by Jo Goodman
Katy stood protectively behind the kitchen door screen. The script page she held in her hand soon slipped to the floor. She made no attempt to pick it up. She stared mutely at the man holding her daughter in his large, beautifully shaped hands. Hunkered down as he was, accepting what passed for a kiss from Victoria, Katy was reminded of another time, another garden, and the frog prince she had loved with all the desperate, innocent passion of youth.
Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The door swung closed behind her and the jarring noise made three heads turn in her direction.
"Logan," she said. Could he tell her heart was in her mouth?
"Katy." He shifted the baby in his arms and stood slowly. "She is a beautiful little girl." His eyes wandered over Katy, taking in the slender, fluid line of her body as she walked to the edge of the porch. A breeze ruffled her honey-colored hair. She raised a hand to smooth a strand behind her ear. The gesture was self-conscious, and Logan realized she was as nervous as he.
"Why have you come?" she asked.
Logan took a step forward, paused, and glanced back at Donna Mae, a question in his eyes. That look was not one the actress was about to ignore. She got to her feet, gathered the blanket and ball, and gave them to Katy.
Raising her parasol over her shoulder, she whispered conspiratorially, "You can tell me everything later." Donna Mae turned then, gave Logan a thorough raking with her eyes, and sighed a trace longingly. "God, but you make me wish I could see twenty-five again." Twirling her parasol, she sashayed through the garden to the street.
"That was a very pretty compliment Donna Mae gave you," Katy told him. "As a rule she doesn't flatter gentlemen. She likes them to flatter her." Katy was unable to stop her nervous chatter. "Would you like to come in? Victoria's had quite enough sun."
Logan tried not to seem overly curious as Katy led him through the house to the front parlor. The rooms were small, well-kept, and furnished with items that could have only come from the theatre. Nothing quite matched, much of it was dated without being antique, and many of the scarred pieces showed several coats of paint. He realized she had spent whatever money she had on the house itself.
Katy noticed his interest. "I have inherited the prop room's overflow," she explained. "It is rather like living on stage round the clock." She pointed to a settee and Logan sat down. Victoria's small head rested comfortably in the crook of his arm. Katy gave her daughter the ball and then folded the blanket, dropping it over the back of a chair. "Can I get you something? Tea? Lemonade? I think there is some coffee that Donna—"
"Nothing for me, Katy. Won't you sit down?"
"Oh." She dropped like a lead weight into the chair behind her and sat perched on the edge. "Shall I take Victoria?"
"She's fine where she is."
"This is Mrs. Castle's day off. Usually she is here to help, but I don't have a performance tonight so I told her to—"
"No need to explain. I know about Mrs. Castle. I know you don't have to go to the theatre today. That's why I chose today to visit. And in answer to your next question, I owe my knowledge to the services of Liam O'Shea."
All this time she had been blaming Michael, and it had been Logan. Almost imperceptibly her back straightened and her chin thrust forward. "That was a horrible thing to do," she said. "I thought he was hired by—" Katy stopped herself and her hands tightened in her lap. "If your purpose was to scare me, then you succeeded very well indeed."
Logan wondered whom Katy was afraid of. "The purpose was simply assurance that you were safe. You left New York so suddenly—"
"You told me once before that you were done interfering in my life. Haven't you had your fill of revenge yet? Do you find some perverse pleasure in spying on me?"
She did not let him answer. Victoria had fallen asleep in Logan's arms. Katy got up and took her baby from him. Victoria stirred but didn't wake. "Let me put her to bed. She will sleep for an hour or so."
"I'll go with you."
Katy decided against arguing with him. The staircase was narrow, bare of a runner, and so frequently used during the house's long history that each step sloped gently toward the middle. Passing Katy's room, Logan saw an ancient tester bed littered with script pages. The cream-colored walls were freshly painted, but the room was sparsely furnished and the hardwood floor would have been better served with a rug to hide its deep scratches.
In contrast, Victoria's room was bright and cheerful. The wallpaper was patterned with tiny periwinkle blue flowers and the woodwork was painted white. There were several braided area rugs and the polished floor was littered with a variety of toys, most of them too big for a five-month-old infant. Katy's friends at the theatre again, Logan thought. Liam had told him that Katy and her daughter had been adopted by the other actors. Logan picked up one of the toys, a sturdy puppet hand-carved from balsa wood. The puppet had painted yellow hair and wore a red and white gingham dress, a pinafore, and oversized red patent leather shoes.
"This looks a little like you did at twelve," he told Katy.
Katy covered Victoria with a light blanket and turned to see what Logan was talking about. In spite of herself, she smiled. "Yes, I thought it did, too. The red shoes..." Her smile faltered. Colonel Allen had given her the shoes for keeping the secret. "I was very proud of my red shoes then," she said with a trace of sadness.
Logan set the puppet down. "Katy..."
Her eyes shone with false brightness. "Let's go back downstairs. Victoria needs to—" Just as she reached the doorway, he stopped her, touching her elbow with infinite tenderness. She raised her face to him, a question in her large, exotically slanted eyes.
"Is Victoria my daughter, Katy?"
She had often imagined Logan asking that very question. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she would wake up, damp with perspiration because he had posed that question to her. In the waking part of her mind, Katy truly believed she would never see Logan again, yet in her dreams she heard his voice as clearly as she heard it now. "Please, Logan, can we go down—"
"Is she my daughter?"
"Yes." She tore herself away from his light touch and hurried downstairs.
Logan stood over Victoria's sleeping basket for several minutes. A bubble of saliva formed at the corner of her tiny pink mouth. He watched it break on her next breath, making her lips soft and dewy. She was a miracle to him.
He found Katy in the kitchen, sitting at the small square table, holding a cup of coffee as if to warm her hands. She was staring beyond the screen door and into the garden. He pulled out a chair and sat down, taking care not to block her view.
"How long have you suspected?" she asked dully.
"Not as long as you might think. A week only."
Logan told her everything: how he had looked at her patient file in Scott's office, how he had learned more about Victor's illness than she had told him, and how finally he had turned everything at the paper over to others so he could leave New York and come to truth firsthand. "Even when I first understood you were pregnant it did not occur to me that your child might be mine. I assumed it was Victor's." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop. "Did Victor know?"
"Yes."
Logan sighed heavily. "Is that why there was nothing in his will for you? Is that why you left New York? Katy, you could have come to me. I would have—"
Katy set down her coffee cup so hard the table shook. "Victor was not so small-minded as you seem to think," she said angrily. "He was a kind, decent man. Generous to a fault. He knew about the baby, and he was willing to accept it as his own. He loved me that much. My husband provided for me and my child."
Logan glanced pointedly around the kitchen. "You have made a decent home for yourself here, but it's obvious that you haven't money to spare."
"Are you calling me a liar, Logan? Victor willed half of his estate to me—and I refused it. Refused, Logan. Turned it down. I left New York with the things Victor gave me d
uring his life. I did not want anything from him beyond that. As for coming to you—why would I want to do that? I have managed quite well without any help from you. My home may not be as grand as yours, but it is more than adequate for my needs. More importantly, Victoria has everything she could want here. If Mr. O'Shea had been doing his job properly, he would have told you that."
"He did," Logan said. "There was never any doubt that you were managing on your own. More than managing, really. You started another career for yourself, surrounded yourself with a family of friends, and made certain that Victoria wanted for nothing. If it were not for Victoria—I don't know—perhaps... perhaps I would have never come."
It was a brutally honest confession and nothing Katy had not already suspected. What shocked her was that hearing it hurt so badly.
"I am perfectly aware that you're here because of Victoria."
"I made a promise to you that I wouldn't interfere—and I meant to keep it. You obviously wanted nothing more to do with me. You kept your pregnancy a secret even..."—Logan held Katy's gaze—"...even when you stayed with me after Victor's funeral."
Memories washed over Katy and brought a transparent flush of color to her cheeks. It should have been my child, he had said while he thought she slept. Then there would be no question of giving you up. Katy stared at her hands. "I do not want to talk about that night."
He shook his head. "You could have told me then, and you didn't. You could have told me any time after, and you didn't. What were you afraid I might do, Katy?"
"The same thing I am afraid of now," she said, facing him squarely. "That when you leave here today, you'll try to take Victoria with you. I couldn't let you do that, Logan. I won't let you take my baby."
Her brown eyes glittered with splinters of gold and he could feel the strength of her conviction. She would be as fierce as a lioness protecting her cub, he thought. No, she wouldn't let him take Victoria. "I want my child, Katy," he said softly. "I also want her mother."
The air between them was still, thick with silence. "I'm not going to be your mistress," she said finally.
"I am asking you to be my wife."
"Your wife? You would marry me to get Victoria?"
"No, I would marry you to get you. I would fight you in court to get Victoria."
"Is that what you will do if I say no?"
"I am hoping I will not have to make that decision." Reaching across the scarred kitchen table, Logan pushed aside Katy's cup and saucer. He took her hand in his. "Will you marry me, Katy?"
She slipped her hand out of his. Her chair scraped the floor, making a grating sound as she pushed away from the table. Katy stood and walked to the other side of the kitchen and leaned back against the china cupboard, hugging herself. She was unaware of how wary she appeared to Logan, how her eyes regarded him like a cornered fawn's. "Do I have to give you an answer right now?"
His chest felt very tight. Patience was not a virtue to which he aspired. "No," he said. "Not right now."
"How long do I have?"
"I will tell you when the time comes."
"But—"
"I will tell you," he repeated. "Until then, perhaps you'd better show me where I can put my things. I noticed there are only the two bedrooms upstairs. I suppose I can sleep on that settee in the parlor. It might be a trifle short, but I think I can manage. You might want to think about giving Mrs. Castle more time off. I am more than willing to take up her responsibilities while you are working."
As if it were the most important consideration, Katy heard herself say, "Mrs. Castle needs this position. I cannot ask her to take time off."
Logan waved her concern aside. "I will pay her salary. But I'd rather not have her underfoot while I am getting to know my daughter."
"That won't be a problem," Katy said sweetly, "because you will not be staying here."
"Yes, I will be."
"Oh no. This is my home, and I can have you thrown out on your backside if I want."
Logan stood up. His mouth flattened momentarily, and his eyes were the cool color of nickel, revealing little. "You can," he said. "But I hope you will think twice before doing it." His glance was meaningful now. "I have said I would give you time. Give me some time as well."
She heard the implied threat. If she made him leave, she could expect to see him in court right away. What chance did she have there? An actress against a powerful newspaper publisher. "All right," she said ungraciously. "You can stay."
"And Mrs. Castle?"
"She will not be back until tomorrow afternoon when I have to go to the theatre. If you still want her to leave, I will talk to her—provided you will truly pay her wage."
"I will."
"You are not doing this so you can take Victoria away, are you?"
Logan swore softly under his breath. He crossed the kitchen in three long strides, slipped his arm around the small of Katy's back, and slanted a hard, hungry kiss across her mouth. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he began it. Katy's lips were parted, moist. Her eyes were wide and startled. "I told you what I wanted, Katy," he said. "Now, where should I put my bags?"
Somehow she managed to show him without tripping over her feet or her tongue. There was a wardrobe in Victoria's room he could use, and she pointed out the linen closet for pillows, sheets, blankets, and towels. After he brought in his valises from where he had left them on the front stoop, Katy shut herself in her room and worked on her lines, letting Logan unpack.
Victoria began to cry an hour later, and Katy quelled her first instinct to go immediately to her daughter's bedside. Let Logan cope with his daughter, she thought. He would soon realize that a baby made incredible demands on time and personal freedom. He might not be so anxious to let Mrs. Castle go. He might even change his mind about wanting Victoria altogether.
She was not surprised when he knocked on her bedroom door. She went to the doorway rather than let Logan in her room. "Yes?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey. Victoria was squalling loudly, but Logan looked completely unperturbed by the noise. The baby had on a fresh diaper and a clean cotton gown.
"She's hungry" he said. His eyes dropped briefly to Katy's breasts.
"I have started to wean her," she said to be contrary. "I give her a bottle for the noon feeding. Everything you need is in the kitchen." She started to shut the door. "Call me if you need help." She thought she heard him muttering something like, "over my dead body" as he walked away, but she was not sure. She went back to her reading, and the deep ache in her breasts eventually passed.
The next time there was a knock at her door it was Logan announcing lunch. Surprised, Katy interrupted her work with the intention of joining him downstairs. Instead there was a tray outside her room and Logan and Victoria had already retreated to the parlor. Standing at the top of the stairs, her ears straining, Katy could hear Logan talking to his daughter in a language only a baby could appreciate or hope to understand. Bemused, Katy picked up the tray and slowly returned to her room.
Dinner did not come on a tray. Katy was escorted to the dining room and served up the delicious stew that had been tantalizing her sense of smell for hours. "You did not have to go to this trouble, Logan. I would have cooked. I meant to actually, I just got lost in what I was doing and forgot the time."
"I saw the script on your bed. I know you're busy. That's why I didn't bother you." He passed her the breadbasket after taking a slice himself. "Is it a new play?"
"Hmmm. Seven Deadly Sins. Do you know it?"
"No, but it sounds lurid enough to enjoy a long run. What part do you have?"
"I am one of the sins." She paused buttering her bread and smiled a smile that was at once cool, reserved, and haughty. "Pride."
He noted her expression. "I see you've been practicing."
She nodded. "Donna Mae came to help me with Victoria and my lines. Rehearsals start in earnest tomorrow." Katy speared a carrot with her fork. "I am supposing my daughter's asleep again."
"Our dau
ghter," Logan corrected. "Yes, she's sleeping." He hesitated, dipping one corner of his bread in his stew. "I could help you with your lines."
"You don't have—"
"I know I don't. I want to. Unless you don't think it would do any good. I could only read things. I have no pretensions of being an actor."
"All right," she said quietly. "I would like that. Perhaps after Victoria is down for the night."
"When is that?"
"Usually just after ten."
"Ten? So late?"
"It has to be or she will not sleep past six. After a late night at the theatre, I appreciate sleeping in a little in the morning."
"You work too hard," he said bluntly. "O'Shea says you've taken one role after another with only a short break after Victoria's birth. You should not have to—"
"Very dangerous ground you're traveling," she warned him. "I was enjoying this meal, too."
Katy watched Logan mentally swallow whatever he had been about to say. Relieved, she smiled, thanked him, and changed the subject. "Where did you learn to cook like this? You may not aspire to acting, but you have some talent in the kitchen."
"I can make four dishes, and they all taste like stew," he said. "I learned to cook during the war—before my capture. It does not seem to matter what I put into the pot. It comes out tasting like this."
"You could do much, much worse," she said, amused by his modesty. After a moment she put down her fork. The laughter that had touched her mouth and eyes was gone now. "Logan, there is something I want to tell you, something I think you should know about the first time you were captured. Not so very long ago Colonel Allen—no, he's not a colonel any more, is he?—Congressman Allen came to see me backstage at the theatre. It does not really matter why he was there," Katy said, cutting off Logan's interruption. "What is important is that he thought you had been killed in Libby Prison. He did not realize you have been running the Chronicle all these years. I imagine he thought it was one of your brothers in charge. He was so certain you had died a prisoner."
