The day passed in a blur, Logan kept himself busy, throwing a ball with Caleb in the yard and playing with him, keeping an eye on little Miriam when Megan needed a moment to herself.
He’d been good with her, rocking her gently, humming low as he paced the porch, the tiny bundle tucked safe against his chest. The baby had quieted quickly, breathing soft, her hand in tiny fists against his shirt.
Jacob had noticed Logan’s mood. He gave him a look over the rim of his coffee mug, a quiet “You alright there, Logan?” question followed. Logan just grunted, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “Ain’t nothin’, Jacob. Don’t worry on it.” Jacob hadn’t pressed, just nodded, understanding there was more to it but not wanting to stir it.
Even at supper, Logan and Oma barely said two words to each other. Almost everyone noticed, but no one said anything.
When they finally walked back toward the house, the air cool and the stars bright overhead, Logan slowed his step and let out a breath, stopping in the dirt path. The porch light glowed soft in the distance, but he wasn’t ready to go inside yet. Not without settling this.
“Oma, hold up a minute,” he said, his voice low and rough.
She stopped, arms crossed gently under her chest, lifting a brow. “What is it, Logan?”
He looked at her, squaring his shoulders. “I don’t like what ya did at church today.”
Her brow creased. “What did I do?”
Logan shook his head, jaw tight. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. Ya went over to talk to Matthew. You did it to get under my skin. Don’t act like ya didn’t.”
Her voice came out flat, clipped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Logan sighed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Oma, don’t ya lie to me. I saw it plain as day. Ya knew what you were doin’. Ya knew exactly what that’d do to me. That ain’t how we handle things, you and me. We’re supposed to respect each other.”
She shifted on her feet, arms tightening across her chest. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?” he asked, his voice rising just a bit, the edge creeping in. “You were talkin’ to him knowin' how I feel about him, like I ain't standin’ right there. Ya think that don’t sting, Oma? Ya take me for ta fool?”
Her chin lifted, her voice sharp. “You don’t own me, Logan. I can talk to whoever I want.”
His eyes darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I ain’t sayin’ I own you, but you don’t go rilin’ me up on purpose. That’s not how we do things.”
“I wasn’t trying to rile you up,” she snapped.
“Yes, you were!” His voice was low, firm, not loud but cutting. “I ain’t stupid, Oma. I know you. And I know when you’re tryin’ to push my buttons.”
“I’m not doing this with you, Logan,” she muttered, turning away.
“Don’t you walk away from me like that—Oma!” His voice barked out, but she was already heading toward the house, back straight and steps quick.
Logan stood there for a moment, watching her go, feeling frustrared to the core.
Oma regretted it the moment her feet hit the porch. That sharp turn and walk-off... she knew better.
Her father’s voice seemed to replay in her mind, deep and rough, telling her: “Don’t you ever turn your back on me when I’m talkin’ to you.”
She’d done it once before when she was thirteen, stormed off in the middle of a scolding, and when she got back home, he’d tanned her hide so bad she could barely sit for two days. If her father was here now, he’d probably take her by the arm himself and wear her out for the disrespect.
She swallowed hard, her heart beating fast, but her pride kept her from turning back. She walked straight into the house, up to the bedroom, her hands trembling just a little. She changed into her nightgown.
All she really wanted to do was curl up somewhere and cry, but the pride burning in her chest wouldn’t let her. It felt foolish, the whole thing, but it was done now. She’d just have to live with it.
Outside, Logan stood in the dark a long while, hands on his hips, staring down at the dirt path. His jaw was set tight, the muscles in his face twitching.
He was mad, no doubt about that, but underneath it, there was a feeling he couldn’t shake. She’d outright disrespected him, and it sat wrong. Real wrong. He wasn’t about to stand for that kind of behavior, not from her. But he didn’t want to spank her over it either, not when she was already clearly on the edge.
He paced a little, drawing in slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He’d always been a man who believed in handling things firm but fair, and right now, he was trying real hard to remember the fair part. She’d pushed him, no doubt, but he wasn’t about to blow his top over one sharp turn and a smart mouth. Not tonight.
By the time he came inside, the house was quiet, the lamps low. He moved slowly up the stairs, towards they bedrooms, his shoulders heavy. He opened the bedroom door slow and careful. She was already in bed, her back turned to him, the covers drawn up to her shoulders.
Logan undressed quietly, hanging up his clothes before slipping into his nightshirt. The room was so still, save for the soft creak of the bed frame as he settled in beside her. For a moment, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, silence stretching long between them.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even. “What you did—walkin’ off like that—was real disrespectful, Oma. Ain’t no other way to say it.”
She stayed silent, not a saying a word or clinching.
“But I get it,” he went on, his drawl softer now, worn down by the day. “You’re frustrated. Somethin’ in you needed to push back, and I reckon that’s the only reason I’m lettin’ it slide tonight.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t turn over. Just laid there quiet, the tension thick in the air.
Logan sighed, rolling onto his side to face her back. His voice dropped a notch, almost a whisper. “But next time you pull somethin’ like that, I ain’t gonna let it go easy. I’ll help you cool off if I have to. You know I will.”
Still not a word from her.
Logan let out a breath, leaning in closer, brushing his lips against her cheek. “I love ya,” he murmured. “Even when you’re testin’ my patience somethin’ fierce.”
She didn’t reply, didn’t turn, but she didn’t move away.
Logan settled back against the pillow, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He wasn’t gonna push her tonight. She’d come back to him when she was ready.
YOU ARE READING
UNBROKEN PROMISE
RomanceLogan made a vow to a man on his death bed to look after his daughter, Oma. A biracial young woman navigating life in a world where she feels like she belongs nowhere, Oma has faced rejection from both the black and white communities. Her bright sp...
