Page 61 of More Than Meets the Eye

Evangeline swallowed in a rush and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “Her tree?”

“Mm-hmm.” He glanced away and lifted his own peach up for inspection, yet his eyes didn’t seem to focus on it. “She pestered my father for months about planting fruit trees around the house. Peaches. Apples. Pears. He’d grumble that they didn’t have the money for such frivolous things. She’d insist he wouldn’t consider them frivolous when she put up preserves and pear butter and baked fresh apple pie. It took nearly a year, but Pop finally brought a pair of saplings home and planted them, one on either side of the front porch. She babied those trees like they were her children. Watering. Weeding. Covering them with a sheet to protect them from frost and snow.” Logan shook his head. “I think leaving those trees behind was harder on her than leaving Pop’s grave.” He met Evangeline’s gaze. “She knew his fate, after all. But she had no way of knowing what would become of her trees. Thank you for taking care of them for her.”

Evangeline’s head swam. Logan’s mother had planted their peach trees. Nurtured them. Ensured their survival so the Hamiltons could enjoy their bounty.

With those peaches, Evangeline had paid Charlotte Clem for cooking lessons. With those peaches, she’d baked pies, put up jam and the syrupy preserves Zach loved to spread on his flapjacks every Sunday morning. With those peaches, she’d just tried to woo a man into a forgiving mood. A man more deeply imbedded in her family’s history than she could have ever fathomed.

“This was your home?” Why did that idea have such difficulty penetrating her mind? Logic grasped the concept, but she struggled to make sense of its emotional ramifications.

Logan nodded. “Yes.” He bobbed his chin toward the house. “I helped my father build the house you live in. The barn that stables your horses.” He swept his arm in a broad gesture. “I’ve explored every inch of this land. I know the best fishing holes. The best places to snare a rabbit. The best climbing trees.” Memories lit his eyes, fond boyhood memories, and for a moment his countenance lightened. But when he turned his face back to her, shadows clouded his eyes once more. “Do you remember the day I told you about my father? About why I hate gambling so much?”

The sweet taste of peach juice soured in Evangeline’s mouth. Her stomach cramped as trepidation twisted her insides. Thickness clogged her throat and blocked the words trying to exit. She managed a shaky nod instead.

Oh, yes. She remembered the heart-wrenching story of his father taking his own life. Leaving his wife and son destitute and alone. All because he hadn’t had the sense to cut his losses at the poker table. He’d raised the stakes higher than he could afford, and his family had paid the price.

How could a father do such a thing? Risk his family’s livelihood on the turn of a card. It was irresponsible. Foolish. But even that paled in comparison to what followed. Evangeline ached for the man who’d been broken by the consequences he’d brought upon himself, even as she bristled with indignation at the selfishness of leaving his wife and child alone to clean up the mess he’d created.

No wonder Logan so passionately sought to restore what had been lost. He’d been thrust into the role of provider while just a boy. A boy who mourned his father and no doubt wanted things to go back to the way they were.

So much pressure. The burden of responsibility. She’d seen the weight of that mantle on Zach’s shoulders for years. He’d carried so much from such a young age. Providing for them the best he could, doing whatever it took to ensure their survival, and keeping whatever darkness he encountered along the way deep inside himself so it wouldn’t taint her or Seth.

Logan and Zach shared a history that should never be forced on a child.

Shared a history . . .

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Oh, merciful heavens. They shared a history.

“I see you’re putting the pieces together,” Logan said, his voice tinged with regret.

The peach fell from her suddenly numb fingers and landed in the dirt at her feet.

Zach had won their home in a card game. She recalled the night he came home with that deed in his hand. He’d woken her up and showed her the paper. He’d been so happy, so proud. He’d promised she’d never have to sleep in a ratty hotel room or abandoned barn ever again. That they could make a place that would be safe for Seth. They would finally have a home.

She’d been so excited, she’d not slept a single wink the rest of the night. A real home!

Never once had she considered that their gain meant someone else’s loss. Neither did she understand why Zach’s enthusiasm soured a few days later. Why he put away his favorite deck of cards—the only thing he had from his father—and never touched them again. He never spoke of what happened. Never offered explanations. Just put his head down and worked to build the home they all wanted.

The home that should have been Logan’s.

She couldn’t meet Logan’s eyes. Could barely form the words that had to be said. “Zach is the one who beat your father in poker that night, isn’t he?”

Logan gently took hold of her chin and turned her face until her eyes met his. “No, Eva. Zach didn’t win that night. He cheated.”

She pulled away from Logan’s touch and violently wagged her head from side to side. “No! He would never—”

“He did.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “He cheated. Stole my father’s property and stole my father’s life.”

The animosity in his voice slapped her across the face. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Logan was mistaken. He had to be. Zach would never have done something so dishonorable. He was a good man. He worked hard. Selflessly. Did whatever it took to take care of their family.

Whatever it took.

Dear Lord. It couldn’t be true. Could it?

25

Logan watched the color drain from Eva’s face. He clamped his jaw shut and kicked his boot heel against the boulder behind him hard enough to bang his ankle. He hated destroying her illusions, but he’d vowed there’d be no more secrets between them, and he aimed to see it through, no matter how distasteful the task.