Tossing the Caber (The Toss Trilogy)

by Susan Craig

  “Well, that will free you up anyhow, won’t it—if he rents the company, I mean?”

  Diana shook her head. Life was never simple. “I don’t think it will—not for a couple of years anyhow. He doesn’t have the capital up front to pay for development. I could easily invest enough in the process to cover initial costs and keep things going while production scales up, but I can’t just walk off and leave the money and the company in his hands. He’s an engineer, for God’s sake! He might turn out to be all right at running things, but I don’t want to risk it until I know for sure.”

  “Is he okay with that?”

  “He’s going to have to be if he wants the company. The thing is, if his idea works out it will cut me loose and mean greater security for the people who work in the plant. Lennox will have a real advantage over the competition. That would be worth a couple extra years to me. Besides, if he’s got some managerial ability hidden in that body of his, I might be able to bow out sooner.”

  “Body of his?” Sally’s brow arched almost to her hairline.

  Diana grinned. “Did I forget to mention he has the body of a Greek statue under his business suit? One might argue he’s actually quite pleasant to look at.” Feigning disinterest, she turned to reach for the gate to the west paddock.

  “Details,” Sally demanded, blocking her way.

  “Well over six feet tall, broad shoulders and biceps to die for, strong features, and monochromatic coloring.” Diana sidestepped around her friend and entered the enclosure.

  Sally spun around to follow her. “Monochro-what?”

  “Monochromatic. His hair and his eyes are both the same color. Just the color of Brady’s coat, aren’t they, Brady boy?” Diana squatted down to rub the belly of a wiggly fawn-colored Great Dane pup, “And his skin is… not pale, exactly, but light-toned.”

  Sally spoke over her shoulder as she carefully latched the gate. “Pretty boy?”

  Diana snorted. “Oh, no. Not this guy.” She stood to pet a big chocolate Lab. “He’s more the rugged type, like Cocoa here.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Sally raised her eyebrows. “So is he the reason you’re thinking about renting out the business, instead of being done with it?”

  A flush warmed Diana’s face. “No. I’ve already told you my reasons for that. He’s not my style anyway, probably likes the sophisticated heiress type.”

  Clipping a leash to the big lab’s collar, she avoided Sally’s gaze. “Come on Cocoa, let’s take a run.” He’s not my type. He’s not. The phrase matched the rhythm of her feet as she and Cocoa ran across the meadow. He’s not…He’s not…He’s not.

  Sweat rolled down Logan’s chest as he wrestled the dusty, broken commode out of the farmhouse shed and into the rented dumpster. He didn’t think Uncle Ned had ever thrown away a thing. Every broken appliance, every outdated magazine, and an astonishing collection of empty cottage cheese containers had found their way into the storage area out back. But it was empty now—and Logan had a place to park his Jeep. Using the edge of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, he hopped into the seat of the SUV and moved it out of the noonday sun. Time for a slice and a shower. Then he would see about finding some companionship.

  In the kitchen, Logan grabbed a huge piece of pizza from the scarred oak table and snagged a can of beer from the ancient refrigerator. He stepped into the tiny front room and leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking out the window as he ate. The front porch and steps were downright unsafe. He’d have to repair or replace them, first thing. They topped the long list of improvements the old place needed. No rush, though. Most of the work would have to wait until his cash flow improved.

  Swallowing the last bite of pizza, he washed it down with the rest of his beer. Four long strides carried him nearly to the end of the hallway off the kitchen. The door to his left led to the bathroom. Across the way, facing the front yard was the room where he slept. It wasn’t better or larger than the bedroom next to the bath, but it was on the west side of the house—where the morning sun was not. Dirty jeans landed below the bare window, followed by the sweaty T-shirt. He grabbed a towel from the pile of laundry folded on the bed and stepped across the hall.

  As he stood in the tub with hot water raining down on him, Logan was glad the bones of the house had stayed strong, despite being untended as Uncle Ned declined. The foundation was good, the roof didn’t leak and—best of all right now—even outdated as it was, the plumbing worked just fine.

  Maybe it was a blessing he’d been paying back Uncle Sam overseas when Ned had the stroke. It was better to remember hunting trips and evenings by the lake than a hospital bed. Still, if he’d had the chance, he’d have been at his uncle’s side.

  Not that Ned ever complained—he’d been the one to encourage Logan to trade three years of his life for a first-class education. “A good education lasts forever.” How often had Ned told him that?

  Practically speaking, going into the service had been the only choice. Uncle Ned had been well into retirement when Logan’s dad lost his long, hard battle with cancer. His mother had left them years before that. Logan clenched his jaw, remembering. Dad never got over her leaving…

  He’d been lucky to have Uncle Ned. But there had been no insurance, no real jobs for a raw seventeen-year-old, and Ned hadn’t had the resources to help with college. The three years of service that bought his bachelor’s degree had stretched into nine and a doctorate. Logan didn’t regret a day of it. But he was home now, and here he would stay.

  Pushing aside the shower curtain, he stepped out of the tub, water dripping down his strong legs, as he toweled himself dry. The old farmhouse was livable now. It had taken him two days to empty it out and clean it. Then he had furnished it with a second-hand bed, Uncle Ned’s old kitchen table and chairs, and an ancient leather couch from the Salvation Army thrift store.

  Most would have called it bare; Logan thought of it as uncluttered. His clothes hung on wire hangers in the tiny closet or lay, neatly folded, in the suitcase open on the floor. It was a whole lot better than some places he’d been.

  He pulled on fresh jeans and grabbed a shirt, buttoning it as he walked toward the kitchen. On his way through, he grabbed the empty pizza box and a scribbled address from the table. Food, paper plates and a microwave. Then I’ll be set.

  Closing the back door behind him, he tossed the box into the dumpster, stuffed the address into his pocket, hopped into his Jeep, and roared off down the road.

  Hours later, after a marathon of grocery buying and with a new microwave installed in his kitchen, Logan pulled the dusty SUV into the lot outside Man’s Best Friend. It was time for the good stuff. He hadn’t had a pet since he was a kid. Now he had a home, and to his mind, every home needed a dog. He strode into the shelter and smiled at the boy behind the reception counter. Eleven, Logan guessed. “Hi. Can you help me? I’m looking for a dog.”

  “Sure. Is your dog lost, or do you need a new one? I’m Tyler, my mom works here. What’s your name?”

  “Hi, Tyler. I’m Logan, and I need a new dog—a big one, not a puppy.”

  “That’s okay. We don’t have many puppies, but we have lots of big old dogs.” The boy puffed out his chest. “I can show you some, when my mom comes back—I’m watching the desk.”

  Logan nodded. “I can see that.” Not eleven. Maybe ten? He looked up as a tall blonde with sharp green eyes stepped behind the counter. “Is this your mom?”

  “Yeah, this is Mom.” The boy turned his back on Logan. “Mom, can I show him the dogs? He wants a big old one. His name is…” The flow of words slowed. Tyler looked back at Logan, frowning. “What was your name again?”

  “Logan. Logan Carmichael.” He smiled and extended his hand to the woman.

  Her grip was firm and warm. “Sally Johnston.” She tucked a bit of short, streaked blonde hair behind her ear.

  She was a looker. Why weren’t his senses humming? In response to the questioning look on her face he went on. “I’m
looking for a dog, like Tyler said. I thought you folks might have a nice adult dog who needs a good home.”

  She smiled politely. “We might, but we like to know a bit about the people our dogs go to, is that all right?”

  Logan nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Great. Then, Tyler, you can grab a leash and take Mr. Carmichael out back to see the dogs.” She grinned at Logan. “Tyler knows most of the dogs pretty well, so he’ll be able to tell you which are the best ones to play with. If you find a dog you’re interested in, bring it back here to me and we’ll talk.”

  “Sounds good. Say, how old is he?” Watching the boy sprint down the hall to retrieve a leash, Logan had revised his guess downward again.

  The blonde smiled as if she could read his thoughts. “Not quite nine—he’s tall for his age.”

  “Come on.” Tyler bounced back to Logan. “The dogs are outside.”

  There were six large interconnected concrete runs set in pairs behind the shelter building and beyond them, two spacious fenced grass paddocks. Three of the runs held dogs, as did both paddocks. Tyler led Logan past the runs to the farthest paddock. Reaching up, the boy unlatched the gate and they went in. A half-dozen dogs eager for attention surrounded them, but soon lost interest as Logan and Tyler wandered about. Near the fence facing the meadow beyond lay a golden retriever, his stillness in marked contrast to the activity of the rest of the pack. As they approached, the dog lifted his head to look at them, then turned away, putting his grizzled muzzle back down on his paws.

  Logan could have sworn the dog looked disappointed. He gave Tyler a nudge. “Is something wrong with that one?”

  ‘No, that’s just Spud. He’s only been here a few days. The man who owned him died.” The boy looked at the retriever and shook his head, but turned back to Logan with a grin, and giggled. “Mom said the lady who brought him in told her he was named Spud because he was a couch potato. She said spud means potato. Did you know that?”

  Logan nodded. “Yes, I have heard people say so.”

  “My mom thinks he’s old and tired, but I think he just misses his master.” Tyler moved to pet the dog. “Don’t worry, Spud. You’ll feel better soon—you’ll see.”

  “Just lonely, huh? I can relate to that.” Logan squatted down to pet the dog himself. “How are you, Spud?” Trusting golden eyes stared up into his as the heavy tail wagged. “Tyler, do you think Spud might like to live with me?”

  Tyler considered. “He might…and if he doesn’t you can bring him back—some people do that.”

  “No. If he comes home with me, he’ll be coming home for good. Why don’t you put that leash on him and we’ll go talk to your mom.”

  As he watched the boy snap the leash onto Spud’s collar, a movement on his left caught Logan’s eye and quickly arrested his full attention—a voluptuous female form was silhouetted against the late afternoon sky. He saw the brim of a baseball cap balanced by the tail of hair pulled through the back. With legs braced apart, the woman wielded a high-pressure hose to clean the concrete run. He could feel the kick of adrenaline in his system, just enough to deepen his breathing. His senses were humming now. Damn, she looks good. It had been longer than forever since he’d been with a woman.

  He definitely wanted to meet that body. Logan steered Tyler toward the empty run. He’d heard women were more open to a man with a child. If that meant any child, walking over with Tyler might give him a better shot at the woman in charge of those magnificent breasts. Closer now, he could see the faded blue of her T-shirt and that her jeans were worn thin from wear in places that made his palms itch and his mouth go dry. Maybe she works here. Coming up to the run with the boy, he spoke in a friendly tone, pitching his voice to carry over the spray of the hose. “Looks like a dirty job.” Hearing him, the woman turned—and he found himself face to face with Diana Lennox.

  Holy shit. What happened to her? There was no elegant CEO today. His mouth hung open as he stared. She looked like someone who might welcome being backed up against a fence and kissed by a man who knew what he was doing. Little tendrils of hair damp with spray and sweat were stuck to her face. Her T-shirt was damp and grubby-looking, and it looked like—he was almost sure—she might not be wearing a bra.

  Her face flushed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Aah, I came to get a dog.” Logan finally pulled his mouth shut, trying to readjust his thoughts. “I’m hoping they’ll let me adopt Spud here.” Logan glanced at the patient dog. “Tyler, uh, Tyler says he’s a couch potato, and I have a couch, so I thought we’d make a good pair.” He tried for a neutral smile. Smooth, Carmichael. Could you sound any dumber?

  Diana studied the toes of her soggy athletic shoes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude—you startled me.” She looked away, twisting the nozzle of the hose in her hands. Just as he was about to speak, she jumped in again. “I’m done here now. I have to put these things away.” She gestured vaguely toward the trash bag and scoop by the gate. Turning her back on him, Diana disconnected the hose and bundled it up into a tangled mass.

  “Let me help you,” Logan heard himself saying. He grabbed the scooper and trash bag, leaving Tyler and Spud behind as he hurried toward the shelter after her.

  “No thanks, I can manage.” Without raising her gaze she turned, snatched the bag and implement from his hands, and disappeared through the back door of the shelter—hose, scooper, trash bag and all.

  Logan stared after her in amazement. He was certain she’d been embarrassed, and she’d almost seemed shy. What on earth was Diana Lennox doing here? What had become of the cool stand-offish CEO he’d had dinner with last night? And where had she been hiding that body?

  He wanted to be the man backing her up against a fence and kissing her. He really wanted to be the man backing her up against a fence and kissing her. His body was screaming at him to go get her. Settle down, man, there’s a kid here. He drew a deep frustrated breath and let it out. Not in a million years would he have guessed Diana Lennox could look like that. Monday was going to be interesting. It wouldn’t be easy keeping his hands off the woman he’d seen today.

  “Hey, my mom’s office is this way.” Tyler’s voice brought Logan back as the boy stepped past him, moving into the lead. They walked into the building and down the hallway.

  Logan wondered where Diana had gone. He was tempted to follow the damp footprints on the floor, but Tyler led him only a short way down the hall then stopped to push open the door of a tiny room holding a few old-fashioned wooden chairs, two battered filing cabinets and an oak desk that had seen better days. The wall behind the desk was covered with drawings of dogs—some surely from the hand of his young host.

  “You sit down here and hold Spud.”

  Logan eased onto one of the chairs, accepting the leash pressed into his hand.

  “I’ll get my mom.” Tyler poked his head out the doorway and hollered toward the reception area. “Hey, Mom, he wants to adopt Spud!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Diana woke early and pulled the covers over her head, groaning. “No. Please, no.”

  Monday. Today, she had to meet with Carmichael. She would rather have a black hole open in the cosmos and swallow her, the bed, her whole life! I made a first-class idiot of myself Saturday. What am I going to do?

  Twenty minutes later, when the alarm went off, she grudgingly rose and shuffled toward the bathroom to shower and dress. She stared at her sleep-wrinkled face in the mirror. Charming. Forget about Carmichael, girl. He won’t look twice at you now. She sighed. He’d seen the real Diana—the inadequate Diana. The one who was never good enough.

  Her parents had tried. They’d worked like a tag team to change her into the daughter they felt they deserved. Her mother had taught her to be refined, to cover up those flaws… the awkward height, the over-endowed figure, her exuberant personality… unsuitable in a Lennox. Then those bits of Diana that remained had been trained and polished by her father until he had created Diana Lennox, sup
er CEO.

  I’m a fraud, but what else can I do? When she met with Logan today, she’d put on her super CEO mask once again. There seemed to be no other choice.

  Moving to the walk-in closet, she surveyed her array of expensive power suits—designer-label corporate armor. Choosing a steel gray ensemble, she began to dress. Most mornings, putting on business clothing settled any anxieties she might have about the day. Position and power were amazing contributors to confidence. Today, it wasn’t working. This afternoon, when she faced Carmichael, they would both know she wasn’t the sophisticated woman she appeared to be. How would he react to her then? Diana’s stomach twisted into a knot. A few deep breaths did little to calm her, but there was no way around it; she had to go. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up her briefcase and left the condo.

  Diana would have welcomed a delay, so naturally the traffic-gods saw to it that she arrived at the office early. She worked steadily until lunch, then filled in the time by pacing back and forth from her desk to the window. Logan would be here any minute. Her notes were prepared and her arguments were ready. She would not allow him to disrespect her. They would pretend Saturday never happened.

  The intercom buzzed. Diana wiped her palms on her skirt and moved to her desk.

  “Yes, Mildred?” She sat gracefully down.

  “Dr. Carmichael to see you, Ms. Lennox.”

  “Thank you.” Daddy’s training held. Her voice held no hint of nervousness. “Send him in.”

  Logan paused for a moment, as the brass knob of Diana’s door pulled the warmth from his hand. He held his hormones on a tight leash. No room for mistakes today. Diana would need to be convinced he could swing the financial end of the deal. He was pretty sure he had her on the rest. Opening the door, he swept his eyes over the woman behind the desk, trying to judge her mood. She looked unapproachable, all business, but he knew different. How could she transform like that? The simple gray suit effectively hid the curves he’d seen, and the woman in it looked too remote to touch. Unbidden, the knowledge of what was under her jacket and the memory of how she’d filled out those jeans set his blood simmering. Dual objectives. Nothing wrong with dual objectives. He knew he was thinking about playing with fire, but somehow he couldn’t care. Well, Ms. Lennox, business first. But not only business, if I have anything to say about it.