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“Will your truck be okay, with your equipment in it?”

He nodded. “Not much in there worth anything to anyone who doesn’t know how to use it. Plus I ran into Officer Stratton, and she said she’d keep an eye out.”

“Emily? You’re safe then. She’s great.”

“I get the feeling she takes offenses on her beat kind of personally.”

Tris laughed, suddenly feeling more relaxed. “Do you want to come in?”

There was a split second of hesitation before he said, “Not if you’re ready to go.”

“I am. Let me just grab my keys and bag.”

And so less than two minutes later, they were in her car and pulling out onto Honeysuckle Drive, then turned on Pecan to head for the Hickory Creek Spur. She’d been right, he filled that passenger space, but seemed comfortable enough once he’d moved the seat back. All the way back.

Once they were clear of town and on US290 headed for the interstate, the silence in the car somehow converted to pressure. Tris had thought herself silly last night for trying to think up things to say, but now she was glad of it.

“Have you been there since the renovation?” she asked.

Logan had been staring straight ahead, as if he’d never been on the 290 before, when you had to be on it for some distance at least to get just about anywhere from Last Stand. He seemed almost startled at her words, and she wondered just where his mind had been. But then he looked at her.

“No, it’s been years.”

“Me, too. Which is silly, considering how much I love the work.”

“He was a genius honed by decades of dedication to his work,” he said.

Tris was delighted with the way he’d put it. “Yes, yes, he is. Was.” She sighed. “It’s always sad when that kind of talent leaves us.”

“You would know,” he said quietly.

Her breath jammed in her throat. She hadn’t expected that.

“I didn’t mean to—” he began, sounding sorry he’d said it.

“No, no, it’s nice to know people haven’t forgotten him.” It was true, but that didn’t mean she wanted to dwell on it hereand now. “And I can’t imagine anyone who’s seen the mustangs forgetting Mr. Glen.”

“Or anybody who knows about his incredible life.”

She thought of the article she’d read just a few weeks ago. “Yes. Going from taxidermy to sculpture, ending up with work in the private collection of the Queen of England. Amazing.”

“And born in Kenya to Scottish parents, then an apprenticeship in Denver, back to Kenya for decades of work mostly living in a tent, and then dying in Ireland.”

She could have sworn she felt a change in him, even without looking. But when she did risk a glance, he wore an expression that was unmistakably amused. He caught her look, and smiled in an almost sheepish kind of way she found unexpectedly endearing.

“I guess we both did our homework.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. Which, for her, was as unexpected as her reaction to that little smile.

Unexpected. There it was again.

She obviously needed to adjust her expectations.

Chapter Nine

The whole plazalooked tidier, newer, after the renovations and cleanup, including all of the tall buildings around it. Also a bit greener, Logan thought. Some of those trees were new.

But the centerpiece of Williams Square, Robert Glen’s brilliant rendering of a small herd of mustangs on the run through a stream, was just as magnificent as ever. Half again bigger than the real creatures, he’d captured the movement and flow, from stallion to mare to frolicking foal, they practically vibrated with life, and that they were bronze didn’t matter at all.