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“Is that any way to greet your fiancée?”
“Grandma—”
Compassion replaced the surprise in his expression. “I’m Logan, not Luke.”
“Don’t try to confuse me, or act like I don’t know what I’m talking about. You think I can’t see what’s going on here?” She was working herself up into a full blown rant. “Whatever it is that’s got you two upset with each other, you need to work it out. I can’t stand to see this distance between you two.”
Joy gave Logan an apologetic grimace as she stepped forward to put an arm around her grandma’s shoulders. “Gram, Logan is not Luke. Luke is in Nashville, and we are no longer engaged.”
She ignored her, stepping forward to point a finger at Logan. “Marriage is work, young man, just like this ranch is. And your farm. You get out of it what you put into it, and avoiding each other is not the answer. How do you expect to make your marriage work if you can’t find time to spend with her now? Can’t you see how lonely she is putzing around the house all day?”
Sheesh. After today, she’d be avoiding him like crazy.
And vice-versa judging by his expression and the way his fingers strangled the lead line in his hand.
Still, something in her grandmother’s words revealed she was wavering between the fiction in her mind and the reality in front of her. She’d mentioned Logan’s farm, which meant on some level, she recognized he wasn’t Luke.
“Gram? We should let Logan get back to work,” Joy suggested gently. “Grandpa has lots of work for him today, and then he has to go back to his own farm to get chores done there.”
The light blue gaze that met hers sparked with awareness, and then shadowed with dismay. Joy quickly hugged her, whispering, “It’s okay. Come on, now. Sweet Pea is waiting for us to walk to the pond.”
Gram nodded, her head buried against her granddaughter’s shoulder. Joy mouthed, I’m sorry, to Logan before guiding her in the direction of the pond.
Once they reached the privacy of the woods, frail shoulders shook beneath her arm, and her grandmother broke down.
“I hate this,” she sobbed. “Why is this happening to me?”
Joy had no answer to give to explain the horrible disease slowly robbing her grandma of her life. Swallowing hard against the lump lodged in her throat, she blinked against the tears burning her eyes and simply held the woman she loved like a mother.
The day went from bad to worse, and Joy was mentally exhausted by the time she tucked her grandmother into bed shortly after seven. The older woman’s cognitively aware times were weighed down by depression over the dementia, and the broken engagement.
No matter how many times Joy tried to explain things just hadn’t worked out between her and Luke and it was okay, her grandmother was convinced it was her fault. That Joy moving back to help with her illness was the cause of the break-up.
The only times a glimmer of happiness appeared was when her memory slipped and she talked of the upcoming wedding and the arrangements that still needed to be made.
Dress fittings. Cake tasting. Picking out flowers. Invitations. Table centerpieces.
It broke Joy’s heart. Not because she’d already done those things herself only to have them wasted, but she felt bad about not including her in those preparations because of the many states between them at the time. Now, she would give anything to keep the smile on her grandmother’s face for more than a fleeting moment.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t like she could create a pretend wedding for Gram to help plan.
Toward the end of the afternoon, though, that exact idea refused to go away despite the fact it was absolutely crazy.
It stuck with her through a couple of very…um, interesting dreams during the night, and all through Saturday morning while she took care of the barn chores on Logan’s day off. It was her day off, too; one of the three days a week they had their outside nurse, Bonnie, come in to give her and grandpa a break, but she didn’t mind the physical work. It took the edge off her nerves as she solidified a plan.
Jenny and Tara were due out for their weekly trail ride, but Joy texted them to go ahead without her when they arrived at ten. Then she saddled a newer rescue palomino gelding named Buster, and rode out at an easy canter.
It was a little after nine-thirty when she reached Logan’s farm. His old truck sat in the yard halfway between an impressive two story brick house, and the large barn that desperately needed a coat of paint. The weathered wood was so gray, she couldn’t tell what color it used to be.
A small herd of cattle grazed in a field in the back, and a full wagon of hay waited to be unloaded near the open double doors of the barn. She shifted her attention around the yard as she rode closer, debating where to begin her search. The unexpected sound of music drew her gaze back to the barn.
Not a radio, she realized, but a guitar.
The melody kept stopping and starting over again, along with the faint sound of a low, male voice singing. Curiosity had her straining to catch the words as she dismounted and wound Buster’s reins around an old hitching post outside the barn doors. It had to be Logan, but her mind couldn’t quite picture the man she knew playing the chords her ears heard.
She walked inside slowly, quietly, almost afraid to make a sound that would cause him to stop before she could confirm the phenomenon with her own eyes. Standing beneath the opening to the hayloft, she could definitely make out Logan’s voice, and listened with amazed wonder as he continued to test lyrics with the melody.
Who knew Logan Walsh could sing?
