“God, don’t ever come up behind me like that. Next time make some noise so you don’t scare the life out of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“You’re my twin. Aren’t you supposed to know I’m around?”
David Logan, her brother by blood, the only one she truly dropped the barriers with. David, the one who knew nearly all of her secrets.
She leaned in to give him a hug. “Sorry, my twin detector is out of batteries. I can offer you a beer, though, if you don’t mind getting it yourself. I’ll wash these.” She held up her dirty hands.
“You want one?”
“I’ll take an iced tea, please.” After what had happened the last time she’d tried drinking, she’d stick with teetotaling.
It should have seemed like an uncanny coincidence that David had shown up when she was upset. Somehow, though, he always knew. The normal rules didn’t apply with either of them. If anyone else had stopped over unexpectedly, she’d have been rattled and uncomfortable. Not with David, though. Never with David. And even if things had changed once he’d married and gotten a family, there was a connection there she’d never had with any other person.
For all she knew, it was part of why she found it so hard to meet men. Not that she was hung up on her brother but that some part of her craved that bone-deep connection the two of them had always shared. Anything else just wasn’t enough.
“So what brings you by?” she asked as he brought the bottles back out, along with a bag of habanero potato chips he’d scavenged.
He shrugged. “I dunno, I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d stop by. It’s been a couple of weeks.”
Together, they sat in the green-painted Adirondack chairs on her back deck.
“Any word from Robbie?” David asked.
Jillian surveyed her garden and willed it to give her peace. “Just the one letter right after he disappeared. Nancy’s going out of her mind. And she’s terrified every time the phone rings that it’s going to be his probation officer.”
“I can imagine. If I weren’t so worried about him I’d be tempted to strangle him.”
“If you could find him.”
“I could find him,” he said with the quiet certainty of a State Department special agent. “Just like Scott will find him.” Scott Logan, their cousin, the private investigator searching for Robbie. “That doesn’t excuse Robbie running out. Marriage is supposed to be about being there for each other.”
“David, come on, this isn’t a normal situation. He was kidnapped at what, six? When a child experiences trauma that young, the scars are incredibly deep. I mean, it’s bad enough he was taken, but to have those people brainwashing him, telling him Mom and Dad didn’t want him? You don’t get over that kind of thing in a year or two of therapy. You don’t get over it in decades.”
“We did.”
Had they? “We were lucky. Six was when the bad stuff ended for us. For Robbie, it was just beginning.”
“He knows the real score now.”
“And knowing intellectually isn’t the same thing as knowing,” she responded. “Trust me on that. He was doing better, I know he was. And he was happy with Nancy. But he wasn’t ready to have everything dredged back up by the paper. He wasn’t ready to have all his mistakes rubbed in his face.”
“Being involved in a babynapping ring is a pretty big mistake.”
“I know.” Her voice was impatient. “But he was forced into it and he did the right thing in the end. Doesn’t he get some credit for that? Doesn’t he get some credit for the good he’s done? When does he get to leave it all behind?”
“You never leave anything behind. It’s always with you. It’s just a question of whether you let it ride you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Keep it up and we might just make a social worker out of you, yet.”
“My dream job,” he said drily.
“Oh, speaking of jobs, wait until you hear the latest.”
“About being a social worker?”
“Sort of. It’s your cousin LJ’s fault.”
David’s lips twitched. “My cousin?”
“He is when he’s being annoying. And right now he’s being really annoying. He’s cooked up some agreement to have the Gazette do a profile on me for their careers section. The reporter’s going to shadow me all week next week.”
“Cool. We’ll finally get some good press out of that paper for a change.”
She stared at him. What was with everyone? “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to have a jerk reporter breathing down your neck all week. Oh, I bet he’s so pleased with himself,” she muttered darkly.
David looked puzzled. “LJ?”
“Gil Reynolds. The reporter who cooked it all up,” she elaborated. “And he is so going to be sorry.”
David raised an eyebrow. “You know this guy?”
“I met him at a friend’s wedding.” And kissed his face off. “Before I knew he worked for the Gazette.”
“Before you knew he was the Evil Other?”
She shot a look at him from under her brows. “I’d appreciate a little support here. That paper went after our family.”
“He wrote the stories?”
“He might as well have. He was the editor who approved them.”
“So maybe he feels bad and wants to give the clinic some good press.”
“He’s a journalist, David. He’s not doing it because he feels bad, he’s doing it because he wasn’t getting his way.”
David took a swallow of beer. “Seems to me like you’re pretty hostile about this guy. And I get the feeling that it’s not all about him working for the paper.”
Trust David to go unerringly to the heart of anything bugging her.
Even if she didn’t want to talk about it.
“So, how are Liz and the kids?” she asked briskly.
“Whoa. Way to change the subject.”
“The subject was done.”
“So you jumped from talking about your reporter guy to talking about my wife and kids. Interesting segue.”
“He’s not my reporter guy.”
“Sorry, your editor guy.”
“He’s not my editor guy, either.”
“I notice you’re not telling me I’m wrong about the segue, though. Did something happen?”
“No,” she said too quickly. And resisted the urge to rub her lips.
David studied her and nodded. “Did you want it to?”
“Not with him working at the Gazette, no.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t say ‘ah’ like that.”
“How about hmm?”
“David,” she said warningly.
He gave an innocent smile and leaned back in his chair. “Liz and the kids are great. You should come over. Tash is talking up a storm and you can actually understand some of it. And Emma’s crawling.”
So different. She remembered the years he’d been resolutely solo, unable to allow himself to deal with the emotional demands of a relationship. Somehow, though, he’d managed to get past it. “You really love it, don’t you? Having a family.”
“Yeah, I do. I didn’t think I would. Didn’t think I could, really, not with what happened to us.”
“Did you and Liz—” she hesitated “—did you connect? Like us? I don’t mean—”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I always figured it was just a twin thing, the way we always kind of know what the other one is thinking. But when I met Liz it was there, from the very beginning. Scared the hell out of me,” he added. “Is that what’s going on with this guy?”
Jillian sighed. “I can’t even think about it, not with him working for the Gazette.”
“You know the Gazette hasn’t been responsible for the worst of it. They wrote some stories—”
“Without ever interviewing Robbie or anyone at the Children’s Connection.”
“Granted, but they at least came back to the staff at the clinic for the later sto
ries. It’s not the Gazette that’s the problem, it’s the tabloids.”
“And, gee, where did they get the story?”
“You’re smart enough to know you can’t hold them accountable for that, Jilly. That’s not what’s putting you off about this guy.”
Jillian glowered. David just gave her a sunny smile and waited. She folded her arms. “He makes me uncomfortable,” she said finally.
David’s smile widened. “That’s usually a good sign. You’re too smart to want comfortable.”
“That’s exactly what I want,” she countered. “Big drama plays great on the movie screen but it’s dysfunctional as hell in real life. That’s not what adult relationships are supposed to be about.”
“Any adult relationship is going to have conflict. It’s how you deal with it that matters. And comfort is good but you’ve also got to have differences. You’ve got to have the edge. That’s the spice, that’s what makes things interesting.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I need interesting right now, not while things are a mess at the clinic and Robbie’s gone.”
“And when Robbie’s back, what’s the excuse going to be then?” he asked gently. “You can’t keep running away any more than Robbie can. I tried with Liz, in the beginning. I ran like hell. And then one day I decided I wasn’t going to let what happened to us as kids rule the rest of my life. And you can’t, either.”
She finished her tea and rose. “I know, but it’s not something I’m ready to deal with now.” Her voice was brisk.
“I take it that’s my cue to go?” he asked.
“I think your family might be happy to see you for dinner,” she told him. They took the shortcut through the house and on the front porch she kissed his cheek. “Thanks for coming by and thanks for caring about me,” she said. “It’ll be all right. Trust me, I know about these things. I’m a social worker.”
“That means you’re really good at taking care of other people. What about taking care of you?”
“It’s on my list of things to do,” she said. Behind her, the phone rang. “Oops, gotta get that.”
“Did you pay someone to call?” David asked.
Jillian laughed. “I’ll never tell.” Shutting the door, she went back to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”
There was no reply. All she heard was the fuzz of an empty line and an occasional swishing sound that might have been trucks and cars driving by.
“Hello?” she repeated. “Is anyone there?”
Silence, but the person didn’t hang up. The seconds ticked by and Jillian’s heart began to thump harder. “Robbie?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
With a click, the line disconnected.
Chapter Six
There were a lot of things Gil appreciated about living downtown—good restaurants, good music, a ten-minute commute—but none of them meant quite as much as his morning runs along the river.
If anyone asked him, he’d say he was a solitary guy. It was just that he had a job and a life that meant he spent a lot of time hanging out with people and socializing. He went clubbing, hit receptions and parties, took women out—and took them to bed.
But few of those women could say they really knew him. When the laughter died away, few of his friends knew what he was about. That was all right with Gil. Maybe it was growing up with his father and much-older brothers in a household of exclusively men, maybe it was growing up the son of a logger. Toughness and self-sufficiency had always been prized in his house, qualities he’d held on to.
Even when he’d flown in the face of his father’s wishes and gone into journalism.
“Get a real job where you work,” Tom Reynolds had scoffed, “not one where you kiss off all the time and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” There was no sense wasting a college degree on a job that would never pay, he’d maintained. “Forget this Woodward and Bernstein jazz. You want to go, get an engineering degree, something that’ll make you a living. Don’t expect me to pay for it, though.”
By then, Gil had already known not to expect anything, at all. That was all right, he was happier doing it himself—and showing the old man while he was at it. So he worked his way up through the ranks from intern to reporter to editor, fighting for that next scoop, developing sources, honing his instincts until at thirty-eight he was city editor of the top newspaper in Portland. Being a newspaperman didn’t make him soft; he proved that to himself every day. On the contrary, to do the job right, he had to be tough, hardworking and keep his feelings out of it.
Of course, cooking up a profile to give him an excuse to be around Jillian Logan wasn’t exactly keeping his feelings out of it. It was a way to give Gleason what he wanted without doing irresponsible coverage, though, so it was nearly justifiable.
Nearly.
Except that it wasn’t Gleason or the Gazette he thought of as he headed back to his condo. It was Jillian, her mouth, her taste, the feel of her hot against him. And if she thought she’d discouraged him at lunch, she was very much mistaken. After that kiss at the wedding, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. There was something between them and he wasn’t going to walk away until they were done with it.
And if his job profile made Russ happy by putting the Logans back on the front page, so much the better.
“Morning, Jillian.”
“Hi, Sue.” Jillian crossed the lobby of the Children’s Connection, smiling at receptionist Sue Martinelli. “How was your weekend?”
“Great. Ron and I went to Astoria. How about yours?”
“Not nearly long enough,” Jillian replied.
Sue snorted. “Are they ever?”
Not this time around, Jillian thought as she walked into her office, not when she had to face Gil Reynolds first thing in the morning. Then again, no one had ever gotten back to her about a time. For all she knew, Gil wasn’t showing up today. Maybe, she thought with a hope she recognized immediately as vain, he wasn’t showing up at all.
Fat chance.
As if to underscore the point, her phone rang. The display showed Sue’s number. For an instant, Jillian considered not answering, but ducking out wasn’t her style. Sighing, she picked up the reciever. “Hi, Sue. What’s up?”
“There’s someone out here to see you. A Gil Reynolds from the Gazette?”
And that quickly, Jillian’s heart rate doubled. Ridiculous, she lectured herself as she rose. She was a professional. She was perfectly capable of keeping the situation under control. Gil was here to do a job and so was she—for the Children’s Connection. As long as she concentrated on that, everything would stay on an even keel.
And then she walked out the door into the reception area and nothing was even, at all.
Least of all, her pulse.
Gil rose. Jillian had worn low heels with her tailored taupe trouser suit. It left her looking up at him, which was a mistake because it had her remembering that moment in the parking lot at Lisa’s wedding.
That moment her mouth had touched his.
“I see you made it,” she said.
“Bright and early,” he agreed, picking up his computer bag.
“You come prepared.”
“I figure I’m not always going to be able to follow along with you.”
He wore an olive-colored suit and a black-and-gold patterned tie. Polished and professional, a step above the khakis and twill shirts that seemed to be the uniform for Portland professionals. A sheaf of his dark hair had flopped down over his forehead as though he’d walked out of his house while it was still wet.
“With the computer, I can work during the downtime,” he continued and paused. “As opposed to the uptime?”
Jillian blinked at him.
“Like now? Why don’t we get started?” he prompted.
She’d been staring, she realized. “Right. Of course. This way.” She turned briskly, before the flush could spread up over her cheeks. But not before she caught a flash of his grin.
He followed her th
rough the door from the carpeted lobby to the bright hallways of the heart of the Children’s Connection.
“Looks like a medical clinic,” Gil observed, craning his neck to see around him.
“It is a medical clinic, at least, in part. IVF is a medical procedure. If you turn at the end of that hall, you hit the walkway that takes you over to Portland General. That’s where you’ll find the cafeteria and break room and the birthing rooms our nurses use. My office is down here,” she added, turning the opposite way.
“Ever get called in to play catch during a delivery when they’re shorthanded?”
When she turned to stare at him in the doorway of her office, he just grinned.
Jillian shook her head and walked in to sit at her desk. Calm authority, she thought. The thing to do was keep control of the situation. Hard to do, though, when he made himself comfortable in one of her chairs, sitting back, crossing his legs. How could one person fill a room? she wondered.
Jillian crossed her own legs, resisting the urge to fold her arms. “I can certainly give you a tour of the clinic. What else do you want from me?”
His smile widened. “What is this, a trick question?”
She scowled. “Look, the only reason you’re here is because LJ, for reasons best known to himself, thinks it’s a good idea. I told him I’d tolerate you but I expect you to act like a professional.”
“I’ll do my best,” Gil said obediently. It didn’t wipe the smile away, though. “To answer your question, what I want is to watch as you go through your week. I want you to talk to me about what you do, how you do it and why it’s important and satisfying to you.”
He wanted to get into her head, she realized uneasily. And for all that she could understand why he might need that, part of her cringed at the thought.
“At some point, I’ll want to interview you,” he said, confirming her fears.
“Later,” she said automatically.
“That’s fine. We’ve got a photographer lined up for Thursday morning, if that works. In the meantime, I’ll just sit in the background for your meetings and such.”
Always A Bridesmaid (Logan's Legacy Revisited) Page 7
