She scrunched her eyebrows together. “Gan.”
Logan’s answering smile was one of the sweetest things Dani had ever seen.
“‘Gan’ will work.” He slid his finger through the mess and licked it. “Yum.” Turning to Dani, he grinned. “I’m not an expert on babies, but I didn’t think they talked this early.”
Dani shrugged. Secretly, she thought Regan was the smartest little girl in the world. “It varies. She’s talking more than most at her age. Personally, I think she’s going to be a jabber mouth, and there will come a day when I look fondly on the time before she could speak.”
He chuckled when her daughter held out her arms the way she did when she wanted to be picked up and said, “Gan.” Tears burned Dani’s eyes, her hurt for the man who would never have his strawberry-smeared daughter reach for him. She’d always been sad that father and daughter would never know each other, but seeing Logan interact with Regan painted a vivid picture of how it could have been.
Logan tapped Regan’s nose. “I’m not picking you up until we get you cleaned up.” He glanced at Dani. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“It’s a mystery to all men why women always say ‘nothing’ when it is clearly something. You’re about to cry. Why?”
“I was just thinking about Evan.”
His face blanked. Why was that? Evan had been her husband and his best friend. Shouldn’t they be able to talk about him without it causing tension? Logan was hiding something, or maybe just holding his feelings about Evan’s death close.
His gaze returned to Regan, his words directed to Evan’s daughter. “Your father was the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He was the brother I never had. As you grow older, I’ll tell you stories of him so you’ll know him as I did.” He then leaned close to Regan’s ear and whispered something.
Dani thought she heard the word “sorry,” and would give anything to know what he’d said. Regan reached up and patted his face with her red-stained hands, almost as if she were absolving him of guilt. “Gan,” she said.
“Jesus,” he whispered just before he walked out of the room.
For the first time in her life, Dani truly understood what it meant when someone said the lightbulb went off, because it did for her in a brilliant, blinding radiance. He blamed himself for Evan’s death. Of course he did. How had she not realized? He had been the team’s commander, responsible for the success of their missions. If he didn’t bring them home safely, Logan was the kind of man who would hold himself responsible whether warranted or not.
And of all the ones to lose, Evan had been like a brother to him. Was that why he hadn’t come to see her when he got out of the hospital? Because he couldn’t face her? Was that why he resisted giving in to his desire for her? What had he said a few nights ago? Something about it being a matter of honor.
Gah, men were the stupidest creatures on earth when it came to their honor. She needed to think about this and figure out how to get him to talk about it. Without doubt, he would resist—would have to be dragged by his toenails to her Dr. Phil session. Didn’t matter. Whether he liked it or not, they were going to bring his demons out in the open and then blow them to smithereens.
Dani picked Regan up.
“No.” She pushed away and looked at the doorway. “No, Mama. Wont Gan.”
Dani froze, her heart turning over as her daughter reached another milestone. Oh my God, her first sentences and there was no one to share it with. It did no good to wish Evan were alive, though she did.
After bathing Regan and getting her to bed, Dani showered, and then took twenty minutes deciding what to wear. To go with her Mexican-themed dinner, she finally decided on a multicolored knee-length cotton skirt and a white off-the-shoulder blouse. She slipped on a pair of red-beaded earrings, along with her silver watch. She considered painting her toenails orange, but decided the yellow matched well enough. Besides, Logan said he liked the yellow.
Barefoot, she went to the kitchen to start dinner and stopped in the doorway. Wearing her apron, Logan stood at the counter, tears streaming down his face as he chopped onions.
“Logan, what are you doing?”
“Chopping the damn onions.”
“I see that. Here, let me finish.” Probably best she didn’t tell him how adorable he looked in her lacey apron.
“No, no need for both of us to ruin our eyes. Sit. I’ve got dinner tonight.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
He rolled watery eyes. “I’ve been cooking since I was seven. If I didn’t do it, we didn’t eat. As we’re pretty sure Maria’s half-Latina, I learned to cook Mexican, Cuban, and anything remotely related to a Latin dish, thinking she should love the food of her heritage.” He chuckled. “Except for tacos and enchiladas, she hates it all. Turns out, she’s a junk-food eater. Sit.”