The Cowboy's Big Family Tree. Meg Maxwell

felt lead weights on her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She really didn’t. Her birth mother hadn’t been able to, even thought she’d claimed quite a few times over the years that she wanted to. Sometimes, to keep your heart intact, you had to believe what you needed to believe. Clementine needed to believe in couldn’t, not wouldn’t.

      Logan’s jaw was set hard. “So you condone what Parsons did.”

      “No. Of course not. I’m just saying he very likely didn’t have it in him to do anything else.”

      “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He turned away and took a long drink of his coffee.

      She hadn’t meant to shut him down. Maybe she was supposed to listen more, talk less?

      If she didn’t believe in her heart that her birth mother was a couldn’t and not a wouldn’t, Clementine was sure her heart would break in a thousand pieces. Sometimes, when she thought about Lacey Woolen, it was the only thing that kept Clementine okay.

      “I can only talk about my particular situation and how I feel about it,” she said. “I completely understand how you feel, Logan. The parting gift, the walking away, the grenade, I get it. God, what a bombshell.”

      “Why didn’t my parents tell me?” he asked quietly. “How could they let me live a lie?”

      “Probably because deep down and no matter what, you were Haywood Grainger’s son, and that was no lie. It was their truth, Logan.”

      “But not the truth,” he said, shaking his head again.

      She wanted to go over and wrap her arms around him, but she didn’t dare. “It’s complicated.”

      He took another sip of his coffee. “Let’s change the subject. How’d the boys do tonight?”

      She smiled. “Great. They now can sing the first line of ‘Jingle Bells’ without a hitch. And that’s only after one night of rehearsal.”

      “Isn’t the first line just ‘Jingle Bells’ twice?”

      She laughed. “Yes. But they’re only three years old.”

      “They’ve missed you. I’m glad they can spend time with you.”

      She was quiet for a moment, then said, “At least I know now why you fired me, why you pushed me away. You were all torn up.”

      He nodded. “I’m sorry, Clementine. You deserved better than that.”

      So come over here. Kiss me again. Take me in your arms. Let me in now that I know. Maybe I can help.

      He did none of the above. “I don’t know who the hell I am,” he added grimly. Am I even Harry’s and Henry’s uncle if I’m not a Grainger?” He shook his head. “That’s dumb. Even if I’m just half, I’m still their uncle.”

      She put down her mug. “You are, no matter what.”

      “I hate this,” he said. “I hate it all.”

      She bit her lip and let out a breath. “Have you verified that this Clyde T. Parsons is telling the truth? Have you seen the photographs he mentions in the letter?”

      He explained about the call this afternoon, about the picture of Clyde Parsons being a dead ringer for him. He picked up one of the manila envelopes, reached in and pulled out a photograph of a man without looking at it, then handed it to her.

      She took the photograph and stared at it. Oh wow. Clyde Parsons looked very much like Logan Grainger. They had the same features—except Clyde’s eyes were hazel—the same hair, and there was something so similar in their expressions.

      Her heart went out to Logan. How hard this must be. So much to take in, so many questions, no answers.

      “Maybe Parsons has family,” she said softly.

      He shot a glance at her. “His family has nothing to do with me.”

      She wasn’t so sure she agreed, but now wasn’t the time to talk about that anyway. “I just mean that maybe you can find out who Clyde Parsons was, what he was like. You could do some poking around about him.”

      “Don’t I know everything by his actions? He walked out on his pregnant girlfriend. He let another man take responsibility.” He set his mug down hard in the sink. “You know what? I’m done talking about this. Done thinking about it. Haywood Grainger was my father—he raised me. That’s all I need to know.”

      Except the whole thing was tearing Logan apart. So it wasn’t all he needed to know. It was what he wanted to know, but for closure, for peace, he’d have to do more than ignore the truth.

      Clementine glanced at her watch. “Oh no, I’m late. My shift starts at six and you know how crazy busy Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen gets on a Friday night. “By the way, my sister Annabel told me that tomorrow’s special is Gram’s famed macaroni and cheese. Maybe you can bring the boys in for lunch. Oh and practice ‘Jingle Bells’ over breakfast.”

      He nodded. “Will do. And maybe we will come in for lunch tomorrow. I’d like to thank your grandmother for the po’boys. The twins love Hurley’s po’boys.”

      And hadn’t had them for the three months he’d been avoiding her, hung in the air between them.

      “Logan, if you need to talk about this, you can call me or come see me anytime. You know that, right?”

      “I’m done talking about it,” he said, his blue eyes stony. “But...thanks,” he added, his expression softening just a little.

      She headed toward the door, wishing she could stay, wishing she could rush over to him and hug him tight. It took everything in her to walk to the door and leave him alone with his thoughts.