Читать книгу The Family Man - Melinda Curtis - Страница 8

THE VIEW WAS SPECTACULAR, with snow-covered peaks standing out in sharp contrast against the smoke-softened sunset. One of the things Logan loved about being a Hot Shot was being close to nature. Only he could no longer enjoy it. Logan sat on an icy tree root with his back against the trunk, looking out over the Sun Valley base camp as it settled down for the night.

He had a birthday coming up soon. A birthday he’d be celebrating alone. He’d never been alone. Deb had even been born first. Growing up, she’d been the strong one when things got ugly with their father at home, which was often.

No kid should have to live through what Logan and Deb had. The harsh words. The fear. The bruises.

Shouts of laughter rippled through base camp. A group of firefighters from several different crews had gathered amidst the low tents that dotted the meadow’s snowy landscape. The wind was really blowing now, and this far from the fire line, it stole the breath right out of Logan’s lungs. His watch showed the temperature as twenty-nine degrees. Standing up and moving around would be smart. Too bad Logan wasn’t smart. As hot as he’d been the past few days on the fire line, he was an ice cube now. Which suited him just fine.

He stared back down at camp. For tactical purposes, NIFC had brought in portable toilets, a large canvas tent for Incident Command, and Jose’s Taco Truck, which had the best tacos in the Northwest, or so their signs proclaimed. Base camp provided firefighters with some of the amenities they didn’t have nearby. Camps didn’t get much more minimalist than this one, though.

Golden leaned his shoulder against a pine tree a few feet away from Logan, following the direction of his gaze. “Only the finest cuisine for our firefighters.”

“Breakfast burritos aren’t so bad.” At least the food was hot.

Golden rubbed his stomach as if it was empty. “It takes a lot of tacos to fill a man’s belly at the end of the day.”

Logan couldn’t argue with that. He shrugged deeper into his down jacket and thought longingly of a hot shower. Smoke and sweat had combined to form a sticky layer on Logan’s skin. NIFC hadn’t deemed the Sun Valley burn of a long enough duration to pay a vendor for portable shower stalls.

“How are you doing, Logan?”

Uh-oh. Logan shifted on the root. Even though they were best friends, Jackson and Logan tended to call each other by their Hot Shot names unless it was a social occasion or they felt the need to speak on a personal level, as Golden did now. And as he’d done over the past few days when Logan had lost his temper.

“I’m fine, Jackson.” Which was so far from the truth that the words nearly echoed in the hollow area once occupied by Logan’s heart.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Logan sucked on his cheek to keep from saying anything.

“I need you out there one hundred percent. What I don’t need is you and Aiden going head-to-head every time I give an order. It’s not good for safety or team morale.”

Jackson knelt down until he could look Logan in the eye. “This is going to be a tough year on the crews as it is. Two other states set early controlled burns that blew over the line. We were fortunate that we contained ours with less than a ten-acre loss. California and Colorado weren’t so lucky.”

Logan perked up. He could talk about work. Work was his savior. “They lose anything other than tree husks? Was anyone injured? Did any structures get burned?”

“No. We were lucky this time. But public opinion is against us, budgets are tight and I don’t want any mistakes on my team.” His jaw had that firm set to it that warned, “Mess with me and you’ll be in for a world of hurt.”

Relieved that the crews were okay, Logan gave a jerky nod to indicate he understood, that he would try harder to toe the line. Then he waited for Jackson to go away.

He didn’t.

“I know that losing Deb hit you hard, but you have to snap out of this.”

“Is that an order?” Something bitter climbed up Logan’s throat. He told himself it was just bad tacos, not the fact that his best friend since high school was disappointed in him. “Or am I missing something?”

Jackson shook his head. “You know what I miss? I miss my right-hand man. I miss my friend. There are a lot of us that miss you, buddy. You might want to think about that while you’re checking out that sunset.”

Logan would like nothing more than to do just that.

Only thing was, he didn’t know how to find that person Jackson referred to—the man he used to be.

STANDING IN LOGAN’S driveway later, Thea breathed deeply. The green scent of fir and pine filled the air. The dark green and brown colors set against the dusting of snow on the ground were calming. This part of Idaho was breathtakingly beautiful, so different from the skyscrapers of Seattle.

She could forget her goals up here, set aside the dream of earning a degree that would put her at the top of her field as her mother had done. Here she could listen to her little inner voice, the one that occasionally piped up at the oddest times with a twenty-seven-year-old’s desire for a family, a white picket fence and PTA meetings.

She let herself stare at Logan’s house just a little longer before she went back inside. It was a perfect house, straight off a Christmas card. The big log home was blanketed in snow, with smoke curling out of the two-story brick chimney. Part of Thea longed for the storybook life that had to go along with living in such a house. But she’d promised her mother when she was ten—right before her mother left—that she’d make something of herself.

Thea retreated to the kitchen and sank into a spindle-backed chair that felt unsteady enough to be an antique, her notes in piles next to her laptop, her study plan tacked to the wall. She needed to be reviewing her advanced technology notes. She should have reviewed them two days ago. She swung her foot, causing a ripple from the bells she’d attached to her shoes. According to her grandmother, vibrant noise was supposed to keep her spirits up, because the light notes reminded her to believe in sunshine and happily-ever-afters, of dreams being achieved. The sound didn’t help. She couldn’t focus on her studies.

The kitchen table was adorned with a deep brown crocheted doily. The hardwood floor was dark wood, as were the cabinets, and the countertop was brown tile with brown grout. Brown. Dark. Corners. Even the coffeemaker was made of black plastic.

The effect of the room was downright depressing, not at all the homey atmosphere the exterior of the house promised. Thea needed to dive into her notes, but she couldn’t concentrate in this gloomy environment. She pushed back her chair.

“Brown,” she muttered as she moved into the shadowy living room. Brown hardwood floors, brown velour couches—brown, brown, brown, brown, brown. Not a bit of other color in the place. The same neatness and lack of knickknacks in the kitchen pervaded this room—nothing to indicate anything about the man who lived here, his family, his roots. No photos of smiling relatives and friends or mementos of any kind. With the blinds closed in every room, it was more sterile than the furnished apartment she and the twins had been evicted from. And, despite the neatness of the place, everything was coated with a layer of dust.

The house had seemed so promising from the outside. Thea wandered dejectedly down the dimly lit hallway toward the bathroom.

“Deb, is that you?” an elderly, shaky voice called out as Thea passed another dark room.

“It’s me, Thea.” Thea poked her head in the bedroom. Glen, Logan’s maiden aunt, a gray-haired beauty, was sitting in bed knitting something with dark brown yarn.

The coffee mug Thea had filled earlier and a half-eaten piece of apple pie rested on the nightstand.

“Do I know you, dear?” Glen asked in a tremulous voice that sounded close to an elderly Katharine Hepburn.

“I’m taking care of the twins until Logan comes back.”

Lexie had warned Thea that Glen’s short-term memory was unreliable. She might have said nonexistent. Glen didn’t seem to remember Thea at all.

“Now, my boy Logan, he’s a man you can rely on. Cares about folks, he does.” Glen’s blue eyes were dull, faded, and a bit lost. She sighed. “Have I ever told you that I raised Logan and Deb after my sister died?” Glen gestured to her bureau of dark wood. Several pictures blanketed in thick dust were displayed there. It was the first place in the house that Thea had seen pictures.

“No, you haven’t.” Thea stepped nearer for a closer look, carefully brushing away the dust on an old, square-framed picture of two similar-looking young women leaning close, with seventies beehive hairdos and psychedelic orange and lime-green dresses.

“That’s me and my sister, Meg.” Glen shuffled out of bed and stood next to Thea. She smelled of soiled clothing and sweet coffee. This close, Thea could see her complexion had the tawny hue of unwashed skin. “And this is Deb and Logan.”

Thea closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself as anger at the old woman’s neglect threatened to overwhelm her. Lexie, with her own family and responsibilities, couldn’t be blamed, but the absent Logan McCall could. Already, Thea was thinking about what needed to be done—linens washed, everything dusted, swept and vacuumed, and Glen needed a bath, along with a complete brushing of her hair and teeth.

Thea drew in a steadying breath before peering at the photo Glen indicated. Logan wore a tuxedo and Deb a princess-style wedding dress. Two impeccably groomed blond heads leaned close together, both sporting picture-perfect smiles. Their expressions were so alike…

“They’re twins,” Thea said, noting the resemblance.

“Yep,” Glen confirmed. “Runs in our family thicker than the plague. Meg was my twin.” Her hand stroked the picture of the two women, seeming to tremble more with each breath she took.

Thea took Glen’s arm in case she collapsed. “Are you all right?”

The old woman nodded with a sniff. “Doc says my asthma medication gives me the shakes. Can’t complain. Well, I could complain, but what good would it do me?” She returned to the bed.

Glen’s face seemed deathly pale in the shadowy bedroom. Thea thought Glen could use more than some occasional light. Giving in to impulse, Thea spun the plastic handle on the blinds to let sunshine stream through the window.

Glen frowned. “Logan doesn’t like them open.”

“Why not?” Thea couldn’t understand why Logan would want to keep this sweet old lady in the dark.

“Sometimes it’s easier not to look.” Glen waved a hand at the bureau again. “Those blond beauties in the back are Deb’s little girls—Tess and Hannah.”

When it seemed Glen was waiting for a reaction to the girls, Thea obligingly leaned in for a closer look. The twins were younger, sporting bright bathing suits and smiles. Everything about the girls in the picture sparkled with energy and happiness. Thea longed to see them that way again.

Glen settled back against the pillows. “They light up this house.”

It was comforting to know that the girls had been happy here. Thea hoped they would be again. “I’ll leave you to your crocheting and go check on the girls.”

“I may as well go with you, just in case their room’s not as clean as it should be. I wouldn’t want the girls to get into trouble.” Glen scooted back off the bed. She turned the handle on the blinds to bring the room back to shadows. “Logan prefers the house dark,” she explained again as she shuffled ahead of Thea down the hall.

“It’s neat as a pin,” Glen announced with apparent relief as she paused in the doorway.

Peeking around the door frame into the dimly lit bedroom, Thea had to agree. Like the girls’ room in Seattle, there were no stray shoes, no scattered scrunchies for that long blond hair, no half-dressed Barbies with hair that was frizzed from being carried about in backpacks, cars and pillowcases. The room was as impersonal as the rest of the house, from the quilted pink bedspreads to the white dressers each holding a lamp and a small clock radio.

Thea noticed untouched toys stacked neatly in the closet. Now Hannah sat on the floor playing quietly with Whizzer, while Tess lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

Thea had hoped the girls would thrive in their uncle’s fairy-tale house. But now her heart filled with doubt.

How could she leave them here?

“WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW to make Barbie clothes?” Hannah asked, leaning over Thea’s shoulder while she sat in one of the dull living-room chairs creating a new wardrobe for the two Barbie dolls she’d found in the twins’ closet. “Did your mom teach you?”

Thea paused midstitch, staring into the fire. Her mom hadn’t been supportive of Thea learning any homemaking arts.

“My grandmother taught me. I’ve loved sewing since I was a kid.” Thea remembered her mother looking at her handiwork and saying how those neat stitches meant she’d be a wonderful surgeon one day. All Thea had wanted was for her mom to say her baby doll quilt was beautiful. Thea shied away from the memory. Her mother had never understood Thea, not that she’d had more than ten years to figure her daughter out. The painful memory had Thea reaching for a change of attitude.

“I once met a man who created Barbie ball gowns for a living,” Thea said, glancing at Hannah to gauge her interest in the story. The twins never watched television, which made for long nights. Thea had learned to rely on her knack for telling odd stories to engage the twins and help pass the time.

“A man?” Tess blurted. She sat in the corner of the dark couch, her limbs pulled up tight, her small forehead creased in disbelief.

Glen looked up from her crochet project. Thea had yet to figure out what the older woman was making. It was long and brown, every stitch making it longer and browner.

“A man,” Thea confirmed, wondering briefly when they’d see the elusive Uncle Logan and if he’d be good for the girls.

“Why would a man want to sew?” Hannah reached across Thea’s lap to finger the small red dress, until she saw Thea watching her. With a quick glance at Tess, Hannah drew her hand away, tucking it behind her back.

“People should pick jobs that make them happy,” Thea said, pretending to be intent on finishing Barbie’s hem, while trying to ignore the rising panic that she should be studying if she ever wanted to pass her exams. She couldn’t even propose a dissertation topic until she received a passing grade on both her written and oral exams. She shook her foot, eliciting a soft jingle. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Hannah?”

Hannah shrugged, looking at Tess, then stared at the fire. Thea was convinced that the two shared an unspoken bond. Neither would get over her grief without the other. And Tess wasn’t done grieving.

“I always wanted to be one of those secret agents, with the slinky dress, spiked heels and a real kick-ass gun,” Glen spoke up, rearranging her yarn chain in her lap. “Only Eldred came along and I didn’t think I could leave Silver Bend.”

Assuming Eldred had been Glen’s beau, Thea smiled. “It’s nice to dream big. How about you, Tess? Any plans for the future?”

Instead of answering, Tess got up and left the room.

AS HE DROVE HOME toward Silver Bend, Logan McCall ignored the streaks of golden light peeking over the horizon. A new day may be dawning, but it would be the same gray, colorless day that he’d faced yesterday and the day before that.

He drove in silence up the long, steep grade before he reached Silver Bend, passing the ramshackle, abandoned house where his parents had died. Where his father had killed his mother.

In that house, he’d learned how low a man could sink when ruled by a hot temper regularly fueled by alcohol. In that house, he’d learned that the only person he could depend on was his twin sister, Deb. Together, they’d survived the verbal abuse and physical beatings. When they’d left, Logan vowed he’d never have a family of his own.

Deb, lucky enough not to have the gene that carried their father’s destructive temper, had lived an almost normal life, married and produced two girls Logan adored, only to die much too soon. Burdened with his father’s shameful legacy—a fiery temper—Logan couldn’t trust himself to honor Deb’s request and be the girls’ guardian.

What if he lost his temper or did something stupid? Like go on a drunken binge. Or get so blitzed he wouldn’t know who he was hitting or why.

Logan wiped a hand over his face.

No. He didn’t know how to be a father. It was best that Tess and Hannah were being raised by someone else. Even if Wes wasn’t the best father around—he sure as hell hadn’t been the best husband—he had to be better at it than Logan.

So he continued to his house and the life that was emptier than he’d ever dreamed possible.

“ARE WE THE FIRST VISITORS from Silver Bend this morning?” Lexie stood on the front porch with plump little Henry propped on one hip. Her smile was dazzling, but as genuine as her little boy’s. Lexie’s brown hair was pulled back into a mother’s utilitarian ponytail. “We just dropped Heidi off at school, so I thought we’d come by to check on you. Did you make it through the night okay?”

“We were fine.” Thea let them in, taking the blue quilted diaper bag from Lexie. “Am I going to get more visitors today? The casseroles yesterday were…interesting.” They wouldn’t need to cook for a week—if she could get the girls to eat them.

“Small town. Half the population over fifty.” Lexie rolled her eyes. “Oh-ho, are you going to get visitors. Each one will dust off the old family recipe.” She shuddered, then sank onto the couch and settled Henry on her lap.

“It doesn’t sound so bad.” Cities were so impersonal. Even at her university, you could pass by hundreds of students without anyone ever looking you in the eye, much less be concerned about you.

“She doesn’t suspect, does she, Hot Shot?” Lexie played with one of Henry’s chubby fists. “They’ll know where she was born by dinnertime.”

Thea was reminded of the relentless questioning from the trio in the Painted Pony.

“So, if you have any secrets you want to keep, practice your poker face and changing the subject.” Lexie continued, “Not that we aren’t fond of them all, it’s just that…well, we love it when there’s a big political scandal to keep them busy.”

“Thanks, I think.” Thea sat on the opposite end of the brown couch, catching sight of Tess lingering in the hallway as she did so. “How old is Henry?”

“Nearly eight months.” Lexie blew a raspberry in his fist, and he giggled. “We nearly lost him when he was born. But you’re a fighter like your dad, aren’t you, Hot Shot?”

“And your husband is a…uh…Hot Shot, too?” Thea was becoming incredibly curious about Logan and his Hot Shot job.

Lexie nodded. “Firefighting runs in Jackson’s veins. He’d be miserable if he couldn’t fight fires.”

Henry sneezed. Lexie efficiently wiped his nose with a tissue, dodging the chubby hand that batted hers away.

“I’m a Hot Shot, too,” Lexie blurted. After a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation, she pulled a jar out of her diaper bag and handed it to Thea.

“Hot Shot Marinade.” Thea read the colorful label. “How cool. Are you a saleswoman?”

“I am Hot Shot Sauces. I’m head cook, bottler and salesman.” Lexie drew Henry closer, eliciting a squawk out of the boy. She laughed self-consciously. “He’s right, I’m taking myself too seriously. It’s just that I’ve never done anything except be a wife and mother.”

It took Thea a moment to sort all Lexie’s achievements—wife, mother, businesswoman. “Don’t put yourself down. I’m even a bit envious. You have it all.” Even though they seemed about the same age, Thea had years of study and work ahead of her before kids were a possibility. In her eyes, Lexie had set the bar as high as Thea’s mother had. Still… “Isn’t it hard? Glen said something last night about Hot Shots being gone a lot. And running a business when you have two kids…”

“Sure, it’s hard. Forget seeing any Hot Shot in the summer for more than twenty-four hours at a time. It’s pretty steady nine-to-five work in town from November to March.” She laughed. “I mean, they’re in town if they’re part of the permanent staff, like Jackson and Logan. But I’ve tried living without him, and it just wasn’t what I wanted.” Lexie grinned. “What can I say? I love the lug.”

Thea found herself grinning back, even though her heart gave a small, envious pang. What would it be like to have a love that strong? “You must be brilliant as well as lucky in love.”

“Your time will come. If you stick around, you can have your pick of the other Hot Shots.” Lexie bounced Henry gently. “Not that it’s easy to catch one. Most of them don’t know the meaning of the phrase settle down. Or, they’re stuck in a rut.”

“A rut?”

“That’s a nice way of saying some of them have yet to grow up. Some got dumped and have sworn off women. Others don’t realize they weren’t put on this earth to sleep with as many women as they can.” She sighed. “Then there’s Logan. He’s always been a ladies’ man, but he can’t seem to get past his grief or his anger over losing Deb. He had a temper before, but now he’s got the shortest fuse known to man.”

Cognizant of Tess eavesdropping in the hallway, Thea lowered her voice. “He’ll be fine with the girls, won’t he?”

Lexie looked Thea directly in the eyes. “He’d do anything for those girls.”

There was an odd sound in the hallway, followed by retreating footsteps.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Thea. I know Logan’s going to need help with Hannah and Tess.”

“Whoa. Wait.” Thea shook her head. “I’m not staying. I’m getting my Ph.D. I brought the girls here because Wes is AWOL and they had nowhere else to turn.”

“They’ll still have nowhere to turn. Fire season is starting. You can’t just leave them.” Lexie’s expression dimmed.

Thea thought about the untouched pile of textbooks and notes in the kitchen, about the physical condition and mental state of Glen, about the bare interior of the house, and two little girls with broken hearts. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother leaving for good, but not before she wrenched a promise from Thea to reach for the stars and refuse to settle.

“Well,” Lexie said finally. “Things have a way of working out, don’t they?”

THE RED CAUGHT HIS EYE first as Logan rounded the bend toward his driveway.

Red giving way to a slender pair of legs.

Then the other colors hit him. Yellow, blue, orange. The spectrum of the rainbow glinted against the light dusting of snow on the ground and the yellow Volkswagen in his driveway.

By the time Logan got out of the truck, it had registered that a woman did indeed belong to the car. A woman with killer legs and a dog.

Said dog was little and white with brown spots and short fur. At the moment, he was lifting his leg over the shrubs edging Logan’s porch.

“Good morning. Are you Logan McCall?” The woman’s voice was melodious, as colorful as the red denim skirt she wore topped with a bright orange T-shirt. Totally inappropriate attire for early spring in the mountains.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the view. He just didn’t appreciate the invasion of his privacy.

Logan pushed his sunglasses higher up on his nose and emitted a gruff reply. “Yeah, I’m McCall.” Thoughts of coming home to silence, a hot shower and twelve hours of sleep faded. Why was this woman here?

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Not a cloud in the sky.” She laughed a little self-consciously and shifted her feet.

Logan stared at the woman’s bright red sneakers. She’d laced her shoes with little silver bells so that her feet tinkled every time she moved.

He made the mistake of looking her in the face for the first time. She had warm brown eyes that crinkled when she smiled. Somehow, he’d known she’d have the kind of expression that made you want to smile back. No one could drive a Volkswagen like that and not be cheerful.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. Women like this didn’t show up on his doorstep unless… “Where’s Aunt Glen?”

“She’s inside with the girls.” The woman had a way of standing still that made it seem as if she were moving. Maybe she did move. A thin layer of snow crunched softly beneath those red shoes. There was something about her that was…intriguing.

As if he’d heard a car coming, Logan looked down the driveway, taking his time before asking, “What girls?” Part of him wanted to believe she had a carload of women in his house, but he suspected that wasn’t the case.

The dog trotted over to sniff Logan’s mud-caked Black Diamond fire boots.

“Whizzer, no,” she warned the dog.

Logan bent down and petted the friendly dog. Ignoring the woman’s bare, slender ankles that led up to shapely, fine legs, he craned his neck around until he could see the Volkswagen’s license plate. Washington. Last time he’d seen Wes, his truck had sported Washington plates. His hand stilled as the dog danced away.

“That explains a lot of things,” he observed as the anger pooled in his belly, welcome in its ability to obliterate all other feeling. His nieces were inside, which meant that Wes was close by. “Where’s Wes?”

“I don’t know.” The joy seemed to have gone out of her tone. Even the bells on her feet were silent. “I haven’t heard from him in over a month.”

Logan snorted in disbelief. From where he knelt on the ground, he could look up and see her over the top of his sunglasses. She didn’t seem so bright and sunny now. In fact, her eyes darted around as if she was starting to panic. Maybe she was going to cry.

The last thing he wanted to witness was a female display of emotion—from Wes’s girlfriend, no less. When Deb died, he’d locked his own emotions away so their intensity wouldn’t break him.

But instead of bursting into tears, the woman cried out and sprang forward. “Whizzer, no!”

At the sound of spray hitting something behind him, Logan leaped up and away, with only a brief twinge in his leg. His reflexes were sharp after having dodged many an angry bee fighting fires in the mountains. Bees didn’t like fire and they wanted desperately to take their anger out on someone. Snakes, at least, seemed to have the sense to dart out of the way when they heard twenty firefighters moving toward them.

“Whizzer, no,” she reprimanded the prancing dog before turning those deep brown eyes his way. “I’m so sorry. He didn’t get you, did he?”

Logan just stared at the woman, unwilling to embarrass himself by looking for wet spots on his backside. If the little rodent had pissed on him, he couldn’t feel it yet through his grubby pants and boots.

Rather than back off from his stare, the woman closed the gap between them with a soft ripple of bells, grasped him firmly by the shoulders, turned him around and checked him out.

At least, Logan assumed she was checking out his ass. That’s what most women did. And most of the time, he didn’t mind. Not a bit.

But that was before Deb became sick and died. Before Logan became the legal guardian of his nieces. Before Deb’s lowlife, trucking husband had disappeared with the twins because Logan wouldn’t stop him. Before Logan had sunk into despair because he’d let the most important people in his life down.

The woman turned him one way and another, her touch commanding yet distinctly tender. “He didn’t get you.” Her hands fell away as she stepped back.

Logan blew out the breath he’d been holding. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of an attractive woman’s touch since…last summer. He suppressed a groan. He didn’t even want to think about it.

Logan was selective. Ample assets, that’s what he liked. Lots of blond hair—didn’t even matter if it was natural blond—and full, red, pouty lips that whispered with the promise of a night or two of fun. But this woman…

She was thin, small breasted, with chestnut hair that tumbled past her shoulder blades and dimples that only made those crinkly smiling eyes that much more appealing. He could see the freckles dusting her nose because she wasn’t wearing any makeup, not even lipstick. She was the kind of woman who stayed home and baked apple pies to spoil her man upon his return.

She wasn’t his type at all.

“Where’s Wes?” he repeated irritably, thinking that she wasn’t Wes’s type, either.

“I told you, I don’t know.” She hugged herself against the chill. It was nippy out, yet she only wore that thin T-shirt—bright orange with a yellow sun—and an indigo-blue jean jacket over that almost knee-length red denim skirt. Dressed like that, she had to be from California or Arizona originally. Add the Volkswagen Beetle and she had to be a second-generation hippie.

“Wes stopped paying the bills and we got evicted,” she added. She looked at him tentatively, as if waiting for him to bite her head off.

Logan swore. He’d known it was wrong to let the twins go, but he’d been unconvinced that he was the better alternative. “Are they okay?”

“See for yourself.” She spun away with her bells jingling, striking his nerves as she walked toward the house.

“Whizzer, come on.” She opened the front door as if she, not Logan, lived there.

Whizzer jumped up onto the porch with superdog-like agility.

“Are you coming?” She hesitated in the doorway. Sunlight glinted off the silver threads in her red skirt and the bells on her feet. One shoe continued to jingle.

Whizzer stood on the porch panting, as if peeing were an Olympic sport in which he was competing and which required a lot of effort.

Logan almost smiled at the lighthearted picture they made until he remembered she was Wes’s girl, which meant her friendly, upbeat manner was probably just an act.

“They’ve been waiting to see you,” she added when he didn’t budge.

Logan scratched his grimy neck, more than willing to bet they had. The girls probably blamed him for every crappy thing that had happened to them since their mom died. And they had every right to. If anything bad had happened to them while they were in Wes’s care, it was Logan’s fault.

Guilt and frustration pulsed in his veins. Suddenly, Logan couldn’t face Tess and Hannah.

THEA WAS INCREDIBLY RELIEVED to have food for the girls, a roof over their heads, and to have found the twins’ uncle. Or she had been relieved until Logan stood staring at her as if she’d just landed from planet Mars and might be dangerous.

“My name’s Thea Gayle. I’ve been watching the girls,” she managed to say, assuming he was waiting for her to introduce herself. She thrust her free hand in his direction, then pumped his hand vigorously, until she realized how nicely his large hand felt wrapped around hers—callused, warm, comfortable. His friendly grip was at odds with the melancholy expression in his eyes that said stay away, keep your distance, don’t want any.

Against the play of light and green shadows of fir trees, Logan McCall looked magnificent as he hesitated on the porch. Like a young Robert Redford, with soot-streaked angular features and eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above him.

They stared at each other across an awkward bit of silence while Thea struggled for something to say, which was unusual for her. She was seldom at a loss for words. Stories to ease the mood usually came easily to her lips. It had to be those eyes of his, so blue, so sad.

They stepped into the house. The clock ticked on the living-room mantel. Thea could hear Aunt Glen talking to Tess and Hannah in the kitchen. Whizzer circled the hardwood floor behind her before plopping down with a big grunt.

Thea shrugged apologetically, grateful for any break in the tension. “We had quite a time finding you. It seemed like the whole town took us in.”

The gorgeously grim-looking firefighter stared down at her with distant eyes. It was clear that he’d come directly from a fire. He wore a yellow button-down shirt in need of a washing, dark green khakis and grimy work boots. Her fingers itched to touch the Nomex fabric his clothes were made of. It was fire resistant, an advance that she’d explored in a section of her textile studies.

As they continued to stare at each other, Logan’s golden eyebrows hovered low over those attractive peepers, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. She bet women far and wide fell at his feet begging to be lost in the deep blue of his gaze, which was compelling despite his obvious reluctance to smile.

He was the kind of guy who didn’t need anything or anybody. Here was a man who could pick and choose which women he spent time with. And she’d bet Whizzer’s kibble that he was choosy, all right. He was the type who didn’t give her a second glance, with her plain features, plain coloring and plain body. Heck, he didn’t think enough of her to speak to her.

Or it was as Lexie had implied. Logan was too burdened with grief to care about much of anything.

Thea sighed, telling herself it was a good thing that Logan didn’t think much of her, even better that he didn’t need her. She’d fulfilled her obligation to the twins. She had to get back to Seattle and her study schedule.

She slid her cold hands in the pockets of her jean jacket and retreated farther into the house. Thea was so intent on keeping her distance from the man that she missed his question.

“Did Wes treat them right?” he repeated, words heavy with scorn as he pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. “Did you?”

Thea sucked in a breath, torn between an unusual feeling of loyalty toward her employer—even though he’d turned out to be a deadbeat—the need to tell the truth—that Wes was so neglectful it was hard to call him a dad—and indignation that he’d think she’d mistreat the twins.

“If it’s money you want, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Logan spread his hands, palms up, his gaze burning with hurt and accusation. “I’m just a poor Hot Shot.”

There was that temper Lexie had warned her about. Be smart and say as little as possible, she counseled herself. Don’t make a joke of it. Logan McCall didn’t want anything to do with optimism. If anything would work with him, it would be sarcasm, something Thea avoided.

Only, all that intensity directed at her from those blue eyes was disconcerting. And her mouth engaged itself before she had time to heed her own advice.

“A hot-who? Is that like some sort of male stripper?” At his startled expression, Thea continued, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Because I’ve only met one male stripper. His name was Cowboy Temptation, but I don’t think he was a real cowboy. I mean, he wore a holster with pop guns.”

Logan’s jaw worked. “I’m a Hot Shot.” He emphasized each word carefully, then added, “A wildland firefighter.”

Too shell-shocked at herself to answer intelligibly, Thea could only echo, “Wildland?”

“My team fights forest fires. I’m not a city firefighter.”

She smiled as if she’d missed his irritation, as if she didn’t know there wasn’t a city anywhere close to here. Thea wasn’t going to kid herself. Logan, with that icy, wounded reserve of his, wasn’t going to help her get back to Seattle. In fact, she didn’t think she or the twins would be welcome in his house at all.

“Oh, I get it,” she said, playing the dumb brunette because he might be the kind of hero who wanted to come to the aid of a helpless woman. “You put out fires in parks, like Yellowstone.”

“Close enough.” The firefighter chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Thea’s conscience tsk-tsked her. He’d been showing all the signs of a man shadowed with grief. Now she’d upset him even more with her “don’t worry about little old me, my IQ hovers safely below yours” routine. He didn’t know if she was ditzy, kidding or seriously intellectually challenged. That tended to yank the carpet out from under a guy.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” she found herself saying as she studied him.

“What?”

Because she was a touchy-feely person, Thea came forward, and stroked his jaw with her forefinger. His skin was stubbled and rough to the touch. Of its own accord, as if entranced by the texture of his cheek, her finger continued to trail over his skin.

The Hot Shot froze.

Mortified, Thea snatched her hand back, oh so aware that her finger had started to stray toward his lips. She never reacted to men this way, as if she were a brazen woman of the world. For crying out loud, she was Thea Gayle, dateless Ph.D. candidate. Everybody knew that. Happy, harmless, lonely Thea Gayle. Well, that last lonely bit was her descriptor, but in the dating world, she was definitely not a player.

She shoved her hands back into her pockets to keep them occupied, out of trouble and away from the firefighter. Her face felt warm. “You shouldn’t chew on your cheek. It must be painful for one thing, but it can’t be healthy.”

He must think she was an idiot. She was a talker by nature and babbled to ease awkward situations. Usually, her babbling didn’t bother her, but this time Thea longed to escape. Only, she couldn’t leave the girls until she was sure Logan would care for them better than Wes had, and not turn them out.

He wouldn’t turn them out, would he?

She peeked at the man through her lashes. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then snapped it shut and shook his head. His jaw worked, as if he was trying not to bite the inside of his cheek again.

“What do your friends call you?” she managed to say, trying once more to put him at ease.

“Logan McCall.” There was the barest trace of a tease in his voice, as though he was reluctant to admit her question amused him.

That teasing note meant a lot to Thea. It meant he wasn’t heartless. The girls would be fine. “You don’t have a nickname or something? Lo? Mac?”

After a telltale pause, he denied it. “Nope.”

Thea grinned, grinning wider when his mouth turned ever so slightly up at the corners in an almost smile.

From the kitchen, she heard Glen’s tremulous voice.

“Oh, I almost forgot them.” Thea grabbed Logan’s arm and tugged. “They can’t wait to see you.”

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Still, Thea wanted to believe in happily-ever-afters, even if she knew firsthand they rarely existed. She could hope for Logan and the girls. The sooner she got this reunion over with and smoothed things out for them, the sooner she’d be able to get back to her own life.

The thought was unexpectedly distressing.

“I THOUGHT I HEARD VOICES.” Aunt Glen pushed open the swinging kitchen door with one sticklike arm, smiling when she saw Logan. Much as Logan had tried to keep meat on Aunt Glen’s bones this winter, she was skinny as a rail. “Back so soon, Logan?”

Moving past Thea, Logan swept his fragile aunt into a careful hug. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Something to eat?”

“Not a thing, dear.”

Logan released her, more than a little annoyed by the arrival of his nieces and Wes’s ditzy girlfriend. She’d thought a Hot Shot was a stripper? The sooner Logan found out what was going on and sent her on her way, the better.

Glen’s voice stopped Logan in the doorway. “Well, perhaps you could make a fresh pot of coffee. Deb drank the last of it before she went on her walk.”

Logan gripped the kitchen door frame. Aunt Glen spoke of his sister in the present tense. Glen was slipping further and further into her own reality, just when Logan needed her to hang on to his.

“I’ll make some.” Thea slipped into the kitchen.

Aunt Glen seemed to sway as Thea passed her. Afraid she might fall, Logan put his arm around her back and, with one hand on each of her elbows, guided the frail old woman to the couch.

“You treat me like I’m old,” she said, setting her mouth in a tight line.

“No, I treat you like the lady you are.”

Glen’s expression eased. “When I was younger, no one treated me like a lady. I was a broad and proud of it.”

“You’ve always been both to me.” She’d always been there, trying to shield Deb and Logan from the horror that was their childhood. She’d taken them in when their parents died, and tried to give them a normal life.

“What a sweet little dog,” Glen said, reaching down to pet Whizzer. “Is he yours?”

The kitchen door creaked behind him and Logan turned.

“Uncle Logan?” Hannah took a tentative step forward.

Logan’s eyes watered as he saw his sister in her daughters’ faces. Tess had her chin jutted out in Deb’s stubborn manner and Hannah’s lip trembled just like Deb’s did before she cried. But they’d changed, too. Hannah had filled out a bit and Tess looked almost anorexic.

Part of Logan wanted to hug them, part of him burned with guilt over letting his sister down and not fighting to keep them in his home, and part of him wanted to shatter with the physical reminder that his sister was gone.

“I need to take a shower.” Logan escaped to the back of the house rather than face his nieces and admit—again—that he wasn’t the man he needed to be.