Secrets and Lies

by N. C. Anderson

  "This one doesn't get voted on?"

  "Nope."

  "You won't get an argument from me. I like the new rule.” Gregg shoved his fingers through his hair then looked at Selena, his eyes sparkling. “Now I know what you mean by risk—Go for it, Mom,” he said as he launched to his feet in his usual he-man manner and tossed the ball on the bed. “We gonna eat tonight?"

  Selena stepped into the hall just when Cisco made his move, leaping onto Hans. For a moment Selena couldn't tell where salt-and-pepper started and gray cat fur ended. Then the two tore past her into the hall. She smiled at Gregg, shaking her head. “It's your night to make the salad."

  * * * *

  Later that evening Selena turned the lights off in the hallway on her way to her bedroom. She could hear Gregg's heavy breathing as she secured the door to his room, then she walked into hers. After closing the door, she stood before her bureau for a moment, before stooping and opening the bottom drawer. She shoved the nightgowns to the side and found the small white envelope right where she knew it would be.

  Near the room's bay window, overlooking the miles of twinkling city lights in the valley far below, she sat in her white wicker rocker, fingering the wrinkled envelope, hesitating to open it. The memories contained inside excited, yet unnerved her. Sighing, Selena slid her fingers inside and withdrew three photos, faded with age, and frayed from her touching them regularly through the years. She stared at the first one. It was of herself as a child, reaching out from a brightly painted carousel horse, reaching for the brass ring, and missing it. She had been five years old when her mother snapped the picture, and she'd risked her neck to get that darned ring. Her arms had been too short, and she'd nearly fallen in her attempt. Each September when the carnival came to town Selena tried again, and at age ten, she succeeded.

  Selena slipped it under the other photos and gazed at the second. A younger, less-serious Logan stared back at her. His arm draped familiarly across her shoulders; long, thick, black lashes laced the edges of his roguish eyes; deep dimples creased his cheeks, his lips extended in a wide smile.

  In the third photo she and Logan were on a blanket at Millerton Lake. Logan was lying on his back with Tanya perched on his chest, his arms up, warding off his dog's wet kisses.

  Selena tilted her head back against the chair, the photos, clutched to her chest. “Oh, God, Logan,” she whispered into the room, willing him to hear her. “We've missed so much."

  * * * *

  Logan stepped around the burly, overprotective housekeeper and approached his aunt's bed. “When you going to sluff-off this flu business?” he asked. “There's a nursery of babies waiting on you at the hospital."

  Rebecca's curly gray hair seemed lusterless, she looked pale, but she smiled in greeting. “Brian was here earlier, Patrick. It sounds like you're in trouble again."

  "I'm always in trouble,” he said, pulling a chair close to the bed and straddling it. Rebecca was the youngest of the Logan twelve. Logan trusted her. Like himself, she'd become a doctor because she wanted to benefit people who needed her. Unlike himself, she'd given into the pressure to join the practice. “Dad told you about the clinic's financial problems?

  "Among other things."

  "It's sinking fast, Rebecca. I'm running out of options."

  "You really love what you are doing, don't you?” she said wistfully.

  "I actually love what I'm doing,” he mimicked her tone, teasing.

  "Well, you've blown your trust on the land.” She waved a hand at him. “Don't get me wrong, I read my father's letter, remember? I'm merely running over the list of money storage. You could approach a bank, but I don't believe you'd find one sympathetic to your cause, and none of your uncles will buck your father. I can't assist you because my funds are completely tied up in investments. You could, however, sell some of the orange groves on the ranch you're living on. But that brings us to another question, how long would the funds last, and would it be enough?"

  Logan rose to his feet, flipping the chair to its original position near the wall. He leaned over and kissed Rebecca's cheek. “You get better fast. Most members of this family need you to keep them in line.” He turned toward the door. “If you need me, holler."

  "I will,” she said. “Oh, Patrick."

  He stopped and faced her. “Yes?"

  "You have to visit your mother."

  "I know. Nevertheless, I can't do it yet.” He rubbed his hand across his chin.

  "She needs you, Patrick."

  Like hell. She kept herself occupied with her organizational skills, with her volunteer work and social obligations; those had always been her needs. “When my father shows more respect for what I'm doing with my life, I'll step into their house. Until then, I'm a busy man."

  Rebecca sighed. “You're right, of course—to an extent. But I've seen Karlene desperately fight away tears when she's told me what you mean to her. She misses you. I know she's sincere, Patrick, and I worry about her. Like the rest of us, she won't challenge your father."

  Logan took another step for the doorway. He didn't want to discuss his mother; he needed to think about it. He couldn't remember her being close to tears when they sent him off to boarding school, or camp, or anywhere else they could find to unload him—"to make a fine man of you"—their damned excuse. Hell.

  "And, Patrick."

  "Yes, Rebecca?"

  "About your seeing the woman, Selena Flynn. I don't understand what it's all about, but your father isn't joking about his feelings for her. The only other thing I've ever seen him thoroughly adamant about is your joining the practice."

  Logan saluted her. “Thanks, I'll keep your warning in mind.” He sprinted down the long staircase three steps at a time. His father's attitude regarding Selena's hunting for wealth and especially Logan wealth could be correct. Except, it seemed reasonable Daniel Flynn would have left her well off. Also, Selena had become an educated, capable woman, no longer the poorest girl from the poorest family. He remembered how unreasonably upset his father had become when he thought Logan dated “poor, illiterate Selena” seriously. Somehow his father must have equated being poor with being stupid. Selena had been a straight-A student.

  It won't soothe his frame of mind much, Logan thought as he reached the bottom step, when he finds out I've given McRae Realty another Logan listing.

  The front door opened before he reached it and his mother stepped inside, clutching a briefcase. Her eyes widened in surprise, one hand, reaching out as if to touch him, then returning to aid the other in holding her briefcase closely against her.

  "Why, Patrick, it's good to see you,” Karlene Logan said as warmly as she could, trying to sound cheerful. She'd hoped not to run into him for a few more days. Then she'd be ready. He looked handsome and fit and she wanted to hug him the way other mothers did when they greeted their sons. She wanted it badly.

  "You're looking well, Mother.” He gestured at her briefcase. “It looks like you're on a business venture.” She smiled a sort of the-cat-who-got-caught smile that Logan had never seen on her before and shifted the case to her side.

  "Oh, Rebecca and I just have a couple of ideas to talk over.” She paused. “It's been several weeks since I've seen you."

  Her smile faded, her smooth, delicate cheeks flushing. Perhaps that was concern in the serious line of her lips, in the tone of her words. Logan would give her the benefit of the doubt. She knew he hadn't been to the house because of the no-compromise arguments he and his father could never control, let alone resolve; but, since she chose to ignore it, he'd just go along with her.

  "The clinic has kept me busy,” he said, moving closer to the open door. He had to get going. The papers he needed to submit to Selena in the morning could take him several hours to compile. “Seems like we don't pass a day without some type of emergency."

  "I suppose,” Karlene conceded. “But I hope you'll come by soon, or at least meet me for lunch.” Brian needed a jolt, and she intended, with Rebecca's help
, to give him one. Actually, both he and Patrick needed shock treatments. They never seemed to notice how miserable they made her life with their constant clashes. Well, she'd had enough. Enough of living with Brian's cold-natured attitude. Enough of watching him interfere with Patrick's career life. Enough, enough, enough.

  "I'll call you,” Logan said over his shoulder as he escaped out the door. It was a novel idea—having lunch with his mother. He had to admit he'd missed seeing her.

  "Make it soon, Patrick,” she called after him.

  He could almost feel her gaze following him. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, his financial stumbling blocks, the very-real threat of losing his clinic, taking over his thoughts.

  Chapter 4

  Early the next morning Selena watched Logan park his truck in front of the office, then enjoyed inspecting his broad shoulders, lean hips and long, strong strides as he advanced purposefully for her office with a batch of papers clutched in his hand. She hadn't expected to see him until she went to his clinic. If life would have treated them differently, she could sprint to the door and throw her arms around him in greeting; instead, she sat back in her chair, waiting until he stopped alongside her desk.

  "Good morning, Logan.” She gestured to the high-backed chair adjacent to her desk. “What can I do for you?"

  He dropped his papers on the corner of her desk, then added his Stetson to the pile. “I've got a listing for you,” he said, settling himself onto the chair. “I'm putting one-third of my ranch on the market, and I needed it sold yesterday."

  Selena leaned forward, wondering why anyone with his kind of money would sound desperate. Maybe she'd imagined it. She pulled a listing agreement from the top basket on her desk. “What's the big hurry?"

  A smile twitched the corners of his generous mouth; only, it didn't change the serious expression in his eyes. “I need to make a considerable donation to charity."

  Selena lifted his Stetson. After taking the papers from under it, she read the address plus description of the land he wanted sold. The third he wanted sold was all orange, and grapes, and almond grove—and would list for nearly a million dollars. “Must be some charity."

  He crossed his right leg over his left. “It is."

  She handed him her listing contract and a pen. “You must have been busy this morning.” Logan's papers showed he'd initiated the process for dividing his four hundred and eighty acres this morning.

  After trying her pen, and finding it dry, he tossed it on her desk, then pulled a pen from his breast pocket and filled in his information with long, commanding strokes. “I don't need to tell you what bill collectors are like when it comes to having a little patience."

  Selena wasn't certain if she should feel offended or not. “Well, I can't remember my ever being hounded by one. However, as you and the rest of the people in this town know, my mother has encountered them intimately."

  Several solemn emotions seemed to cross over his virile features. Then, he smiled. “Sorry, I wasn't aiming my remark toward anyone. Our clinic needs funds, now—hell, it has needed them since we outlined the idea. I may want to consult Della on at least one-hundred-and-one-ways to divert creditors. My whip and chair won't keep the repo people out much longer."

  Selena chuckled, thinking how financially astute Della had become. “Mom could possibly give you two-hundred-and-one. Don't you have some backers?” Her mother had said unless it was an emergency situation, his clinic only took patients who couldn't afford insurance, or to pay at all in some circumstances. At any rate, their conversation was strange; most of the Logans were totally submerged in money.

  Logan's smile finally reached his eyes. “We started out with a few, however they've mysteriously melted into the woodwork."

  "I guess it happens in every business,” Selena said. She'd seen investors do similar vanishing acts to Daniel. “I don't suppose the football game Friday night will pull in much either.” The pre-season high school game between the “Hatfields,” teamed by freshman and seniors, and “McCoys,” teamed by sophomores and juniors, always donated the proceeds to a community charity. Gregg had told her that this year the Valencia Cove Clinic would have the benefits. Most of the people in Valencia Cove qualified to use the clinic. They were a people short on funds and rich on heart.

  He handed her the agreement. Their fingers grazed with the merest contact, and the heartbeat in his hand seemed to pulsate up Selena's arm. She stared at him, her heart skipping its rhythm as memories pushed away years, and she imagined Logan holding her, his strong fingers caressing her skin the way they once had. Selena struggled to blackout the image as he pushed to his feet.

  "At this point every little bit makes a difference.” Logan wiped his hand across his chin and paced in front of her desk. “The capitol we get from my land should fortify us a few more months."

  Selena rose to her feet, moved to the side of her desk, and relaxed against it. “Besides locating a quick buyer for your land, is there anything else I can do?” The clinic gave a healthy feeling of security to the people in Valencia Cove. Her town, her people.

  "You can always talk to Ellie,” he said, stopping beside her. “She wants to organize some fund raisers and try to attract new investors. I'm certain she would appreciate all the support she can get."

  A husky tone to his voice alerted Selena, and she glanced into his steel-gray eyes, finding them watching her with a soft compassion. Not exactly the emotion she was hoping for. She swallowed, hard, as his hand reached out and soothed wayward curls from her cheek. “I'll talk to Ellie,” she said, suddenly resenting the way he was looking at her. “You feel sorry for me, don't you, Logan?” She moved away from him. “Well, don't. I've mastered what it takes to sustain myself."

  "No,” he said, following her. “I don't feel sorry for you."

  "Give me a break. I recognize pity when I see it.” He turned her toward him so fast she almost lost her footing.

  "Let's see,” he grumbled, his hand sliding under her chin, his face only inches from hers, his warm breath grazing her cheek. “Let me know if you detect pity in this."

  As his mouth came over hers, Selena opened her lips instinctively, tasting him, remembering, giving back exactly what he was giving. When his large hands stroked up her back, molding her against his hard chest, she slid her fingers into his black hair, savoring the sensation of the silky strands brushing her palm, cherishing the familiar tremor moving through his arms. His body heat seemed to pass through the barriers created by the cotton of his shirt and the draping jersey of her flowered dress. He was right. She found no pity in his kiss.

  Logan stiffened, then pulled back, his expression looked confused, then it changed to a wariness which baffled Selena. He cleared his throat. “I guess you can take care of yourself."

  No, she thought, her heart racing. Not when it comes to you. “Life's given me special combat training."

  He ignored her words as he snatched his Stetson from her desk, pushed it onto his black hair, and backed toward the door. “What time will you be at the clinic for your therapy?"

  "I can't make it until Friday,” she said, standing perfectly still, not wanting him to see her knees shaking. “I'm booked solid with clients."

  He paused, and his dark eyebrows squeezed closer together in a frown. “You need to get there everyday, Selena."

  "I know,” she said quietly; her mind woozy, her mouth still filled with the taste of him. “But I made commitments this week I can't change.” She shrugged. “I'll be there Friday."

  Logan nodded as he opened the door. “I'll expect you. Don't forget to bring the X rays you promised me."

  When the door closed behind him, Selena collapsed onto her chair, releasing the deep breath she'd been holding. What had she done? He was the one who initiated the kiss, why should he look suspicious?

  She swept her hair from her eyes. The moment his arms had enclosed around her, she'd felt as if she'd come home. The moment his lips had touched hers, she'd felt a need in him as
great as her own. Then he'd switched gears—But why?

  He'd most likely remembered she was the poor girl in town, the daughter of the town drunk, the half-wit teenage girl who had lost her virginity to his charisma.

  Stop it, Selena told herself sternly as she recalled the almost desperate need she'd felt in his kiss. It was a waste of time to speculate on his thoughts, and theorizing negatively wasn't an answer. They weren't teenagers any longer. A great deal had happened to both of them.

  Realizing she was going to be late Selena rose to her feet, grabbed her briefcase, and rushed for the door and her morning appointments.

  She wasn't ready to give up on Logan. He would have to tell her to get lost and mean it before she would give up. She had to discover what kind of man existed behind the compassion she'd seen in his eyes; a man who was preparing to give a third of a multi-million-dollar ranch to keep a money-losing clinic afloat.

  Before she reached the door, Della came through it. She stared at Selena for a moment, then blinked. “Now I understand the flush on Doctor Logan's face, and his short salute as he zipped past me in the parking lot."

  Selena halted abruptly near her mother. “I don't know what you're talking about."

  "That look on your face means you love him and are bent on doing something about it, doesn't it, Selena?"

  Selena had forgotten her mother's ability to peruse her, well. “Yes,” she said. “I think it does."

  Della tossed her hands in resignation as she walked to her desk. “That's the singular worst fault I've ever found in you, Selena,” Della said, sighing. “Anyway, I think it's a fault. Maybe it really isn't one at all."