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Everyone spoke at once. Calmly, Logan answered each question, and when he’d finished, the mood around the table was considerably lighter.
A tingling awareness at the back of her neck told Abby that Logan was near. With a sweeping action he swung his foot over the long bench and joined her.
He focused on Tate, sitting across from Abby. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you again,” he said with stark unfriendliness.
“Logan, please!” Abby hissed.
The two men eyed each other like bears who’d violated each other’s territory. Tate had no romantic interest in her, Abby was convinced of that, but Logan was openly challenging him and Tate wouldn’t walk away from such blatant provocation.
Unaware of the dangerous undercurrents swirling around the table, Dick Snyder sauntered over and slapped Logan on the back.
“We owe a debt of thanks to Tate here,” he informed Logan cheerfully. “He stepped in for you when you were gone. He batted in the winning run.”
Logan and Tate didn’t so much as blink. “Tate’s been doing a lot of that for me lately, isn’t that right, Abby?”
Wrenching her gaze from him, Abby stood and, with as much dignity and self-confidence as she could muster, walked out of the restaurant and went home alone.
The phone was ringing when she walked into the apartment. Abby let it ring. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t even want to know who’d called.
—
“Abby, would you take the bread out of the oven?” her mother asked, walking out to the patio.
“Okay.” Abby turned off the broiler and pulled out the cookie sheet, on which slices of French bread oozed with melted butter and chopped garlic. Her enthusiasm for this birthday celebration was nil.
The doorbell caught her by surprise. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked her mother, who’d returned to the kitchen.
“Not that I know of. I’ll get it.”
Abby was placing the bread slices in a warming basket when she heard her mother’s surprised voice.
Turning, Abby looked straight at Logan.
Six
A shocked expression crossed Logan’s face. “Abby.” He took a step inside the room and paused.
“Hello, Logan.” A tense silence ensued as Abby primly folded her hands.
“I’ll check the chicken,” Glenna Carpenter murmured discreetly as she hurried past them.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Abby forced a lightness into her voice. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. For that matter, neither had Abby, but she doubted either would admit as much.
Logan handed her a wrapped package. “I wanted your mother to give you this. But since you’re here—happy birthday.”
A small smile parted her trembling lips as Abby accepted the brightly wrapped gift. He had come to her parents’ home to deliver this, but he hadn’t expected her to be there.
“Thank you.” She continued to hold it.
“I, uh, didn’t expect to see you.” He stated the obvious, as though he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Where else would I be on my birthday?”
Logan shrugged. “With Tate.”
Abby released a sigh of indignation. “I thought I’d explained that I’m not involved with Tate. We’re friends, nothing more.”
She shook her head. They’d gone over this before. Another argument wouldn’t help. Abby figured she’d endured enough emotional turmoil in the past few weeks. She still hadn’t spoken to Tate about telling Logan the truth. But she couldn’t, not with Tate feeling as sensitive as he did about the whole thing.
