And given who West’s father was, and given the fact Logan didn’t know his...it was enough to make a man wonder. If he were the kind that wondered about things like that.

“And how are you?” Pansy asked, tapping him on the forearm.

“Good,” he said.

Pansy had always been independent. She was a lot like him. And it felt good to be in her presence. Because half the time he felt like they were the only two people in the room who could fully understand each other without the use of words. Well, Sammy understood him. But that didn’t mean that she agreed.

The same things that resonated in him resonated in Pansy. And that was a gift he didn’t take for granted. He figured it was a piece of their dad that they carried around inside them.

“You neck deep in wedding plans yet?”

“Actually,” she said. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. West and I would like to get married at Christmas. At Hope Springs. It means a lot to me. I want to get married in the old barn, and decorate it with some of Mom’s old Christmas decorations.”

“I like that idea,” he said.

“I was hoping you would. It’s important to both of us. West is learning a lot about family. I think it means a lot to him to have the wedding at a place that’s so meaningful to me.”

“Well,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit tight in the chest. “That’s...great.”

“I know you’re deeply uncertain about me marrying him.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married. That you’re the police chief. That you’re grown-up, and not just grown-up, but grown up well.”

“Because you didn’t think I could?”

“Because I didn’t think I could pull it off.”

“You don’t get all the credit,” she said, but her smile was good-natured.

“I get some of it,” he said.

“Sure,” she said.

Suddenly, the family conversation was broken up by someone approaching the table. “Hey, Sammy,” the intruder said.

Ryder recognized him as one of the guys that Sammy had been dancing with the last time they were all here.

“Care to dance?”

“Not right now,” she said.

“Come on,” the guy said in a cajoling tone that made Ryder want to rip his voice box out straight through his throat.

“I’d rather not,” Sammy repeated, her voice firm.

“I think you just need a little convincing.”

“I very much don’t,” Sammy responded, her eyes going icy and glittery.

The guy leaned in, like he was about to say something again, and Ryder stood up. “She said she’d rather not,” he said, feeling the bubble of murder start simmering in his blood.

“She can speak for herself,” the guy said.

This guy. He hated this guy. This guy that Sammy always seemed to attract. Such a nice guy. Who wore slouchy beanies and pants that were too tight. Who acted like he read tiny little books full of poems written by dead guys and made a business of turning his compliments into knives, guaranteed to slice beneath the skin so sharp the target wasn’t even aware of it until they’d been slashed all over. Guys who acted enlightened and said all the right things but didn’t seem to follow any of it up with action.