"Two weeks later you became engaged to a man older than your father.” Della blew her nose. “I understood Daniel Flynn was a admirable person, Selena, but, oh, God, how I wanted to be able to help you."
Selena reached across the table and patted her mother's hand, then rotated it palm up and held it in her own. “These hands worked themselves raw to help me,” she said. “It had finally become my turn."
"Your turn seems to have lasted sixteen years,” Della said. She pushed out of her chair and walked to the coffee pot and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She returned to the table with both. “Now, it's my turn."
Selena held her cup for her mother to refill it. “It could mean we'll have to move to another town,” Selena warned. “Maybe even another state, if Doctor Brian has his way. He behaved as if I were some sort of threat.” She sighed. “I can't imagine what it is he thinks I could threaten him with."
"You didn't allow him an inch the first time he tried it. And he's not getting his way this time either,” Della added thoughtfully. “Because, for some unknown reason, we appear to have an ally. Those people didn't bring those listings in here this morning by accident."
Della put her cup on her saucer and stacked the papers scattered on the table. “Whatever you decide, I'm with you. All I ask is that you be careful and come to me if you need me."
"Mom.” It was the time to tell her about Gregg.
Della paused with the listings and market sheets clutched against her chest with one hand. “Yes."
"There's something I never told you."
Della leaned forward and whispered in Selena's ear.
When Selena's mouth dropped open, Della slipped a cookie between her lips. “Is there anything you don't know?” Selena mumbled over and around her cookie, feeling a new lightness of heart as she digested her mother's revelation.
"A mother's main specialty is to keep on her toes. However, she doesn't have to reveal everything she learns.” Della headed for the door with her papers. “I have a new agent coming in for a job interview, so relax for a while and join the shoppers in the parking lot."
"I've been dying to do just that,” Selena called after her.
* * * *
"Are you going to buy those?"
Selena looked into Logan's eyes, then back at the pair of mint green and white hand-beaded earrings in her hand. “I've always loved Indian jewelry,” she said reflectively, smiling at the Indian woman behind the booth's table. She reached into her purse for her billfold. “Yep, I'm going to buy them."
Logan reached out and took her earrings from her hand. “I'll hold them while you search that suitcase you're carrying."
"Thanks,” Selena said. “What are you doing here? Ellie said you spend your Saturday afternoons at your clinic."
"I had to put in an order at Carl's lumber yard, and Ellie said you wanted to talk to me. I tried your office, but your mother said you went bazaar shopping."
Selena accepted her change from the woman behind the table then swiveled around to face Logan. Before she could speak, he carefully settled the open wires on the earrings into her pierced earlobes. The corners of his tempting mouth twitched into a smile. He was behaving as if their sharp words of the night before never happened. Well, she could go along with that—for now.
"Good choice,” he said. “They seem to fit perfectly.” Then his teasing appearance departed, his lips twisting cynically. “Among other things, you've learned to be quite an organizer. I bet you volunteer for all sorts of worthy causes."
"That,” Selena responded, uncertain of his change of mood, “doesn't sound exactly appreciative."
"Oh, I appreciate what you've done."
Something was bugging him, and she wanted to know what. “But you don't think admirably of people who take time for worthy causes?"
Logan shrugged. “Some people don't work at anything else."
"Well, don't slap me in that category, Logan. I have a job, remember?"
"And a son."
"And just what's that supposed to mean?"
Logan looked at the people walking past them. “Not a damned thing."
Selena knew better than that. Something rattled his chain. “Was your mother into volunteering?"
"I suppose."
"Meaning?"
He let out a deep sigh. “Meaning, I wasn't at home a great deal to see what she was doing."
She was getting somewhere. “Where were you?"
He looked sorry he'd initiated the conversation. “Boarding school—or camp, or traveling. You know, out-of-the-way places some parents with money send their children to shape them into better citizens."
"No, I don't know,” Selena answered quietly. “I can't even imagine anything close.” Since she had never experienced isolation from her mother, Selena could only speculate on what it would actually feel like. It didn't sound wonderful to Selena.
"Really?” he said, his tone dripping with irony. “I thought your son had private schooling."
Because she instantly pictured Logan as young, lonely, and confused, his parents busily preoccupied with everything but him; his sleeping in unfamiliar beds and constantly surrounded by strangers, Selena decided to disregard his derision. “Oh, yes, Gregg had private schooling. However, his tutors came to our home, not the other way around. He did play football or went to camp, even traveled, but only when he chose to."
Logan shifted nervously. “Lucky kid.” He walked toward a booth littered with tools.
Selena kept up with him. The more he revealed, the more she understood; the more she wanted to understand. “He's my son."
"And Daniel Flynn's,” he added bluntly. After a fervent glance at her, Logan's facade altered again. He seemed to withdraw from their subject as he lifted a big hammer from a lofty mound of various gadgets, surveying it critically.
She gestured at the hammer. “Do you actually know how to use that thing?” she asked, dismissing his last comment regarding Daniel, but wondering if he were really as resentful as his gruff words had indicated. If he wanted to change the subject, she could wait for another opportunity to pry loose his feelings.
Logan's gray eyes rolled upward as if she were an illiterate child. “Women."
She hated it when man, or boy, did that. “Well, do you?"
He stared at her for a moment, then his gaze traveled slowly from her eyes to her breasts. “I enjoy working with my hands—molding, shaping, feeling the textures of the materials I'm working with."
His softly spoken words made her want to move closer, prompt him to explain further. Instead, Selena deliberately returned his study, taking in his body from head to toe. “Who would have thought that a man of your background and occupation would pick up a hammer?"
He searched through the boxes on the edge of the table until he picked up one with the picture of a cordless electric hand drill on it. “I'll soon have a house to remodel, remember?"
"You could hire ten, twenty, contractors to accomplish that,” Selena said, unable to keep amazement out of her tone. She'd just had wonderful, eye-opening glimpses into Patrick Logan. She wanted more. She wanted Patrick Logan.
Logan slipped a thick wallet from his rear pocket. “I'll have some help,” he answered, patiently, balancing the articles he wanted with one hand and thumbing through several cubbyholes in his wallet with the other. “But most of this job I have to finish myself."
Selena held out her hands. “Here, let me hold those, while you unpack your luggage."
"Very funny,” he said. But he handed her his drill and hammer.
After he paid the brawny looking man for his tools, he gestured in the direction of his car. “Walk with me,” he said, shoving his wallet into his pocket. “I have to get back to the clinic.” He stepped nearer with his hands extended to take his tools from her. “Have dinner with me tonight, Selena."
Before she could answer, or relinquish his tools, a little boy darted in front of Logan. He shoved a little girl, and she landed on her knees agains
t the crudely paved surface. She commenced wailing shrilly, and Logan scooped her from the ground with one hand and snagged the boy's belt loop with the other.
Her pain seemingly eased; the tiny girl buried her face in Logan's shirt. “Timmy pushed me,” she cried, her voice muffled.
"I didn't. I didn't,” Timmy squeaked, trying to squirm away from Logan's new hold on his arm.
"I'm an eye-witness, Tim, my boy. I thought we talked about pushing and hitting girls."
Timmy stopped struggling and stuck two fingers in his mouth. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled around his fingers, and with his other hand he pointed at the girl. “But she stole my candy."
"Robin, did you take Tim's candy?” Logan's timbre was soft, coaxing.
Robin's head nodded against Logan's chest. “Well, can you give it back to him?"
Robin looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with tears. “Yes,” she lisped. “It's in my pocket."
Logan knelt, setting Robin on her feet and still hanging onto Tim's arm. He kissed her wet cheek. “Good, girl. Now, give it to him."
After she'd handed over two wrapped mints, she yanked on Logan's shirtsleeve. “Are you going to spank him, Doctor Patrick?"
"If I did that, I'd have to spank both of you.” He looked at Tim, releasing him. “What do you think, Tim? Wouldn't it be better if you just shook hands so you can go play?"
Selena hid a grin behind her palm as the look on Tim's tiny face became one of deep concentration. “Okay,” he said, holding out a grimy little hand.
Robin pumped Tim's hand, though her expression indicated she was, at the least, loathe to do so.
"Now scat, you two,” Logan said as he rose to his feet. “And, please try to behave."
The kids scattered without a backward glance, and Selena couldn't hold back any longer. She chuckled. “Well done, Doctor,” she said, handing him his tools. “Your powers as a negotiator are impressive.” It had been a real delight, watching him give comfort and discipline with such ease.
He gave her a slight bow as they continued walking. “Does this mean you'll have dinner with me?"
They stopped beside his black ‘43 Hudson , and Selena touched its gleaming fender. It was the same car he'd taken her looping the town in and polished to perfection. “Before, or after therapy?” she asked, her mind focusing on her folly of the previous night.
Lifting his arm, he looked at his watch. “After. It's past four now. If youre coming to the clinic soon, we can have an early dinner."
He might rescind his offer when he understood an evening dining wouldn't end the same way. “I would like to have dinner with you, Logan. But if you want more than that from me, I'll pass."
Before Logan could formulate an agreeable lie, Gregg appeared at her elbow. The boy draped his arm across Selena's shoulders and gave Logan a measuring look designed to point out he was the one with the right to stand close to her.
"I need to talk to you, Mom,” Gregg said, his gaze never shifting.
Logan watched Selena's fingers caress the fender of his car. He could almost feel them feathering down his chest as they had last night. “Shall we finish our discussion later, Logan?” she asked, backing away from the car.
Unable to resist the temptation, Logan reached out and brushed a curl behind her ear, effectively giving Gregg something to glare at him about. “That's a good idea.” He opened the car door and dumped his tools behind the front seat. “I'll see you later, then.” He nodded his departure-notice to Gregg. “I'll see you at practice Monday, Gregg."
"Yeah, sure,” Gregg answered as he and Selena walked away.
Logan started his car and headed it in the direction of his clinic. He hadn't meant to ask Selena out; he'd already decided keeping her at arms’ length would be his best move. Then he'd watched how naturally she communicated with both the rich and poor, the neighbors and strangers who milled in the parking lot, watched her eyes sparkle with pleasure over beaded earrings, watched her anxious caring features when he'd talked about his past. And when her slow, sweet smile dimpled her smooth cheeks, he'd wanted to take her in his arms, experience her body touching his once more, and make slow, exploring love to her.
Erasing Selena Flynn from his mind—hell, from his body, seemed a losing battle. His thoughts swerved to his parent's you-do-your-thing-I'll-do-mine relationship; to the emotionless childhood they'd given him; to his father's words regarding Selena; then to visualizing Gregg's meaningful glare, and realized he should keep trying to expunge her. Even if Selena wasn't money hungry, he wasn't husband material. He'd learned his limits when he failed miserably with Irene. And, hell, since what he'd gleaned about parenting came from his father's examples, what possible kind of father could he make? He wouldn't take any gamble with a child's life.
* * * *
Three hours after leaving Selena's car in the clinic's parking lot, Logan sat across the table from her in the dimly lit restaurant half of the Brywood Inn. It was a conflict of atmospheres. Antiques sat on shelves, hung from walls, and filled corners, while modern dance music filtered into the room from a band playing in the bar and dance floor section of the Inn.
A waiter hovered over Logan's shoulder, so he ordered Filet Mignon and Muscat de Frontignan for each of them to get rid of him. He loosened his tie with his fingers. “I hope that meets with your approval,” he said belatedly, wondering if she remembered the last time they'd eaten here.
Selena nodded and looked around. Her suit jacket lay partly open, and the candlelight from the table reflected on her white silk blouse, outlining the gentle curve of her breast, and was glowing softly in her eyes. “Nothing much has changed, except, I don't remember the need for reservations."
The waiter brought the chilled white wine, poured it into long-stemmed glasses, and hurried away when Logan signaled him impatiently. “New management, new rules, however, if you noticed, they didn't change any of their previous decor."
"I noticed,” she said. Her chin lifted. “Why did you bring me here, Logan?"
"I don't know,” he answered truthfully, unprepared for her bluntness. “Maybe, for old time's sake."
Selena sipped her wine, her gaze meeting his and holding. “I doubt that anything about our ‘old times’ makes you want to celebrate.” She settled her glass back on the table. “Come clean, Logan. Did your father send you to invite me out of town?"
His father? “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” She didn't blink an eyelash as he perused the disbelief in her expression. “I think,” he said slowly, “you need to explain. What has my father got to do with our having dinner together?"
Two waiters arrived to place dinner on the table, and Selena looked away, her cheeks coloring delicately. “Could we change the subject and discuss this later?"
Logan agreed, reluctantly. Instead of conversation they ate their dinner in near total silence. After his last bite of steak, Logan tossed his napkin on the table near his plate. “Tell me how you're doing with all the things you organized to help the clinic."
Selena gently swirled the wine in her glass as her lovely mouth tilted into a grin. Her red-blond curls seemed like a lustrous halo in the candlelight, and he curbed a desire to trace his fingers around those curls—stroke them.
"Well, we still have until one o'clock tomorrow, but will seventy thousand dollars dent the clinic's bills?"
With reluctance, he spoke the unpleasant news to her. “No, though it could possibly scratch the interest enough to satisfy a few creditors until the ranch gets sold.” What with the building, the best equipment, lab work, among other services, and five employees to pay, he needed one mill just to get them in a safe zone past the ample red line.
Selena's smile faded, and he could think of nothing to say that might bring it back. “I guess that's better than nothing. The clinic needs to thrive for the sake of the town.” She set her wine glass on the table and glanced at her watch. “I really must start for home, Logan. Gregg will be waiting for me."
The
y'd talked all evening like old friends, with none of the pursuing he'd expected—no, hoped for, from her. Well, he hadn't delivered her to her car yet. “Right,” he said, raising to his feet. He offered her his hand.
Selena lay her hand in his. “Such manners,” she said, her happiness seemingly restored. “Did you learn them in boarding school?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. “They tried, but my Aunt Rebecca was the one who taught me how to ad lib. She saved me from being suspended from school a few dozen times.” Rebecca and Pete had also helped locate investors for his clinic. If his father ever discovered their aid, they would most likely be opening offices outside the clan's practice.
"A Logan who would behave ill-bred—unbelievable.” She walked ahead of him, her hips swaying gently—her limp, hardly noticeable. “Whatever would your father say?” she mumbled as they reached his car.
The smile in her eyes evaporated, and her lips closed in a tight line when she mentioned his father again. Before she left him tonight, Logan expected Selena Flynn to explain what had happened to antagonize her about his father.
Chapter 7
The sun was down, and Selena's relaxed mood migrated more toward the wary with each mile they drove closer to the clinic. It seemed easier to think about and deal with Logan in the less-tempting daylight. After the way he'd been looking at her all evening, Selena's resolve not to touch him again until she understood him better, was slipping, rapidly.
The moment Logan parked his car beside her Mercedes Selena opened the door. “Thanks for the great dinner, Logan."
She managed to move one foot out the door before an iron grip latched onto her wrist, anchoring her. “Oh, yes, I keep forgetting to tell you,” Selena said, doing her best to disregard his hand, and how she could imagine it exploring much more than her wrist. “We need you to make an appearance tomorrow. You have a community to thank for all their support. Plus, draw the winner's ticket for the car."
His hand didn't ease an inch. “I'll be glad to do it, as long as you and Ellie are standing beside me."
Secrets and Lies Page 10
