Page 69 of More Than Meets the Eye

Logan slipped the feed bag over Shamgar’s nose and fit the strap behind his ears. “Not tonight. Got some unfinished business back at my place.”

“That business got something to do with a female?”

Logan’s head whipped around.

Jack chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked. There’s only one thing that gets a man worked up enough to race his horse to a lather when there’s no prize money at the end of the line—a woman.”

“Yeah, well, this particular female is worth the exercise.” Logan settled the saddle blanket back into place. Shamgar had rested enough, and Logan was more than ready to be away from the nosy liveryman.

“Got it that bad, do ya? No wonder yer turning us down for poker. The little woman’s got her reformin’ hooks in ya already.” Jack shook his head. “Pity.” He grabbed the saddle from where it straddled the half wall on the far side of Shamgar, then came around to swing it up onto the gelding’s back. “Just remember, you know where to come for medication when she ties your guts in a knot. Guaranteed to unravel what ails ya and erase troubles from the mind.”

“And create a few dozen more,” Logan grumbled beneath his breath.

Jack must have heard, for he chuckled as he sauntered down the center aisle toward the front of the livery.

Logan patted Shamgar’s neck. “Time to get out of here, old boy.” He had changes to make. A life path to renavigate.

He had to get right with God before he could get right with Eva.

He removed the feed bag, cinched the saddle, and placed the bit back in Shamgar’s mouth. Then, without more than a wave to Jack and the rest of the gathering, he led his horse away from the livery and back to the road. Back toward Eva and the Hamiltons.

When Ben Franklin lay a handful of miles behind him, Logan slowed Shamgar to a walk and returned his thoughts to where they’d been before Jack had interrupted.

“I screwed up.” Not the most elegant prayer ever uttered, but he figured it needed to be said. “Sorry, Lord.” And he was. Down to his bones.

He ached with remorse. With self-derision. He’d listened to the serpent, just like Eve had so long ago in that garden. He’d chosen to ignore the Lord’s instructions and instead focused on the message that matched what he wanted to hear. You’re not seeking revenge. You’re seeking justice. An eye for an eye. It’s your right.

How conveniently he’d forgotten Jesus’s teaching of turning the other cheek, of doing good to those who persecute.

“I need to make this right, Lord. With the Hamiltons. With Eva. But what do I do about Mama?” His throat clogged at the thought of his mother alone in her room, closing herself off from the world.

Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

The words of Jesus echoed in his mind, a pointed reminder that it was Logan’s job to live for God, and God’s job to take care of the rest. Letting go didn’t come easy, not where his mama was concerned, but all his efforts to fix the situation thus far had failed. Time to bring in the big guns, the ones he should have engaged from the start.

“Help her, Lord.” Logan squinted against the sun as his face lifted heavenward. “I don’t know how.” His fingers tightened on the reins. “Heal her heart, and show me how to be the son she needs.”

An idea whispered into his heart. He should write to his mother and apologize for being so consumed with his selfish schemes that he’d left her alone and neglected. Eva had recognized his mistake from the very start, and like a blockhead, he’d waved off her concerns as if she didn’t know what she was talking about.

He had a lot to atone for. With his mother. With the Hamiltons. With Eva.

His head brimming with thoughts of letters, apologies, and reparations, Logan clicked his tongue at Shamgar to increase their pace. Yet when they turned down the lane to his unfinished cabin, all higher-plane thoughts narrowed to the sharpened point of the physical.

Someone had been in his yard. The sawhorses he’d set up by the lumber pile were missing.

Logan moved the reins to his left hand and reached for his revolver with his right. His knees tensed, sending Shamgar’s ears pricking forward at attention.

He scanned the area. Nothing else seemed amiss. He turned his attention to the cabin, and his gut tightened. A dark shadow loomed in the kitchen. Not moving, just . . . waiting.

Logan dismounted, careful to keep his gaze as well as his gun trained on the doorway. Still no movement inside. He jogged closer, until the shadow took shape.

A man. Definitely a man. Seated.

Odd, since Logan had no furniture.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Holster your weapon, Fowler. This ain’t that kind of ambush.”