Must Love Pets: A Romance Box Set

by Theresa Weir

  “Oooh, you sound like you mean it. I’ve got shivers.”

  Logan looked at the Santa Claus clock on the mantel. One minute. He’d give Cyril one minute, and if he didn’t give him the answer by then, he’d—

  “Ah, shit,” Cyril said, “I may as well get this over with. She’s dying.” Cyril’s voice roughened. “Olivia is dying.”

  Sound stopped. So did his breath. The air roared in his head instead of his lungs. Gasping, he closed his eyes to fight a cloying dizziness and a hard kick in his belly.

  “What?” The word came out in a harsh whisper.

  “She’s in her home, with twenty-four-hour care. She wants to see you.”

  He set his lips together.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you? Right after her prognosis, she got rid of Neil. You know she didn’t really love him. You’re the real love of her life.”

  He sat like a lump, still not saying anything. Processing all of this. Wondering if he could trust her even in this. Olivia would do anything to get her way.

  “She’s growing thinner by the day,” Cyril said. “She looks like she did in the post-apocalyptic film.”

  Logan remembered. She’d lost weight carefully under the guise of Cyril and a dietitian, eating green smoothies until the sight of them made him want to throw them down the toilet. She’d been so thin it had frightened him. Her reviews had been stunning, but the movie had tanked at the box office. She’d been furious, though she’d hidden it in public. And he’d felt her fear that she was losing her clout.

  That’s when she’d begun dating the hotel magnate, getting her name in all the tabloids and entertainment shows once again. Because in Hollywood, it wasn’t always what you did, it mattered just as much who you did.

  “She told me you’re her real love,” Cyril said. “She wants to see you before she dies. Logan, you know what a proud woman she is. Yet she told me you wouldn’t answer her phone calls or even read her texts. She begged me to call you. Just come and see her. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Yes, he thought. Yes.

  But if he said no, after she died, he might have regrets.

  His mouth dry, he downed a gulp of brandy before replying. “How long does she have?”

  “Her doctors won’t give her a date. They only say it’s incurable.”

  “I’ll be there.” He hung up then stood. “I have to go.”

  Heading back from the kitchen with a bowl of pistachios, Maddie frowned. “Go? Go where?”

  “California. A friend is ill.” Without waiting for her response, he headed for the stairs.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, but he was already thinking about travel time and even considering chartering a plane.

  Olivia was dying. The thought numbed his mind and his heart. Feeling would come later. Right now he needed to get to her.

  * * *

  She waited for him to come down, sitting straight on the couch, her chin up, her muscles tense. She knew the second he saw her. The tortured look on his face closed up, leaving him expressionless, not giving anything away. As if his heart was contracting, she thought, making itself smaller to protect him from further hurt.

  “You’re leaving,” she said. “For good.”

  “It’s an emergency.”

  She got to her feet slowly, feeling old, her bones aching, her breaths short. “I don’t think so. You won’t be back.”

  He opened his mouth, but she stepped sideways, away from him. Right now she wished she were a long way away from him. She couldn’t wait until he left the house and flew away to be with his witchy lover.

  “I’ll stay until after Christmas,” she said, “and then I’m leaving. I’ll be gone by the end of the year. I appreciate it that you didn’t have me arrested, and I wish you and your friend well.”

  “She’s dying, Maddie.” He looked at her with bruised eyes. “Olivia is dying.”

  “I’m sorry for that. Good-bye.” She strode away from him, to her bedroom. Inside her room, she closed the door but stood near it. For a moment, she didn’t hear anything from the hallway. No footsteps.

  Hope rose inside her. Maybe—

  The footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, heading away from her. The wheels carrying the suitcase creaking. Seconds later, the outer door opened then closed.

  Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she started to shake. Her legs didn’t hold her up, and she slumped against the door. Still, she didn’t cry. Instead, she listened for him to return. For him to tell her he’d come to his senses. That he’d been about to make a huge mistake.

  Except there was no mistake. There was no relationship. They’d only had sex once, and they’d agreed they wouldn’t do it again. Maybe it just felt like a relationship because every night she told him a story. Because she cooked for him and, while she was at work, he’d thrown her and Zach’s clothes into the washer and dryer when he washed and dried his own. Because he’d gone to her sister’s for Thanksgiving, and Kris and Cody liked him. Because he listened to her work woes, and he empathized and had even hired an investigator. Because he treated Zach and Ginger with kindness. Because he listened to her tell a story every night.

  Maybe that’s why she remained slumped against the door…and hoped.

  But the seconds passed, and because she was listening so hard, she heard a car engine start up.

  She closed her eyes, and her head hung down as she listened to the car drive away from the front of her house. Only when she couldn’t hear it any more did she push away from the door. A meow came from the floor near her feet. She glanced down. Ginger looked up at her, mewling, her voice plaintive. Maddie sat on the edge of the bed, no tears falling from her burning eyes, and held Ginger, her heart numb.

  It was over. He was gone and wasn’t coming back.

  She’d always known it was coming. She just hadn’t known it would hurt quite this much.

  Chapter 22

  Olivia was as frail as she was beautiful. She lay on the chaise in her sunroom. In contrast to the oranges and purples in the room that oddly came together to look beautiful, her face was the color of heavy cream before whipping, her eyes dark and mysterious as ever. Smiling wanly, she held up emaciated arms to him.

  “Logan, you came. I missed you so much.” Her whispery voice was thick with suffering and regrets.

  He took her hands in his and perched on the edge of her chaise. “Of course I came.”

  “Because you pitied me.” Her smile was heartbreakingly sad…yet his heart felt numb, not even a twitch.

  “Never mind why. You’re here. It’s all I wanted. You’re here.” Her golden-brown eyes glowed. “I don’t deserve your friendship or your love. Not after what I did to you. The minute you walked out, I was sorry.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he thought of last night. How he’d walked out. And another woman had said when he came back, she would be gone.

  “It’s not the first time you played with my heart,” he said.

  “Yes, but this time it felt…final.”

  Last night had felt final, too.

  He didn’t expect Maddie to change her mind. After all, they’d never made any exchanges of affection, beyond that one night. And that had been sex, nothing more.

  It had been hard to stay away from her after that as she told him a story every night, with humor and pathos, though he invariably missed a portion, which he needed her to repeat, as he imagined making love to her again and again, while her voice, with all its magic, wrapped around him.

  Every night he wanted her. Every day. But she had a son, and they lived in his house.

  There were some things he didn’t do.

  “What’s wrong?” The sharpness in Olivia’s voice made him glance down at her. Botox kept vertical frown lines from forming between her eyebrows, but her forehead moved. As an actress, she needed movement to express emotion.

  “What does your doctor say?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice lowered to a w
hisper again, and he could see by the way she sagged against the chaise that the burst of energy had taken away some of her vitality. “I’m alive now, and you’re here. That’s what I want to focus on. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

  As he squeezed her hands, her eyes sparked with vitality. Fully alive.

  A suspicion awoke in him. A crazy thought, because she wouldn’t go this far. She wouldn’t do this to him.

  “You still love me,” she said, and she clasped his hands, her grip strong for a dying woman. “I knew it.”

  He jerked away from her grasp and stood. “You’re playing me.” The harshness of his voice didn’t fit the room, didn’t fit her filmy clothes, her faded color, or her thin frame. As jarring and out of place as a giant in a room full of midgets.

  But he didn’t give a damn, his brain firing, telling him she had always been slender. In her profession, to remain an A-list star, thinness was necessary. It would only take a week or two of drinking green shakes for her to appear emaciated. As for her complexion, her next role was as a World War II factory worker, and she had to be pale for that.

  “Logan…” She tried to rise up and fell back, as if it were too hard for her. Her eyebrows fought to connect and failed. “How can you say that?” Anguish made her voice low and hushed. Anguish and good acting. “How can you think that of me?”

  He looked around the room. “You’re filming this aren’t you?”

  “Of course not.” Her tone sharpened. “I’m sick. I’m dying. How could you say something like that? Do you think I’d trick you like that? Am I so awful that you’d mistrust me like that?”

  He knew the tricks. A microphone could be anywhere, and he spotted a mirror that he suspected could contain a camera. And then a lamp and a flower arrangement about five feet from the chaise, too far from Olivia’s chaise to be useful to her, but perfect for filming.

  “Logan! Answer me.”

  “Here’s my answer.” He strode to the table, picked up the vase and dumped the contents out.

  “Are you crazy?” she screamed as a microphone transmitter fell out.

  He reached out to the lamp but pulled back his hand. If he pushed it over, someone would have to clean it. That someone wouldn’t be Olivia. Besides, he’d seen the transmitters. He didn’t need any other proof.

  His anger drained away, and he turned to look at Olivia. “I was crazy. Crazy for ten years. But not anymore. Good-bye, Olivia.”

  He strode toward the door as she screamed his name. He kept walking, and the next second, a body slammed onto his back. Olivia. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing against the front of his neck, her legs tight around his waist.

  “You love me,” she said, her voice ringing. “You have to love me.”

  He faltered then stepped forward again. Her arms tightened even more, but he kept going, reaching the mirror that he suspected had a camera on it. In the moment of silence as she caught her breath, he heard an audible click of a camera. She grabbed his hair and pulled before he could take another step.

  “Stop this! You love me. You can’t leave me.”

  She was like a wild animal on his back. He reached up and grabbed her left wrist, holding on tightly so she couldn’t hurt him.

  With a wild cry, she lifted her other hand, and her fingers went for his eyes. Instinct and quick reflexes made him catch that wrist, too. Her weight unbalanced him, though, and he tumbled sideways as the door to the hall flew open and two men in jeans flew in, her publicist and favorite cameraman who Logan suspected was banging Olivia.

  They were shouting something, and then the cameraman pushed him, and he hit the mirror.

  Glass shattered then something sharp dug into his skull.

  “I’m bleeding!” Olivia shouted. “I’m bleeding!”

  “Fuck. Call 911,” the cameraman said.

  “That’s not you bleeding,” the publicist said. “That’s Logan.”

  Olivia was shouting at him not to call anyone, then the voices faded, and only the pain remained.

  Maddie, he thought. Maddie.

  And then there was…nothing.

  * * *

  The smell was gone. Dog was in the city now, and too many smells hid the man’s scent.

  A boy called to him in a coaxing voice. “Come over here, puppy. I’ll feed you.”

  Dog ran from him. The boy smelled good, but he wasn’t his human.

  Later, when he was near the end of the city, a woman in a yard called out to him. “Food,” she said, holding out a chunk of meat that made his mouth water. “Here, sweetie, here. I have food. I’ll feed you.”

  He came close but not close enough for her to grab him.

  She sighed and threw the meat at him. He gobbled it then ran off.

  “Come back tomorrow!” she yelled after him, but he knew he wouldn’t be back.

  He was limping more than ever. Yet he ran, as he did every day, finding a rhythm that worked for him.

  He thought maybe if he was high up, he could smell the man again. He remembered where the scent had come from and kept running in that direction.

  Finally he was outside the city. Not hearing or smelling any people or animals nearby, he stopped to take bites of the cold snow and swallow until his belly was full. The sun was lowering, and soon he would have to find a spot to rest for the night. He ran along a road and was about to look for a safe place to sleep when he saw a hill. His back leg aching with every step, he ran up it until he reached the top.

  From here, he should smell his human’s scent.

  He sniffed and sniffed and sniffed, going in a circle and then another and another. But still his human’s smell eluded him. Finally, he stopped, his head lowered, admitting the truth. His human’s scent had disappeared. It was as if he’d never been there, had never existed.

  But he had been there. Dog knew it.

  What had happened to the man? What had happened?

  He lifted his nose, and he howled.

  Other dogs howled back. He didn’t know if they were looking for their humans or if they just liked to howl. He’d known dogs like that.

  And he’d known humans like that.

  When he stopped howling, he sniffed one last time. Still no smell of his human, but something else was there. Every time he’d sniffed his human, there had been another scent nearby. A woman’s scent. That’s what he smelled now.

  If he found the woman, maybe he would find the man.

  He headed forward, looking for a place to curl up and sleep.

  In the morning, he would run toward the scent of the woman.

  He was closer to the scent now than before. Still far away but not as far as before.

  He would find her. He had no other choice.

  * * *

  Maddie waited until Zach was sleeping before she hurried upstairs, her footsteps soft so she wouldn’t wake him. Ginger followed her then dashed ahead. In Logan’s grandmother’s bedroom, Maddie looked around. The bed was unmade, the covers pushed to the side, as if he were going to come back any moment.

  But when she checked the drawers and the closet, there was nothing of his left behind. Nothing.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, and there was a heaviness in her chest. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. She refused to cry.

  He was gone. After that woman.

  Questions tumbled into her mind. Why hadn’t she made love to him more often? She’d wanted to. She’d wanted him badly.

  And he’d wanted her, too.

  But, no, she’d been afraid of being hurt. Afraid of being left behind.

  Yet she was left behind anyway.

  Would she have felt any more hurt if she had made love to him more than that one time?

  Huffing a sigh, she curled onto the sheets he’d slept on, her head lying on the pillow he’d rested his head on.

  It wasn’t enough. She rolled onto her back and pulled up the sheets that had covered him.

  Ginger jumped onto the bed and lay on the pillow a
bove her head, her warm belly pressing against Maddie’s crown.

  She reached up to scratch Ginger’s side. “Is this what you did with him?” she murmured. “Curl up against his head?”

  Ginger answered with a meow that Maddie took for a yes.

  The ceiling light shone down on them. She put her hand down and lay like that for a long time. Finally she sighed. Ginger jumped away from her before she got up, though Maddie didn’t know how Ginger knew she was going to roll out of bed. But it wasn’t the first time Ginger had done that, and Maddie thought it was a cat thing.

  Or else she just had a brilliant cat, something she already knew.

  Instead of leaving right away, she stripped the bed of the sheets and pillowcases.

  She set her lips together. She would not come back the next day and moon over him.

  Holding the sheets against her chest, she went downstairs.

  When Zach had asked when Logan would be back, she’d said she didn’t know.

  Now she knew. He was with his dark queen, under her spell again.

  He would never come back.

  If Zach asked about Logan tomorrow, she would have to tell him that she didn’t expect Logan back again.

  They were on their own again, and she had no reason to feel weepy. To feel as if she’d miss him in ways that she’d never missed Zach’s father. In the short time Logan had been in their house—his house, really—with his cynicism and his smile and his sharp eyes that saw everything, he’d seen through her barriers and had become part of their lives. He’d snuck his way into her heart, and now it felt…empty. Dull. Tender.

  Broken.

  But he’d never made any promises, and she’d always known this day was going to come.

  She’d just hoped it wouldn’t.

  Hope had made a damn fool of her, and she wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

  Her footsteps dragging, her spine bent slightly, because she felt bent and crooked, she went into the basement, which was about ten degrees colder than the upstairs, and dumped the bedding into a laundry basket. She was tempted to wash them right now—wash away any evidence that he’d been there—but that wouldn’t take away the dullness in her chest.