Devoted to Drew

by Loree Lough

“Well, there’s my something new for the day.” Logan smirked. “Now get out. And take your eclipse with you.”

  The agent unfolded himself from the front seat and leaned back into the car to say, “My best to your mom.” He straightened, leaned in again. “Remember…stay near the phone.”

  “Got it.”

  Knute slammed the door and gave the thumbs-up sign, and after a brief conversation with the doorman, he disappeared into the hotel.

  Logan made it home in record time…twenty-one minutes. He stood on his deck, watching as Poe sniffed the perimeter of the fenced backyard. The house seemed too quiet after spending a week with Sally and Sam and his mom and dad. At least out here he could listen to the tree toads and crickets. The dog bounded up and sat at the French doors, head cocked and paw raised as if to say, You gonna stand there all night, staring at nothing?

  He squatted, ruffled the fur on her expressive face. She squinted as a moth flit between them. “Better get in,” he said, “before we’re eclipsed.”

  Poe trotted alongside him into the house, sat in front of the cabinet where he stored her treats and barked.

  He gave her a thumb-sized bone, and she carried it to the sofa-shaped doggy cushion beside his recliner. He’d never owned a pet before bringing her home all those months ago, and at first, Logan had worried he didn’t have what it took to care for a four-legged, nonverbal family member. These days, the only thing he worried about was how he’d cope if anything happened to her. As usual, she stopped chewing and looked up at him as if she sensed that he had been thinking about her.

  “Quarter of nine,” he said. “What do you think? Too late to call Griff?”

  Poe answered with a whispery bark and went back to chomping her treat.

  “One way to find out,” he said aloud, scrolling to his friend’s number.

  It rang only once before Griff said, “You haven’t forgotten how to tell time, have you?”

  Laughing, Logan said, “I could ask the same question. It’s not even nine yet!”

  “Hey. Judge not, and all that. I had a tough day, and I was up half the night.”

  “Ah-ha. With the juiciest peach on the vine?”

  A beat of silence passed. “Been talking to my landlady, I see.”

  “Yeah, but that was last week. This must be serious.”

  “Nothing serious about it. Two dates. End of story.” Griff yawned. “So what was so important that you interrupted my beauty sleep?”

  Logan rehashed the dinner meeting with Knute, being careful not to mention how many times Bianca had come to mind during the meal. “Just thought I’d get your input before I sign the contract.”

  “I think you’re forgetting…I’m not an entertainment attorney.”

  “I trust your judgment.”

  “Okay, for starters, do you really think those Tinseltown tycoons will meet all your demands?”

  “Not all of ’em, but they’ll meet enough.”

  “So you’re gonna do this, then…. Leave Baltimore, this time for good?”

  “I’ll never leave for good. This is where my family is.” And Bianca…

  And there she was again, invading his thoughts. Logan shook his head.

  “And what does Bianca think about a long-distance relationship?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Well, the way you said her name just now…”

  He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud. Dude, you’re in trouble…with a capital B.

  “Remember the summer when we worked for that moving company?”

  Logan groaned just thinking about it. “How could I forget. Pianos. Safes. Cast-iron woodstoves. We probably could have qualified as Olympic weight lifters when we cashed our last paycheck.”

  “Still have the lumbar belt the boss made us wear?”

  It was on the top shelf of his closet in a box marked COLLEGE. “You bet I do. Dumb thing cost me forty bucks.”

  “I’d dust it off if I were you.”

  It took a second, but Logan knew where this was going.

  “…so you won’t pull a muscle hefting her emotional baggage.”

  “It’s touching the way you worry about me,” he teased, “but you can relax. There’s nothing going on. And even if there was, she doesn’t have any more baggage than you do.”

  Silence, and then, “Nothing going on?”

  “Nope.”

  “So you’re saying the two of you aren’t dating.”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m saying.” That, at least, was true.

  “And you haven’t seen her since the coffee shop?”

  “Well, yeah. She’s looking into getting a dog like Poe for her kid. So I dropped off some brochures. And she’s gonna job share with Sandra, get some of the groundwork out of the way for me, so I can hit the ground running.”

  “Working for you? In the office at your house?”

  “Of course not. At her place.” He frowned. “I set her up with some office equipment and—”

  “So you were over there. Alone. Plugging stuff in, together?”

  He pictured her in the blue pj’s she was wearing during his first visit, the dusty sweat suit she’d had on when he’d invited her to the Mother’s Day party.

  “Hey. What are you doing on Mother’s Day?”

  “Nothing.”

  Griff’s mom had passed away shortly after he had earned his law degree, and he hadn’t been a big fan of the holiday since.

  “This will be my mom’s last one, so I’m thinking we’ll have a cookout. And if the weather is crummy, we’ll have a cook-in. I know she’d love it if you were there.”

  “Sounds good. Who else is going?”

  “Sandra and the kids, of course, and Susan is flying in from Colorado. Deidre, me. Bianca and her son and mother. And—”

  “Stop right there,” Griff said. “Why is she gonna be there?”

  “She works for me, that’s why. And I happen to like her kid. I’m hoping he’ll get along with Sam.”

  “This better not be the start of another Willow fiasco….”

  “It isn’t.” Another truth, because the only thing Bianca and Willow had in common was their gender.

  Griff yawned again. “Call me tomorrow. When I’m awake. If I’m in a decent mood, I’ll tell you all about the peach.”

  Logan thought about that last comment long after the call ended. Griff would never admit it, but his first marriage had inflicted Willow-like damage to his ego. And no one—not even Deidre—knew the real reason he’d taken up residence in the garage apartment: the split had finally cost Griff his home, and once the repairs were made and the exterminators were gone, he’d have to sell or file for bankruptcy.

  Memory of those hard days—first Griff’s, then his own—made him want to hear Bianca’s voice and listen to her level-headed advice. He reached for the house phone but hesitated. Warning bells sounded in his head. Didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d stalled in the confirmed bachelor lane: he didn’t trust himself to make smart relationship decisions, so he steered clear of them. Meaningless flirtations that went nowhere were insurance against heartache and humiliation.

  Bianca, who’d make any sacrifice to build a good life for her boy, was nothing like Willow or the women who had followed in her wake. The terrifying truth? If he took things to the next level and he was wrong about her, he might just find out that he hadn’t really hit bottom after the team dropped him and Willow dumped him, all in a few short months.

  But what could it hurt, giving her a call? She’d said herself that they were friends, right?

  It was only nine. No doubt she’d be awake, performing any one of a hundred household chores. Would she appreciate a break from the work or resent the intrusion?

  “One way to find out,” he said for the second time that day.

  Like Griff, Bianca picked up on the first ring.

  The instant he heard her whispered hello, Logan regretted giving in to his impulse.

  “Sorry,” he
said, meaning it. “Didn’t wake anyone, did I?”

  “Logan?” Her soft voice melted his tension. Would she have the power to do that…if she was just a pal? “Everyone’s sound asleep. I’m painting.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” he repeated. “You weren’t standing on a chair, I hope.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “To reach some high corner or something. Which room are you painting?”

  She laughed, and its music set his heart to beating double time. “Not that kind of painting. Easel and canvas painting.”

  “Oh. Right. Jason’s portrait?” Weird. His tension returned instantly.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m trying to figure out how to put affection into his eyes in the hope that when Drew looks at it, he’ll believe me when I say his dad loved him. Because he did, in his strange way.” She sighed. “But it’s been hard, so I tried diverting my attention from it, thinking if I worked on something else, I’d figure out why I can’t seem to make that happen.”

  He knew her husband hadn’t reacted well to the news that his son was different from other kids. That he might always be different. But to behave in such a way that Drew thought his own father didn’t love him? Disgusted, Logan shook his head.

  “Another portrait?” he asked. “Still life?”

  “No. It’s a covered bridge.”

  Logan winced. The big blowup that had finally brought things to an end between him and Willow had happened during the sixth—or was it the seventh?—viewing of The Bridges of Madison County. Her favorite movie. Made perfect sense…in hindsight.

  Logan shook off the unpleasant memory. “Looking forward to seeing it,” he fibbed.

  If he told her about his meeting with Knute, would she agree it was an offer too good to refuse?

  “I, ah, I have an idea I’d like to run by you. Wondered if I could stop by.”

  “Now?”

  “No, no. ’Course not. It’s too late. Tomorrow, maybe, or—”

  “No…tonight is fine.”

  Something told him the only reason she hadn’t added “Let’s get it over with” was because she was too nice.

  “I’m too wound up to sleep,” she said. “This painting is driving me crazy.”

  The husband thing again. Three years gone, and she was still hung up on him? In one moment, he admired her loyalty. In the next, he envied Jason.

  “Okay if I bring my dog?” he asked. “She’s been spending a lot of time alone lately.”

  “Sure. I’ll put on a pot of decaf for us and fill a bowl of water for Poe. Maybe your idea will spark one in my head, and I’ll figure out how to solve this eyes problem.”

  He hung up, grabbed his keys and Poe’s leash and aimed the car toward her house. The familiar logo of the local doughnut shop came into view, and he pulled into the drive-through lane. Just one traffic light between here and her place, and as he waited for the red light to go green, a dozen doughnuts in the passenger seat, Poe draped herself over the console and rested her chin on his thigh. “Think I should tell Bianca about the Hollywood deal?”

  Brows twitching, she lifted her head.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll drive to California.” He’d heard too many horror stories of dogs being misrouted to airports in Europe or Asia. “No way I’d take a chance like that with my best girl.”

  A perplexing awareness swirled inside him as he patted the dog’s head. He loved Poe…

  …but for some crazy reason, he wanted Bianca to be his best girl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AS POE FOLLOWED him up the walk and onto Bianca’s porch, a pang of guilt seized Logan. When they started filming, he’d either have to leave Poe home alone, or expose her to the lights, noise and activity on the set. And if the producers decided to film in front of a live audience, she’d have to cope with applause and laughter, too. He did have a choice, though….

  When he raised his arm to knock, the door swung open. And there she stood, smiling, waving him inside, whispering, “Come on in.”

  He held out the box of doughnuts. “Something to go with the coffee.”

  But she didn’t take it. In fact, she didn’t even see it because she’d crouched to take Poe’s face in her hands.

  “Oh, my goodness. Aren’t you gorgeous, yes, you are! You know that? Gorgeous!”

  Poe responded with a big doggy smile and, tail wagging, followed Bianca to the kitchen. The dog stayed at her side as she took cups from the cupboard and as she filled them with coffee and put them on the table. And when she sat down, Poe flopped beside her chair.

  Logan walked over to the easel, which stood near the French doors. “I still say that looks just like a photograph.”

  “And I still say the eyes are all wrong.”

  He stood back, studied her husband’s likeness. High forehead, thick dark hair and eyebrows, hazel eyes, slightly crooked smile. A decent-looking guy, he supposed, but she was right; the eyes were expressionless. Lucky for Drew, he favored his mom.

  Logan stepped up to the table and looked at the painting she’d been working on there. When she’d mentioned the bridge earlier, he’d thought of the night when Willow—who’d consented to share his life and give him children—admitted that, like Meryl Streep’s character in her favorite movie, she’d been unfaithful. Why? he’d asked. And in a blithe, matter-of-fact voice, she’d said, I don’t like you without football. Bianca’s painted bridge, made of stone and steel, looked sturdy enough to survive a lifetime of storms, like the artist herself.

  He felt her watching him, sensed her concern and consciously relaxed to erase the frown from his forehead. And that’s when it hit him.

  “It’s the eyebrows,” he said, looking back at Jason’s portrait.

  She joined him at the easel. “What do you mean?”

  “He looks cocky. Arrogant.” He grinned. “Like a lawyer.”

  She inhaled a sharp little breath and pressed her fingertips to her lips.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, slapping a hand to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I had no business saying—”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. Because you’re right. He does look…smug.” Hands clasped under her chin, she said, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

  “You would have eventually. Because you’re good. Really good.” And maybe still in love with him, Logan thought.

  “No, just a big copycat who paints what she sees,” she said, pouring them each a cup of coffee.

  “If I painted what I saw, well, let’s just say it wouldn’t look like that.” He pointed at the bridge. “I love that one. I can almost hear the water rushing downstream.”

  Grinning, she covered the palette with plastic wrap, then wiped her brushes clean.

  “Can’t paint with prying eyes in the room, eh? Well, that’s a darned shame. I’d love to watch you work.”

  She smiled, sat and took a sip of her coffee. “So how’s your mom?”

  “As well as can be expected. It was a good week. I wouldn’t admit it to just anybody, but I’m sorry it’s over.”

  “Says a lot about you.” Bianca helped herself to a plain doughnut and, breaking off a chunk, said, “Did Sandra have a good time in the mountains?”

  “She signed up for just about every activity. Don’t know how she got any rest, but she looked fantastic when she got home.”

  “I’m not surprised.” A wistful smile lit up her face. “A whole week doing only as she pleased, whenever she wanted to, with no one to answer to…”

  Frowning slightly, she shook her head. “Listen to me, whining like a spoiled brat. But the truth is, I’m a little jealous. Ridiculous, because everyone knows the only reason I don’t get more ‘me’ time is because I refuse to take it.”

  Evidence that she was a control freak? Or proof that she’d been let down too many times?

  “So what’s this idea you wanted to run by me?” she asked.

  He couldn’t decide whether to tell her about the offer Knute had brought
him or Deidre’s theater tickets. Poe inched closer, rested her chin on Bianca’s thigh.

  Traitor, he thought, grinning as an idea formed.

  “Well, actually, there are a couple of things. Deidre stopped by the other day with tickets to her play. Seems a shame to waste them. We could go together. If you have time. If you want to, that is.”

  Shut up, he told himself. Even if she had a mind to say yes, why would she want to spend an evening with a guy with all the how-about-a-date finesse of a knock-kneed schoolboy?

  “What play?”

  “I forget. A musical, I think.”

  She laughed. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. There’s Drew, y’know?”

  “Your mom could handle a meltdown…if one happened on her watch, right?”

  “I have no idea.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve never really given her the chance to find out.”

  “Doesn’t have to be the play. We could take Drew on an outing.”

  “What kind of outing?”

  Logan thought of the things he’d done with Sam. “Science Center? Aquarium? B&O Railroad Museum?”

  “Oh, he loves trains. I think he’d love the museum…if we could find a day and time when it wasn’t too crowded.”

  He got the feeling there were a lot of ifs in Bianca Wright’s life. If Griff wanted to define that as baggage, so be it.

  “The tickets weren’t the only reason I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I had a meeting with my agent, and—”

  Drew’s voice, high-pitched and hysterical, crackled through the baby monitor. “Mommy! Mommy! Mo-o-mmy!”

  She was on her feet and halfway up the stairs before Logan could say, “What’s wrong?”

  Maddy rushed into the hall, tying the belt of a flowery robe around her middle as she did, and squealed when she saw Logan. “Good grief, Bianca. Really? At this hour?” She patted her hair. “You could at least have given me a heads-up.”

  “I’ll apologize later after I get Drew calmed down, okay?”

  She burst into the boy’s room without waiting for an answer and closed the door behind her. Within seconds, the boy’s cries subsided.

  “Sorry about that, Logan,” Maddy said. “But then, I guess you understand things like that since you have a nephew like Drew.”