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“Gee, I’m about to become a bride. What do you think, Sherlock?”
    Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. I think you’re looking kind of miserable. Like you really aren’t looking forward to wearing that white dress.”
    Her brows dropped low over her eyes and she jerked on Mist’s reins, putting a little more distance between them. “What in the world do you know?”
    He stared at her for a long, silent moment before he finally answered. “You. I know you. And you don’t look happy. You so sure you want to get married, Bo?” He closed the distance between them and before she could move away again, he reached out and grabbed the reins.
    She gave him a cool, dismissive glare. “I am getting married. Since when have I ever done anything I didn’t really want to do?”
    Well, she had a point there. Logan acknowledged it with a grin. “Just tell me one thing. Are you happy?”
    Bo blinked. Her tongue slid out and wet her lips. Her voice cracked a little as she repeated, “Happy?”
    “Yeah. You know the meaning of the word, right? Are you happy?”
    Her lips curved up in a smile, cool and confident. Her voice was rock steady and she never even blinked as she replied, “Yes. I’m happy.” If he hadn’t been looking into her eyes, he just might have believed it.
    But those eyes? They were lying.
    * * * * *
    Late that night, Logan sat in his office, his hand wrapped around a half empty glass of whiskey. The fire across the room had burned down until the only light it gave off was a red glow.
    The bottle on the desk had started out half full. Now, even the most optimistic couldn’t call it much of anything except for empty. He was bordering on being really drunk and totally wasted. The whiskey was gone but he still hurt inside. He could empty another bottle and it wouldn’t do anything for that pain.
    Bo was getting married. In two weeks. To somebody Logan considered to be one of his best friends. It was going to kill him, he knew it. And her.
    His parents had been trapped in a loveless marriage. Bo’s mother had died when she was young and her father hadn’t ever loved another woman enough to remarry. She didn’t understand the hell of being married to somebody you didn’t belong with. But what in the hell could he do about it?
    Stop the wedding. Well, yeah. “Could do that,” he said to himself. His voice was so damn slurred, nobody would have understood him. But since he was talking to himself, it wasn’t an issue.
    “Stop the wedding,” he mumbled. Then he snorted. “How’m I gonna do that?”
    An insane idea, no doubt brought on by his drunken state, danced through his mind. If he kidnapped her, she couldn’t get married.
    Could she? Can’t get married if you don’t show up for the wedding. He squinted a little and tried to think past the fog of alcohol. It did make sense.
    She might hate him. “She doesn’t belong with him,” he said with the complete, utter confidence of somebody who was either shit faced in love or falling down drunk. Logan was both and he knew it. But the idea still made perfect sense.
    Well, maybe not perfect sense. “It’s illegal.” So the plan had one little flaw. Still made really good sense. So maybe it was a little bit illegal but he could always arrest himself after, right?
    Logan shoved up from his chair. The room swirled around him and he slapped his hands against the desk to keep from falling over. The room stabilized a little and he tried taking one step away from the desk. So far so good.
    If he had a handrail all the way over to Bo’s house, this just might work. But the desk was only so long and if he wanted to keep moving forward he was going to have to let go of it. First step—good. Second step—good.
    Third.
    Hell. He hit the floor and was still drunk enough to find it funny as he lay there, drunk out of his mind and snickering. He had to get up. Find Bo. Yeah. ‘Cause it still all made perfect sense. Kidnap Bo and she couldn’t marry