kind of stuff. Made up them computer games when he was still home. I told him he ought to get a job doing that instead of fooling with gambling. I was so proud when he got the job working on the computers at—”

  “Hey! What are you doing on my property?”

  Ben hadn’t heard Jonas Gresham come up, and he turned as Jonas charged toward him like a bull rushing a matador.

  “Hold it, Jonas.” Wade stepped between them, resting his hand on his gun.

  “You takin’ up his fight?” The burly farmer poked Wade in the chest, his six-two frame a match for the deputy.

  “We don’t have a fight.” Ben stepped forward, flexing his fingers. Just in case he couldn’t convince Gresham.

  “The devil we don’t. You killed two of my boys.”

  “Jonas.” Mrs. Gresham’s warning cut through the tension. “The sheriff here didn’t kill nobody. Billy Wayne just plain kilt hisself. And what happened to Tommy Ray was an accident. Ben did all he could to save him.”

  “He could’ve done more.” Jonas’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “He was in charge of them boys. He should’ve seen to it that they didn’t horse around in the water like that.”

  Ben swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. Jonas was right. He should’ve stopped the boys from swinging on the grapevines and dropping into the river-fed lake below.

  “He’s told you how sorry he is about what happened that day,” Ruby said.

  “Sorry don’t cut it. Now git off my property.”

  Ben held up his hand. He would get no more information from Ruby Gresham today. “We’re going.” He turned and walked slowly back to his truck, Wade right behind him.

  “You want to drive?” Ben asked.

  “Sure.” As they backed out of the drive, his chief deputy shook his head. “He’s a crazy old coot.”

  Crazy or not, his words had picked the scab off the festering wound in Ben’s heart.

  Suddenly, Wade slammed the brakes on the truck. “You see that dog?”

  “Where?”

  “There in the weeds.”

  Ben scanned the roadside, finally catching sight of a broad-chested mongrel cowering in the tall weeds beside the road. They climbed out of the truck. What he saw turned his stomach. Blood oozed from a wound on the dog’s haunches, and scars indicated past wounds. They cautiously approached the shivering dog.

  “Okay, buddy, we’re not going to hurt you,” Wade crooned. The dog offered a halfhearted growl. The deputy motioned Ben back. “Let me handle this.”

  When he was a couple of feet from the dog, Wade squatted and held out his hand. “Good boy.”

  The dog whimpered and dragged himself toward the chief deputy until he was close enough for Wade to stroke its head. His tail thumped as Wade whispered soothing words. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” Ben asked. The dog looked like a mixture of pit bull and Doberman. Wade was always picking up stray dogs and taking care of them. Sometimes, Ben thought he liked dogs better than people.

  Gently, Wade ran his hands over the dog, bringing a yelp when he touched the back leg. “Don’t think it’s broken. Can I put him in the back of your truck?”

  “Sure. Want me to help?”

  “Naw, I got him.”

  Ben let the tailgate down as Wade scooped the dog up and placed him on a tarp in the bed of the truck.

  “Somebody’s been fighting this dog,” Wade said through gritted teeth. “Looks like your daddy was right. We got a dogfighting ring going on in Bradford County.”

  Before he had been shot, his dad had told Ben his suspicions, but Tom Logan had never been able to track down anything other than rumors.

  “You have your hands full with Leigh’s case,” Wade said. “I want this one, Ben.”

  10

  Even though her replacement had come on duty to the ER at three, Leigh had stayed until four, waiting for a lab report on a patient. She checked her lab coat to make sure the pockets were empty before she tossed the coat into the laundry basket in the doctors’ lounge. She couldn’t believe it was the first of August and a week since the fire. A week living with the Logans. Ian’s offer of a house tempted her each day as TJ grew closer to the family, and even though she tried to avoid Tom, when she ma
naged not to, his eyes bored into her with certainty. If he could communicate, she would have already been out of there.

  There’d been no word from the fire marshal yet, and there’d been no more attempts on her life. Tomorrow night, she was having dinner with Ian. She’d tell him then that she was accepting his offer of the house on Webster Street. The sooner she got TJ away from the Logans, the better. Now to figure out how to tell Ben.

  He still escorted her to and from the hospital and had arrived ten minutes ago to escort her home. Home. She wished. Instead of wishing, she should be grateful the Logans took them in. She should be grateful, period. No one had been hurt in the fire, and everything destroyed could be replaced. She’d even discovered TJ’s baby album intact under her bed.

  It’s me, God. Leigh Somerall, in case you’ve forgotten my voice. It’d been so long since she’d prayed that shame wormed its way into her heart. It’d been so hard to get to church all these years, and it had been easier to relinquish TJ’s spiritual growth to Sarah. Leigh winced. Sarah. She’d meant to call her last night.

  Anyway, God, thank you for keeping us safe.

  What about Tony? Why hadn’t God protected him? She shoved the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to make God mad. Besides, it didn’t seem right to question God. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Ben was leaning against the front desk, talking to the guard.

  “I’m ready.”

  He fell in beside her. “Those teenagers from the wreck last week—do you have an update on their condition?”

  She’d called the Med earlier in the day to inquire about them. “The doctor I talked with said all three were improving and should be released soon. The kid who broke his leg went home the first of the week. Did you learn anything from the fire marshal?”

  “He’s still sifting through the evidence.”

  Leigh clicked the remote on her key ring, and her car motor jumped to life. “Did he give any clue to what he’s thinking?”

  Ben shook his head. “Clancy plays his cards close to his vest. He won’t give out anything until he has a complete picture.”

  She eyed him. “Do you play poker?”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Used to, right after college, but not anymore. Wasn’t too good at it, anyway. Besides, I don’t think the people of Bradford County would appreciate their sheriff doing anything illegal.”

  Yeah, the Logan family always had the voters in mind, but she laughed anyway. In the past week, they’d become more comfortable with each other. “Mr. Straight and Narrow.”

  He held up his hand. “Hey—you do what you gotta do.”

  She opened her car door. “Wouldn’t want anything to tarnish that badge, Sheriff.”

  Ben put his hand on the door. “Speaking of gambling, someone mentioned that Tony had a photographic memory, and I’ve meant to ask if he did.”

  “Only if it had anything to do with numbers. His memory wasn’t as good with words. As a kid, I learned early not to play cards with him. Do you think someone realized that and thought he was cheating?”

  “It’s possible,” he said and shut her door.

  When she pulled through the gate behind Ben, a white Honda sat in front of the garage. Sarah? She was supposed to be in Jackson. Ben hurried ahead of her to open the back door. As with most homes in Logan Point, the back entrance was the one most people used.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped into the den. Ben’s nephews, Josh and Jacob, sprawled in front of the TV, their fingers constantly moving on the controller in their hands.

  Her breath caught in her chest when she saw TJ with her iPad, sounding out words to Tom.

  “Ta . . . ta,” TJ said, forming the sound with his tongue as he pointed at an image on the tablet. “Ta-ma-toe.” When he saw her, his eyes widened. “Mom, I think I can show Pops how to do it.”

  Pops. Every time TJ spoke that word, her heart stopped. Tom’s gaze went from TJ to Leigh, piercing her. There was a keen mind locked inside his body. He knew who TJ was. What if he learned to speak? “I don’t think you should be worrying Sheriff Logan with your games.”

  Tom shook his head. “Uhh.”

  “See, he doesn’t want to be bothered.”

  TJ dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Pops. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  His dejection almost crushed her, but before she could remedy the problem, laughter from the hallway floated into the room, and she turned as Marisa came into the den followed by Sarah. “Leigh, I didn’t hear you come in. Did you have a quiet day in the emergency room?”

  “Very quiet. Mostly respiratory distress problems in children because we have a nasty virus going around.” Leigh hugged Sarah. “I was surprised to see your car in the driveway.”

  “Me too.” Sarah laughed. “But I got to thinking about you two, and Marisa called and one thing led to another, and here I am.”

  Leigh’s heart warmed. Sarah had been more of a mother to her than her own. “I’m so glad you did. Are you staying at the motel?”

  “No, she’s not,” Marisa said. “Her things are already in the guest bedroom.”

  “I’m only staying for the weekend,” Sarah said. “Maybe long enough to see TJ play a little ball. He tells me he plays in his first ball game Saturday night.”

  Leigh turned to her son. Why had she not heard about this? “Is that right, TJ?”

  TJ’s head bobbed up and down. “I can play, can’t I? We have practice tonight.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Mom—”

  Marisa clapped her hands. “Everybody get washed up. Dinner’s ready.”

  “Aw, Granna! Can we finish our game?” Jacob wailed.

  Marisa crossed her arms. “March, young man.”

  The Logans ate in their kitchen, where Marisa ladled fresh peas and squash and new red potatoes onto plates from stainless steel pots on the stove and topped them off with a square of crusty corn bread. Then they gathered around an oversized table where, after Marisa said a blessing, warmth and laughter flowed. Everyone took part in the conversation except Tom, and where she saw in TJ’s eye a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

  A shadow crossed her heart, searing her conscience. TJ belonged here. Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands as the cornbread turned to sawdust in her mouth. Why, oh why, had she come to this place where her decision of ten years ago haunted her? Where Marisa treated TJ like he was one of her grandsons. Leigh swallowed down the lump choking her. Maybe on some level, Marisa already knew, sensed it somehow, and that drew her to TJ. Even Tom seemed drawn to him.

  If Marisa ever found out TJ was her grandson, she’d begin an all-out campaign to get her and Ben together. And Leigh didn’t want that. Did she? Her heart betrayed her with a flutter, and she reined it in. Ben Logan wasn’t husband or father material. She’d noticed that even though Ben tolerated being around the twins, there was an invisible line he never crossed. It was like his mind was there, but not his heart. And that was the last kind of father she wanted for her son.

  “This is great, Mom,” Ben said from the other side of the table. “And you boys eat that squash. It’s good for you.”

  In the chair beside her, one of the twins—Leigh couldn’t remember which—pushed his yellow vegetable to the side with his fork. At the end of the table, Tom struggled with his left hand to scoop peas into his mouth, only to have them spill. His face flushed, and he banged his fist on the table.

  Marisa put her fork down. “Tom, would you like me to help you?”

  A growl erupted from Tom’s lips.

  “I take it that’s a no.” Marisa sighed, turning to Leigh. “The therapist is trying to get him to move his arm from left to right, but I’m afraid the connection in his brain isn’t very good.”

  “What exercises is she doing with him?”

  “Not as many as she’d like.” She turned to her husband. “You aren’t cooperating with her, are you, hon?”

  Tom scowled at his wife.


  Marisa patted his hand. “She tries to get him to play games. I’m pretty sure he thinks they are for children.”

  Leigh couldn’t keep from evaluating Ben’s dad. Even though his coordination and speech weren’t good, Tom had a lot going for him. He could move from his bed to the wheelchair, usually with minimal help, and hadn’t had any problem swallowing, a plus in a stroke victim. He just couldn’t get the food to his mouth. “Sheriff Logan, the exercises will help you to get better.”

  His hazel eyes drew a bead on her. “Ummph.”

  He had great comprehension.

  “Tomorrow I’ll help you,” TJ said. “We’ll make it fun.”

  Not a good idea. The more her son interacted with this family, the harder it would be when they left. “TJ—”

  “Let him help, Leigh,” Sarah said, her voice soft but firm.

  She clamped her lips together. Leigh knew Sarah’s motive. “I just don’t want TJ tiring him out.”

  The twin sitting beside her chimed in. “Pops, we’ll help too.”

  She glanced at the boy. “You’re Josh, right?”

  He grinned, wrinkling his nose. “Nope, Jacob.”

  “No, you’re not!” the other twin yelled. “I’m Jacob.”

  Leigh flicked her gaze from one twin to the other, their identical faces posturing a fake innocence.

  “Boys.” Ben’s voice carried a warning. “Play nice. And you know better than to yell at the table.”

  “Pops does.”

  Ben eyed the offending twin with a warning. “Josh.”

  He squirmed. “Yes sir.” Then the boy turned to her. “I’m sorry. I’m not Jacob.”

  She pressed her lips against the smile trying to show itself. “How in the world do you tell them apart?” she asked Marisa.

  “That’s easy, Mom,” TJ said before the boys’ grandmother could answer. “Jacob doesn’t talk much, but Josh is like me. He likes to run.”

  Marisa laughed. “TJ’s right, and if you’re around them enough, you’ll see their differences. I’m glad Emily doesn’t dress them alike.”