UNBROKEN PROMISE

~60~ It ain't you

The tension in Logan’s shoulders was near unbearable as he stepped into the house, calling out for Oma with a voice rougher than he intended.

“Oma,” he said, his tone sharper than necessary. “Come on. We need to get ready.”

He heard movement from the kitchen, and a moment later, she stepped into the parlor, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked up at him, her brows knitting together in concern as she noticed the stiffness in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Something was wrong.

Things between them had been better since the whole mess with her uncle and aunt. The weight of the annulment battle had lifted, and with it, some of the distance between them had disappeared. There were still moments when she felt uncertain, unsure of her place in his life, but Logan had been there. He had even held her a few times while she cried, had reassured her in ways she hadn’t even realized she needed.

But this past week? He’d been different. He was there, but at the same time, he wasn’t.

And now, looking at him, she knew whatever was bothering him had only gotten worse.

Still, she didn’t press. Oma had spent her whole life learning when to hold her tongue, and if Logan was anything like he usually was when he got this way, pushing him wouldn’t do any good.

So, she simply nodded and untied her apron, setting it neatly over the back of the chair. “Alright,” she said softly, following him toward the door.

He didn’t say a word as they walked toward the house he had given her, his long strides forcing her to take quicker steps to keep up. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the land. The sounds of the ranch hands laughing and joking as they finished setting up for the festival carried across the air, but Logan didn’t acknowledge any of it.

When they reached the front porch, Logan opened the door and stepped inside, his movements was rigid. He took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, then tossed the hat onto the table before bracing his hands against the back of a chair.

Oma stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to say. She could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, a quiet storm waiting to break.

She took a step forward. “Logan…”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, standing up straight before turning to her. “We ain’t got much time,” he said gruffly. “You go on and wash up first.”

She hesitated, wanting to say something—anything—to break the heavy silence between them. But the hard set of his jaw told her now wasn’t the time.

So, she simply nodded and stepped past him toward the washroom, her skirts brushing against his leg as she moved. She felt his eyes on her, heavy and unreadable, but he said nothing.

As she washed up, the cool water soothing the heat of the day from her skin, her mind spun with questions. Had she done something wrong? Had she said something that upset him? Or was this about something else entirely?

Once she was done, she dried her hands and made her way to her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She took her time dressing, smoothing down her petticoat and fastening the laces of her corset, hoping that by the time she stepped out, Logan's mood would have shifted.

She heard the distant creak of the washroom door and the sound of water being poured. He must have gone to clean up himself. She sat for a moment on the edge of her bed, twisting her fingers in her lap.

Something wasn’t right. And she was beginning to think it had everything to do with the way Matthew had been teasing her all week.

She’d noticed Logan’s silence whenever Matthew spoke to her. She’d noticed the way his eyes darkened, the way his jaw ticked, the way his fists clenched at his sides. At first, she thought she was imagining it, but now… now she wasn’t so sure.

As Logan washed up, she pulled out the dress she had set aside for the festival. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a deep blue cotton gown with little white flowers embroidered at the hem. She ran her fingers over the fabric, biting her lip.

She wanted tonight to be a good night. She wanted to feel like she belonged here, like she was truly part of this family, this town. But with Logan acting the way he was, she wasn’t sure if that was possible.

-----
When Logan came down the stairs, his hair still damp from washing up, he found Oma in the parlor, standing near the small mirror as she adjusted the sleeves of her dress. She looked up briefly when she heard his footsteps, but he barely glanced at her as he reached for his suspenders, which were draped over the back of a chair.

With practiced ease, he slipped them over his shoulders, adjusting the straps with quickly.

Oma smoothed her hands over the folds of her skirt, stealing glances at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. The stiffness in his posture, the quiet tension that had lingered between them all week—it was pressing down on her now, making it impossible to ignore.

She took a breath, gathering the courage to speak. “Logan,” she said quietly.

He paused, his fingers stilling where they had been fastening the suspender clips to his trousers. His blue eyes flicked toward her, guarded but expectant, waiting to hear what she had to say.

She met his gaze, searching his face. “Did I… do something wrong?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’ve been acting different,” she said, her voice careful. “Distant. And I don’t know if it’s something I did or—”

“It ain’t you,” he interrupted, his voice rougher than he meant for it to be.

She flinched slightly at the sharpness in his tone, and guilt immediately settled in his gut.

Logan sighed, dragging a hand down his face before looking at her again. “It ain’t you, Oma,” he said softer this time. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

She studied him, as if trying to determine whether or not he was telling the truth. After a moment, she simply nodded. “Alright.”

Logan clenched his jaw, feeling like a coward. He wanted to tell her—wanted to say what was really on his mind.

That he didn’t like the way Matthew made her laugh.
That he hated the way the man looked at her like she was something worth chasing.
That the idea of anyone else having her attention made something tight and ugly coil in his chest.

But he didn’t know how to say it.

So instead, he grabbed his hat from the table and gave her a nod. “We should head on back soon,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

Oma nodded again, but there was alot that was needed to be said that had not been said.

As they stepped out of the house and made their way back toward the festival, Logan could feel her glancing at him every so often. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, to give her some kind of reassurance.

But the words refused to come.

And as the sound of music and laughter filled the air, Logan could only pray that tonight, somehow, he wouldn’t make a mess of things.