Page 76 of More Than Meets the Eye

“What?” The question emerged from Logan and Zacharias with perfect synchronicity. Zacharias scowled at Logan as if affronted by the harmony. Logan grinned. Nice to know they could agree on something from time to time.

“If the shooter was Benson,” Seth said, oblivious to the tension between the other two occupants of the room, “then he knows where Christie is. Which means she’s no longer safe here. After we visit the doc, we can stop by the church and ask the Clems to take Christie and Evangeline in for a few days. Harder to ambush them if they’re in town. Too many witnesses.”

Logan nodded. “And with the girls out of harm’s way, we can take the offensive.”

Zacharias crossed his arms over his chest. “Any idea how we’re gonna do that when we still ain’t got any proof that Benson’s the one behind this?”

“Think of it like a poker game,” Logan said, giving Zacharias a look he knew the other man would comprehend. “Our opponent’s getting impatient. Taking chances. Telegraphing his next moves. But he still thinks he’s smarter than us. So we use that overconfidence against him. Change up our game play. Do the unexpected.”

A slow smile creased Zacharias Hamilton’s face, and Logan decided that having this man as an ally was much preferable to facing him as an opponent.

31

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Evangeline’s belly clenched at the sight of the red welt on Logan’s right side. The doctor’s wife was smearing it with a healthy layer of salve.

The sneak had waited for her to leave to set up their lodging with Mrs. Clem before seeking out medical attention. On purpose, no doubt. Hiding his injury from her. Not wanting her to worry.

Well, if the two of them were going to share a future, they had to share their worries as well. Evangeline lifted her chin. If Mrs. Clem hadn’t already been in conversation with Miss Abingdon, the Sunday school teacher, Evangeline would probably still be at the parsonage, trapped by the talkative preacher’s wife. Completely unaware of her man’s injury. Unacceptable.

Logan twisted his head to look at her. “It’s just a scratch, Eva. Nothing to get worked up about.”

“Worked up?” Evangeline stomped closer. “Logan Fowler, you have yet to see me worked up.”

“I’ll, uh, let you two converse in private.” The doctor’s wife closed the salve tin, and with twitching lips and dancing eyes, exited the examination room.

Logan turned to face her as he lowered his shirt back into place. Slowly enough to make sure he didn’t bump that scratch. Slowly enough to give her a lovely view of strong muscles that carried not an inch of excess paunchiness.

“Look, Eva . . .” The shirt fabric fell into place, obscuring the last bit of exposed skin.

Oh, right. She was perturbed with him. She stiffened her spine and marched straight to the table where he perched. Muscled torso or not, she had a bone to pick.

“No more secrets.” She jabbed her finger into the hollow of his left shoulder. “Isn’t that what you said?”

He raised a wary brow. “Yes . . .”

“Well, that includes injuries and scrapes and scratches.” She jabbed him again, but he was ready for the attack this time and grabbed her finger.

She jerked backward, but he held tight, tugging her closer until only the thinnest sliver of air separated them. She drew in a breath, shrinking the buffer even further.

His gaze pinned her in place with a heat that made her toes tingle. Slowly, he released her finger and placed both hands at her waist. “I’m fine, Eva.” He was so close, so warm, so blessedly alive.

She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “I know. I just . . . I don’t want you to hide things from me.” She forced her attention back to his face. “Even little things.”

“Little things, huh?” He grinned at her. “Like the fact that I know your brother’s last name isn’t Hamilton, but Mitchell, and that he’s the son of one of the most famous riverboat gamblers of all time?”

Her heart pounded. “He told you?” Zach never shared that secret with anyone. She wouldn’t know it herself if she hadn’t quizzed him about the monogram on his card case a few years ago. Even then, all he’d given her was the name—Jedidiah Mitchell. It had been Seth who’d explained the significance.

“Yep. It came up when I refused to play cards with him.”

Everything in her stilled. “You . . . refused?” Hope fluttered so fiercely in her belly, her knees took to trembling.

Thankfully, Logan held on tight—steadying her, supporting her. His lips curved into a self-deprecating grin. “Let’s just say the Good Lord got my attention and jabbed my conscience with a red-hot poker.”

Evangeline tried unsuccessfully to subdue a smile. “Sounds painful.”

“Yep. But effective.” He lifted a hand from her waist and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You were right, Eva. About all of it. In fact, once we get everyone settled tonight, I’m going to write my mother a long letter to explain my change of heart and ask what I can do to help her. I’ll throw a few apologies in there . . . tell her about you.”

Heat flooded Evangeline’s cheeks. She glanced away. “Me?”