The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(6)

Once they crossed the porch and descended its two steps, she turned. “Logan, I’m fine. Please, let me go.”

He stopped and held her in place on the walkway, softening his voice. “I didn’t plan on bumping into you today, you know.”

Claire glanced at an orange VW Beetle at the curb before raising one brow. “You didn’t see my car?”

“I didn’t know that was yours.” He covered a smile because he could picture her tooling around town in the miniature car. Bright and preppy like her, in her turtleneck, corduroys, and fuchsia crewneck. “I figured it belonged to someone on the street.”

Her cheeks flushed bright scarlet. He’d always liked that trait because it made her easy to read. Today was different. She didn’t smile or fidget with her hair. She didn’t stutter. She held her arms stiffly at her sides.

“Claire, what’s with the hostility? Come back inside and let’s catch up. Steffi’s told me about your business, but I’d love to hear how you’re liking it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re exploiting our financial situation as a way to buy my forgiveness for your sister. Well, listen up. I’d rather lose my business than forgive Peyton.”

Logan crossed his arms, the chill in his body having nothing to do with the single-digit temperature. “You’ve changed.”

She huffed. “I’ve wised up. I’m no longer too shy to speak my mind or willing to take a back seat simply to make everyone else happy even when it makes me miserable.”

Her words settled between them like a barbwire fence. He said nothing, hoping she’d take them back. When her gaze didn’t waver, he said, “I always thought you were naturally generous and kind, which was so appealing. Pity to learn it was all an act.”

Her nostrils flared, and those bright eyes darkened with a mix of pain and something else he couldn’t identify. “Just like your sister’s friendship, I guess.”

He hated that Claire’s tongue was now as sharp as a scalpel, although maybe he shouldn’t judge her for it when Peyton’s behavior might well have been the whetstone.

She turned from him and took two quick steps. The next few things happened in slow motion: Rosie skidding on a patch of ice and Claire’s feet going out from under her. She landed with a dull thud, faceup, in a snowdrift.

“Claire!” Logan lurched forward to help her up. “Are you hurt?”

She waved him off, but not before he saw tears shining in her eyes. “Just leave me alone, Logan. Please. Go inside.”

He hesitated, jaw clenched, arms lowering as fists formed at his sides. Every ounce of breeding he’d ever had pushed him to assist her, but her flinty attitude held him at bay. “Fine.”

He turned his back on her and strode to the porch just as Ryan came around the side of the house, carrying an open bag of salt. Ryan took in the scene, scowled at him, and then dropped the salt bag and jogged toward Claire.

Logan watched Claire take Ryan’s hand as he helped her stand. She never once glanced over her shoulder at Logan, but she must’ve known he was waiting on the porch while watching them. Ryan loaded Claire’s bag into her back seat, then closed her door and waved her off.

She pulled from the curb and crept down the residential lane, where kids were building snowmen.

“What the hell, Logan?” Ryan scoffed as he retrieved the discarded salt bag.

“She ordered me to leave her alone.” His lungs now had frostbite from Claire’s chilly new attitude.

Ryan scooped some salt and tossed it across the walkway. “What did you say to upset her?”

“Nothing. I complimented her work. She threw the first barb, and the second. Even then, I tried to help her to her car, but she broke free.” He crossed his arms, newly affronted. “If anyone has the right to feel pissed off, it’s me.”

“Get your head out of your ass.” Ryan hoisted the bag onto his hip. “You know you’re the second-to-last person on the planet she wants to see. She didn’t expect to face you this morning. Give her a break. She and Steffi are under a lot of pressure now, and you’re a life-size reminder of something else that’s painful.”

Logan resented being persona non grata because of what his sister had done. “Well, she’d better get used to seeing Peyton and me around town. Despite what my sister did, she has as much claim on this town as anyone, maybe more.”

Their great-grandfather, William Herbert Prescott, or Duck as Logan had named him because of the way he’d often spoken to kids in a Donald Duck voice, practically founded the town. A Prescott had lived on Lilac Lane for ninety years. Logan should know. In less than two months, he’d be required to attend an annual fund-raiser to celebrate that fact and raise money for the local library’s literacy program.

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pull the Prescott card, buddy. It doesn’t suit you.”

In some ways, it didn’t. He’d rather be admired for his own talent than the long shadow of his family name. While he’d had moderate success, he’d yet to produce a truly noteworthy project. This morning, however, Claire’s dismissal had thrown him out of sorts, although he couldn’t honestly say why it hurt him so much.

It wasn’t like he saw her often. She’d simply been part of his life here, like the rambling mansion his mother and father still called home, and Donna, the aging waitress at the diner who knew to bring him black coffee and coconut cream pie when he sat down, and the sense of peace he knew when kayaking on the Sound during the golden hours. “Sorry. Maybe I should go. Steffi’s likely to chew my head off, too.”