Page 21 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

Except he hadn’t pulled out soon enough.

“I assume you’ll want a paternity test to be sure,” I said. “We can go up to Kalispell tomorrow if you want. I don’t need to tell Charlie anything until it’s done.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You’re sure she’s mine?”

“She’s yours.”

“Then that’s good enough.”

“I—really?” I blinked. He didn’t want to verify paternity? He just . . . trusted me?

He nodded. “Really.”

“I swear, I tried to find you, Logan. On my life, I swear it. But the hotel wouldn’t give me your name no matter how much I begged. And you paid cash for your drinks and never mentioned your last name. I tried, but I just . . . didn’t know where to start.”

“It’s not your fault. I believe you.”

The sincerity in his voice made my throat burn. Goddamn it. I was going to cry.

I’d worked so hard not to cry today. I’d fought to keep my emotions in check and my head from spinning out of control. But this was going to make me break.

I wanted so badly for Logan to believe that I hadn’t kept Charlie from him intentionally. The fact that a man like him would trust someone like me without proof meant more than he’d ever know.

“Thank you,” I choked out past the lump in my throat.

“So, um, is Charlie inside with your husband? Or boyfriend?”

The urge to cry disappeared and I barked out a laugh. “Smooth.”

He chuckled. “It’s been a long day for me. Give me a break, will you? This morning I was in New York, then I came to Montana for a business meeting and discovered a daughter. I’m off my game.”

“Fair enough. And no, I’m not married or dating. Charlie is inside asleep. We live with a friend who Charlie calls Gran.”

“Do you have other kids?”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Twenty questions?”

“More like a hundred. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Ask away.”

As much as I would like to learn more about Logan, my questions could wait. I’d tell him about Hazel’s “research” later and then ask the questions I had for myself.

“Let’s start with the basics. What’s your last name?”

“Landry.”

“Thea Landry.” His deep voice saying my name sent a shudder down my back.

He took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. The short sleeves of his polo stretched tight across his biceps. His jeans contoured around his bulging thighs.

God, he is hot. He’d brought a heat wave into my workshop.

Over the years, whenever I’d pictured Logan, he was always in a suit. Whether he was walking down the sidewalk or climbing into a limo, my mental image always had him in an Italian suit.

It was different seeing him in casual clothes, but he was just as handsome. Though his suit held so much power, his jeans and simple white shirt showcased his muscled body better.

And in jeans, Logan didn’t seem so far out of reach.