Page 67 of More Than Meets the Eye

Jack pounded Logan’s shoulder blade as he invited himself into the conversation. “Logan’s from Pecan Gap. Comes by every few nights for a game of cards.”

Wishing he could muzzle the chatty liveryman, Logan restrained the glare itching to burn a hole in Jack’s forehead and shrugged. “The Gap’s a little too tame for my taste. I prefer the entertainment in these parts.”

“Yeah, he’s taken a real shine to us.”

One of the graybeards at the checkers table snickered. “Good one, Jack.”

Logan bit back a retort. He was seriously regretting striking up a friendship with this yahoo.

“Well, Ben Franklin certainly has more to offer an enterprising young man like yourself than Pecan Gap.” Benson sold the town as if he were the mayor. “And speaking of enterprising . . .” He nodded toward Shamgar. “You wouldn’t be interested in selling that animal, would you? We don’t see too many beasts of his size in Delta County.”

Jack Simmons raised a brow. “I, uh, think this might be a bit too much horse for you, Lawrence.” The livery owner had lost his irreverent humor, hesitating over making his recommendation as if worried about the teacher taking offense. Miss Gilliam had been right. Benson had clout in this town.

The rotund man chuckled off the warning with a wave of his handkerchief. “I’m not asking for myself, Mr. Simmons. Mercy! How ridiculous would that be? I’m sure I couldn’t even mount the creature. I won’t be trading in my buggy any time soon.”

Jack grinned, obviously relieved that no offense had been taken.

“No, it’s my nephew I’m thinking of. The boy’s nearly as tall as Mr. Fowler here, and he loves to race.” Benson leaned forward and winked at Logan. “I spied you on the road earlier. Running like the very wind, you were.”

Logan kept his mien pleasant despite the fact that this weasel watching him while he’d been too caught up in his own head to notice churned his stomach. Benson must’ve been traveling on the crossroad that led from the schoolhouse. Logan had been so stirred up over his conversation with Eva that he’d paid little attention to his surroundings until that farmer had passed him.

“Shamgar’s a real goer, all right,” Logan said. He gave his gelding a pat. “But he’s not for sale.”

“That’s a shame. I would have been the boy’s favorite uncle for certain.” Benson shrugged and stuffed his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

Not unless his trying involved drowning a young woman. Logan could blame him all day for that. But of course, he kept that accusation to himself.

“You have a good eye for horseflesh, sir.” Logan tugged the brim of his hat. “I’ll take your offer as a compliment.”

“As it was intended.” Benson smiled, then turned to the liveryman. “Now, Simmons, how about that bench spring?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Jack said. “Should have it to you by the end of the day.”

As Jack followed the teacher out to where he’d parked his buggy, Logan took the initiative to lead Shamgar to a back stall. Away from the teasing. The noise. The need to pretend.

In the dim recesses of the stable, Logan inhaled to settle his nerves and his mind. The familiar aromas of hay, manure, and horse liniment filled his nostrils as the voices faded. He moved to unbuckle Shamgar’s cinch and eyed the schoolmaster over the horse’s back. Benson was leaving, speaking to each fellow as he went, even going so far as to raise a hand in farewell to Logan, his gaze finding him at the back of the livery as if he’d been fully aware of his location the entire time.

A shiver snaked down Logan’s nape, but he grinned and raised a hand in return.

That was not someone Logan would choose to sit across from at the poker table. Too calculated and ruthless. Even if Logan hadn’t been aware of Christie Gilliam’s story, Benson’s bearing and mannerisms proclaimed his traits. This was not a man you crossed.

He probably had the best behaved students in the county.

But it was his intent toward Miss Gilliam that caused Logan the most concern. Pleasing his pupils’ parents would keep the schoolmaster in check in the classroom, but Earl hadn’t seemed particularly distraught about his stepdaughter’s disappearance. The only scuttlebutt Logan had picked up the last two weeks over poker games was a comment or two about the idiot girl who had finally run off. No one seemed surprised by the news. Some figured she had tired of dodging the backside of Earl’s hand, while others speculated she’d wandered into the woods and was too dull to find her way home. The marshal’s fliers were the only evidence that anyone harbored a concern for her whereabouts, and those could have been posted as easily at Benson’s behest as Earl’s. If Benson was behind them, that meant no one would notice, or even care, if the girl never returned.

Logan really needed to discuss the situation with Seth. Fine-tune the plan. Nail down the specifics. If Seth would even give him the time of day once Eva revealed Logan’s true agenda.

Logan sighed and lifted Shamgar’s head from the water barrel. “Not too much, now.” He distracted his horse by slipping his bridle off to give him a break from the bit. “We don’t want you cramping. Enough things have gone wrong today already.”

Eva. Were things really over between them, or was there hope for reconciliation? Logan grimaced as he hefted the saddle from Shamgar’s back.

Lord, I don’t want things to be over. She means too much to me. But I’m stuck. Gaining justice for my mother means hurting Eva’s family, and letting go of my quest means hurting my own family. What am I supposed to do?

No answer spoke to him from the rafters as he slid off the saddle blanket and started rubbing the gelding down with an old towel. Instead, pieces of his conversation with Eva came zinging back to land like mosquitoes on his skin. Pricking and stinging and leaving an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

Have you asked your mother what she wants?

Logan grabbed the back of his neck. So what if he hadn’t asked her outright? She was so withdrawn, she barely spoke to him at all. She’d just stared out the window of his aunt’s house and knitted baby blankets for the poor box at church. He’d even bought her an apple tree sapling with some of his first winnings, hoping she would perk up and find purpose in gardening again, but she’d made him return it. Said she had no use for it.