Page 48 of One More Chance
“It's okay,” Charlotte whispered into his back.
“This is bad,” Logan said. “I lost my cool. I don’t need something like this hitting the tabloids right now.”
“Turn around and hug me, Lolo,” Charlotte said. “There’s nothing we can do about it right now.”
Logan smiled. He knew Charlotte was a nicknamer, and this was the first time she had given one to him. He turned and wrapped his arms around her small waist, pulling her in close to him. She rested her cheek on his chest, and he bent down to inhale her essence of citrus and sandalwood. He scooped her up in his arms, wrapping the blanket around her. His feet were freezing as he carried her back to the truck and set her on the passenger seat. He turned the key and cranked the heat, so it was on full blast. “We could always get back in and warm up before we go,” he gestured toward the hot spring with his chin.
Charlotte looked at her watch. “Shit. Tabitha!”
Logan pulled on his jeans. He checked his phone, 1:30. “Don’t worry babe. If the roads are good and we don't hit any traffic jams, we should be able to get Tabitha on time.”
Logan watched from the side of the truck as Charlotte frantically shimmied into her jeans and sweater and piled her hair up on her head into a messy bun.
“Traffic jams?” she smiled as she hopped into the passenger seat.
“Stranger things have happened,” he grinned. “We’ve had avalanches this late in the year before. We could be stranded out here for days.”
They headed down the bumpy logging road. Logan saw the tire marks where the teenagers had parked their car. “Their car must not have been able to make it up the rough road.” He pointed to the tracks. They had walked the high-altitude portion of the road, which explains how they were able to sneak up on Logan and Charlotte.
“We weren't doing anything wrong, Logan,” Charlotte said. Her body swaying as they crept over the pothole-riddled logging road. She was sophisticated and smart but naïve about the tabloids. “I threatened a bunch of teenagers,” Logan said. “I'll be lucky if the police aren't waiting for me by the time I get home.”
Logan was surprised when he heard Charlotte laugh.
“Do you remember where we are? They’re not going to press any charges. They're tough country boys. If anything, by the time we get back to Chance Rapids the story is going to be that they fought you – and won. You know that right?”
He wondered if Charlotte could be right. “The tabloids would have a heyday with it though. Me, naked, with a beautiful stranger, in the middle of the woods.”
Charlotte giggled. “It feels like it should be the other way around, doesn't it? I mean, we got busted by a bunch of teenagers, acting like teenagers.”
Logan chuckled, “Well, when you put it that way...”
“I really wouldn't worry about it,” Charlotte said. “It was pretty hot watching you stand up for me like that.” She reached over and squeezed his thigh.
Logan felt the redness rise in his cheeks. He had been prepared to beat those boys into a bloody pulp. Despite being a professional hockey player, he wasn't a violent man. On the ice, he was a technical player, not an enforcer. He avoided brawls and couldn't remember the last time he had been physical off the ice. But if one of those boys had laid a hand on Charlotte, his whole hockey team wouldn’t have been able to stop him from sending all them to the hospital – or the graveyard.
He reached over to hold Charlotte's hand. Aside from the Peeping Toms, it had been the perfect day. He sighed and pretended to focus on the road.
He had started to tell Charlotte about the arrangement with Serena when the boys showed up. Part of him was glad he couldn’t tell her because it might have ruined the best day of his life.
The colorful houses of Chance Rapids came into view as they rounded the corner. The sun was peeking through the clouds, a lone beam lighting up the town. “It sure is pretty from here,” Charlotte mused.
“The town does have its charms.”
“Hey, Logan...” He noticed the slight waver in her voice, was she going to ask him to finish the story he had started?
He cleared his throat, “Yes?”
“The letter that you wrote...” Her voice trailed off.
“What about it?”
“Where did you mail it?”
“I didn't mail it,” he sighed. Charlotte reached and turned down the radio.
“What do you mean?”
“I just left it in your mailbox.”
