Already Gone

By Diane Benefiel

FROM USA TODAY BEST-SELLING AUTHOR Diane Benefiel

INCLUDING BURNOVER - BOOK #4 IN THE HIGH SIERRA SERIES

THE MEASURE OF A MAN

Madison Gallagher’s life is in Hangman’s Loss. Her family is here. Her friends are here. She owns and runs a successful bakery café. What she doesn’t have is a love life. And she doesn’t want one.

The man who stole her heart when they were both young and wildly in love was careless and callous—he left her and never looked back. Now he’s returned, and with his typical reckless abandon, he inserts himself back into her world.

But, no. He’s not welcome anymore. She's suffered enough and has finally gotten to a place where her life makes sense. She refuses his advances. Until she can’t.

When Logan Ross left Hangman’s Loss he had needed to find himself and become a man he could be proud of—a man nothing like his father. And while Logan had succeeded, he had never been whole, not when he’d lived ten long years without his Maddy.

Back and undercover on a dangerous operation, one look at his girl and he knows this is where he’s meant to be. And nothing in his whole life has been harder than winning back the woman he’d broken. But Logan is determined to do anything it takes to mend her precious heart, and he means to prove it to her every day for the rest of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948029346

Diane Benefiel

National Readers’ Choice Award winner for her novel, Solitary Man, Diane Benefiel has been an avid reader all her life. She enjoys a wide range of genres, from westerns to fantasy to mysteries, but romance has always been a favorite. She writes what she loves best to read – emotional, heart-gripping romantic suspense novels. She likes writing romantic suspense because she can put the hero and heroine in all sorts of predicaments that they have to work together to overcome. A native Southern Californian, Diane enjoys nothing better than summer. For a high school history teacher, summer means a break from teenagers, and summer allows her to spend her early mornings immersed in her current writing project. With both kids living out of the house, in addition to writing, she enjoys camping and gardening with her husband. Diane loves hearing from her readers. Website: dianebenefiel.com Facebook: facebook.com/DianeBenefielRomance Twitter: twitter.com/dianebenefiel Instagram: diane_benefiel Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/8075321.Diane_Benefiel BookBub: bookbub.com/authors/diane-benefiel Pinterest: diane_benefiel

Book preview

Chapter One

Maddy parked her SUV in the space closest to the back door of her café and stepped out of the car, tugging up her collar against the icy wind. The late November cold in the mountain town of Hangman’s Loss almost stole your breath. Stars glittered overhead and made her think of crystallized sugar against inky fondant. Some people might consider starting the workday before the sun rose the big downside of being a baker, but she really didn’t mind. Sure, sometimes she wished she could hit the snooze button for a few more minutes of sleep, but early morning was her favorite part of the day. The kitchen was all hers while she measured, mixed, and baked, filling the air with the glorious smells of cinnamon rolls, scones (pumpkin spice this time of year), pies, and tarts. These offerings were what made Hangman’s Best Café and Bakery a popular morning hangout. That, and free WiFi.

She held her keys under the security light to find the one to the back door, then jammed it into the handset. The coffeemaker was already programmed to come on, so she’d pour herself a cup, get the cinnamon rolls started for their first rise, and then—her mental checklist came to a grinding halt. The doorknob was unlocked.

There was that moment of uncertainty. Had she locked it when she left yesterday? Maybe she hadn’t. She’d been busy, thinking of the errands she needed to run before heading home to her little cabin. Could be she hadn’t been careful and simply forgotten. But what if someone had broken in?

She chewed her bottom lip, then gave the knob a slow turn. The door opened silently. Keeping her body outside the door in case she needed to run, she flipped on the light to the kitchen. Sinks and dishwasher against the far wall, racks of baking supplies to her left, the aroma of dark roast told her the coffeemaker was doing its job. Everything looked as it should—except the storeroom door was closed, and the storeroom door was almost always open.

Call the police—that was the smart thing to do. She should call the police, have them check, make sure no one was lying in wait, ready to attack a lone baker. But she’d feel really stupid if it turned out she’d just had an absentminded moment. It had taken long enough for people to take her seriously, to accept her as a competent businesswoman. Perky, ever cheerful Madison Gallagher, the girl next door, captain of her high school cheer squad. Do-gooder.

Okay, there were way too many hiding places. The idea of searching behind the counters, then the dining room, the bathrooms made her uneasy. She took out her cell and tapped in her password. She’d do the sensible thing and call the police station, have them send out whoever was on duty. They’d do a walkthrough, everything would be fine, and she’d give the officer hot coffee and a muffin for his or her trouble. And hope they didn’t spread the word that she’d freaked over nothing.

Dark spots on the floor snagged her attention. She frowned. Lulu had mopped yesterday, but there were dark spots on the floor. Wet, dark red spots.

A slight sound from behind had her sucking in a breath to scream even as a low, male voice rumbled in her ear, Madison.

She didn’t know how her heart could nearly jump out of her chest and keep beating. The shriek in her throat came out as a muffled yelp when a hand covered her mouth from behind. She struggled, jabbing back her elbow and connecting solidly against a hard body.

A pained grunt and the hand over her mouth loosened. God almighty, blondie.

Logan?

Yeah.

He loosened his hold and she turned around, trying to convince herself that her rapid heartbeat came from surprise, not because Logan Ross’s hands sent electricity zinging right through every part of her. Every part. Why’d you sneak up on me? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? And what are you doing here?

She stepped back, her gaze running over him. A dark knit cap covered his head, the blue-gray eyes that had once so intrigued her looked exhausted, and his beard was scruffy, and not in a good way. He held what looked like a bundle of rags and a flashlight in one hand.

I need your help.

Maddy crossed her arms in front of her, and he must have read the You’ve got to be kidding in her expression because he dropped his head for a moment. Right. Look, I know I’m absolutely the last person you want to see, but I really do need your help. Can we get in out of the cold?

She moved inside. Did you pick the lock on my door?

Yeah, sorry. Crappy lock. You need a better one, and a deadbolt, but I had to get her in out of the cold. She’s in the room to the right.

Her? What’s going on? Even as she spoke, Maddy opened the storeroom door and found the light already on. More blood spotted the floor. She followed the trail to the far corner, and was down on her knees the moment she spotted the dog. Oh, baby. You’re hurt. A dog, black and tan, maybe a Lab/Shepherd mix, its dark eyes dulled with pain, lay in the corner. The wound was a rough gash along her side, blood matting the dark fur. Is she yours? What happened to her?

I found her. I think she’s been hit by a car.

Why’d you bring her here? Gently, she stroked the dog’s head and looked up at him.

I couldn’t think of anyone else who would be up this early. He held up the rags. I went out to my truck to get something to wipe up the blood with.

I didn’t see a truck.

I parked on the side street.

Maddy rose to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. I’m calling the vet. She tapped out the number, and held the phone to her ear, gaze fixed on Logan. The other end of the line was picked up, and a groggy male voice mumbled hello.

Hey, can you come to the café? There’s a dog here that looks like it’s been hit by a car.

A moment later, she ended the call. He’ll be here as soon as he can. Logan didn’t say anything. What?

Nothing. Must be a good guy.

He is. She refused to be drawn in by the measured look.

Logan leaned against a stainless-steel table, and she had the feeling that it was the only thing keeping him upright. He set the rags on the counter, the movement opening his coat. A stain darkened the left side of his sweater.

That’s blood. From carrying the dog? She caught the wince when he shrugged. Logan? The stain had seeped into the hem of his jeans and her stomach gave an uncomfortable hitch. That’s not the dog’s blood, is it? You’re hurt.

I’m good. Since the vet’s coming, I’ll get out of here.

No, you won’t. You better sit on that table before you fall down.

Surprisingly, he did what she asked, hefting himself up on the table with a groan, his expression strained. The heater had kicked on, so she pulled the heavy coat from his shoulders. Blood drenched the bulky sweater and a ragged, dark hole looked like it had burned through the fabric. She frowned. Then horror dawned. "Is that a bullet hole? His pale, drawn face, the slow movements, now made a sick kind of sense. You’ve been shot?"

Kind of.

What do you mean kind of? How can you be kind of shot?

Bullet grazed me, so not all the way shot.

Raising an eyebrow at his explanation, she lifted his sweater. The t-shirt beneath was soaked deep red. She pulled it up, revealing a furrow carved into the flesh at the bottom of his rib cage.

Got to lie down for a minute. He eased himself onto the hard surface. Exhaustion didn’t only show in his eyes, but in the lines of his face, and through his slow, deliberate movements. The wound oozed fresh blood.

Damn it, Logan, why didn’t you say something? Not waiting for a response, she continued, Don’t move, I’ll get the first aid kit.

She darted into the small bathroom and washed her hands with soap, then grabbed the kit from the cupboard. Back at Logan’s side, she ripped open the packaging on large squares of gauze, made a thick pad, and pressed them against the wound. What happened? Who shot you?

He didn’t say anything, and continued to lie back with his eyes closed. Keeping the pressure steady, she took a moment to study him. He was leaner than he’d been the last time she’d seen him. That had been eighteen months ago, when he’d showed up out of the blue after being absent from her life for nine years. She’d had nine years to get over him, to bury the anger, the hurt, but apparently that wasn’t long enough because all those emotions had resurfaced the previous year when he’d returned to Hangman’s Loss. And he’d had the nerve to kiss her. Kiss her! Oh, that burned. He’d walked out on her, devastated her, and then thought he could come back nearly a decade later and pick up where they’d left off. Then after that steamy kiss, he’d disappeared. Again. But working in the café, she heard things, and a couple of weeks ago she’d heard that Logan Ross was back in town. He must have been lying low, because she hadn’t seen him until ten minutes ago.

I can hear you thinking.

She ignored the comment. Blood soaked through to her fingers so she added more gauze to the pad. Here, she took his hand. Keep the pressure on so I can tape it.

You’re still pissed and all those angry thoughts are spinning around in your head. I can hear them.

She looked up from her first aid efforts to find his gaze fixed on her. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings toward you. She applied the tape to hold the gauze in place. I’m calling an ambulance. Then I’m calling the police. I’d call Brad, but he’s out of town. Police Chief Bradley Gallagher, her brother, also happened to be Logan’s lifelong friend.

No ambulance. No police. Pulling down his shirt, he pushed himself upright, sucking in a ragged breath. He pushed to his feet, swaying enough that she was afraid he might keel over.

"Logan, you’ve been shot. Who shot you? You can’t leave."

He reached for his coat. Don’t worry about me, blondie.

Maddy worked to suppress her concern. The injury and resulting blood loss had him pale and hollowed out. Maybe it was more than being shot; maybe he was sick. It looked like only sheer determination was keeping him vertical. At least let me take you to the hospital.

No hospital. I need to go. It’s better if you don’t tell anyone I was here. She followed him to the door. He paused, holding on to the doorframe. His gaze traveled over her face, and she felt the heated surge low in her belly when he focused on her lips. No one. I wouldn’t have come if there was anyone else I thought would take care of the dog. He struggled into his coat, gritting his teeth at the movement.

Logan, wait. He didn’t wait. Why can’t I tell anybody I saw you? And you can’t disappear. I need to check on you.

You don’t want to check on me. You hate me, remember?

I’d check on you just the same as I’d check on the dog. Who shot you? Are you in danger?

Later, blondie. He walked out the door and disappeared into the early morning gray.

Logan Ross eased behind the wheel of his pickup, pulled the door shut, then sat with his eyes closed to wait out the fresh wave of pain. Fuck it all to hell. On top of dealing with the dog, getting shot was damned inconvenient. Might have been worth it though, because for a few minutes Madison Gallagher had put her hands on him, something he hadn’t stopped dreaming about for the last decade. Not that he imagined her doing it while he was bleeding.

He turned the key and put the transmission in gear, steering out onto the street. If seeing Maddy wasn’t enough to yank his heart out of his chest and pummel it to a pulp, driving through his hometown would have done it. Hangman’s Loss had decked herself out for the season. He turned down Main Street, where strings of lights sparkled from the eaves and windows, and stores had wreaths on their doors. All the years in the army he’d never let himself care about the holidays. He didn’t have family, so what was the point?

But eighteen months ago he’d come back. Only a week that time, and he’d been on the job. But he’d driven into town after having been absent most of his adult life, and felt emotions he’d thought dead and buried rise up like a phoenix from the ashes. And he hadn’t been able to put them back in the ground. To be in the place where he’d run wild as a kid, and be around people who’d known him as the son of the town drunk—good people who, instead of shuffling him to the side like he didn’t matter, had drawn him into their collective bosom—had him reevaluating his life. And wasn’t that a cliché.

Hangman’s Loss had felt like home because of the Gallagher family. Mostly due to one woman, Trish Gallagher. His own mother had died when he was too young to remember her, but despite having four kids of her own to raise, his best friend’s mother had brought him into the fold. She’d made him realize what family could be, and he’d held on to that ideal.

He’d thought he’d fucked it up royally when he’d left Maddy. He’d struggled when he tried to explain to her his need to leave. Hell, he’d struggled to understand it himself. Looking back, he now knew he’d never felt like he belonged, or that he deserved the adoration Maddy had heaped on him. He’d always felt like a poser, and outsider in his own town. He’d needed to know who he was and to make something of himself before he could ever consider the commitment Maddy had wanted from him.

Not coming back for nine years had as much to do with knowing he’d hurt her as not wanting to see the disappointment in Trish Gallagher’s eyes. But a year and a half ago, after being gone all those years, he’d taken an assignment that had brought him back home.

Driving for hours on the highway to where the mountains had begun to look familiar, there’d been that hard knot of tension growing in his gut. Because making that turn off the highway into Hangman’s Loss meant he’d see the Gallaghers. He hadn’t allowed himself to take the coward’s way and keep driving. So when the sign said Hangman’s Loss, he’d put on his blinker and left the highway. He’d stopped at the gas station on the edge of town, and there she’d been, Trish Gallagher, filling the tank of a crossover SUV. There’d been that moment of panic. Would she be mad at him, angry that needing to make something of himself had meant leaving her daughter, too? Or, worse yet, would she have trouble even remembering him?

But she’d caught sight of him as he’d stepped out of his vehicle and made a beeline. He hadn’t been sure she wasn’t about to slug him; god knew that was her daughter’s default response. Instead, she’d reached up on her tiptoes and engulfed him in a hug, and he caught a whiff of the jasmine perfume he would always associate with her.

The flood of relief was so acute he could only hug her back, eyes closed tight.

I always knew you’d come back, she’d whispered. And when she’d drawn back, she’d put her hands on either side of his face and said, Welcome home, Logan. It’s about damn time. There’d been a shadow in her eyes, but the love was unmistakable.

The job had dragged him back to Virginia, but now he’d returned on another assignment. And hopefully being home would help ease the restlessness he couldn’t seem to shake.

Jason Barnes was such a solid guy. Built like a block wall with square shoulders, muscled arms, and large hands and feet, he easily lifted the whimpering dog, and Maddy moved ahead of him to open the back door. Thankfully Mariana had arrived and already had the first batch of muffins in the oven.

Get the keys out of my coat pocket and open the sliding door of the van. She did as he asked, and within minutes the dog lay on a thick rug. She’s too injured to put her in a crate. I’ll have to take it slow so as not to jostle her.

Maddy slid the door shut. Thank you again for coming, Jason. I’ll be by to check on her after the lunch rush.

You say she was outside the back door when you got here this morning? I’m surprised she didn’t freeze to death.

Yeah, me too. Maddy felt a twinge at the deception. She doesn’t have tags, so you’ll scan her for a chip?

Of course, Madison. Jason sometimes got a wee bit testy if he thought someone was questioning his expertise. He stood by the van, jingling his keys in gloved fingers. The wind had died down, and the sun rose on a cold, clear day. Well, I’d stay and have a cup of coffee with you if I didn’t have a patient to treat, but duty calls. I’ll see you this afternoon.

She fought back a sigh at Jason’s way of telling her she should have offered him a cup of coffee. She should have, absolutely. But she’d been worried about the dog, thinking about Logan, and she had neglected to be courteous to her kind-of, sort-of boyfriend. That he could have asked for a cup of coffee wasn’t lost on her. But still, he had a point. He drove off, slowing to a crawl to navigate the dip of the gutter as he pulled out onto the street. Which showed he cared about his patient, not wanting to jostle her, and was therefore a good, decent person whom Maddy should appreciate more.

Jason’s rear taillights disappeared from view at the same time Drew roared into the parking lot in his four-wheel-drive pickup. He might be only twenty, but with his innate sense of what needed doing, he was turning out to be an excellent employee.

Hey, boss. He hopped out of the truck. It’s colder than fresh shit this morning.

She didn’t bother to point out the illogic of his statement. How’s Laney?

Having trouble sleeping. Says the baby is going to be a soccer star, the amount he kicks around in there.

Has she tried that tea I sent her? She followed Drew through the back door.

Yeah, she says it helps some.

Good.

Mariana carried a stack of clean plates to the counter. I flipped the sign, Maddy.

Okay, we’re open. Let’s have a good day, crew.

Maddy sat in her SUV, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Why was she even thinking of driving to his house? Why did she have a to-go container on the seat beside her, the second of two? The first she had delivered to Jason at the vet clinic. The injury had looked worse than it was, and the dog Maddy was already calling Sophie would make a full recovery. She had no ID chip and no tags. Jason’s receptionist, Michelle, had contacted county animal control, but no one had called or come in looking for a dog matching Sophie’s description. The clinic would put a notice and photo on social media, but in her heart, Maddy hoped no one claimed the dog. She’d been arguing with herself for the past month about whether to get a pup, so Sophie was like a sign from heaven—stop arguing, adopt me.

Jason sometimes worked through lunch, so she’d taken him a sandwich. A little thank you for getting up so early when she’d called. He was such a good guy: saving animal lives all day. She wished he didn’t point that out to her quite so frequently. A few minutes ago, he’d shooed her out the door because he had an emergency C-section to perform on a pregnant French bulldog. Dogs have C-sections? Who knew? But five puppies for this mommy was way too many, and Dr. Barnes would valiantly save all their little lives.

The second to-go container sat on the seat. She couldn’t throw away that much food, and despite the number of years he’d been gone, she figured she knew exactly where to find him. Maddy started the engine and backed out of the parking space behind the vet clinic. If Logan was where she expected, she’d check that he was still breathing, that the wound wasn’t infected, give him the food, then leave. Keep it short, to the point. Not personal.

Within minutes she was zipping along the curving road that wound parallel to the river. The remnants from the last snowstorm glowed white from the shady spots, but luckily the day had warmed enough that any black ice had melted.

The stop sign came into view, and she turned right, then followed the narrow, potholed road into the fold of the mountain. She hadn’t been up this way in years. It had seemed best to avoid this piece of forest, and those pesky memories that could still trip her up if she let them.

A right at the dirt road took her to the clearing in front of a small A-frame house. It looked better than she expected. The roof had been replaced. Instead of shingles, metal sheeting covered the steep pitch. The end of the porch that at one time had sagged now looked sturdy and freshly painted, the pine tree at the far end trimmed back. A pickup truck probably a dozen years old sat parked in front.

If Logan had been living at the cabin and done the work himself, that news hadn’t traveled through the Hangman’s Loss grapevine. There’d been rumors that he was back in town, but she hadn’t seen him. She wondered if Brad knew and hadn’t dished. Her brother could be frustratingly close-lipped about such things.

Not that Logan was under any obligation to let her know he was in town. She was glad he hadn’t come to see her. She had such mixed feelings about him. Anger, to be sure. But lately she’d started to wonder if maybe the anger was too much work to keep maintaining. Added to the anger was hurt, deep and powerful, plus a touch of resentment. But underneath it all, like coals banked under the ashes, alive but needing a breath of air to fan them to life, were feelings for Logan that had never disappeared. She’d tried to stomp out those embers, but some of them must have survived because seeing him that morning had them flaring with hope. Stupid, stupid hope.

Not listening to the voice in her head telling her she was playing with fire, she hitched her purse onto her shoulder and grabbed the food and the first aid kit and stepped out of her car, securing the scarf around her neck to keep out the cold.

She pulled off a glove to rap her knuckles on the front door, pushing back on the flood of memories. How many times had she walked through this door?

Logan?

A blue jay squawked from the branches of the pine, breaking the silence as she waited. What if he was in so much pain he couldn’t get to the door? The wound could be infected, or the bullet could have caused more damage than she’d suspected. Logan, can you hear me?

She tried the doorknob. The sturdy handset was locked, and she’d bet the deadbolt was thrown, too. She knocked again, calling out his name, then stepped back, debating whether to try the back door. The snick of the deadbolt checked her thoughts, and a moment later the door pulled open.

Chapter Two

Under the week’s worth of beard his face looked drawn, and he’d taken off the beanie to reveal a serious case of hat head. What do you want?

To see if you’re breathing.

Not dead yet.

When he leaned against the door, gaze fixed on her, she sighed in exasperation. Look, I don’t want me to be here, either. I’ll change the bandage, then leave. She waved the container with the café logo. I’ve got food for you.

What kind?

Sandwich, berries, and a cookie.

What kind of cookie?

Really? She glared at him. Oatmeal.

He stepped back, and she didn’t think he caught her eye roll. He moved carefully across the room, and she followed him into the cabin. The inside looked cleaner, neater than before. His father had let things go. Hardly able to take care of himself, Bob Ross had neglected his son and his home. Logan had sworn