Crazy Little Thing Called Love (40 page)

He was facing a wooden front door—not a firing squad.

True. But behind the door were Vanessa's parents. Once he rang the doorbell, he might have a door slammed in his face or be forced to endure a well-aimed, double-barrel verbal barrage from the Hollisters.

No sense in delaying the inevitable.

The chimes had barely faded before the door swung open. Mr. Hollister, looking thinner and grayer, greeted him with a brief “Hello, Logan” and an outstretched hand.

A handshake—that was better than having a door slammed in his face.

Logan followed his former father-in-law into the living room, bracing himself to meet Vanessa's mother—but he and Mr. Hollister were the only ones there.

“Sit down, Logan.” Mr. Hollister motioned to the couch. “Mrs. Hollister won't be joining us tonight.”

Logan unbuttoned his coat, mindful that the older man hadn't offered to take it, or to hang it up for him. It appeared he would have only a brief meeting with Mr. Hollister. “I'm sorry I won't have a chance to say hello to her.”

“I thought it was best.” Vanessa's father settled into a leather recliner, but Logan had no impression that the older man relaxed. “I'm unclear as to why you wanted to talk with us.”

“Colonel Hollister, the first thing I want to do is to apologize for hurting your daughter. To tell you that I'm sorry our marriage ended with a divorce.” Logan sat straight and tall, maintaining eye contact with his former father-in-law. “I've regretted what happened every day since Vanessa and I walked away from each other.”

His apology was met with a tilt of Mr. Hollister's head and a slight raise of his gray eyebrows. Logan would keep talking, then.

“And I also want to say I've never stopped loving Vanessa. I'm not the same man I was eight years ago—I'm not even the same man that I was six months ago. I've come to ask your permission to marry Vanessa again.”

His request seemed to plunge into a silence where there was no echo. There was certainly no response from Mr. Hollister. The man didn't even acknowledge he'd heard the last statement.

“I also wanted to apologize to you, sir, and to Mrs. Hollister, if she was here. I know eloping with Vanessa the first time was wrong.”

“That's all well and good, Logan. But all of this is history.”

Had anything he said met with Vanessa's father's approval? Logan had no idea. But he had to keep going.

“I still love Vanessa. I want to reconcile with her, if she'll still have me. I've never stopped loving her. But before I say anything to her, I wanted to do the right thing this time. I wanted to come and talk to you . . . and to Mrs. Hollister. I'd like your permission to marry your daughter. Again.”

Mr. Hollister rose to his feet, coming to stand before Logan, who rose to meet him.

“My daughter's heart was broken when your marriage ended, Logan. I'm not saying you were solely responsible for what happened. But how do I know you won't hurt my daughter again? Why should I believe you're a changed man, Logan?”

“Fair enough, sir.” Logan closed his eyes, imagining standing before God's mercy seat—undeserving of grace, but desiring it all the same. It was the same with this man, the father of the woman he'd walked away from. He didn't deserve mercy—but he needed it.

“When I married Vanessa the first time, I thought I was helping her—but I realize now I was being selfish. Yes, I loved her, but helping her was more about finding a way to get what I wanted.” Logan struggled to express everything he'd learned about himself. “I said I was changed . . . but I know I'm not perfect. I don't want to hurt Vanessa ever again. But I'm wise enough to know I will. When we had problems last time, we never asked for help. That won't happen this time. With God's help, your daughter won't suffer a broken heart again because of my words or actions.”

The room seemed to pulse with the force of his words. Mr. Hollister's face might as well have been carved in stone. The cuckoo clock began to chime the hour, the faint notes of “Edelweiss” playing in the background. If this was a waiting game, Logan wasn't certain who would win.

“I've always liked you, Logan.”

Mr. Hollister's words caused tears to glaze Logan's eyes, so he could no longer clearly see the other man's face. When he had expected anger and judgment—and rightly so—Vanessa's father offered him affirmation?

“I did not like how you and Vanessa married. But I saw potential in you—and in your marriage. I've followed your career through the years. You've made a name for yourself. Been successful—and I'm not surprised. Put that same kind of effort into your marriage.”

Was Mr. Hollister saying—?

“Call me old-fashioned, but I do believe the husband is called to love his wife sacrificially. To live with her in an understanding way. That doesn't happen overnight. I challenge you to think of learning to understand Vanessa as a blessing—not a burden. Forget all those men-are-from-Mars-women-are-from-Venus jokes. We're all made in God's image. Ask him to help you love Vanessa in the right way.”

“Yessir.”

“So, you want to remarry my daughter?”

“With your blessing, sir.”

“You have it, son.” Mr. Hollister clasped Logan's hand again in a firm handshake, accompanied by a knowing smile. “Of course, you still have to convince my daughter to say yes.”

“I do. I'm flying to Denver tomorrow morning to see Vanessa.”

“That confident I'd say yes?”

Logan exhaled. “Hopeful—that's all. Hopeful.”

“You realize we need to bring another person into this conversation?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hollister excused himself, leaving Logan cooling his heels for almost twenty minutes until he reappeared with Vanessa's mother.

Logan rose to his feet again. “Good evening, Mrs. Hollister.”

“Hello, Logan.”

“I told my wife why you were here, Logan. But I thought you might want to tell her yourself.”

Logan waited until Mrs. Hollister took a seat in a smaller chair beside her husband, guarded on one side by a huge quilting loom and a large floor lamp. Was he supposed to say something first, or wait until Vanessa's mom asked him questions?

“So my husband tells me that you want to propose to our daughter . . . again.”

“Yes, ma'am, I do.” They could probably hear him when he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “And I would love to have your blessing before I do.”

“I'm going to be honest with you.”

Logan braced himself. He deserved whatever Mrs. Hollister threw at him.

“I hated it when you and Vanessa eloped—I always considered it a huge mistake. But what you didn't know—” A subtle change came over Mrs. Hollister's voice. “—is that I was also very saddened when you both divorced. As young as you were, as wrong as the elopement was, I wanted your marriage to work.”

What was he supposed to say now?

“Before I can give you my blessing, I want to apologize for not being more supportive, more loving. I'll try to be a better mother-in-law the second time around.”

“If Vanessa will have me.”

Mr. Hollister rejoined the conversation, a wide grin on his face. “Well, let's pray, shall we? God's in this. We'll ask him to go before you and prepare Vanessa's heart for your proposal.”

“I would love to pray with both of you.” Logan crossed the room, joining hands with Vanessa's parents.

“Thank you for being brave enough to come talk to us, Logan.” Vanessa's father chuckled. “Quite honestly, I'm not sure which requires the greater courage—talking to us or facing our daughter.”

Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced that we are loved.

—VICTOR HUGO (1802–1885), FRENCH POET AND NOVELIST, FROM
LES MISÉRABLES

“W
hat are you doing here?”

The sound of Vanessa's voice jerked Logan awake.

Not good. Not good at all. He forced his eyes open, trying to focus on his ex-wife, who was shadowed by the light in the apartment hallway. He blinked away the grittiness of sleep as a yawn interrupted his attempt to say
hello
or
good evening
—something that sounded coherent.

“Never mind.” Vanessa shook her head. “I don't want to know why you're dozing outside my apartment. I don't care.”

She turned her back on him, setting down a reusable bag overflowing with a loaf of bread and a bag of potato chips, and fitting her key in the lock with a soft scrape of metal against metal.

Logan hadn't come this far to be brushed off with an “I don't care”—and he hoped Vanessa didn't mean it. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the bag before Vanessa had a chance to pick it back up.

“Let me get this for you.”

“I can manage just fine—”

He moved a few steps closer, nudging the door open with his shoulder. “I insist.”

Vanessa had to back up—or go almost nose-to-nose with him.

She backed away.

Vanessa was home, and they were both inside her apartment. But he better talk fast—before she reclaimed her groceries. Repeated that she didn't care. And proved it by shoving him out the door.

“You asked me what I was doing here.” He deposited the bag onto the dining room table. “Your father gave me permission to come.”

Now he had her attention.

“Excuse me?” She stopped unbuttoning her coat. “When did you talk to my father?”

“Earlier last night, before I flew from Great Falls to Denver.”

“You were in
Montana
?”

“Yes.” Logan risked moving a few small steps closer to Vanessa. “I had some business to attend to with your father.”

She focused on the last two buttons on her coat. “I can't imagine what that would be—”

“I asked him if I could marry you.”

“You asked . . .” Her voice trailed off, the coat slipping from her shoulders onto the floor.

“I wanted to do things right this time.”

Only a few feet separated them, but Logan held his ground. Vanessa's brown eyes were locked on him, wide with questions, her long hair half hidden beneath a knit cap, the ends loose around her shoulders.

“There is no ‘this time,' Logan.”

“That's where I hope you're wrong, Vanessa. I fell in love with you when I was eighteen—and I've never stopped loving you. Marrying you was the craziest thing I ever did—and the best decision of my life. And I've regretted losing you every day since the divorce.”

His words hung suspended between them as he waited for Vanessa to say something . . . to say she was willing to give them a second chance . . .

“I can't . . .” Her lips twisted, trembling around the words that stalled all of Logan's admissions of love. His dreams for their future. “You're saying everything I wanted to hear years ago . . . and now I'm scared. How can I trust you . . . ?”

“I deserve that—I know I broke your trust.” Any hope of a future hinged on being honest with each other. “I asked you to marry me. I told you that I loved you—and then my actions didn't back up my words. Yes, I wanted you—but I wanted to chase storms more.”

His words seemed to wound Vanessa, causing her to back away.

“I was wrong . . . immature—I got all caught up in my dream, and I forgot how much you wanted to stay in one place. I didn't listen to you like I should have.”

“Stop, Logan. There's no sense in trying to fix our marriage. Let's just admit we got married too young.”

Even as she backed away from him, Logan saw the faintest glimmer of longing in her eyes.

“Is that what you really believe, Vanessa? I know I made a lot of mistakes—but marrying you wasn't one of them.” He closed the space between them as he spoke. This close to her, when he could just catch a hint of her perfume, desire sparked to life. Didn't she feel the connection between them, too—something that, even after all these years apart, still remained? “We're good together, Vanessa. I don't know how to explain it . . . you temper me. I've been lost without you in my life . . .”

When Vanessa started to protest, Logan wove his fingers through the softness of her hair, pressing his forehead against hers. “Shhh. Don't tell me that you don't heal a part of me that's wounded. I shared my dream with you—and you believed in me. You're the first person to ever listen when I talked about storm chasing. You sat with me on the beach and watched lightning storms . . .”

“I loved those times with you, Logan.” Vanessa whispered her admission. “You invited me into your world—I belonged somewhere.”

“Tell me you still believe we belong together, Vanessa. Please.”

Logan allowed himself the briefest taste of Vanessa's lips, his hands caught in the silky strands of her hair. If she pulled away, he'd stop. But she angled her head, molding her mouth to his, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.