Tattered (Lark Cove Book 1)
Tattered: Chapter 4

“Goddamn it!” My pliers slipped from my padded glove and clanked on my worktable. I shook off my glove, then switched off the blowtorch in my other hand, setting it down to cool next to the spoon I’d just ruined.

Not long after Hazel’s confession on our back porch, she’d headed inside to read and I’d escaped to my art workshop in an attempt to get my mind off Logan. But no matter how much I tried to focus on my project, all I could think about were his angry eyes as he stormed out of the bar.

My fears were getting the best of me. Every minute that passed without a call from him, I got more and more scared.

What if he wanted Charlie? What if he forced me to split custody? What if he demanded she live in New York?

I couldn’t go back to the city, not after I’d escaped. Not after I’d come here and found the peace I’d craved my entire life.

But the bottom line was, I couldn’t live without my daughter. I needed to see her every single day, and if Logan had her in New York, then I’d have to go too.

I’d be back to living paycheck to paycheck, hoping my Saturday-night tips would be enough to make up for what my hourly wage lacked. Charlie would have to go to a school named after a number—P.S. Whatever, Whatever, Whatever—instead of our beloved Lark Cove School. And I’d be in the city where life hadn’t been all that kind.

My memories of New York were full of loneliness, insecurity and powerlessness. When I’d left, I’d found courage and confidence and control to build the life I wanted. A life I was proud of. Moving back to the city would be like taking an eraser to half of my accomplishments. I didn’t have many on the list.

Bracing my hands on my workshop table, I breathed through the waves rolling in my stomach.

Please, Logan. Please don’t make me go back there.

I’d do it if I had to. Unlike my own mother, I’d sacrifice anything to be with my child.

“Snap out of it,” I scolded myself. There was no use jumping to conclusions until I had a chance to talk to Logan.

I refocused on my work, surveying the mess on my table. I’d been using the torch to heat a spoon so it would bend, but I’d been so distracted that it had gotten too hot and broken in half. Turning around to the back wall in my workshop, I rifled through the mess on one of my shelves.

With a new spoon in hand, I checked my phone for the fiftieth time in an hour.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Ring.”

I waited a few seconds, but a New York number didn’t flash on the screen. Charlie’s face on my screensaver just looked up at me with a smile.

I huffed and set down my phone. Then I took my spoon back to my blowtorch. With it burning hot and my hand regloved, I fit the spoon into my pliers.

“Okay, spoon. Cooperate.”

The stem was just starting to soften under my torch when someone knocked on the open shed door behind me.

“One second!” I shouted, not bothering to turn.

Hazel had learned ages ago to knock before saying anything. Once, she’d come in jabbering about something and had scared me to death. I hadn’t been handling a blowtorch that day, but I had ended up covering a good portion of the floor in yellow paint.

I raked the torch’s flame back and forth over the metal a few more times until it was perfectly pliable. Quickly, I set the torch aside and grabbed another pair of pliers, then carefully bent the metal so it had just the right curve.

“Got it,” I said triumphantly to myself before dunking the spoon in a bucket of cold water to set the arch. I shut off the torch and yanked off my glove as I turned around to Hazel. “What’s up?”

But it wasn’t Hazel leaning on the doorjamb.

It was Logan.

“Oh,” I gasped. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greeted.

A bead of sweat dripped down my side. Even though I wanted to have this conversation with Logan, I was dreading it at the same time. “Please, come in.” I motioned him inside and went to my water bottle for a drink.

He pushed off the door and stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s no problem.” I swallowed a huge gulp, then set down the water.

Logan inspected the workshop as he eased inside. His eyes ran over the many hooks and tools hanging on the walls as he avoided making eye contact. And even though his hands were casually resting in his pockets, his frame was stiff and tense.

With every passing second of him looking anywhere but at me, my heart raced faster. This was agony. Was he still mad? Was he here to tell me he didn’t want anything to do with Charlie? Or was he here to deliver my worst nightmare?

“Please, don’t take her away from me,” I blurted.

Logan’s head whipped around and his eyes snapped to mine. His straight posture relaxed and the cool façade he’d put on fell away. “I’d never do that to you. To her.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, sagging against the table. If that was all he said the rest of the night, it would be enough.

Logan resumed his inspection of my workshop, taking his time as he studied the small space.

My workshop was my special, albeit disorderly, space. It was just an old gardening shed that Hazel’s father had built decades ago. The walls were crooked. The windows were tiny and did little to keep out the elements. And the floor wasn’t even a floor, but dirt that had been worn to a semismooth and hard surface over the years.

But it was my place. Here, I could tinker without fear of burning down the house or spilling paint on the carpet.

There were some old shelves on the walls that I’d crammed full of my raw materials just waiting until the time was right and inspiration hit. Like my spoons. They were rejects from the school cafeteria, so I’d taken them two years ago before they could be trashed.

Last week, I’d finally had an idea for how to use them.

“So, you’re an artist?” he asked.

“No, I’m a bartender. This is all just a hobby.”

He nodded, coming closer to my table in the center of the shed. “What are you making?”

“It’s going to be a bird’s nest made out of spoons.” I’d welded the base of the nest together already, but it just looked like a mishmash of broken spoons at the moment. When it was done, it would be a cool piece to hold jewelry or other small trinkets.

“I’ll look forward to seeing it when you’re finished.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

Logan was just being polite, but I liked it nonetheless. There were far fewer polite people in the world than one would hope.

“Nolan, my business associate, gave me your address. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

“Not at all. I’m glad you’re here. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for running off earlier. I just needed—”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I get it.”

“I should have taken that shot.”

I laughed. “Probably.”

He grinned and moved away from the table, leaning back against a row of cabinets on one of the walls. “I have a kid.”

I nodded. “You have a kid.”

Of that, I had no doubt.

Charlie had always taken after Logan. They had the same part in their hair, the one that I couldn’t get to move on her head no matter how hard I tried. They had the same color eyes, a shade of brown similar to my own. Dark. The same shape of their mouth and nose.

And that crooked pinky.

“I don’t even know where to start.” He held up a finger. “Actually, that’s not true. We used condoms.”

“A lot of them,” I agreed, hopping up on the table. With my feet swinging, I shook my head. “Except in the shower.”

“The shower.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, letting the memory come rushing back. “I forgot about the shower.”

Not surprising. The sex we’d had in the shower had been amazing, just not as good as we’d had everywhere else in his hotel suite. Still, I hadn’t forgotten.

Logan had carried me into the shower after hours in bed. We’d both wanted to cool off and wash away the sweat and sex. But after he’d carefully lathered up my skin, I hadn’t been able to resist a long kiss. He’d hoisted me up against the tile and plunged deep, fucking me with abandon until he’d pulled out and shot his release all over my stomach. Soap and water and Logan all mixed together.

Except he hadn’t pulled out soon enough.

“I assume you’ll want a paternity test to be sure,” I said. “We can go up to Kalispell tomorrow if you want. I don’t need to tell Charlie anything until it’s done.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You’re sure she’s mine?”

“She’s yours.”

“Then that’s good enough.”

“I—really?” I blinked. He didn’t want to verify paternity? He just . . . trusted me?

He nodded. “Really.”

“I swear, I tried to replace you, Logan. On my life, I swear it. But the hotel wouldn’t give me your name no matter how much I begged. And you paid cash for your drinks and never mentioned your last name. I tried, but I just . . . didn’t know where to start.”

“It’s not your fault. I believe you.”

The sincerity in his voice made my throat burn. Goddamn it. I was going to cry.

I’d worked so hard not to cry today. I’d fought to keep my emotions in check and my head from spinning out of control. But this was going to make me break.

I wanted so badly for Logan to believe that I hadn’t kept Charlie from him intentionally. The fact that a man like him would trust someone like me without proof meant more than he’d ever know.

“Thank you,” I choked out past the lump in my throat.

“So, um, is Charlie inside with your husband? Or boyfriend?”

The urge to cry disappeared and I barked out a laugh. “Smooth.”

He chuckled. “It’s been a long day for me. Give me a break, will you? This morning I was in New York, then I came to Montana for a business meeting and discovered a daughter. I’m off my game.”

“Fair enough. And no, I’m not married or dating. Charlie is inside asleep. We live with a friend who Charlie calls Gran.”

“Do you have other kids?”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Twenty questions?”

“More like a hundred. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Ask away.”

As much as I would like to learn more about Logan, my questions could wait. I’d tell him about Hazel’s “research” later and then ask the questions I had for myself.

“Let’s start with the basics. What’s your last name?”

“Landry.”

“Thea Landry.” His deep voice saying my name sent a shudder down my back.

He took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. The short sleeves of his polo stretched tight across his biceps. His jeans contoured around his bulging thighs.

God, he is hot. He’d brought a heat wave into my workshop.

Over the years, whenever I’d pictured Logan, he was always in a suit. Whether he was walking down the sidewalk or climbing into a limo, my mental image always had him in an Italian suit.

It was different seeing him in casual clothes, but he was just as handsome. Though his suit held so much power, his jeans and simple white shirt showcased his muscled body better.

And in jeans, Logan didn’t seem so far out of reach.

Not that I had any intention of starting something romantic with Logan again. But for Charlie’s sake, he’d be easier to accept in jeans. I doubted she’d ever seen a man in a suit who wasn’t on television.

Logan cleared his throat before his next question. Did he think it was as hot in here as I did? “My grandmother would cringe that I’m asking, but how old are you?”

“Thirty-one. You?”

“Thirty-three. And when is her birthday?”

“August fifth.” I smiled. “She was ten days late in the heat of summer. I’d never been so miserable in my entire life. Hazel, Charlie’s Gran, rented me a room at the motel because I wouldn’t stop snapping at her to get air conditioning.”

He smiled back. “Charlie. That’s a unique name for a girl.”

“It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Faye Landry. But she hates to be called Charlotte. At four, she declared she was Charlie and that’s all she goes by now. I’m sure you could tell, but she’s a bit of a tomboy. She loves nothing more than to play in the trees or around the lake. She’s always building forts in the woods and replaceing animals to bring home.”

“Hmm.” His eyebrows furrowed and his gaze drifted to the floor.

I waited for another question but it never came. Instead, a heavy silence settled in the workshop, chasing away the heat. My arms broke out in goose bumps as he stared at his shoes.

What was he thinking? Did he not like hearing about her? Charlie was my pride and joy, so I talked about her constantly. Had I said something to spook him? Maybe I’d misread his questions for interest in our daughter. Maybe he was here tonight to say he didn’t want to be a part of her life. That he had no interest in being a dad.

How would I ever explain that to her?

Please, Logan. Just give her a chance.

He finally looked up and whispered, “Do you think she’ll like me?”

The air whooshed out of my lungs and I wanted to cry again. He wanted to know her. Logan wanted Charlie. “She’ll love you.”

It would take some time. Charlie wasn’t outgoing like most of her friends and she was shy when it came to strangers. She’d put Logan under a microscope, making him prove he was genuine. But once she got past the initial hesitation, she’d love him completely.

It would just take a little time.

“Can I meet her?”

I nodded. “Of course. How about tomorrow night? You can come for dinner. That will give me a chance to tell her about you first. She doesn’t do great with surprises.” That was an understatement, but I didn’t want to scare him away.

“Tomorrow.” His face lit up, filling my heart with hope. “I’ll be here.”