Falling for Leigh

by Jennifer Snow

  “I really don’t think so. There’s a medical clinic in town.... I have the children arriving soon, but if you want to wait until they all get here, I could drive you in the day-care van?”

  That was a guilt offer if he’d ever heard one. Without even considering it, he shook his head. The medical clinic wasn’t that far—he’d walk.

  The woman pointed to the left. “Six blocks that way, take a right onto Main Street—”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Oh...okay. You sure you don’t want a ride? It’s no trouble.”

  She was not a good liar.

  “I’m sure.”

  She bent to get her sign. “Okay.” Then picking up the ladder, she set it against the house.

  “What are you doing?” Logan held his sore wrist with one hand.

  “Hanging my sign,” she said, stepping onto the first rung.

  “Are you crazy? That ladder is a million years old.”

  A dark red minivan pulled up in front of the house, and she stepped down and waved, smiling warmly. The effect transformed her face as her dark eyes lit up and her features softened.

  Logan’s eyes followed hers to see two children climb out of the back of the van.

  “Okay,” he muttered, “well, thanks for the injury.”

  Holding up his purple, swollen hand, he went through the gate past the children and then the bed-and-breakfast, heading in the direction of the clinic.

  * * *

  “I DIDN’T REALIZE I was making so much noise over there with that sign, but he was pretty irate.” Leigh took a sip of her chamomile tea from the oversize mug and curled a leg under her on the wicker chair, as she settled in the dining room of the bed-and-breakfast that evening. All day she’d been worried she might have caused trouble for her cousin Rachel and her partner, Victoria Mason...and she’d felt guilty about his injury. That swelling and bruising hadn’t looked good. But she hadn’t asked for his help. In fact, she never asked anyone for help. She’d learned the hard way that depending on someone else led to disappointment.

  Rachel couldn’t conceal her worry even as she said, “Ah, I didn’t hear anything. He’s just a grumpy guy.... Though he has been gone a long time,” she added before biting into a raspberry muffin. “And yesterday, my kids drove him crazy running in the halls. It was raining so hard, I couldn’t send them outside. Poor guy’s not getting much peace and quiet with all the noise around here.”

  Leigh shook her head. “Kids playing is not noise, it’s called fun.”

  “I don’t know. My crew can be loud sometimes.” She nodded toward the side of the yard where her older children used garden rakes to gather the leaves that had fallen from the oaks and maples in the spacious yard and piled them high.

  “Looks like they’re being helpful to me, cleaning up.”

  “Just wait.”

  A second later the three kids ran screaming, diving into the pile, rescattering leaves all over the yard.

  “See?”

  She couldn’t help envying her cousin and her five children. After years of trying to have kids, she’d been unsuccessful. The problem wasn’t conceiving. Three miscarriages, fertility treatments and countless tests had yet to determine the reason for her inability to carry a baby to term, and at thirty-eight, she was forced to face facts: having a child of her own wasn’t a possibility.

  Especially now that she found herself single again after ten years of marriage.

  Neil had filed for divorce four years before, claiming that the stress of trying to have a family had taken its toll on their relationship and created a wedge between them that he couldn’t get past.

  Though she’d been devastated, she hadn’t been able to argue with the obvious: their relationship had changed. She couldn’t fault him for leaving. He wanted children and that wasn’t something she could give him.

  Rachel touched her hand, bringing her back to the present. She lowered her voice as she asked, “Have you heard from the adoption agency yet?”

  The cousins were close, yet it still amazed Leigh how easily Rachel could read her thoughts. “They called last month to say they’d received the first portion of my deposit.”

  She toyed with the rim of the oversize mug. Deciding to adopt had been a major decision, and not one that she’d made lightly. She’d saved every cent of her divorce settlement from Neil for four years, waiting until she was certain she was ready to take this step, and now she was. She was fully prepared to raise a child on her own.

  “It was enough to open my file and start the paperwork, but they said it could take months before I hear anything else.” Her shoulders sagged. She knew this process wouldn’t happen overnight, especially when she was hoping to adopt a newborn, but she was painfully aware that she wasn’t getting any younger. She wanted to start a family before she turned forty.

  “Don’t worry, it will happen. You’re terrific with the kids in your day care. Anyone can see you will make a wonderful mom someday.” Rachel gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as Victoria joined them in the dining room, carrying a cup of black coffee.

  “Sorry, I got caught up on the phone with Mrs. Dawson. She’s planning a Halloween murder-mystery dinner at the recreation center and she wants to advertise the event in the Brookhollow View. I was helping her with the wording. What did I miss?”

  Leigh shot her cousin a look. The only people she’d confided in about her adoption plans were Rachel and Grandmother Norris, and she wanted to keep the information between the three of them. Until she had a child of her own, she didn’t want anyone to know she was going through the process. Disappointment was harder to bear when it had an audience, and if things didn’t work out...

  Victoria glanced between the two women and took a sip of her steaming coffee.

  Rachel cleared her throat. “We were just discussing our mysterious, brooding guest in the Blue Room.”

  “Mr. Walters?” Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “He checked in yesterday morning. Said he planned to stay two or three weeks for sure, maybe longer. I checked out his website from the email address he left on file—he’s some famous mystery novelist.” She took another sip of coffee. “He almost knocked me off my feet when I came in today. What did he do now?”

  “He was harassing Leigh about hanging her new day-care sign. Too loud.” Rachel reached for the antique teapot on the table and refilled her cup.

  “In fairness, he did try to help me with the sign.” Leigh sighed. A writer? This was even worse than she’d thought. Was it too much to hope that he was left-handed? Though he probably required both hands to type.

  “Then he fell off the ladder,” Rachel struggled to say, her mouth full of raspberry muffin.

  “Actually I opened my front door and knocked him off the ladder.” Leigh hid sheepishly behind her tea mug, waiting for the reaction.

  Victoria’s eyes widened. “Is he okay?”

  Leigh shrugged.

  “Don’t know,” Rachel said. “I hope so. I haven’t seen him since he rushed out of here this morning.”

  Victoria stared at Leigh. “I can’t believe you.”

  Leigh ran her index finger around the mug. “I didn’t mean to. I had cookies in the oven that were burning—”

  Victoria waved that away. “I meant for using that old ladder. I told you not to use that rickety thing. It could have been you who fell. Please borrow ours anytime. Or better yet, just ask Luke to do it. He’d be happy to help,” Victoria said, volunteering her husband’s services.

  The two had just gotten married in their second attempt at a wedding, after Victoria had called off the first one twelve years before when she moved to New York to follow her dream of a high-powered career. Luckily, fate had brought her home the previous Christmas and the two had realized their love had never faded, despite time and distance.
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  She bit a thumbnail. “Do you think he’s okay? I’d hate to think one of our guests may have gotten hurt.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Rachel said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  The front door opened and a cool October breeze rustled the end of the tablecloth and paper napkins as Logan Walters entered his right hand in a plaster cast from wrist to elbow. His hard eyes zeroed in on Leigh.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Okay, maybe not.” Rachel stood quickly and busied herself gathering their empty cups. She headed toward the kitchen.

  “You.” Scowling, he pointed a finger of his uninjured hand at Leigh.

  “Me?” Leigh’s eyes widened as she untucked her leg from beneath her on the chair and stood.

  “Excuse me. I hear the phone ringing.” Victoria dashed toward the front desk, leaving them alone.

  Great, thanks, friends.

  Logan stopped inches from her. His height towered over her five-foot-two frame by almost a foot, but Leigh met his gaze.

  “Look what you did.” He held his cast close to her face.

  So it was broken. No surprise there. “I said I was sorry, but no one asked you to climb that ladder.” She sucked in her bottom lip. That hadn’t come out right. She should have stopped at sorry.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. “This is what I get for helping,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay your medical costs.” The money in her emergency fund was dwindling and this would make a further dent in it, but it would be better than him suing her for getting hurt on her property. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her before now. She wondered if her homeowners’ insurance covered something like this. Her day-care insurance covered the children in case of injury in her care, but another adult?

  “I don’t need your money. I have insurance,” he grumbled, raking his casted hand through his hair. The sticky medical gauze got caught and he winced, pulling it free, taking with it several strands of dark brown hair. “Man, I can’t do anything with this thing on my hand.” Turning, he took quick, long strides out of the room.

  She followed him into the hallway. “Mr. Walters, wait.”

  He paused on the staircase, clearly exhausted.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back. Please say no.

  He hesitated, and she held her breath.

  Shaking his head, he continued up the stairs. “No.”

  * * *

  LOGAN STRUGGLED TO position his hand on the desk, straining the fingers on his right hand to reach the keys on the laptop keyboard. The edge of the cast hit the space bar and he raised his arm, flinching in pain, and backspaced to where he’d left off typing. Flipping the page of his handwritten work, he tried to focus on something other than the pain in his arm. He could do this. He hit a few keystrokes and grimaced. With each letter, his wrist spasmed and pain rippled through his arm. The extra weight of the plaster cast made the muscles in his right shoulder ache.

  Tossing the papers aside, he stood. How was he supposed to meet his editor’s deadline like this? The writer’s block had been bad enough; now he was physically incapable of getting the work done on time. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in his agent’s number. The man had called him three times already today, and now there would be no more avoiding him.

  “Clive Romanis,” the man answered in his strong New York accent after the second ring.

  “Clive, it’s Logan.”

  “Hey, man, where are you? I’ve been calling you. You were supposed to email me those sample chapters two days ago.”

  Logan cringed. The promised chapters hadn’t been written yet. Another reason he’d had to leave the city. It was easier to avoid his agent when he wasn’t living two blocks from his office. “Yeah, sorry, I left the city for a while to clear my head, get this book finished.”

  “What do you mean you left the city? Where did you go?” The man’s voice barely contained his disbelief. Clive wasn’t truly convinced that there was anything beyond the New York City limits.

  “Just a small town in New Jersey. I wrote part of the first book out here. It’s quiet and peaceful,” he lied.

  It used to be.

  “New Jersey?”

  “Yes.”

  Clive released a deep breath. “Tell me this isn’t you running away from your commitments.”

  “No, of course not.” Running away and needing to get away for a while were two different things, weren’t they?

  “So you’re writing? You’re getting it done?”

  “Yeah.... Look, I’ve run into a bit of a problem meeting the deadline.” His best bet would be to pack up, head back to New York and hire a typist. The thought made him uneasy. He never let anyone read his work before it was done, especially a stranger. Other than his agent and his editor, he never discussed plotlines with anyone. And with the comeback he was making, he couldn’t chance that the resolution of years of work would be leaked before the book even hit the shelves.

  “Logan, we’ve pushed the deadline back twice now. If I ask for another extension from the publisher, they may postpone the release dates.”

  Logan pushed the covers aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s ridiculous.” So he’d had a few years of a dry spell after the fourth book. He’d delivered book five to them on time. Book six was almost done. Sort of. If he could just figure out a conclusion.

  “They’re nervous that you’re going to flake on them again. Truthfully, I’m not sure you won’t, either. I’ve pulled all the strings I can, Logan. If you don’t have the book on my desk in three weeks, they won’t release book five next month. You’re lucky your readers haven’t given up hope on you yet.”

  “I broke my right hand,” Logan said with a sigh as he stood and paced the room again.

  “Nice try, Logan.” His agent sounded discouraged. “Now I’ve heard it all from you. If you call me next week and say your dog ate the final draft, I’m walking.”

  “Seriously, I broke it. It’s in a plaster cast and it’s useless.” Logan sat in the wooden rocking chair near the window, the painkillers they’d given him at the clinic, making him drowsy but not doing much for the pain. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the chair.

  “How far along are you?” Panic had crept into the older man’s voice.

  Logan hesitated. If he told the truth, that he no longer had any idea where the plot was heading or how to end the entire series, the man might drop him as a client. “Far enough from the end that I can’t possibly type it all with only one good hand in three weeks.”

  Clive let out a deep, slow breath. “Okay. This sucks, but we can still meet the deadline. Why don’t you check out that voice-recognition software? Some of my other clients use it and love it.”

  “Uh-uh, forget it. The thoughts just don’t seem to flow that way. Besides, I doubt there’s a store nearby that would carry it, and ordering it could take a few days.”

  “Well, get your butt back to the city and I’ll call a typing service. I’m sure they can have someone available within twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m really not comfortable with that idea.”

  “Now is not the time for your paranoia. Those people don’t even read, they just type.” Clive’s voice rose. “For that matter, Logan, I’ll come type it for you myself.”

  The last thing he needed was the one person in his life who still believed in his talent to give up on him. He had to get this book finished. “No. I’ll think of something. I’ll get it done.” Logan rubbed his aching forehead with his good hand and stood.

  “I need the finished manuscript on my desk by November fifth.”

  “You’ll have it.” Logan disconnected the call and tossed his
cell phone onto the bed. Walking to the window, he drew back the thick lace curtains for the first time. Through the fall leaves of the maple in the yard, he could see the day care lady next door, removing the children’s blankets from the clothesline.

  He watched as she folded the blankets and laid them neatly in the basket.

  She didn’t seem like someone who would rush to the media with the book’s ending. She probably hadn’t even heard of him.

  As she put the plastic cover on the outdoor sandbox, he couldn’t help wondering about her. In the few days he’d been there, today had been the first he’d even noticed anyone next door. Years ago, he remembered the place being vacant. Now that the day care kids were gone, he didn’t see anyone else around—no husband? No kids?

  His phone chimed and reaching for it, he read the text message from Clive. I need you to get this done.

  Going back to the window, he scanned the yard next door, but she’d already gone back inside.

  He hesitated. If he went back to the city now, Clive would be riding him for the next three weeks. The media and reviewers were already starting to hound him for interviews since the press release announcing the new book was sent out the month before. And being in his apartment without his daughter and worrying about her in California would be torture. He’d left the city for those reasons and they would be waiting for him when he went back.

  He didn’t like any of his options, but asking the strange woman next door for help was probably the one he hated the least.

  I’ve figured out a way, he texted back.

  * * *

  POURING A CUP of steaming apple cider into her favorite mug and grabbing a new romance novel from the counter, Leigh did a final scan of the kitchen. The high chairs were sanitized and set up for breakfast in the morning. Plastic plates and sippy cups sat drying in the rack on the counter, and the painting easel was set up with new finger paints and paper. Turning off the kitchen light, she carried her cider and book to the sitting area in the front of her house. The glass sunroom with the comfy rocking chair and ottoman and the bookshelf lining one wall was her favorite spot, especially in winter when she lit the fireplace. Fluffing a pillow behind her, she sat and opened her book to the bookmark. She scanned the page, rereading several pages. Ah...right...the scene where the hero and heroine finally acknowledge their feelings. Always her favorite part in a romance. Romances were supposed to make impossible situations work, and this one didn’t fail to deliver. If only real life were that way. She took a sip of her cider and snuggled deeper into her cardigan.