A Second Chance at Crimson Ranch. Michelle Major
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“What do you think you’re doing, punk?”
The kid flailed, arms and legs flying as he tried to fight his way out of Logan’s grasp. Logan figured he had more than a foot plus a good fifty pounds on the boy. It wasn’t difficult to capture his wrists before shoving him into the wall.
“L-let go of me,” the boy yelled.
“Not until you answer my question.”
“What’s it look like?” The kid’s tone was surprisingly belligerent, but Logan felt a tremor of fear slide down his arms. “I’m sending a message.”
“Who’s it for?” Logan asked, although he could guess the answer.
“Olivia Wilder,” the kid said with a sneer. “She’s the biggest bi—”
“Watch it,” Logan cautioned, pressing the boy a little harder against the wall. “She happens to be a friend of mine. What’s your beef with Olivia?”
The boy’s thin shoulders tensed and he was silent so long that Logan thought he might not answer. “My mom took off with her husband,” the kid finally mumbled. He deflated so suddenly, Logan had to practically hold him up so he didn’t sink to the floor.
Logan sighed as the situation became clear. “What’s your name?”
“Jordan.” The answer came through gritted teeth.
“How old are you, Jordan?”
“I’ll be thirteen in two weeks.”
“Jordan, I’m going to let go of your wrists now so we can talk man-to-man. But I’m warning you that if you try to run away, I’ll catch you and it won’t be pretty.”
Slowly, Logan released the boy’s arms. He backed up a couple of steps and waited for Jordan to turn toward him.
“Are you going to call the sheriff?”
“Not yet. I’d like to see if we can work this out ourselves.”
Jordan picked up the headphones Logan had knocked to the ground and placed them around his neck, keeping his gaze firmly away from Logan.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Logan said finally.
Jordan’s head shot up and his eyes blazed. “Olivia is the one who should be sorry. My dad says that if she’d been more of a woman, her husband wouldn’t have needed to go after Mom.”
“Have you heard from her since she left?”
“She’s called a couple of times.” Jordan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “She’s in Arizona. Told me she loves me and that I can visit her over the summer. My dad yells, then begs her to come back. I don’t care if she ever comes back, and I’m not going to see her.”
“I don’t blame you,” Logan said quietly. “But it’s not fair to blame Olivia. She didn’t force your mother to leave.”
“But my dad—”
“I understand what your dad is saying. He’s angry. This must be really hard on him.”
“He sits on the couch in the dark every night. I can’t even get him interested in any hockey games, and he loves hockey.”
“He loves your mom, and he’s hurting. I imagine you are, too.”
“I don’t care about her,” Jordan said, his voice an angry hiss. “It wasn’t like she was a good cook or anything. I can heat up frozen dinners myself.”
Logan felt a mix of sympathy and admiration for the kid. He remembered what it was like to put on a tough attitude to mask the real pain and how much trouble that could lead to. He pointed to the letters on the wall. “You’re going to have to clean that up.”
“I’ll be late for school.”
“Enough time this morning to write out one word but not much else?”
Jordan glared at him.
“Come back after school. Wear old clothes because you’ll be repainting that wall.”
“What if I don’t show?”
“Crimson is a small town, buddy. It won’t be hard to track you down.” Logan picked up the can of spray paint and the flashlight. The room was beginning to brighten as morning dawned more fully. “I’m going to be working on renovations for this building, and I’ll come looking for you if there’s any vandalism while I’m here. But I’m going to need an extra hand for the small stuff. You interested in making some money?”
The kid’s eyes widened. “You’re going to give me a job after I did this?”
“Give me your dad’s number and I’ll run it by him. I’ll have an answer by the afternoon. We all make mistakes.” Logan smiled as he repeated Olivia’s words from yesterday. “You get this chance on one condition. You need to leave Olivia alone. Your mom leaving wasn’t her fault.”
“Some people are saying—”
Logan cut off Jordan’s words with a wave of his hand. “Some people are idiots. Don’t be one.”
“Fine,” the kid said on a huff of breath.
Logan held out his hand. “Give me your headphones.”
Jordan shook his head. “No way. These are Beats. Do you know how much they cost?”
“I do.” Logan took a step forward. “You can have them back once the wall is clean.”
Jordan muttered a few choice curse words under his breath but handed over the headphones. He picked up his backpack from the floor. “School lets out at three. I’ll be here after that.”
“See you then.” Logan took a deep breath as he watched the kid disappear through the doorway. He’d come back to Crimson for his brother’s wedding and now he had a job in town and a potential delinquent on his hands.
For someone who prided himself on keeping his personal connections to a minimum, today was a big departure. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to offer Jordan work, other than recognizing a boy who was carrying a lot of emotional baggage on his shoulders and who might need an outlet for some of that pent-up anger and frustration. Maybe if someone had given Logan a little help years ago, his life wouldn’t have gone off track.
He certainly felt out of his comfort zone right now.
He took some measurements and made notes about the state of the progress before heading to the address Olivia had given him. He walked the few blocks to her house near the center of town, hoping the morning cold would clear his muddled head.
The house was situated on a block of renovated Victorian two-stories. It had a large front porch. The exterior had been painted a sage green with white trim and shutters framing each of the windows. As a kid, he’d walked these streets with his twin sister, imagining which of the homes they’d want to move to. Anything would have been an improvement over the dilapidated farmhouse outside of town they’d grown up in. His oldest brother, Jake, still owned the land, but the house had burned down in a fire a few years after their mother’s death.
As he stepped onto the porch, the front door opened. Olivia smiled nervously and gestured him inside. “I saw you coming up the sidewalk,” she explained quickly. “Not that I was watching or waiting. I happened to be near the window...watering a plant...and you were...well, come on in.”
He smiled as color crept into her cheeks and felt the anxiety his memories produced slip away. She wore a cream-colored turtleneck sweater and slim pants that made her legs look a mile long. Her hair was pulled back again, and he realized he wanted to see it down around her shoulders. To know whether it was straight or held a bit of curl, if it all would feel as soft in his hands as the bit he’d fingered during their dance.
“Good morning,” he said