Page 37 of Wilde Secrets

She’d just felt cornered. It had been just like at the gala all over again and she’d panicked.

Harper closed her eyes and took a long breath in, working to calm her heightened senses.

One day at a time.

Had Logan given her any indication that he wasn’t trustworthy?

No, he hadn’t. Not really. Okay, not at all.

Despite her reaction to Cassie’s words, Harper didn’t believe Logan would tell her secret. What was there for him to gain? If he really wanted to profit from her misfortune, he could tell a tabloid, not his sister. Cassie was a fan of Isla, after all. Harper was never in the limelight like her sister, but some of Isla’s fame rubbed off. Plenty of people she had never met knew who she was. She mentally berated herself for being so pessimistic, but something still wasn’t right. He couldn’t be for real. Every time someone showed an interest in her, and they found out who her sister was, they dropped her like a hot potato.

All he’d done was try to help her, even when it inconvenienced him. But it was hard not to forget the past.

“Do you remember I said I played a little football in college?”

She opened her eyes and looked up to find Logan watching her carefully.

“Yes.”

Going by the width of his shoulders and the chiseled torso she’d ogled while he’d chopped wood, he hadn’t lost much condition in the years since he’d played.

“It was a little more than that,” Logan’s voice was low. He hesitated before continuing.

“What happened?” Harper turned to face him, her hip propped against the rock wall, unconsciously mirroring his pose. She was no longer concerned with the people in the park that she could hear talking, kids running around and playing.

Normal life happening nearby.

“When I graduated college I came home for the summer.” He looked down at his hands as he spoke.

Harper reached out and took one of his large hands in her much smaller one, rubbing her fingers over the backs of his knuckles. His fingers are scarred and callused. Evidence of a life of using his hands. Strong hands, and yet he could be so gentle, as he had with Harper.

“Go on.”

“Mason was on leave from the Marines, one of the few times he’d been home since he’d enlisted, and Dan had just finished high school.”

Harper’s brows drew together. “Dan?”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah. He was my youngest brother. A few years older than Cassie.”

Harper nodded, a tight feeling in her chest. This wasn’t a story that had a happy ending.

“Dan took dad’s truck out one night to go to a party with some friends. He’d been drinking, and…” Logan stopped and cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Harper reached out and put a hand on his arm. His strong muscles bunched and then relaxed under her touch.

Logan nodded. “I know. But I want to tell you. Maybe you’ll understand if I do.”

“Alright.” She nodded, but her chest ached in sympathy at the pain written across his face.

“It was raining, and Dan was going too fast. He drove off the road and into a tree.” His voice caught, and he looked down at his hands. “He died instantly, they said.”

Harper blanched. What had Logan thought when he’d seen her car that night? That must have been horrible for him to see.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Logan.”

His smile was sad. “Thanks.” He looked out across the water before he began speaking again. “Dad wasn’t the same afterwards. He blamed himself. With five kids in the family—six if you count our cousin Rhett who’s more like a brother anyway—it was a little chaotic at times. Dad said he’d let Dan down.”

Harper’s stomach twisted. Imagine having a parent who blamed themselves when you did something wrong? She couldn’t help but compare her own father to what Logan was saying.

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