The ceremony was brief but meaningful. A handful of clergymen gathered in the back garden. Words were spoken, then the mortgage was burned in a small dish. After the ashes had been scattered, Logan took Melissa’s hand and guided her around the juniper hedge.
“The first time I saw this place, it was a pile of rubble,” he said.
“You’d never know it.”
Around them, lush plants—bird of paradise, roses, marigolds—provided color against the trees heavy with fruit. A stone bench circled a gnarled old olive tree. In the far corner, vegetables ripened in the summer sun.
“When my boss called me in and offered me the project, I was delighted. I hadn’t been with the firm more than a couple of years, so I took it as a sign he was pleased with my work.”
Logan sat on the bench and pulled her down beside him. His forearms rested on his thighs; his hands were loosely clasped together. A single shaft of sunlight drifted across his head and highlighted the hint of red in his dark hair. When they’d arrived, he’d slipped on his jacket, and now she watched the lightweight wool stretch across his broad shoulders.
“I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Fiona,” he continued. “She’d worked late that night. I still remember sitting alone in the living room.” He glanced at her briefly and tried to smile, but only his lips reflected humor. The expression in his eyes remained remote. “We couldn’t afford much furniture yet, and she wanted only the best. There was one couch and a lamp. I don’t know how long I waited. Till midnight maybe. But she finally came home. I told her about the assignment. She was outraged.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t like the idea of me working for free. When I explained how good it would look on my record and all, she acquiesced. After the construction was finished, she wanted to call the media and have them cover the event. You know, for publicity.”
Lines of tension stiffened his back. Melissa longed to reach out and soothe away the hurt. She held back. It wasn’t her place—he wasn’t her man.
“Did you agree?”
“As a matter of fact, we argued about it. She moved out for a couple of weeks and then it blew over.”
She’d left? Over that? Melissa frowned. It seemed so trivial. “I’m sorry.”
He straightened up and slipped off his jacket. After laying it next to him, he leaned back and braced his elbows on the bench back. “Don’t be. Fiona is…not like the rest of us mortals. We met in college. She was a sophomore and I was in my last year of school. It was pure chance. One of my buddies tutored to supplement his income. He had the flu and I took the session. Fiona was having trouble with calculus. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Melissa sighed. “It sounds very romantic. She must have been beautiful.”
“Have you ever accidentally looked at the sun? For a long time afterward, you’re still blinded by the light. That’s how it was with me. I was taken in by a winning smile and a pretty face.”
A sharp pain spread out from the center of her chest. A pretty face. It always came down to that. The pretty ones in life are the ones who win, she thought. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It was simply the way the game was played.
Part of her wanted to stop him from talking. Hearing about the love of his life wasn’t doing anything for her ego or her heart. Yet the need to know everything about him, no matter how much it hurt, couldn’t be denied.
“Was it a whirlwind courtship?”
“Nothing that romantic. Two months of lust. And then, she got pregnant.” He glanced at her. “You look shocked.”
“I’m n-not. I thought…”
“It was all roses? It was. For me at least. But Fiona had a plan. She knew she’d been born in L.A. for a reason. She was going to make it to the top and no baby was going to stop her.”
“With an attitude like that, I’m surprised she decided to have it.” She leaned on the seat back, then jerked forward when her shoulder came in contact with his hand. He pulled on her until she rested against the back of the bench.
“The day after she informed me, I got the job with the firm. Then I told her we were getting married. I was young enough or foolish enough to think it would all work out. She was practical enough to know she might not make it right away and could use a little financial support. Her family wasn’t enthralled by her career choice.”
He toyed with her hair. She could feel the gentle tugging, the occasional brush of his fingers, the soft breeze drifting against her neck. She should pull away or ask him to stop touching her. But she didn’t. Soon enough he’d realize what he was doing and the sweet connection would be severed.
“Just before Wendi’s second birthday, she got the job on the soap. Suddenly she was a star and things began to change.”
“Logan, you don’t have to tell me this.”
He looked at her. The gold in his eyes seemed muted. Lines, deeper than she’d ever noticed, fanned out along his temple. “I want you to know. For Wendi.”
“Oh. Of course.” Could he hear the disappointment in her voice? For one moment she’d allowed herself to think he might want to tell her for himself, so that she could share his pain, ease his burden. Don’t be a fool, she told herself. Don’t get hurt any more than necessary. “I know you worry about her.”
“She’s growing up so fast. I wish…I wish I could make it stop, but I can’t. You…she likes you, Melissa. I was hoping you could try and influence her.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “Keep her on this side of sanity. She’s all I’ve got.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I know.”
He moved his hand to her far shoulder and pulled until her head rested in the crook of his neck.
There was more to the story. She felt it in the way tension corded the muscles against her cheek. Not just yet, she pleaded silently. She needed time to absorb the heat radiating from him, time to savor his scent, his breathing, the texture of his shirt.
“Her first affair started six months after she got on the soap. He was her new leading man. There was no warning. One afternoon, she simply didn’t come home. She was gone almost a month.” His voice reverberated through his chest, but the echo didn’t disguise the pain. “It was her way of breaking in newcomers. In six years, there—”
Melissa covered his lips. “Don’t,” she whispered. If he told her everything, he’d never forgive himself…or her.
He kissed her fingers, then pulled them away. For a moment she allowed herself to hope. “I let her come home for Wendi’s sake. But after a while, I couldn’t stand it. Five years ago, I told her if she moved out again, not to return.”
Oh—Wendi. It was still about his child. If only…“And Fiona has been gone ever since?”
“Yes.” He drew in a breath. “When I was growing up, I thought marriage was forever. Now I know it’s just for suckers and fools. I’m never going to be either again.”
She sat up. Her chest was tight, as though it were being squeezed from within. “You can’t mean that.”
Determination lit his tawny eyes. “Every word.”
“But, Logan…”
“Hush.” He pulled her head back on his shoulder. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Wendi. I needed you to understand exactly what I’m up against.”
It wasn’t right, she thought as a single tear slipped from behind tightly closed lids. He hadn’t deserved Fiona’s treatment. Her callous behavior had left him scarred and bitter.
“I wish…”
Logan felt her soft sigh whisper across his neck. She probably wished she could make it better. No doubt she still believed the myth of happily ever after. She’d seen patients—children—die, had witnessed suffering he couldn’t begin to imagine, yet she faced life with a sureness and innocence that mocked his cynical stand.
Fiona would have called her a do-gooder, or worse. He closed his eyes and waited for the familiar wave of shame and anger to crash over him. Those first months, after he’d fo
und out about his wife’s betrayals, he’d wondered if he’d drown in his hate. The feelings had lessened over time but never gone away completely.
Melissa moved her head, and he felt the dampness from her tears. When was the last time someone had cried for him? If he didn’t count his mother, the answer would be never.
The watery proof of empathy and concern washed away the bitterness…the anger.
“Hush, little one,” he murmured into her ear. “It’s going to be all right.”
“I’m being stupid,” she said.
“No. You’re being a good friend.”
She stared down at the ground. Placing one finger under her chin, he tilted her face toward his. Mascara collected under her lower lids. Her nose was red and her lips were puffy. Brown eyes met his, then skittered away.
“I must look awful.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing.” He bent down and touched his mouth to hers. The contact was fleeting, barely enough to let him register the salty taste. The spark that flew between them wouldn’t have started much more than a camp fire. And yet he felt cleansed.
The car pulled into the driveway.
“Will you be all right?” Logan asked.
Melissa climbed out. “I’m fine, Logan. Stop asking. I feel silly enough about my breakdown.”
“You stop. I appreciated the concern.” He smiled slightly. “I need to get back to the office. I’ll be home at the usual time.”
She shut the door and watched him drive off. It wasn’t until the car had disappeared down the street that she moved to the house and unlocked the front door.
What an afternoon, she thought to herself. She felt as if she’d been beaten by two burly henchmen and left for dead in the river. In her room, she stripped out of the dress and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. The bathroom mirror revealed the extent of the damage. Melted face makeup and raccoon eyes. It was a look all the French designers would be showing in their spring collection. Only the memory of Logan’s confession and the brief kiss that followed kept her from packing her bags and running off to Borneo.
Five minutes later, she emerged freshly scrubbed. After she’d hung up her outfit and straightened her room, Wendi had returned from camp.
“And how was your day?” she asked as she poured the lemonade into two glasses.
“Somewhat cool. There was supposed to be a party at Sally’s house on Friday, but her baby sister got the mumps.”
“Is this the same Sally who Mark said was prettier?”
“Yeah.” The preteen avoided Melissa’s eyes and began braiding her long hair. “I kinda took your advice and talked to her. She’s nice. And she can’t help it if she’s responsible and all that stuff.”
“How generous of you.”
“So. What are we going to do this weekend?”
Melissa laughed as she sat down at the kitchen table. “Now that your plans have fallen through, I’m supposed to entertain you?”
Her mouth full of peanut-butter cookie, Wendi nodded.
“There’s always the mall.”
“There’s that movie I’ve been talking about,” the girl mumbled.
“Absolutely not. It’s been rated for people over seventeen.”
Wendi gulped her drink. “Mel-issa, I can go with a parent or guardian. Come on. All the kids have seen it but me. I’ll be an outcast.”
“No.” The doorbell rang. She rose and crossed the floor.
“Please!”
Melissa glanced back. “I’ll talk to your father.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re a brat.”
She pulled open the front door. The young deliveryman looked up. “Melissa VanFleet?”
“Yes.”
He handed her a crystal vase filled with pink roses. “Enjoy.”
“For me?”
The man smiled and turned back toward his truck. Melissa shut the door and stared at the fragrant bouquet.
“Wow. Who sent those? There must be a hundred flowers.” Wendi hopped from foot to foot, trying to count.
“Hold still,” Melissa said. “I’ll put them down.” She set them on the counter in the kitchen. A small white card poked out on one side. Her fingers trembled as she removed the square envelope and opened it.
Thanks for listening, Logan. She recognized the strong masculine scrawl. The fact that he’d written the card himself instead of letting the flowershop clerk write it meant almost as much as the roses themselves.
“So?” Wendi asked. “Who sent them?”
“Your dad. He wanted to thank me for, ah, all my hard work.” Was her grin as big as it felt?
Wendi looked at the gift. “He never sent Mrs. Dupuis flowers.” Her green eyes were dark and troubled.
Melissa reached out to touch the girl’s arm. “Wendi, it’s not anything to worry about.”
“Really?” The concern faded as she smiled. “I guess you have been working hard. Mrs. Dupuis doesn’t make cookies like you do.” She ran across the kitchen. “Wait until I tell Sally. Two dozen roses. When I grow up, I want boys to send me flowers every day.”
Melissa was still grinning when the phone rang. Her heart fluttered. Logan!
“Phillips residence.”
“Good afternoon. Is Logan in?”
Melissa felt as if a blizzard had suddenly formed inside the house. She recognized that voice. She’d heard it several times on TV. Fiona.
“He’s still at work. May I t-take a message?”
“Yes. You must be that Melissa person my daughter keeps talking about. I’m Fiona Phillips. Tell Logan I have some free time this weekend and would like to take Wendi Saturday morning. I’ll bring her back late that night. If he has a problem with that, he knows how to find me.”
The sultry voice made her want to retch. “I’ll give him the information. Wendi’s here. Do you want to talk to her?”
“I hardly think that’s necessary.” She hung up without saying goodbye.
Melissa replaced the receiver. How could that woman not want to speak with her own child? When Wendi found her mom had called, she’d be terribly hurt.
After scanning the numbers printed beside the phone, she quickly dialed Logan’s office. “Mr. Phillips, please,” she said to the answering secretary. “It’s his housekeeper calling.”
“One moment, Ms. VanFleet, and I’ll put you through.”
Talk about efficient, she thought, allowing herself a small smile. It was positively frightening.
The soft music was replaced by a click, then a warm masculine “You’re welcome.”
“What?” She glanced over her shoulder at the flowers. “Oh, thanks. They’re lovely. I’ve never seen roses that shade of pink.”
“It’s the color you blush when you get embarrassed.”
She closed her eyes and groaned. “Terrific. I’ll treasure the knowledge always. Logan, I have a little problem.”
“What?”
“Fiona just called and wants to see Wendi on Saturday. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure. But why are you asking? After she’d cleared it with Wendi, I would have just said yes.”
“She didn’t talk to Wendi.”
There was a long silence, then he sighed. “I understand. I’ll call Wendi on her own line and tell her that Fiona wants to see her. If we’re lucky, my ex-wife won’t mention she phoned the house and didn’t want to talk to her own daughter. I’m sorry to put you through this.”
“I’m sorry for Wendi.” And you, she amended silently.
“So, are you going to use your exercise video this weekend?”
“Goodbye, Logan.”
Chapter Nine
“If Sally calls, tell her where I am and that I’ll call her Sunday,” Wendi said as she zipped up her jeans.
“One, I am not your personal secretary. Two, don’t you have a brand-new answering machine?”
“Yeah, but I gave her the house number just in case. I mean John Green said he might call her. That kind of infor
mation can’t wait.”
Melissa grinned. “John Green. You should have said something before. How foolish of me. Of course I’ll take a message.”
“Okay. You’ve made your point. I gotta go. Bye.” She leaned over and kissed Melissa’s cheek, then walked to the doorway. “I don’t think I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
“I know. I’ll save dessert.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
The young girl scampered toward the front of the house. Melissa trailed after her and hovered in the kitchen until she heard the soft purr of Fiona’s expensive car.
Once again, the uniform-clad driver stepped out to hold open the back door. Who are you, Fiona? she asked silently. What kind of woman would throw away the love of a husband like Logan? Was her life so blessed that she could depend on another loving, giving, handsome man to whisk her away? For most mortals, the magic only occurred once, if at all. Some of her friends from high school were still together, others were on their second or third marriages.
She’d never expected a knight or a prince for herself. A simple man with honor and the need to give of himself was all she required. Perhaps when she had left Logan’s house, when the memory of his face was less bright, when the losing had dulled to a bearable ache, she’d search for that man.
Melissa walked into her bedroom and glanced at the vase on her dresser. After three days, the stunning roses continued to bloom. Their fragrance was the last thing she thought of at night, the first scent she inhaled in the morning. Touching the soft petals, she smiled. There were only twenty-three blooms now. One was being pressed flat inside a book. When it dried, she’d store it in her jewelry box, along with the other treasures from her past.
“Morning.”
She looked up and saw Logan standing in the hall. His hair, brushed back from his face, was still damp from his shower. Red shorts settled low on his hips. His chest was bare. She took in the crinkled covering of hair, the rippling play of his muscles, the vast expanse of tanned skin, then he slipped a T-shirt over his head and tugged it down.
Tender Loving Care Page 13
