Читать книгу Marrying For A Mom - Deanna Talcott, DeAnna Talcott - Страница 9

Whitney Bloom paused, then reached over to readjust Byron’s handcrafted sweater. Byron, Whitney’s favorite teddy bear, occupied the spot next to the cash register in her specialty store, Teddy Bear Heaven. Like a silent partner, he’d spent the last six years listening to all her hopes and dreams, and commiserating with all her disappointments.

“You know what?” she whispered to Byron. “If we work our fingers to the bone this summer, we could be solvent in six months.” Levering her elbows against the counter, she threaded her ankles around the stool rungs and raised slightly off the wooden stool she sat on. She picked up another bolt, convinced she’d have the teddy bear-size park bench assembled in record time. “I predict—” she paused for dramatic effect, and waved the screwdriver “—that there will be a bumper crop of tourists in Melville this summer, and every one will want—no, need—a teddy bear to take home to their kids. In fact, right at this very minute, someone, somewhere, is thinking that what they really need is a teddy bear to cuddle and love.”

The bell over the front door tinkled. Whitney looked up, astonished to think her prediction had come true, and promptly lost her balance. The bolt she had just picked up skittered across the wide plank flooring.

From across the room, and with the sun at his back, a man’s silhouette reached over the hardwood flooring, nearly to the glass case she was sitting behind. As he stepped into her showroom, Whitney recognized the wide shoulders and lean arms, the tapered waist and muscular thighs.

Logan Monroe.

Two heartbeats of dead silence followed, and a million uninvited memories made Whitney’s knees buckle.

Suddenly her heart did a little tap dance, just as it did every time she saw him. The heel-toe combination made her go weak all over. Then, Logan flashed her the famous Monroe smile—the same one the Melville Post routinely printed in the Sunday edition of the want ads. The copy beneath his photo never changed, and she should know because she read it faithfully: Logan Monroe, Realtor, specializing in vacation properties for Melville, Lake Justice and the southeastern Tennessee area.

Whitney’s composure plummeted. Her stomach turned inside out. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded. Whitney hadn’t seen Logan in twelve years; saying she was tongue-tied would be an understatement.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Logan said easily, without really looking at her. When he doubled over to pick the bolt up off the floor, Whitney stared at the smooth arc of his shoulders, aware his clothes looked loose on him, as if he’d lost a little weight. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He sidestepped the child-size teddy bear table and chair set that was in the middle of the crowded room, and laid the bolt on the counter.

Whitney gazed at it, half-afraid to pick it up for fear she would drop it all over again. The muscles in her shoulders constricted.

Logan didn’t really look at her, his gaze was fixed on the shelves behind her, where the expensive collector bears and one-of-a-kinds were housed. “I’m looking for a bear.”

With only six feet between them, Whitney realized Logan still looked the same. Only older. Better.

He still carried his six-foot-four frame with the same self-confidence. His hair—one shade darker than tobacco—was now sheared straight, and closely cropped. His angular face and thick jaw complemented brows that were perfectly matched slashes over cobalt eyes. His nose was narrow at the bridge, his nostrils, wide and thick. His mouth was full, and had a tendency to twitch when amused.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Whitney managed to say as Logan started moving around the counter.

He stopped, turning on his heel. From behind a rack of teddy bear barrettes and hair clips, Logan shimmied a glance in her direction.

Whitney noted the faint smile lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and shivered. He was despicably good-looking, that’s what he was. Despicably good-looking.

“Whitney…?” he said as a flicker of recognition sparked behind his eyes. His mouth had worked its way around her name, whispering it softly, as if in disbelief. “Oh, my God, Whit…is it you?”

She nodded slowly, her breath shallow. She briefly debated whether she should offer up an apology for what had happened all those years ago or just forget it. She wondered how much he remembered.

“Damn. Why didn’t you say something?”

She guiltily lifted both shoulders. “I don’t know. When you came in the door, I didn’t think you’d ever look at me. Really look, I mean. And then I didn’t know if I should…because…”

“Whitney. C’mon,” he chided. Then he took her in. From the top of her professionally highlighted, chin-length cut, to the gold bracelet on her wrist, and the pearl studs in her ears. His gaze lingered on the understated elegance of her sweater and matching slacks before his jaw slid off center. “I’m looking,” he said. “And I mean really, really looking,” he emphasized.

Whitney’s smile grew more tentative. “It’s been a long time, Logan.”

“It has. Too long, Whit.”

Still, the uncertainty of their past hung between them. Harsh words, threats, and accusations had all been rolled up into their last goodbye. It had been a nasty scene. Logan had been outraged, Whitney defensive. To make matters worse, her ex-husband had offered up a dozen feeble excuses as to why Logan’s books didn’t balance and his petty cash was missing. It had been the only time Whitney had ever heard Logan raise his voice; it had been the only time Whitney had ever let anyone but Gram see her cry.

They both stood there, awkwardly, both unsure of what to say.

“Hey, look—”

“I always wanted to—”

They both laughed self-consciously, both biting back apologies.

“Okay. This is crazy. Look. I feel like I should hug you or something…” He lifted his arms, awkwardly, as if he didn’t know the correct protocol for when old friends, who were no longer friends, let time patch up their differences.

He glanced down at the glass counter standing between them.

For a second, a long-held fantasy went winging through Whitney’s head. Logan, a superhero, would leap over the barriers that separated them, then sweep her into his arms. Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive. He could fix anything, he could move mountains, he could mend hearts.

Shaking herself free of the daydream, Whitney took it upon herself to make something happen: she slid from the stool and extended her hand.

For a moment, everything seemed disjointed. Like pieces that were trying to fit back together again. Her gold bracelet glittered beneath the overhead fluorescent lighting, and her French manicured nails made her fingers appear long and slender and cultured.

They both knew she wasn’t. Cultured, that is. In Melville, she’d been raised on the “other” side of the tracks.

His hand reached for hers. The bones in his wrist were thick, his knuckles dimpled. The smattering of dark hair over the back of his hand was sexy, evoking powerful images of strength and wealth and confidence.

They had no business joining hands—and she had no business feeling the way she did about him. Especially after everything that had happened.

“Whitney.” Logan clasped her fingers, then covered the back of her hand with his palm as she came around the counter. A liquid warmth spread through her, convincing her the past was forgotten, that he was genuinely pleased to see her. “You look—” his gaze slipped down her front, all the way to her skimmers “—great.” When he lifted his eyes, their gaze caught and held. “Wonderful,” he amended. “Absolutely, positively stunning.”

Whitney’s smile softened, and she felt a rush of heat, from the inside out.

“You know,” he reminded, “we’ve got a lot of history together.”

“And not all of it good.” She couldn’t help herself, the truth had to come out.

Logan grimaced, then gave her fingers a light squeeze before reluctantly loosening them. “Hey. Remember the time we connected on that pitching mound at the company picnic, and my watch did a number on your chin?” he asked, intentionally changing the subject.

Her forefinger automatically flicked over the spot. “How could I forget three stitches and a tetanus?”

He critically eyed the tiny white scar, and his hands moved as if they had a will of their own, to capture her jaw between thumb and forefinger, and angle the spot closer for his inspection. “I practically mowed you down, going after that fly ball.” Logan distinctly remembered how she’d crumpled beneath him, all soft, in a flurry of fighting limbs. The scent of leather gloves and dirt and diamond dust, and the thwunk as her chin connected with his wrist. But the worst was, after they’d collided, her husband yanked her up off the ground, dusted her off and told Logan not to worry, no damage. He’d had to remind himself to forget it, to tell himself it was none of his business, that she was married and that she belonged to someone else. Then he’d had to beat back the regrets. “The insurance cover three stitches and a tetanus?”

Whitney started to shake her head, but stopped, not wanting to break from his touch. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

The intensity of his blue gaze held her, as if he were trying to absorb her and look into her soul. A tremulous anxiety clutched Whitney, making her falter, making her breathing erratic.

“Logan?” she finally whispered.

“It…um…it left a mark,” he murmured, refocusing on her chin, as his thumb gently flicked over the tiny cleft.

“It barely shows.”

His fingers fell away. “Still…the physical evidence remains. We’ve had more brushes with fate than any two people should have to endure.”

The moment—and the references—were awkward.

Whitney’s smile thinned. Logan deftly changed the subject. Again.

“Damn, I’ve driven by this place a hundred times. I can’t believe you own it.”

“Lease it,” Whitney qualified.

“So…” he said softly, considering. “You’re the teddy bear lady.”

Whitney tipped her head. “Please. Don’t you dare say it’s cute. I love it, but it’s a business and it pays the bills. I have every kind and type of teddy bear you could ever imagine.”

“I guess you do.” Logan swept the room with an all-inclusive look. It was jam-packed with teddy bears. Teddy bear toothbrushes swung on a revolving display, and teddy bear books were wedged on teddy bear bookshelves. There were teddy bear clocks, jewelry, stationery and stickers. Teddy bear erasers, pencils, pens and rulers. Framed prints, and bath accessories. Even shower curtains, regular curtains, blankets and rugs. He chuckled, his smile riding a tad bit higher on the left. “But I never intended to say ‘cute.’ I’m impressed. It’s a great concept. When I look around, I’m inclined to buy the store out.”

“What? And reduce my inventory?” she asked dryly.

“Whitney, this place is great. And it’s just like you to think of something this clever.”

The praise startled Whitney, putting a pink flush in her cheeks.

“What?” he asked, mimicking her. “Am I embarrassing you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I mean it. You were the one who always came up with the most creative ideas in high school. You were the one with the interesting slant on life.”

“Out of necessity.”

“Right. Like the time you suggested that instead of having a formal banquet for the National Honor Society, we have a picnic? That was the best day ever, and you were responsible for it. A whole day at the beach, playing Frisbee, and volleyball, and splashing around.”

A shred of guilt crept into Whitney’s conscience; she’d suggested the idea because she didn’t have the twenty-five dollars for the banquet ticket.

“And what about that idea you had for prom? Fifties night at the Peppermint Lounge? We got by decorating with peppermint sticks, borrowed a jukebox and used the rest of the money in the treasury for catering the senior banquet so it didn’t cost any of us a cent.” A second guilty flush prickled over the back of Whitney’s neck. She’d intended to go, and wear an old fifties formal Gram had tucked away in the attic. “And to top it off,” he went on, “after you came up with the idea, you never even went to the prom. I specifically went looking for you, to con you out of one dance.”

Whitney shrugged, her smile tight as she minimized the details. “Gram’s health was kind of up and down just then.”

Logan sobered. “You always did have a lot of responsibility looking after her.”

“Logan. She was looking after me.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you looked after each other.” He chuckled, as another memory hit him. “Your gram was something else, though. I’ll never forget how she rode all over Melville on that three-wheel bike of hers.”

Whitney shifted uncomfortably; Gram had ridden a bicycle because they couldn’t afford a car. The truth was, Whitney and Logan had hung out with different crowds, and had literally been from opposite sides of the have/have-not world.

Logan had lived in a big house on the hill, and spent his summers tanning at the country club. His parents owned several car dealerships, and made sure their only son never lacked for a thing. He’d loved playing the part of the big, brash jock, and had run around Melville in a brand-new sports car, making sure he was noticed on every intersection by revving his engine and waving at all the girls.

Whitney, raised by her grandmother, had lived in a rented bungalow just off of Main. It was a dilapidated little house, with a barren scrap of a front yard, and a painted tractor tire that held a few scraggly petunias. Whitney never invited friends in because they stared at the black spots on the linoleum, the water rings on the drop ceiling, and the peeling wallpaper in the front room. Still, she loved Gram dearly, and it would have cut her to the quick to have anyone say Gram hadn’t provided for her.

Without warning, Logan reached across her, to skim the tiny teddy bear charm from around her neck and balance it on the pad of his forefinger. The fine gold chain swayed beneath her chin, pulling slightly.

“Just like this shop…” he said, catching Whitney’s eye. This close, the sloe-dark color on her eyelids was fascinating. He leaned closer, thinking she smelled like a crazy mixture of vanilla and fabric softener. The links in the necklace, draped over the hollow of her throat, rolled up and down with every breath she took. “Details. Perfect details, Whit. Only you could pull this off.”

“Maybe. But teddy bears aren’t as fancy as real estate, or owning car dealerships or a marina, so—”

“No,” he said quickly, letting the teddy bear charm fall from the tip of his finger. “It fits. Only you could do something this memorable. Something that would touch people and put a soft spot in their heart.”

Whitney shuddered. Matters of the heart were the last thing she wanted to discuss. Especially with Logan Monroe. “Okay, Logan,” she said unsteadily, “I know you didn’t come in here to give me warm fuzzies, and admire my shop. What’s up?”

Logan’s mouth quirked, but the light in his eyes slowly faded. “I came in here to replace a teddy bear,” he said, his tone subtly changing. “I should have done it months ago, but…hey, look,” he went on, his voice suddenly lifting, “I want to show you something. In fact, I’m proud to show you this little something….” Logan reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping through the plastic windows. On the opposite side, a sliver of plastic showed: American Express Platinum.

Whitney blanched, thinking how some things—even a piece of plastic—can put you in your place. In her wallet, she carried only one low-limit credit card to the local discount store. It had been all she could do to get this store off the ground, and every cent she’d had she put back into the business. For a year, she’d slept on a rollaway in the back room and cooked on a hot plate.

“Here,” he announced, pausing at the photo of a little girl perched on a wicker rocker. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, and in her hands, and propped over her shoulder, an exquisite lace parasol framed the tangle of flaxen curls cascading over her shoulders. “I had this taken for my wife two years ago. For Mother’s Day.”

Whitney couldn’t breathe. “Your daughter?” she said numbly. She knew Logan had married a girl from Memphis, but she hadn’t known they’d had a child.

“My foster daughter.”

“The bear’s for her,” Whitney guessed, vaguely hearing his clarification.

He nodded. “See?” he said. “That’s the bear she always used to carry around. The photographer propped it against the chair because Amanda insisted it had to be in the picture. She never went anywhere without it.”

Amanda. Her name was Amanda.

“She’s darling, Logan.”

His smile was full and proud. “Thanks. And I want a teddy bear just like that.”

Whitney started, and swiveled toward Logan. “That may not be possible,” she warned before squinting back at the photo. She wasn’t able to make out any real details, but there were thousands of styles of teddy bears, and hundreds of manufacturers with their own distinctive signature.

“I don’t think it was very unusual, probably the dime-store variety, but I want the exact same thing.” He paused, before going on to explain, “She lost it…the day my wife died.”

Whitney slowly lifted her eyes, pinning him. She tried to detect his grief, but only saw carefully veiled shadows in his faintly lined face. “I’m so sorry, Logan…about your wife. I should have offered my condolences first, before we started talking. The moment you walked in the door, I should have said…”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “No, that’s okay. Two more months and it’ll be a year. I’m getting used to it. No one could have predicted an aneurysm, not in someone that young…It was a shock, but…I don’t talk about it much.”

“Still…I should have sent a card.”

An uncomfortable second of silence slipped away.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked bluntly after a moment.

“I—I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me,” she said honestly.

He stared at her, as if measuring his response before uttering it. “Whitney. Forget it. The thing with your husband has been over with for a long time.”

“My ex-husband,” she said quietly.

The wallet he held dropped a fraction of an inch. “Oh? I always wondered. I just didn’t think it would be good to—you know…” He didn’t say it, but she knew. It wouldn’t be a good idea to fraternize in any way, shape, or form with the wife of a small town, small time crook. Especially after you threatened to press charges for dipping into the petty cash.

“I found out you weren’t the first employer he took advantage of. He worked at the grocery and filched steaks from the freezer. He worked at the gas station and helped himself to gas from the pumps.”

“If I could have avoided firing him, I would have, Whitney.”

“I know that.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

She shrugged. “This is hard for me, Logan. You do me a favor by offering him a job, and then he repays you by letting a few twenties attach themselves to his fingers.”

“It was a long time ago, Whit,” he said brusquely. “We’d both be better off to put it in the past. In the whole scheme of things it really isn’t important.”

Right. One deplorable incident. Gone, but not entirely forgotten.

Whitney took a deep, cleansing breath, reminding herself that whatever followed between her and Logan was business, and business only. “So,” she said, “tell me about this bear.”

He pulled the photo back into their line of vision. “I thought maybe you might have something…in the store…”

Whitney shook her head. She should have studied the bear, but instead her gaze was drawn to the child. “I don’t think so. But we can look. I’ll flip over the Closed sign and, even if it takes all night, you can go through my inventory.”

That wheedled a small, sad smile from him. He slowly closed the wallet, as if considering her offer.

“She’s a darling little girl, Logan,” Whitney said carefully. “I had no idea you were a daddy.”

“Yeah. We got her when she was about three years old. So I honestly think of her as my daughter. I love her as if—as if—” Logan’s voice dried up, and he suddenly choked over the sentence he couldn’t bring himself to say.

As if she were your daughter, Whitney silently finished for him. She studied him, fascinated. For a devil-may-care personality, he had the kindest heart. Always had. “Logan?” she queried, summoning the courage to touch him, to lay her hand on his forearm. “What is it?”

Logan’s eyes closed, shutting her out of his pain. He twisted slightly at the waist, and her hand dropped away, as he put the wallet back into his pocket. “We were in the process of adopting her, but there was a lot of red tape. It took us a long time to find the biological parents and when we located them, the father agreed to relinquish his rights—but the mother kept changing her mind. Then, last year, the mother finally signed away her rights and the adoption was in the final stages. But then Jill died, leaving me as a single father, and now the agency is stalling. The caseworker says my company takes too much of my time, and that they feel it’s in Amanda’s best interest to be raised in a two-parent household. She told me last week they have a couple who inquired about adopting an older child, preferably a girl. She left me with the feeling that they could remove Amanda from the house. Maybe within the next few weeks.”

Whitney went limp all over. She knew what is was like to be jerked out of one home and dropped into another. Her mother had experimented with boyfriends, and communes, and middle-of-the-night flights from unpaid landlords and unfortunate affairs. “Oh, Logan, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do….”

“You can. Help me get this bear for Amanda before they take her away. I don’t want her to think I’m abandoning her. Hell, I’d do anything to keep her.”

“Does she have any idea?”

Logan shook his head. “The social worker’s intimated things to her, suggested that maybe she would like another house, with a new mommy…”

Whitney groaned, the small of her back sinking against the counter. “No. Tell me she didn’t say that?”

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “She did. I suppose she meant well. But Amanda will be traumatized if they take her away. She’s too young to remember her life prior to living with us. We’re all she’s ever known.”

Whitney’s vision blurred. She vividly remembered a grocery sack full of clothes, a nonchalant goodbye and a pat on the head from her mother.

“Sure, as a single dad, I’ve had a few mishaps along the way,” he confided. “But I’ve learned from them. I’ve even learned how to make fifteen nutritious variations of canned spaghetti.”

“Nutritious canned spaghetti?” She couldn’t help it—she laughed.

He lifted an apologetic shoulder. “On the food chain, it’s one notch above tuna, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

Whitney had to bite her bottom lip. Her cheeks ached from trying not to smile. Her mother had never even cared enough to even open a can of tuna, let alone slap peanut butter on a slice of bread.

“Whitney, listen to me,” he said earnestly. “If I replace that bear, and Amanda’s taken away, it’ll give her a connection to something she loved. She needs to know that no matter what happens, I’m there for her. I love that kid so much—so damn much—that the thought of losing her, just….”

A hot, hard lump swelled in Whitney’s throat; she willed her response to be firm, not shaky. God knows, she’d do anything for Logan. All he had to do was ask. “I can tell you right now I don’t have anything like it in the store. But I’ll find it,” Whitney said. “I promise.”

“Can you believe this? Can you believe I’m looking for a teddy bear?” he asked humorlessly. “Sometimes I think it would just be easier to find myself a wife. Maybe that would make the caseworker happy.”

Whitney stared into the depths of his ice-blue eyes and the most unimaginable thought crossed her mind. She just couldn’t bring herself to say it. Suddenly she was paralyzed by the awesomeness of it all.

She vaguely considered offering herself up as the sacrificial lamb.

“Whitney?”

A second slipped away.

“Yes, Logan?”

“Thank you,” he said simply. “For you to do this, especially after everything that’s happened…well, it makes me realize I overlooked something very special in high school.”

The expression of gratitude took her breath away. His praise was so unexpected. As teenagers, they had shared a few laughs, the same row of seats in study hall, and, on Senior Skip Day, one near kiss…something that, in later years, she’d silently regretted as her “one near miss.” Later, when Logan offered her ex a job, and he’d so badly messed that up, she had apologized repeatedly, hoping to redeem herself in Logan’s eyes. But Logan had been young and angry, and he’d stalked away.

After years of beating herself up over that horrific parting it seemed inconceivable that all she had to do to make things better was find a teddy bear. It was a small price to pay to be able to put the matter to rest, and get the man and the memories out of her mind.

Still, Whitney would never know what prompted her to say what she did next, maybe it was because she was a new woman and she had come of age, and into her own. She had the security, and the confidence to dare to remind him. “Not something,” she corrected quietly. “Someone. You overlooked someone. Someone like me.”