Free The Rancher's Wife by April Arrington

whether or not to make the trip to bring her home.
    But, just like then, something inside propelled him toward her. It burned hot in his chest, searing his hands and making him desperate to hold on. Even though he knew it was a high risk. Amy’s passionate nature had never been predictable and it was even less trustworthy.
    He gritted his teeth. Hell if he’d be like Pop and stand in Raintree’s dirt drive watching his wife drive away. Crumple into a weak heap as she left her family behind. He was stronger than that.
    Logan looked away, peering past the Christmas lights strung along the porch rail to the dark night beyond. Pop had been little good to himself back when his wife left. Much less to his sons. Ten at the time, Logan hadn’t sat idly by. Instead, he’d picked up the reins of the ranch, hustled through the daily chores and watched out for his wild younger brother, refusing to allow himself to dwell on his mother’s absence or his father’s grief.
    His mother had made the decision to leave and Logan had accepted it. It was her loss, not theirs. He just wished his father had seen things the same way. The way Logan should accept Amy’s decision to leave now.
    He dropped his gaze, tracing the trails of condensation on the glass bottle. Amy’s movements brought his eyes back to her. She shifted from one ridiculous high heel to the other, leaning down to prop her elbows on the porch rail and wrap her arms around herself with a shiver.
    Logan sighed. It was barely above thirty degrees outside and there his stubborn wife stood. Freezing her tail off.
    His heart tripped in his chest. His wife . His Amy .
    He should leave things alone. Let her go her way and him his, as Traci had urged in the office lobby of limbo. But despite it all, he needed her back. Needed them back. The way they were before she’d shot their relationship to all hell and beyond.
    Amy owed it to him. And they both owed it to their daughter’s memory. Otherwise, their baby girl would be nothing more than a mistake. An almost that never drew breath. A wrong that was never righted.
    He closed his eyes and hung his head, muscles flinching on a jagged streak of anger. At himself. At Amy. God forgive him for feeling it but it was there all the same.
    Logan made his way outside, boots scraping across the floor and drawing to a halt behind Amy. He set the unopened beer on the porch rail and drew in a lungful of icy air.
    â€œHere.” He shrugged off his denim jacket, draping it over her bent form.
    Amy wanted to refuse it. The urge to decline was written in her drawn brows and scrunched nose. But she accepted it.
    â€œThanks.” She hunched into the coat and turned back to the dark emptiness before them.
    Despite his ill mood, a smile tugged at his lips. Amy had always been stubborn. Head thick as a brick but sharp as a tack, she’d fought him at every turn. It’d started the day they’d met. At eight years old, she’d given him a run for his money. She’d sized up his twelve-year-old frame, curled her lip and dared him to race her. And damned if she hadn’t won.
    Logan eased his hip against the rail and crossed his arms, a low laugh escaping him.
    â€œYou still know how to make an entrance.” He nudged her and eyed the tight line of her mouth. “Family dinners always were a lot more interesting with you around.”
    Her shoulders stiffened and she leaned down, propping her elbows on the porch rail and twisting her hands together.
    â€œYou plan on spending the night out here?” he asked.
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œDoubt you’d last long, cold as it is.”
    She glanced up then, emerald eyes fixing firmly on his face. “I’d last long enough.”
    Logan grunted. He scooped up the beer bottle, snagged the cap on the porch rail and snapped it off. He tipped the bottle up and tugged deeply, swallowing several mouthfuls of the smooth brew and sighing with