He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

all Floridians. Everyone went to Disney.
    “Is that a sin?” he teased.
    “If it’s not, it should be. When I have kids, I’ll take them to. . . .” She choked back the rest of her reply. Something about being around Logan made her relax, forget. For one moment, she’d actually forgotten she couldn’t have children.
    He set the basket down on the path and gently gripped her shoulders. When she looked up she saw his teasing grin was gone.
    “It’s a horrible thing what that man did to you,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I don’t pretend to understand how you feel. But I do know there are an obscene number of kids out there who don’t have homes, kids who are shuffled around the foster system from family to family. There’s no reason in the world you can’t become a mother to one or more of them. You deserve that kind of happiness, the love of a family, and a man who will love you and adopt an entire houseful of kids with you.”
    He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but then he abruptly grabbed the picnic basket and pulled her after him.
    Before Amanda could recover from his surprising speech, they turned a corner in the path. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment when she saw what was waiting for them. The path ended at the beginning of a long dock. Tied to a massive wooden post at the end was a red and white boat. Low and sleek, it had twin motors and was built for speed. Not surprising for a man who chose to drive his personal Mustang GT to work instead of the typical sedan the police department would have provided.
    “She’s beautiful,” Amanda said.
    “Yes, she is.”
    Amanda looked up and met Logan’s deep green eyes. He wasn’t looking at the boat. She swallowed hard. “I’m . . . ah . . . surprised you aren’t down here more often.”
    “I don’t keep the boat here,” he said, walking with her down the dock. “She’s usually dry-docked at a marina. When I want to take her out I call ahead and have them gas her up and stock her with supplies. At the end of the day, they clean up the boat. All the fun of ownership without the work.”
    Butterflies began racing around Amanda’s stomach. Logan had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to have the boat brought out here, just for her.
    As it turned out, he’d gone to even more trouble than she’d realized. The picnic basket held an assortment of delicious pasta dishes, salad, and fine wine—prepared and packed by an exclusive Italian restaurant back in town.
    After they ate and enjoyed some of the wine, Logan drove the boat almost all the way to the Gulf, pointing out different birds and plants to her as they rode by. A narrow waterway opened up on their right. He slowed the boat, turned, and cut the engines. They drifted on the slow current deeper into the marsh, with vegetation growing up so close they almost touched the boat.
    The mud and grass and occasional swamp oak spread out as far as she could see, as if she and Logan were the only people for miles around. With anyone else, she’d have felt uneasy, but with Logan she was just . . . curious. She was about to ask him why he’d brought her here, but the words clogged in her throat when he pulled a pistol out of a storage bin.
    “Logan, what are you doing?”
    He checked the loading before handing it to her. “Take it.”
    She eyed the gun with distaste. “Why?”
    “Because I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”
    Amusement swept through her and she couldn’t help but smile. “What makes you think I can’t shoot already?”
    His brows shot up. “Can you?”
    She took the gun, popped out the clip, checked the loading herself. She popped the clip back in and chambered a round. “Where’s the target?”
    Logan eyed her thoughtfully and pointed out past the port side of the boat. “That tree stump.”
    Amanda shook her head. “Too easy.” She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the setting sun. “There, that clump of driftwood.”
    “That’s too far away. You’d need a rifle to accurately aim—”
    The sound of her shot filled the air. A chunk of the driftwood snapped off and flew into the marshy grass.
    Logan shook his head and his mouth curved in a wry grin. “Hell, you shoot better than I do. I guess you don’t need shooting lessons.” He took the gun from her and pulled out a cleaning kit. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
    Amanda wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Tennessee. My brother-in-law took me to a