Chapter Four
Logan got back to his apartment at seven, having put in a full day. He’d gotten up at six thirty to hit the gym for a workout, then gone to several houses over the course of the day. All in all, the day had flown by and he couldn’t complain.
After a quick shower, he changed into a soft gray sweatshirt and navy track pants, then stretched out on his living room couch to relax for a few minutes before deciding which movie to watch that night. A few rays of moonlight shone through the far windows, slanting lines of light onto his dark brown walls. He pillowed his arms behind his head and considered his current life.
Things were fine. No drama, no angst, everything on a pretty even keel. His quiet life kept him busy, he helped people, and he was doing honest work and getting paid decently for it. His schedule was his to manage, his boss treated him well, and his clients, for the most part, were respectful and glad to have him around. It was the simple, quiet life he’d once longed for, and grateful he had now.
Being on his own was what was best for him. He almost never thought of Rachel anymore, which was how it should be. She was out there living her life, and he was living his. He dated sporadically, never letting it get too deep or complicated. Yes, women approached him, but except for an occasional night here and there, he preferred his solitude. He’d carefully crafted his post–New Orleans life that way. Fewer ties meant fewer people to hurt or disappoint.
He had friends here, a small handful which suited him fine; he’d never been comfortable as part of a big social circle anyway. His older brother had married right out of college and gone to live near his wife’s family out in Portland; Shane only came to Aspen once a year now, usually in summer, when his four kids were off from school. Long ago, Logan had made peace with the fact that they led very different lives. Sometimes he thought of his dad and missed him, but that was normal, especially around the holidays.
Just the other day, on Christmas, Logan commented how he couldn’t believe it’d been twenty-three years now since his dad had passed. His mom had sighed and nodded . . . She also keenly felt every one of those twenty-three Christmases she’d spent without him. She’d been so devoted to Wyatt Carter that even though a car crash had left her a widow at forty-two, she’d never married again.
Logan sighed and closed his eyes. His mom. The cancer seemed to be winning. She wasn’t keeping any weight on, and her eyes were tired. The doctors tried to maintain a positive outlook, but deep down, he knew better. Would she live to see another Christmas? He had a sinking feeling the answer was no, which was why he’d tried to make it extra special for her this year. But he refused to ruminate on that. Annmarie Carter was a fighter. She’d fight to the last, whenever that would be.
Mercifully, as if to distract him from speculating on that any further, his cell phone rang and he gladly lifted it from the wooden coffee table. A glance at the caller ID made his brows lift, curiosity sparking. “Carter,” he answered, as he always did.
“Hi,” came her voice, always so elegant yet friendly at the same time. The people’s princess. “It’s Tess Harrison.”
“So my caller ID says,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I hate to bother you in the evening,” she said, “but I’m trying not to panic.” Only then did he pick up on a note of distress in her tone. “I have a—a situation here, and I don’t know what to do. You were the first person I thought to call. Unless I should just call the fire department.”
“What?” Logan bolted upright into a sitting position. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what I did.” She sounded embarrassed, as if admitting the words were torturous. “I don’t think the house is on fire . . . but it’s filled up with smoke. I—”
“Get out of the house!” he shouted. Alarm flooded him as he jumped to his feet. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine, I’m out in front of the house,” she said. “I lit a fire in the fireplace for the first time, and within five minutes, the house filled with smoke. I grabbed Bubbles and got out. I’m surprised you can’t hear the smoke alarms going off.”