“I’m your mother. Mothers know these things.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, dear, but you’re avoiding my question.”
He laughed, sipped his tea. “You never did let me off the hook easy.”
“What good would that have done? We own our feelings in this family, Logan, and it seems to me that it’s been ages since you had any feelings toward a woman to own.”
Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s running from a guy.”
“Oh, Logan.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “And that’s got your heart all tied up in knots. You’re a savior at heart, sweetheart. That’s why you fought your father so hard to join the navy. You always needed to be saving someone. He was so proud of you.”
Tears stung Logan’s eyes while guilt settled heavy and hard like lead in his gut. There was a time he wouldn’t have believed his father was proud of him because of the way he’d argued with Logan about his desire to join the military. But in his heart, and now a world away from his rebellious youth, Logan understood that his father hadn’t wanted to risk losing him. He knew now that his father had always been proud of him.
“Be careful, Logan.” She’d called him by his name several times, which meant she wanted him to listen carefully to what she was saying. “Some women are magnets for trouble. They thrive on drama, never really looking for an escape, but rather putting themselves in harm’s way. Damsels in distress and all that. While others find themselves in a bad situation and do everything within their power to find their way free from the nightmare. It’s the latter that are worthy of your love.”
“I’m not talking love, Ma.”
“Mm-hmm.” She sipped her tea with a soft nod.
He hated when she did this, acted as if she listened to what he said but knew better.
“Ma, really.”
She patted his hand again. “Okay, lovey. Where are you headed so early in the morning?”
He clenched his jaw. He was heading over to have a talk with the guy who’d attacked Stormy last night—Mike Winters—to ensure he’d never go near her, or near NightCaps again. He’d done a quick search on the guy when he’d gotten home. Married, two kids, stay-at-home wife. A little threat of exposure should nip him in the bud. But he wasn’t going to burden his mother with that knowledge. The minute she found out he was protecting Stormy, she’d say he was already stepping in too deep.
Maybe he was, but he didn’t have to admit it.
“Work.”
She raised her brows in that uh-huh way she had. “Okay, well, you be careful at work, and remember what I said. Metal to magnet is dangerous.”
Logan always felt lighter after seeing his mother, and today was no different, although the closer he got to his destination, the heavier the air became.
Driving the streets of New York was a little like riding the bumper cars at a carnival. Lanes ceased to exist, and there was no place for common courtesy. It was an adventure in every-man-for-himself, and this morning was no different. Logan found Mike Winters’s office and parked in the garage. He checked the collar of his white button-down in the rearview mirror, ran his fingers through his hair, and sank his father’s Stetson on his head. He’d look like a buddy in out of town having a chat with Mike. Not a threat. Not a threat at all.
The elevator was crowded with tired-eyed bankers holding steaming cups of caffeine and dark briefcases, and eyeing a sexy blonde in a red dress. The business world was a curious one to Logan. It seemed to be filled with wannabes. Wanna-be single, wanna-be rich, wanna-be anywhere else but here. Logan had never experienced the wanna-be scenario, except when he’d received the news of that attack on his parents. A burglary gone bad, that’s what they’d called it. Fucking police couldn’t track down his father’s killer. Logan had to do everything himself.
He followed two suits out of the elevator and eyed the brunette behind the large, curved reception desk that read METRO FINANCIAL across the front in big blue letters.
“Hey there, darlin’.” The Midwestern twang played out in Logan’s voice when he needed it. Though he wasn’t from the Midwest, he and his brothers had lived and worked at their parents’ friend Hal Braden’s ranch in Weston every summer from the time they were kids until they went away to college. His father insisted that working on a ranch for a few weeks each year would build character. Logan had enjoyed the work, and he’d enjoyed the friendships with Hal and his six children even more.
“Hi. Can I help you?” The pretty receptionist’s eyes grazed over Logan’s chiseled features to his broad chest.
Logan leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’m here to see an old buddy of mine, Mike Winters.”