Ms. Starr’s Most Inconvenient Change of Heart (A Raven's Run Romantic Mystery Book 1)

by Dorothy St. James

  “It’s not like that. They’re good partners. She keeps his mind in the game.”

  “Game?”

  “He’s a stock broker. It’s a twenty-four-hour seven days a week gig.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he has time for both his career and a wife,” Logan said with a grunt.

  “And your job does?”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me,” he was quick to answer.

  “Right. You don’t have to. We’re already married.”

  I jumped up. Without a backwards glance, I marched out the newly hung door and didn’t stop until I reached the end of the dock.

  I don’t know why I felt so angry. Was it because Logan was questioning and judging my decisions?

  Or was it because that kiss we’d shared had meant too much to me?

  Part of me didn’t want to know the answer to that question. The other part of me already knew the answer.

  Chapter 19

  Logan watched as Sam charged out the door, her hips swaying in that sexy way that made his mouth water. He shook his head. What reason would she have to be upset?

  The marriage. The family. The stable home life. She was getting everything he wanted.

  No. Scratch that.

  She was getting everything she wanted.

  He didn’t want that.

  Never that.

  The only thing he wanted was for Sam to be happy.

  So why did he keep kissing her?

  He started to dredge his hand through his hair again. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he stopped, lowered his hand, and stared at it. Worrying about Sam’s happiness was driving him crazy. But if he didn’t worry about her happiness, who would? They were friends. At least they were once friends.

  Friends looked out for each other, which was why Logan turned back to his laptop and started typing. Although he still had tons of work to do if he had any hope of stopping the virus, his fingers moved in another direction. He started to run a thorough background check on this jerk Sam had deemed worthy of her love.

  DINNER ENDED UP BEING a quiet affair. Since we’d had a large lunch, I offered to prepare a chicken spinach salad with a side of toasted garlic French bread.

  We ate at a picnic table on the cabin’s wide porch. Logan kept looking up at me as if he wanted to say something, but he’d shovel food in his mouth before uttering a word.

  Was he upset with me for rushing out? Or had I offended him because I’d pushed him away when he’d been kissing me so thoroughly? Well, either way he’d simply have to get over it.

  It was a lovely evening. Crickets chirped loudly in the background. A few bats fluttered by now and again in the dark maroon evening sky. We should have been enjoying it.

  Since Logan didn’t have the manners to offer pleasant dining conversation, I didn’t say anything either. After finishing my salad, I went back into the kitchen to fetch the apple tarts from the oven.

  I put one tart on each of the two white porcelain dessert plates and spooned a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of the steaming hot tart. A blend of hot and cold, it was one of my favorite indulgences.

  When I set Logan’s plate on the table next to his half-eaten dinner, he looked up at me in surprise. He quickly chewed and swallowed the food that had been in his mouth.

  “Are these...apple tarts?” he asked, tentatively.

  Still feeling a little miffed at his silent treatment, I answered with a tight nod.

  For the first time since he’d criticized my ability to pick out a suitable fiancé, he smiled.

  “You remembered,” he said in amazement.

  How could he have thought I’d forget? “You always tried to steal the apple tarts my mom would bring to the hospital for me. I’d have to stand guard over them or else you’d sneak every single one back to your room.”

  “You remembered that too, eh?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, it’s something a girl would find hard to forget, you apple tart thief you.”

  He dipped his finger in the tart and licked the sweet cinnamon apple off it. The movement, though innocent as all get out, made my body shiver as I recalled the way those strong fingers had caressed me while he’d kissed the living daylights out of me.

  “Hmmm...” He sat back and sighed. “It tastes as good as the ones your mother used to make.”

  “It’s her recipe.”

  “You’ve mastered it.”

  “You might recall that the tarts were a favorite of mine as well. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have guarded them so carefully.”

  He pushed aside his dinner plate even though there was quite a bit of salad left. He set the apple tart front and center. With a wide grin that was pure, mischievous Logan, he grabbed his spoon and then dug into the dessert as if he was fourteen years old again.

  “There is more, I hope?” he asked after devouring half the apple tart in two bites.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Good. I’m glad you remembered how much I like them. It means you haven’t forgotten everything about me.”

  He’d made the comment in passing, I was sure of it. His attentions had been on the tart, not me, when he’d said it. And yet his words stung like tiny arrows in my chest.

  “I didn’t forget anything about you, Logan. Not one blasted detail,” I whispered.

  He carefully lowered his spoon to the plate and looked up at me. “What did you say?”

  I fluttered my hands in the air, wishing I could wipe the words away. This wasn’t the time or place to start a discussion with Logan about my feelings—past or present—for him. I was getting married in a few days, for Heaven’s sake.

  Sure, George didn’t make my heart skip a beat when he looked at me. Not that he ever really looked at me. He looked at my dress. Or my hair. Or my makeup. But he never looked at the person who was inside the package. And yeah, being with George didn’t make me yearn to have his children, though I supposed he’d expect something along those lines from me.

  Ice clanked as it melted in my glass of sweet tea. The sound jolted me back to the here and now.

  “Nothing,” I said as I rose and started to frantically clear the table.

  Logan placed his hand over mine to still my frenzied actions. We stared into each other’s eyes for a lifetime of breathless moments. I read knowledge there in his deep Caribbean blue eyes.

  He must have heard what I’d said.

  I closed my eyes resigned to face the consequences of opening that can of doomed worms. It wasn’t as if we could ever be together. I wanted that divorce from him. Truly, I did.

  “I—” I started with the intentions of explaining that while I had never forgotten him, we could never—

  “You cooked,” he broke in, not letting me finish. “I’ll clean up. It’s only fair.” He lifted the plates from my hand, and headed into the cabin, leaving me feeling chilly and alone on the back porch. Somewhere in the distance an owl called out a mournful sound. My heart shuddered.

  Chapter 20

  To save my sanity, I disappeared into the guest bedroom while Logan clamored around in the kitchen. That’s where I stayed. The clink of dishes and bang of pans stopped. Several hours passed. I spent the time tucked under the double bed’s white chenille bedspread with a nubby floral design that was very similar to the one I’d once seen at a textile exhibit at the Smithsonian. With my phone in my hands, I stared at the screen, willing George to call or text or anything.

  He didn’t.

  I watched the golden moon peeking at me through the sheer white curtains that hung romantically all the way to the floor. As more time passed, the moon disappeared under a line of heavy dark clouds that marched like an angry army across the sky.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Nervous fingers tightened around the phone without my permission. I wasn’t afraid of storms. Not anymore.

  One of the many therapists I’d gone to over the years had focused on ridding me of the phobia. I was cured. Totally. Cured.

/>   Yep. No problem with storms for me.

  Until a loud crash made me yelp and pull the covers over my head. I sat there, practicing my deep breathing exercises when another crash seemed to shake the door.

  Only, that second bang wasn’t the crash of thunder.

  It was a knock.

  On the bedroom door.

  It felt as if I had to push my heart back down into my chest before I could crawl out from under the covers and then out of the bed. I pulled the door open just a crack. And snorted at my overcautious behavior.

  Like I didn’t know who would be on the other side of the door. It wasn’t as if I were in my two-bedroom apartment in a marginal Jersey neighborhood.

  Logan was on the other side of the door still dressed in his sexy black shirt and worn jeans. I tried my best not to notice how good he looked in those clothes. And failed.

  He looked too gorgeous to ignore.

  “You okay?” Worry clouded his eyes.

  “Yep. Never better. Thanks for asking,” I chirped and started to shut the door. It was too dangerous to stay in the same room with him while my emotions were all twisted up into knots like this.

  Logan stuck out his hand and blocked me from closing the door. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed his way in. I would have been angry with him for his he-man behavior, but the serious look straining his features told me he wasn’t playing around.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. My heart decided to stutter in my chest. I pressed my hand against my breastbone and took several more deep breaths until I felt calmer.

  “I...um...” He ran his strong fingers through his hair. He’d been doing that often today.

  “If it’s the pan I used to bake the tarts. Just soak it in soapy water overnight. I’ll scrub it in the morning.”

  “No. No, it’s not that. It’s—”

  “Yes?” I asked when he didn’t finish.

  “I hate to ask, but—”

  He shook his head before turning away from me. Without a word of explanation, he started to leave the room.

  I grabbed his arm. “Logan, you can’t say that and then not tell me what you were going to ask me. You know I’m just going to think about it and think about it and then pester you until you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Yeah, I kind of remember that.” He smiled sheepishly. “Not too fair of me, eh?”

  “Out with it before I tickle torture you,” I warned, finding it far too easy to fall into our childhood patterns.

  He pointed to his back. “Remember Thacker told us how Hart Security had injected trackers in all their agents? Without our knowledge? Well, I want it out. Now. But the problem is I need help finding it. You wouldn’t be willing to look for it, would you?”

  “Of course I would,” I said, without considering the consequences. “I’d hate having something like that in me without my consent.”

  He heaved a sigh of relief, but didn’t move.

  “What do I need to do?” I asked.

  “Uh...” He whipped his tight black T-shirt off over his head.

  I sucked in a breath. It’s not as if I hadn’t just recently seen his chest. No, it wasn’t that at all. Nor was it my prudish sensibilities kicking in. I liked the sight of Logan’s slightly tanned, well-muscled chest.

  I liked seeing it far too much.

  And that was the problem, now wasn’t it?

  “What am I searching for?” I asked as I continued to stare at him like a ninny. I clasped my hands behind my back. As long as I looked and didn’t touch, everything would be okay. “I mean, it can’t be obvious.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’m hoping it’ll feel like a bump that shouldn’t be there.”

  I was going to have to touch him? Everywhere? My mouth suddenly felt desert dry. I swallowed several times.

  He turned around so I was looking at his glorious backside. “Start with the shoulders. I’ve gotten shots in my arm. Perhaps that’s when they did it. And then move to my neck and then upper back.”

  I lifted my hand, which was surprisingly steady.

  He flinched when I touched him.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. Keep going.”

  Was it my imagination or did his voice sound strained?

  I ran the tips of my fingers over his shoulders. His skin felt like warm velvet.

  I can do this.

  My questing fingers forged a trail over his slightly hairy upper arms. Goosebumps rose on his skin, complicating my search.

  A smile tugged at my lips. He was clearly just as bothered by this exercise in self-control as I was.

  “Nothing yet,” I whispered after giving his shoulders and upper arms what amounted to a deep tissue massage.

  Next, I moved my fingers to his neck. His corded muscles were tightly bound. They were like steel bands. It shouldn’t have been a surprise considering the amount of stress he’d been under lately. Add to that the grief of losing his partner. It was a wonder Logan could function at all.

  My task of searching for the tracker forgotten, I closed my eyes and concentrated on massaging out the tension.

  He groaned when I worked an especially nasty knot.

  I stopped and then opened my eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Came a gruff whisper. “Not this time.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I was too caught up in memorizing his well-formed adult body to stop so I could question him. Time seemed to slow as I explored every inch of his tense neck. Eventually the tanned skin under my fingers turned a dark shade of pink from the rush of blood flowing into his once tight muscles.

  Now that I could actually feel something besides his tension, I resumed my task of looking for the tracker. When I’d finished feeling every part of his neck, I moved to his upper back.

  Nothing.

  I shifted my hands lower. My fingers mapped every inch of his lower back, reluctantly halting at the waistband of his jeans. I’d run my hands over every inch of his backside and yet, I’d found nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Logan. It-it’s not—I mean I don’t feel anything that shouldn’t be there.”

  Other than my lusty hands.

  He turned around. His blue eyes had darkened.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance again. This time, with Logan standing so close to me, I didn’t flinch.

  “You’re going to have to search my front...that is...if you don’t mind.” He sounded as shaken by this intimate search as I felt.

  “C-can’t you do that? Can’t you search for it yourself?”

  “I already did. I didn’t find it.” He huffed just as thunder crashed louder this time. The storm was coming closer. “I was hoping that since your hands didn’t have the tough calluses mine do they’d be more sensitive. But if you don’t think you—”

  “No.” I bit my lip.

  Logan was a friend. Just a friend. I should be able to do this for him.

  I gritted my teeth as I ran my hand over the flat planes of his chest, smooth save for a light sprinkling of dark hair. His muscles tightened under my touch.

  Logan had turned his head away from me and was staring at the far wall with the intensity of a man standing in front of a firing squad.

  “You need to relax,” I said. “I can’t feel anything with your muscles all bundled up like this.”

  “I’ll try, but it’s kind of hard,” he croaked. “You. Me. The touching.”

  “Think of me as your doctor.”

  “Yeah, right.” He finally turned his head back toward me. His blue gaze met mine. I felt a jolt of lightning surge through me from the look he was giving me. I must have jumped a little. His eyebrows rose. “You want to play doctor?”

  I playfully swatted him. “Stop teasing. Think of baseball if you need to.”

  “Sports?” he added with a pained chuckle.

  “Yeah. Lots of sports.” Our lightening the mood worked. His muscles relaxed. And yet, his gaze remained latched onto mine
in a heated way that was making me tense. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “That’s what I like to hear from my women.”

  My hand stilled. “Do you have many? Women, I mean?” I could have kicked myself for letting that question pop out of my mouth. Why, oh why would I care if he had a girlfriend or a gaggle of girlfriends waiting for him back in New York? His personal life wasn’t my concern. “Forget I asked that,” I said quickly as I resumed the search for that stupid tracker. The sooner I could find it the sooner I could end this torment. “I have no desire to hear about your love life. A guy like you, successful and sexy, must have a line of women wanting to date you.”

  Please, why can’t I stop talking?

  Did I listen to myself? No. I just kept on babbling. “Not when you’re wearing that ugly nerd outfit, mind you. But when you’re dressed more casually I’m sure you...”

  Just. Stop. Talking. Already.

  Logan grabbed my wrist. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “It’s not my business,” I said, looking away.

  “I know. But I want you to understand, I don’t have a gaggle of women waiting for me. It’s just me and—”

  “It’s the clothes. Give me an afternoon, and I’ll help you buy a wardrobe that will make any woman drool. It won’t take much. What you’re wearing right now, for example, is...” I finally made myself stop.

  “Go ahead. I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “I think you’re saying I shouldn’t wear a shirt.” Logan kept his hand wrapped around my wrist.

  “No. No. I mean, when you had a shirt on.” I tried to pull away from him.

  “What about when I had a shirt on?” His grip tightened.

  “Your outfit is sexy. Any woman would tell you that. Now release me.”

  Logan smiled as he let his hand slip away. “I already told you, I was wearing a disguise when you first saw me.”

  “But you picked it out, which shows a gross lack of judgment on your part.” I shook my head.

  Talking helped keep my mind off how hot and bothered this search for his tracker had made me. Well, just barely. If he were to kiss me right now or throw me down on that bed not two feet behind us, I wouldn’t protest. And what does that say about my character?