More Than Meets the Eye

  “My father.”

  Logan met Hamilton’s eyes.

  “Those are his cards. The only thing of his I have left. I haven’t touched them since . . . well, since the game I played with Rufus.” Hamilton glanced away, leaving the horror of Rufus Fowler’s suicide unspoken. “Until today. You deserve a chance to win back what your father lost, and I deserve the chance to prove I can keep it without tarnishing what honor I have left by cheating.”

  “I’m not going to play you,” Logan stated. “Not today. Not ever.”

  Hamilton frowned. “But Evie said—”

  “Eva said a lot of things, many of which crawled under my skin and took root this afternoon.” Logan widened his stance and forced his voice to ring with a confidence he wanted to feel but couldn’t entirely claim. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m letting the past go.”

  “Because of Evie?”

  Logan shrugged. “Partially. But mostly because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Hamilton’s face hardened. “Deal the cards, Fowler.”

  “No. I don’t want the game anymore.”

  “But I do.” Hamilton regained his seat and snatched up the card case. His fingers trembled as he extracted the playing cards and started to shuffle, the cards moving choppily at first, then smoothing out as he repeated the motion and regained his flow. “I need to.”

  To banish Rufus Fowler’s ghost. He didn’t say the words, but Logan could see the truth in his eyes. Hamilton was haunted and grasping at straws to escape the past, just as Logan had been.

  Should he play? Not for revenge, but to help Eva’s brother exorcise his demons? It seemed like the right thing to do. But then, his barometer on righteousness had been less than accurate lately.

  “Sit!” Hamilton demanded.

  At sea in his own mind, Logan sat. Cards appeared in front of him. He picked them up and stared blankly at the red and black markings. Coins hit the plank table, clattering against the wood. Logan blinked.

  “Ante up, Fowler. Time to put the past to bed once and for all.”

  29

  Evangeline mashed the potatoes with excessive force. And why not? She could work out her frustration over Logan’s obstinance and produce silky smooth potatoes at the same time. Benefits all around.

  Brushing a droopy strand of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist, she exhaled in what would have been dramatic fashion had anyone been in the room to appreciate her woebegone fervor. Not that she wanted an audience. She’d pointedly avoided both of her brothers all afternoon. Seth was busy encouraging Christie, and Zach . . . well, those wounds were too fresh to prod just yet.

  He’d cheated. Without apology. And stolen and lied and who knew what else, all in the name of providing for her and Seth. It made her feel dirty. Undeserving. She shouldn’t be standing in this kitchen making dinner; Logan’s mother should be. Zach never should have stooped so low, no matter how great their need.

  But he had. And a man had died. Not at Zach’s hand, but still—sin had consequences, and these had been steep. A family ruined, and Zach? She’d seen the agony he tried to hide. He suffered, too. It was all a huge mess, and as much as she wanted to rail at Zach for not being the idealized hero she’d thought him, she couldn’t despise him. In fact, deep down, she ached for him, for the guilt eating away at his soul. He’d made a mistake. Many mistakes. But so had Logan. So had she. No human had ever escaped that fate.

  Except one. And that divine exception was the only one who could take all their wrongs and create something right.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen between those two, Lord, but please keep them from hurting each other. Or from doing something they’ll both regret.

  Logan.

  Evangeline set aside the masher and gazed out the window, as if wishing for him could make him materialize. He might not have been willing to let go of his vengeance, but Evangeline wasn’t quite ready to let go of him. After cooling her heels on a long walk with Hezzy—in the opposite direction from Logan’s property—she’d calmed and examined the situation from a slightly more objective position.

  Logan had said he loved her, and she believed him. She loved him as well, even with his destructive agenda. He hadn’t challenged Zach to that awful game yet, so she had time. Logan was worth fighting for. Their future was worth fighting for. She wouldn’t give up while hope remained, no matter how thin the thread, so she’d prayed with all her soul. Prayed for the Lord to soften Logan’s heart, to speak truth into his life in a way that could not be ignored.

  She’d prayed for her brother, too. For Zach to find healing from the scars he’d carried for so many years, and for her to forgive his mistakes and not hold them against him.

  She was still working on that forgiveness. For both the men she loved. Hence the silky potatoes. Potatoes that needed to be in the warming oven.

  Evangeline snapped out of her thoughts and set the bowl of potatoes next to the ham she’d sliced earlier. Green beans with a few ham chunks thrown in for flavor simmered on a back burner. Yeast rolls sat in a towel-covered basket on the table, butter crock alongside. Dishes were laid out. Utensils in place. Everything was ready.

  Except for the folks who were supposed to eat.

  The last she’d seen Seth, he was in the parlor with Christie, learning all he could about the schoolmaster, her stepfather, and her baby brother. Evangeline had wanted to listen, to distract herself with someone else’s problems, but the two of them had been cozied up together on the sofa, their conversation low and intent. She’d felt awkward about interrupting, so she’d turned her attention to the kitchen. And good thing she had. Seth was so involved with Christie, she doubted he was even aware of the time.

  Evangeline strolled down the hall and waltzed into the parlor. Only to have her feet freeze to the ground while her jaw fell unhinged.

  Seth had Christie wrapped in an amorous embrace, the two of them kissing with impressive enthusiasm.

  Heat rushed to Evangeline’s cheeks, and she ducked her head. Good heavens. Her dinner announcement could wait.

  She started to back out of the room, wishing herself invisible. If someone had walked in on her and Logan while they’d been embracing, she would have been mortified. She couldn’t do that to Christie. She’d probably find the wherewithal to tease Seth about it later, but not now. This was a private moment, one she had no business witnessing. Especially since seeing their shared intimacy highlighted all the bruised places on her sore heart.

  She missed the doorway, and her heel knocked into the hutch that stood against the wall. The knickknacks inside rattled, and Seth’s head came up. Fierce blue eyes ready to do battle zeroed in on her.

  Sorry, she mouthed, hoping Christie hadn’t been alerted. “Dinner’s, um, ready.”

  He gave a small, disgruntled nod, then turned his full attention back to the woman in his arms.

  Evangeline pivoted and navigated her way safely through the doorway without jostling any other random furniture items along the way.

  She was happy for her brother. Seth deserved to find love, as did Christie. They were perfect for each other.

  Just as she and Logan were perfect for each other. She set her jaw. They were. They’d just hit a bump in the road, that was all. Logan would come to his senses. She’d help him. Maybe she’d even go visit his mother, have a nice long chat with her, see what she could do to help the two of them reconcile.

  She’d been praying for Mrs. Fowler every night in her evening prayers, just as she’d told Logan she would do when they first met. The poor woman had been through such horrible heartbreak and loss—a loss Evangeline could relate to all too well. Her parents. Her home. Her brother, Hamilton. She’d not leave Mrs. Fowler to battle that pain on her own. Neither would she abandon Logan.

  Or Zach.

  Evangeline’s forehead scrunched. Her neck craned back toward the boys’ bedroom door, which she’d just passed in the hall. Open. She backtracked two paces. Empty. Usually Zach had com
e in from the fields by now, as he seemed to tell time with his stomach. Yet he wasn’t here.

  She strode through the kitchen and out the back door.

  “Zach!” she yelled, aiming her voice toward the barn, since she saw no sign of him in the yard. “Supper’s ready!”

  “He’s not here.”

  Seth’s voice behind her startled her. She spun to face him, and his unusually ruddy complexion made her smile.

  Her smile made him scowl. “Said he had some business to attend to. Told us not to wait supper on him.”

  She glanced over his shoulder but saw no hint of Christie.

  Seth rubbed the back of his neck. “She wanted to freshen up a bit before dinner.”

  Evangeline’s grin widened. “I imagine so.” A tiny giggle escaped.

  “Not a word, Evie. Understand? I won’t have her embarrassed.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll save all my teasing for you.” She stepped back into the house and closed the door. “What kind of business did Zach have?”

  “He was going to see Logan. Not about Benson, though. Something else.”

  Something else? Evangeline’s heart squeezed.

  No. No, no, no!

  She pushed Seth aside and ran to the room her brothers shared. With a tiny leap over the pile of dirty laundry at the end of the first bed, she rushed to the small chest of drawers that belonged to Zach and scanned the surface.

  Comb. A random button that needed to be reattached to a shirt. A book on hog husbandry. And a conspicuously dust-free rectangle at the far edge of the dresser top.

  “They’re gone.” She sagged onto the bed, deflated.

  “What’s gone?” Seth leaned in through the doorway.

  “The cards.” Which meant the deed was probably missing, too.

  Oh, Zach. Why? I need more time.

  “Cards? Oh.” Seth’s voice deepened. “I’d hoped he’d given that up for good.”

  “He had.” Evangeline stiffened and jumped up from the bed. “He has. I’ll see to it. I’ll stop them before anything gets out of hand.” She vaulted over the clothes again and tried to sidle past her brother, but this time Seth grabbed her arms.

  “Whoa, sis. What are you talking about? What’s going on with Logan and Zach?”

  “There’s no time to explain.” She tore free of his hold. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

  She nearly ran over Christie in the hallway in her rush to get outside. She wouldn’t bother with a horse. She could get there faster overland, anyway. Evangeline threw open the door and ran down the porch steps.

  If only Zach had waited for Logan to make the first move. But that wasn’t his way. He was the take-charge type who dictated situations instead of reacting after someone else initiated. Only this time, his taking charge might have just killed her future.

  No one would escape this idiotic game of theirs unscathed. Couldn’t they see that?

  “Evie! Wait!”

  Evangeline slowed slightly alongside Hezzy’s pen and glanced over her shoulder. Christie was running down the steps after her, concern etched into her face.

  A loud crack pierced the air.

  Christie’s eyes widened in shock a heartbeat before she crumpled to the ground.

  “Christie!” Evangeline screamed and sprinted to her friend’s side. She fell to the dirt, sheltering Christie with her body as her brain tried to process what had just happened.

  Someone was shooting at them. From where? She peeked behind her but saw nothing.

  Then Seth roared out of the house, rifle in hand. “Get her into the house,” he ordered, his eyes harder than she’d ever seen them as he jammed the rifle butt against his shoulder. He strode forward into the yard, away from cover, planting himself squarely between the women and whoever meant them harm. “Move!”

  Evangeline startled out of her shock and grabbed Christie’s arms. The girl whimpered. Only then did Evangeline notice the blood soaking her right sleeve.

  But Christie was tough. She met Evangeline’s eyes with purpose as she scrambled to a sitting position. “Help me.” She grimaced but reached out with her good arm. “Seth won’t take cover until we’re inside.”

  She was right. Not that Evangeline had any desire to dally. Draping Christie’s left arm around her shoulders, then wrapping an arm around her friend’s waist, Evangeline hefted them both to their feet. They dashed lopsidedly back to the porch and into the kitchen.

  “We’re in!” Evangeline yelled to Seth.

  He backed toward the house, scanning the yard, the buildings, any cover that could be concealing a gunman.

  No further shots echoed.

  Seth gained the porch, but before ducking inside, he aimed the muzzle of his rifle at the sky and fired three quick shots.

  If Zach was within earshot, he’d come running.

  Evangeline had wanted to bring her brother home, but not like this. Not with Christie paying the price.

  30

  Logan stared at the cards he’d been dealt. Three kings, a strong hand. His fingers itched to sort his cards. His mind buzzed with strategy. His heart pulsed with excitement, with the thrill of the challenge. But his soul? His soul whispered, no.

  With a pang of regret for the royalty being sacrificed, Logan grimaced and laid the cards facedown on the plank table. “I’m not going to play, Hamilton.” He eyed the man across from him. “Or should I call you Mitchell?”

  Hamilton’s jaw stiffened. “I don’t care what you call me,” he ground out, his lips barely moving, “so long as you pick up those cards.”

  Logan sighed. “Look. This is my fault.” He leaned back and shook his head. “My ill-advised quest to reclaim a past that can’t be restored. I never should have started down this path. You were wrong to cheat. My father was wrong to wager our land. And I was wrong to harbor revenge in my heart. There’s plenty of blame to go around, and no card game is going to put any of it to rights.”

  Something flickered in Hamilton’s eyes as he slowly lowered his cards to the table. “I need it put to rights.” The hoarse whisper was barely intelligible, but Logan pieced it together, and something resembling empathy stirred in his chest.

  “I know what you mean.” Logan met the gaze of his nemesis and felt a kinship with him for the first time. The same ghost haunted them both. “That’s what has been driving me for seven long years. Needing to put things right. But this isn’t the way. I see that now.”

  Logan blew out a breath as he contemplated what else he could possibly say. Then an idea materialized as if from vapor, slowly taking shape until he saw the story he needed to tell. Both for himself and for the man sitting across from him.

  “When my dad came home from the card game that night, he ranted and raved about the man who cheated him, vowing he’d bring you up on charges for theft or fraud or whatever he could make stick. But the next day, when he took his righteous indignation to town to complain to the marshal, the lawman wouldn’t give him the time of day. None of the men who were there that night would back my father’s story, yet several were willing to testify that Rufus Fowler had been known to use his deed to lure men into deep play and then run off with their hard-earned coin. They were more than happy to see him reap some of what he had sown.

  “That was what turned my father’s anger to despair—the realization that he had brought disaster upon himself.” Logan examined the memory with fresh perspective. “When he came home from town, he couldn’t look Mother in the eye. He barely spoke except to bark at me to leave him alone so he could think. The guilt must’ve worn on him. He’d always had a mercurial temperament, and when he sulked, he’d fall into deep melancholy. I suppose the depth overwhelmed him this time, and he failed to pull himself out.”

  “Why’re you tellin’ me this?” Hamilton’s ashy face was drawn in tortured lines.

  Logan leaned forward. “Because I want you to know that my father’s death wasn’t your fault.” He might have believed exactly the opposite for the last sev
en years, but that didn’t make it truth. “He made his own choices.”

  Hamilton wagged his head. “He might have chosen to stampede off a cliff, but I’m the one who put the burr under his saddle. If I hadn’t rigged the—”

  A distant sound, sharp yet faint, echoed behind his words. Logan swiveled toward the door.

  “Was that a gunshot?” Hamilton asked.

  Logan pushed to his feet and stepped into the open air beyond the cabin doorway. “Don’t know.”

  Hamilton followed, both men silent.

  One minute passed. Then another.

  Insects buzzed. A breeze rustled the tree leaves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Then it came—three shots in quick succession. Muffled, but definitely from the west.

  Eva!

  Hamilton bolted past him, making a run on foot. Logan sprinted for Shamgar, thanking God his horse was still saddled and ready.

  Please let her be all right. If anything happened to Eva . . . Logan clenched his jaw and mounted.

  “Yah!” He swiped his heels across Shamgar’s flanks and leaned forward in the stirrups. Focus on getting to her, he ordered himself. He’d deal with whatever he found when he got there.

  Shamgar slowed slightly as they neared the junction to the main road, and Logan leaned left into the turn. As he did, another shot rang out, this one much closer. So close, in fact, that a telltale whistle tickled Logan’s ear as a bullet whizzed by his head.

  He lunged more deeply to the side, using Shamgar as a shield even as he urged the gelding to a greater pace. The ex-cavalry horse responded, surging forward as a second shot cracked the air.

  Logan twisted his neck, trying to peer behind him for any clue to his assailant’s identity, but he saw nothing. Just brush and dirt and Shamgar’s rump. He dared not rise up any higher, even to spy the culprit. He needed the cover. If he could get to the bend in the road a few yards ahead, he’d be out of the gun’s sights.

  A third shot exploded, and a slight sting arced along Logan’s right side. He hissed at the pain, even as he thanked God it had just been a crease. The shooter might not be terribly proficient at hitting a moving target, but even Shamgar couldn’t protect Logan’s back if the shooter found the right angle.