Читать книгу Falling for Leigh - Jennifer Snow - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT MORNING, Logan hesitated before opening the email from his lawyer, Eric James. The Manhattan Family Law Group didn’t waste time or their client’s money emailing without a good reason. Lately, whenever he heard from them, it was bad news, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the stress that morning. His hand and wrist throbbed, and the painkillers they’d prescribed at the clinic didn’t seem to help.
The message was marked urgent. There was no avoiding it. Opening it, he scanned it quickly.
Kendra’s lawyer had requested a financial statement. Fantastic. He had known that sooner or later she would play that card. Supporting his daughter with his writing was possible, given his investments and the royalties from his upcoming release, but his lawyer had cautioned him that proving his income in court might be challenging. Self-employed parents without medical benefits had a tougher time convincing the judge they could offer the best support.
Another reason he had to finish this book. Frustrated, he stood. The issues in his personal life were driving him to distraction and preventing him from writing, yet if he didn’t write, things in his personal life would be even worse. Without a steady income, no judge would award him custody of Amelia.
Lying on the bed, he closed his eyes, fighting to control the desperation and hopelessness he couldn’t escape.
Hours later, he sat on the wooden bench under the shelter of the gazebo. The October setting sun cast a glare across his laptop screen as he readjusted the computer into the shade. At least it wasn’t cold inside the heated space. Checking his watch, he stood: 5:58. Where was she?
He checked his watch again. Still 5:58. Time honestly passed slower in this small town, he was convinced of it. Two days before, that had been part of its original appeal; not anymore. He sat back down on the bench.
The sound of crunching leaves caught his attention. In the dusk, he saw Leigh—in a pair of baggy, faded jeans and a T-shirt with a sweater thrown over her shoulders—carrying a brown wicker basket. She smiled wearily as she approached.
She looked about as excited to do this as he was. He moved some of his papers aside to make room for the basket.
“I brought some snacks, in case,” she said, sliding her arms into her sweater and tugging it down over her head.
“I’m not hungry...thanks.” He opened his notebook to the pages to be transcribed. “So, here is where I left off typing.” He pointed to the middle of the page and moved the mouse to bring up the document.
Leigh busied herself with the basket, taking out a Thermos and pouring coffee into a mug. She took out a raspberry muffin and a plastic container of butter, then napkins and plastic cutlery. And then...a fruit tray?
“What are you doing?” Logan asked.
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” She bit into her muffin. “Mmm.... I got them from my grandmother’s bakery when I took the kids on an afternoon walk. She owns Ginger Snaps....”
He was barely listening, hearing an overbearing ticking in his brain as the sun continued to set.
“Are you sure you don’t—”
“I’m sure,” Logan snapped. He raked his left hand through his hair and rubbed his four-day-old beard.
Leigh frowned, took another quick bite of the muffin and turned her attention to his notebook. “Okay, sorry. I’m listening. So, these are your notes.” She squinted, leaning closer to the scribbled writing on the yellow legal pad.
“No, this is the first draft of the book,” Logan said, betraying his exasperation. He hated to be sharing this with anyone. The first draft was always written in haste, without care to grammar and punctuation. Sometimes he skipped over names. Not exactly a polished, finished product.
“And you wrote this before you broke your hand?”
Logan looked at the tiny chicken scratches. So they were hard to read. “That’s why we need to do this together. I’ll read it as you type.” He picked up the pad of paper and gestured for Leigh to take a seat in front of the laptop. “Ready?”
“Okay, go.” Her hands poised midair, she waited. “Go slowly, I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t type.”
Logan cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.... Reading his own unedited passages to her would be pure torture. He would find something wrong with each line. He usually did a round of editing as he transcribed.
Leigh turned to him. “You can’t read your writing, either?”
Logan tossed the pad back onto the table. “This isn’t going to work.”
Leigh held her hands up. “I’m sorry, I won’t make any more jokes.” She popped a chunk of muffin into her mouth and poised her hands over the keys. “Ready,” she said, her mouth full, a crumb falling onto the keys.
Sliding the laptop away from her, Logan picked it up and closed the lid. “Never mind,” he said as he unzipped his laptop case and shoved the computer inside.
“I don’t understand.” Leigh stared up at him. “I thought you needed help.”
He gathered his notes. “I do, but...” He paused as he stood. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re probably right, but now I just think you’re a little crazy, so...”
The look on her face indicated she did indeed think he was crazy and he laughed, surprising himself.
And her. Her mouth dropped but to her credit, she recovered quickly. “Nice to see you’re actually capable of a smile,” she said, moving over on the bench to make room for him. She picked up her coffee and took a sip.
Reluctantly, he sat. “The thing is...I never let people read my work until it’s done.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“And this book is unique in that it’s the last book in a series.” Did she know who he was? “The Van Gardener series.” He paused, waited.
She blinked. No recognition showed on her face, which he couldn’t help noticing was flawless in the glow of the setting sun.
“You don’t know it?” Could he really had stumbled upon one of the few people who hadn’t heard about the series, or his inability to finish it? One of the few who hadn’t read the extensive media coverage about his separation and his custody battle for Amelia...or the articles speculating he’d dropped off the map because of alcohol and/or drug addictions?
“No, I’m sorry if I should. I am an avid reader...I’m just not into suspense-filled mysteries.” She shuddered.
The tension of the past twenty-four hours eased a little. It was nice to meet someone with no preconceived opinions about him. “I guess it’s not really the kind of book you read to preschoolers,” he said, wiggling his fingers inside the cast.
“Itchy?” Leigh gestured toward the cast. “Every summer at least one of my kids—my day-care kids, I mean—breaks something or other. Thankfully not under my watch,” she added, reaching for a plastic fork. “Here, try this.” She handed it to him.
He took it and slid it into the cast. Instant relief. “Ah...”
“Better?”
“Much.” He tried to hand her back the fork.
She grimaced. “Keep it.”
He laughed again. Wow, twice in five minutes, more than he’d laughed in months.
“So, are we going to do this, given that I have no idea who you are or anything about the series?” Leigh waited, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup.
Logan hesitated. She had the most trustworthy face; her sincerity and genuine nature shone in her eyes. Probably why she was so great with children. Children could distinguish real honesty and affection.
Leigh checked her watch. “We’re wasting time,” she said, “and I have more muffins.”
“Okay. But I need you to sign something.” Tearing out a piece of paper, he glanced from it to his left hand. She’d have to write their agreement. He held out his silver monogrammed pen, his favorite, the only one he ever used. “I need you to write that you won’t reveal the contents of this book to anyone.”
She took the pen and wrote.
He watched in silence.
She paused and glanced toward him. “Anything else?”
That pretty much captured what he needed from her in a nutshell. “Just sign and date it, please.”
Leigh did as he asked and handed it back. “This book is a big deal, huh?”
He used to think so. The series had dominated his every waking thought for seven years, losing him his one and only serious relationship, his friendships and his sanity. Now he just wanted to finish it, dig himself out from the shadow of doubt and regain confidence in his abilities as a writer, in his own eyes as well as those of the court that would be deciding his and his daughter’s fate. “Yeah, it’s a big deal.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Leigh peered around the corner of Main Street. The town’s leasing office was above the bank and she was desperate to avoid her ex-husband’s new wife, Angela Conway, one of the only real-estate agents in town.
Living in the same town with the couple and their two young children was tough, and Angela’s office was two doors down from Leigh’s grandmother’s bakery. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the woman, and she wasn’t jealous of the life she and Neil shared with the family she hadn’t been able to give him...of course not.
Logan was right, she really wasn’t good at lying, not even to herself.
As she moved quickly past the brick office building, she waved to Kimberley Mitchell, one of the bank-loans officers, staring out her ground-floor office window with her phone cradled to her shoulder. Then, head down, eyes glued to the brick-patterned sidewalk, Leigh continued on, pretending not to hear Angela’s voice as she called from a window overhead.
She paused for effect when she heard the second, louder “Leigh!”, glancing in every direction but the one she knew the sound was coming from and then continued in a hurry. She heard her call again, but this time she dove around the side of Pearl’s Petals, the flower shop on the corner across from her grandmother’s bakery.
How was she going to get across the street without Angela seeing her? A quick glance revealed she was still waiting at the open window. She ducked her head back around the corner.
“Who are we hiding from?” a man whispered inches from her right ear.
Leigh jumped, her hand flying to her chest, knocking over a row of small potted plants on the outside sale table display at Pearl’s.
Logan dove for one pot before it fell off the table. He caught it easily in his left hand and set it back carefully, straightening the others and brushing the scattered leaves and dirt off the white tablecloth.
“Thanks,” Leigh said. She would’ve hated to have to buy all of those plants if she’d broken them. Children were her area of expertise—plants not so much. “And I’m not hiding,” she said, but she suspected her flaming cheeks gave her away. Gingerly, she touched the leaves on a plant she’d never be able to name if asked. “I’m shopping.” Pretending to be interested in one, she picked it up and examined it.
“Get many cuts and burns?”
“No. Why?” she asked, casting him a puzzled look.
“That’s an aloe plant,” Logan explained. “Shouldn’t you have an entourage of kids?”
“A college student works with me part-time. She’s doing a practicum for her childhood-education certificate. Gives me time to run errands.” She poked her head around the corner quickly. Angela was still there.
Logan leaned around the corner. “Okay, tell me where I’m supposed to be looking.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You better tell me, or I’ll blow your cover.”
“Fine,” Leigh snapped. “Last building on the corner, upstairs window.” She waited, hands on her hips, ignoring the plants.
“All clear,” Logan said.
Leigh let out a sigh of relief and stepped away from the shelter of the building.
“Why are you hiding from someone?”
She read the amusement in his dark eyes as he studied her. “I’m not, really,” she said with a shrug, as she moved around him, checking both ways before crossing Main Street.
Logan followed. “Okay, fine...let’s see.” He paused, appearing to think. “I know, it’s an angry day-care dad looking for a tax receipt. No, wait, it’s someone suing you for that hazardous front porch step of yours.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your creative juices now.”
“I can keep guessing, I’ve got all day. I should be writing, but someone pushed me off a ladder.”
“Okay,” Leigh said, holding her hands up in defeat as he matched his step to hers. “It’s my ex-husband’s new wife.”
He stumbled and paused to get his balance before keeping up with her again. “Wouldn’t have guessed that one.”
“Can I point you in any certain direction, Mr. Walters?” She refused to elaborate, despite the intense curiosity written all over his handsome face. At least curiosity softened the sharp edges of this man she’d only known for a few days.
“I don’t know. Where are you headed?”
Leigh thought fast. “The gynecologist.”
Logan smiled.
Huh, dimples—hadn’t noticed them before. They should make an appearance more often, she thought.
“You’re getting better with the lies. I’ll catch you later. Same time, gazebo?”
“Sure thing.”
She watched as he dashed off down the block before heading in the opposite direction.
Moments later Leigh stepped into Dog Eared Books. It was discouraging to see the going-out-of-business sale posters in the window behind their annual Halloween decor of orange lights and pumpkins carved in the images of bestselling books. The bookstore had been in Brookhollow for over fifty years. Grandma Norris had taken her there for the first time on her fourth birthday, when she and her parents had stayed longer than usual after the holidays. She’d filled almost another full suitcase full of books for her trip overseas to the new mission her dad had been appointed to, and they had been such a comfort—she remembered that clearly even though she’d only been four years old.
As a teenager, after her parents sent her to live with her grandmother to attend Brookhollow High, she’d visited the store almost every day, spending the money she earned from her part-time summer job at the Theatre Under the Stars drive-in.
“Hello,” she said, stepping over boxes of books in the entryway. She would miss the landmark once the store closed in the new year.
Danielle O’Connor came from the back storage room, another box of books in her arms. “Hi, Leigh. Sorry for the mess. Just trying to reorganize some things.”
Leigh scanned the labels on the boxes near the wall. “Those are books for the library?”
“Yeah, they’re all fairly new—novels released this year. There are some children’s books in there, as well. You’re welcome to take a look.”
“Thank you, but trust me, I’m running out of space for more books.”
“That’s not possible,” Danielle said. “You just have to build higher shelves.” She gestured to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the first floor of the two-story space.”
“I guess so,” Leigh said with a laugh. “Anyway, I did stop by for a couple of specific novels. Do you think you could search your database to see if you have them? They’re seven or eight years old. If they’re already packed away, don’t worry.”
Danielle moved to the other side of the counter to her computer. “Romance?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“Actually no...um...mystery?”
“You—mystery?” Danielle raised an eyebrow.
Leigh shrugged. “Thought I’d broaden my horizons a little.”
Daniel shook her head slowly as she clicked on the mystery tab and they waited for the page to load. “Name of the book?”
“Danger Within by...um...Logan Walters.” She wondered if somehow news had already spread through town about Logan’s visit.
If Danielle had heard, she didn’t reveal it. “Here it is...part of the Van Gardener series, right?”
“That’s it. Do you have the complete set?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I just put them on the fifty-cent table outside.”
Leigh suppressed a cringe. Logan would certainly take a blow to his ego if he knew the first four books of his popular series were reduced to the quick-sale bargain table.
If he found out she bought them, she’d claim she’d spent at least a dollar on them.
“Great, I’ll take them all.”
* * *
THIS TOWN REALLY had changed a lot since the last time he was here, Logan thought as he left the sports museum, Legend’s, with a signed NFL jersey he’d paid a premium for. Most of the items in the museum were rare collectables, things that used to belong to Don Jamieson, the late NFL quarterback who used to own Legend’s when it was a sporting-goods store. Logan wasn’t that into sports, but he knew his agent would love the signed jersey. He owed the man a good Christmas gift after the headache of a year they’d suffered.
As he turned the corner of Main Street and Commerce Avenue, he came to a halt as a long line of children getting off a school bus blocked his path.
The young schoolteacher smiled. “Sorry, we’re almost at the end of them,” she said, continuing to check off her list of students as they went past, up the stairs to the... Logan glanced at the building, shielding his eyes from the midmorning sun. Library. At three stories, it was by far one of the largest buildings in Brookhollow.
“No problem. Field trip?” he asked.
“Yes, sort of. It’s literacy week, so we’re here to listen to today’s readers.”
Literacy week. That’s right, in New York every year he donated proceeds from his book sales to this great cause. He’d credit books with helping him find his own future path, often providing an escape and hope that was rare in the harsh reality of his foster-care situations. As the last child passed, Logan followed the teacher up the stairs. In truth, though New York was home to one of the country’s most beautiful libraries, he hadn’t been inside one in years. Maybe it would help with the writer’s block. “I think I’ll check it out myself. Thank you, Miss...?”
“Ally. Miss Ally.” With a wave, she disappeared after the children inside.
Pausing at the top of the steps, Logan took a moment to read the literacy-week schedule posted on a sign on the door. Readings for children and adults...book discussion groups...a book sale that weekend. All the same events hosted by the big-city libraries. Without the crowds, he speculated, as he entered the building.
Two school groups were gathered in a reading room to the right of the main entrance. He could tell they were two different groups by the colored uniforms they wore. The sight of the smaller ones in their navy smocks and tights reminded him of his daughter. Amelia, eight, attended a private school in New York, one of the few that still insisted on a dress-code uniform.
Amelia.
He missed his little girl so much. She would have loved a school outing like this. Her favorite subject was English. Liked to make up stories...some of which he’d illustrated for her. He had those stories saved in the top drawer of his writing desk in his apartment in Manhattan, one of the few things he’d taken from the home he’d shared with Kendra when he moved out two years before.
Two years.
Some days it felt as if they’d been battling in court over the separation and custody forever, and other days it felt like no time at all. He just hoped they reached a conclusion next month. He couldn’t take much more of this.
His weekly phone call to California to speak to his kid was hardly enough, but with the time difference and his daughter’s need to adjust to her new surroundings, he was biting his tongue and giving them space. He didn’t want to make things harder on Amelia. But next month, regardless of the outcome of the custody case, things had to change. He deserved and wanted more time with his daughter.
He stepped into the library.
To his relief, it looked pretty much like he’d expected it to, which was soothing to his frayed, blocked nerves. Big city or small, there was comfort in the familiarity of the rows of shelves and the smell of books.
To his right was a children’s section, complete with a puppet theater. But the focal point was a floor-to-ceiling plastic oak tree with the alphabet in its leaves, benches around its trunk and books stashed in the bark.
A librarian reshelving books asked, “Can I... Oh my God.” Several browsers on the other side of the shelf turned to look at them.
“Hi,” he said.
“You’re Logan Walters.” The woman, not old but older than him, stood.
“Yes, I am.” He extended his good hand to her.
She stared at him, wide eyes, mouth agape, not moving.
Maybe he should have said no, he thought when she continued to stare. Uncomfortable, he shifted from one leg to the other. Then he dropped the hand he’d extended. “You okay?”
“Yes...this is incredible,” she said, finding her voice. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting... I mean no one told me you were coming. That’s the mayor’s office for you. They forget to tell us everything. Although maybe they wanted to surprise me—that was nice of them.” Her face lit up in a wide smile and she readjusted her thick, red-rimmed glasses higher on her nose and tucked a few strands of strawberry blond hair behind an ear. The unruly wisps just bounced right back toward her cheek.
Cute.
“Actually no one sent me. I’m staying at the Brookhollow Inn, working on a book.” Duh. He shouldn’t have said that. Guess his plan to stay here unnoticed was out the window.
“Oh, sorry, I thought since it was literacy week... We sometimes bring in guest authors, though no one as famous as you.” Her open admiration made him a little shy.
It had been years since he’d encountered a fan; mainly because he’d reclusively avoided all opportunities to meet them. But also because he hadn’t published a book in so long. Out of sight, out of mind was usually the case in this industry. Guess Clive had been right about the diehards standing by, waiting for his final book.
He just hoped he could deliver what his fans expected and deserved. “I seemed to have got caught up in the wake of all these kids coming into the library and was swept in myself.... Kids are quite a force of nature,” he added lamely, losing the calm the library had given him in his returning panic over the writer’s block.
“Well, it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kate Richardson.” She extended her right hand, but for the first time noticed his in a cast and quickly switched to the left one for a clumsy welcome. “That looks like a new cast. What happened?”
“Broke my wrist.”
“How?”
“Trying to help someone a couple of days ago.”
She nodded. “As they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”
“I guess not.”
“Gotta be tough to get any writing done like that.” Her smile was sympathetic.
He didn’t want to tell her that the break gave him a more plausible excuse for the lack of productivity that was driving him insane, so he just nodded. “Quiet day?”
“Well, e-books have really made a dent in our clientele.” But she shook her head. “Not quiet today with two loads of schoolkids for literacy week. The kids who swept you in here?” she reminded him, tilting her head to the reading room across the foyer.
“Ah, yes, literacy week.”
“As for me,” she added, “I like my books—real books. The ones you can touch, smell, hug...” Her cheeks flushed.
“Hug?”
“Only the really great ones. Speaking of which...” She nodded toward the next aisle.
Logan followed her.
“Here are yours.” She waved at the four books lining the shelf, numbered and tagged with the Brookhollow Library category logo. “I’ve read them all, twice.” The admiration was back in her eyes. “I just love Van and Piper.”
The detective partners in his books were essentially the main characters, though the series was titled for Van. Piper Kelly was more or less Van’s sidekick and Logan had only introduced her midway through the second book, under the guidance of the publisher. Adding in the coed working relationship was supposed to increase his female readership. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”
“Very much.” Her hand suddenly went to the pen behind her ear. “Hey, would you sign them?”
He glanced at the cast on his hand. “As soon as the swelling goes down and I can hold a pen a little better, sure. I’ll stop by again before I leave town.”
“Great. Oh, excuse me for a second.” She went to help a petite blonde waiting at the information desk, and as Logan perused the shelves, he could feel two sets of eyes watching him. By ten everyone would know he was there. Why had he given out his address?
“Um, Mr. Walters?” Kate called a moment later.
Barely suppressing a groan, reluctantly he walked over to the desk where the librarian gestured toward the other woman, who was holding a stack of novels. “Hi,” he muttered, struggling to be gracious.
“Hi. I’m Randi Carter, the principal of Brookhollow High,” she said.
Crap, he felt a favor coming next.... He waited for it, hoping he was wrong. “Kate was just telling me that you’re a bestselling mystery writer. I apologize—I barely have time to read for pleasure and I’m unfamiliar with your work.” She followed his gaze down to the books in her arms. “These are for the homeroom classes.”
“I haven’t produced anything in a while actually, so...”
“Will you be in town long?” she asked.
He hesitated. But then thought, he’d pretty much already blown his cover, anyway. Giving away more of his coveted private information couldn’t hurt. “A few weeks.” His original goal had been two. Now he hoped he could make his deadline, which was a little over three weeks away.
“Great. Well, what we were just discussing, and wondering, is if you might be available to do a school visit while you were here?”
And there it was. “A school visit?”
“Yes, for my grade-twelve creative-writing class.”
He looked from her back to Kate, the librarian, who was nodding her encouragement. “You want me to come talk to the students?”
“If you could. We rarely...okay, never...have your caliber of writing talent in Brookhollow and there are a few students in that class that show real promise. I think getting to meet you would be a great honor for them, and any knowledge you can impart to them would be greatly appreciated.”
“Oh...um...” Coming here to avoid reminders of how much he missed Amelia had certainly backfired. There were children everywhere—more children than adults in Brookhollow. The B & B and the day care next door were unavoidable, but purposely going into the school? He’d have to be crazy.
“Only if you have time, of course,” Kate said, earning a frown and a shhh from Randi.
Both women were staring at him expectantly. As if he should be excited to do his duty by the local school and support such a worthy cause. Sure, at seventeen he would have killed for this kind of opportunity. But now... These two didn’t understand that he had three weeks to write this book, finish the series that had made his name. Find a way to support his child and win back custody. Three weeks.
Why wouldn’t they stop staring at him?
Finally, slowly, he said, “I’ll be there,” wondering how he could possibly agree to this and still get what he wanted—needed—and leave Brookhollow in just three weeks
Three weeks.
* * *
“LOGAN, WHAT DOES THIS say?” Leigh squinted at the smeared scribbled ink on the back of a tiny ripped piece of napkin, stuffed among the pages of notes. She turned it over in her hands. “Isn’t this from Jack in the Box?”
“Inspiration always hits when I don’t have a real piece of paper,” he replied. “Let me see.” They were sitting side by side on the bench inside the—thankfully heated—gazebo that evening. They were making progress, and the night before they’d managed to get through the remaining handwritten notes he’d left to type in. During the day, he’d worked on more content, as well as he could. “Oh, this was new dialogue I’d thought of to add to scene three in chapter four. Thanks, I was looking for this.”
She suspected he’d forgotten he’d even written it, but she kept the thought to herself.
Taking the laptop from her, Logan scrolled back to find the spot in the fourth chapter. Then he slid the laptop back to her. “I’ll read it to you.”
“Okay, go.” Leigh popped a piece of lemon-poppy-seed muffin into her mouth and got ready to type. She turned to look at him when he remained silent. “What?”
“How are you not two hundred pounds eating all of these muffins?” He stared at her. “I mean every night we work together, you consume, like, half a dozen.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He held his hands up. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it.... It just amazes me. You must have an incredible metabolism.”
Hmm...maybe she should allow him to think she was one of those lucky people who could eat anything they wanted without gaining weight. Instead she said, “It’s my grandma’s secret ingredient.”
“Which is?”
“I can’t reveal it,” she said through another mouthful.
“Who am I going to tell? Seriously, do I look like I’m going to run out and open a competing bakery in Brookhollow?”
She studied him. “Maybe I should make you sign something.”
“Ha.” He rolled his eyes. “Funny lady.”
Leigh coughed on crumbs as she suppressed a laugh. “It’s protein powder.... Plus she uses a sugar substitute.” She pushed the basket at him.
He reached inside and took one. He hesitated, examining it. He sniffed it. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me these were healthy to eat before now,” he said through a mouthful.
“Excuse me, I hadn’t realized you were trying to keep your boyish physique.”
Now it was his turn to choke on his muffin. “Okay, let’s continue,” he managed to say.
“Ready.”
He remained silent behind her.
“What now? Time’s wasting.”
“I know, I just noticed how small your hands are. No wonder you type so slow. Can you even reach all the keys?”
Leigh glanced at him, eyebrow raised yet again. “Are we typing or not?”
“Sorry. Okay, so the first line of dialogue is, ‘Don’t go down there.’”
“Wait,” she interrupted.
“What?”
“Who’s saying this?”
“The detective.”
She frowned and pursed her lips.
“What?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. This was his book. “Nothing,” she said, typing in the dialogue.
Logan held a hand out to stop her. “No, really, what?” He frowned, studying the words on the page.
Leigh sighed. “Okay, it’s just that it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“That the detective would say, ‘Don’t go down there.’ It’s kind of like telling a child, ‘Don’t look in the cupboard for a cookie.’ Of course they’re going to do it now, even if they hadn’t planned to.”
“Exactly,” Logan said with a nod.
“You want the bad guy to go downstairs? But in the next scene, that doesn’t work in the detective’s favor.”
“Not in that scene, but eventually it will.” Logan reached for his notes and flipped ahead. “See, here.” He pointed to a scribbled paragraph, written diagonally across a length of cash register receipt.
“Is this from the grocery store?” Leigh picked it up and turned it over.
“Yes.” Logan took it from her and turned it back, scribbled side up. “See here, when the detective sneaks out of the basement through the door leading to the root cellar...”
“Where did the root cellar come from?” Leigh frowned.
“Chapter one—you didn’t read it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Can we continue now? Me doing the writing—you typing?” Logan asked with amusement.
“Sure.”
His cell rang in his pocket and he stood, checking the caller ID. His expression darkened.
“If you have to answer that, go ahead. I think I can make out the rest...if I squint really hard.” But the light moment between them had disappeared.
“I’m sorry, it’s important,” he said as it rang again. Moving away, he answered the call.
Leigh watched his long, anxious strides as he paced the backyard. In the silence of the neighborhood, it was impossible not to hear his side of the conversation, despite the distance he put between them.
She felt a pang of guilt listening, but she couldn’t help it. She was curious about him. Really curious. Since their first night working together, she’d tried to resist the urge to look him up on the computer, but that afternoon she’d caved. Not that she’d learned anything about his personal life.
“Yes, of course I have time to speak to her.... Hi, sweetheart, you’re up late,” he said, glancing at his watch.
Sweetheart?
“How was school today?” she heard him ask.
It sounded as though he was talking to a child. His?
“Give them time, they’ll come around. You’re the coolest kid I know.”
The concern in his voice touched her.
“That’s great. I can’t wait to see it.... I know, I miss you, too...just another couple of weeks....”
Couple of weeks for what? Man, she had to stop eavesdropping. His call was none of her business.
“Okay, be good for your mom.... I love you.” He disconnected the call and Leigh watched as he stood there for a second longer. He turned back toward her and their eyes met momentarily, before she quickly returned hers to the laptop screen.
Logan climbed the few steps to the gazebo and sat back on the bench. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” Don’t ask questions. It was none of her business.
“Where did we leave off?”
“The detective is going downstairs,” Leigh said. Clearly, he wasn’t about to explain the call.
“Right.” Logan cleared his throat, then stood again. “That was my daughter.”
She fought to conceal her surprise. Never would she have pegged him for a father. How old was the girl? Did that mean he was married? Divorced? Where was she? Despite the insane curiosity mounting within her, she struggled to respect his privacy. “Really, Logan, that’s your business.”
Quietly, he rejoined her on the bench. “Okay, sorry, tell me again—where were we?”
“The detective’s going downstairs....” Leigh prodded, studying him. The little piece of himself he’d displayed in those few seconds had revealed a different side of the man she was getting to know.
A man she wanted to get to know even better.
