by Jackie Braun
“What about that accountant, John?”
“Jerry. And it turns out he’s married.”
“Sorry, Vicki. Want to talk about it?”
“Thanks, but we’ll save my man troubles for another girls’ night out. Back to my point. You dated Vince for what, three years?”
“Technically, three and a half,” Mallory said, forgoing the salsa to munch on a plain tortilla chip.
“Yet whenever we got together for margaritas and girl talk his name rarely came up in conversation,” Vicki pointed out.
“Vince was a jerk,” Mallory said succinctly.
“I’m glad you realize that.”
“What was to realize? He cheated on me.” Four words that said it all but barely scraped the surface of the pain Mallory had experienced when she’d dropped by his apartment unexpectedly one Saturday and had come face-to-face with the half-naked proof of his betrayal.
“Yes, but he was a jerk even before he stepped out,” Vicki said. “He was a real pro at putting himself first and you last and getting you to think it was your idea.”
If it were anyone but Vicki saying this, Mallory would have felt ashamed. Since it was Vicki, she pulled a face. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“And I love it that you’ve finally met a great guy, one who opens car doors for you and takes you to places that he knows will be of interest to you.”
“Logan is great. The more time I spend with him…” She shrugged, smiled.
“You’re hooked.”
Her friend’s smug pronouncement had Mallory straightening in her seat. Hooked was just another name for a really big emotion. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She shook her head. “I’m not hooked.”
Vicki blinked. “What?”
“I can’t be hooked.”
Her friend’s eyes narrowed and her tone took on an edge. “But you said you’d already decided Logan wasn’t a potential story.”
“I have.” Indeed, Mallory had given up on that idea while lying in bed with a telephone receiver tucked under her ear, listening to him talk and giving voice to some of her private demons. “I’ll find another way to free myself from pabulum-writing hell.”
Then she frowned. Odd, but for weeks now her career had stopped being the center of her existence. She’d been too focused on Logan. Not the man, but the relationship that was developing between them. For her at least, it was moving well beyond the sex.
Sex…for weeks…without interruption from—
Another thought niggled as she contemplated that time frame, and nausea rose up to taunt her. Mallory pressed a hand to one temple. The room seemed to spin. She wished she could blame it on tequila, but she’d sipped nothing stronger than water. And thank God for that, given what she was thinking right now.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, and slumped back in her seat.
Vicki’s eyes widened. “Mal, you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Mallory shook her head. “I’m not okay.”
“Are you going to be sick?” Vicki glanced around in a panic for their waitress. “I’ll get the check and meet you outside.”
“No, no.” She waved off the suggestion, though a little fresh air wouldn’t have hurt. “I’m not sick, Vicki. I’m…I’m…”
Her friend leaned forward. “You’re what, hon?”
Pregnant? In love?
She couldn’t bring herself to say either aloud. Instead she murmured, “I think I may be heading toward hooked.”
Later that evening, alone in her apartment, she read the display on the early test kit she’d purchased on the way home. She was indeed going to have a baby. Logan’s baby.
Slumping down on the closed lid of the toilet, she let out a long breath. She was scared to death and excited beyond measure.
She’d been physically attracted to Logan from the very start, but she’d suspected for a while now that so much more was at stake. Maybe that was why she hadn’t told Vicki or anyone else about the relationship. She hadn’t been ready to face what was happening.
Her heart was on the line, the same heart the other men in her life—the really important ones—had made a bad habit of breaking.
Now even more was on the line than that.
How was Logan going to feel when she told him he was going to be a father?
Logan whistled as he wrapped up his work at the radio station for the day. His Doctor-in-the-Know program had ended an hour ago and on a professional high note. For once he’d felt as if he really was doing some good. A caller had complained about her elderly mother’s recent odd behavior. Sadly, it sounded like the early signs of dementia, although it could have been a drug interaction or even a vitamin deficiency. Off-air, he’d stayed on the line with her, suggesting a list of questions the woman should ask her mother’s doctor.
Perhaps reaching out to people who felt they had nowhere else to turn for advice was every bit as important as serving clients in a private practice. Perhaps even more so.
All he had to do before leaving for the weekend was finish some paperwork and catch up on correspondence from fans. Logan made a point of clearing his e-mail at the end of each week and selecting a few from listeners who’d been unable to contact him on-air, which he then discussed in his Monday morning “mailbag” segment.
As he sifted through the e-mails, though, his mind was on Mallory. They had plans for the evening. There was nothing especially new in that. They’d spent time together almost every day, meeting for lunch, going out for dinner, taking evening sails on Tangled Sheets.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He didn’t want to. The more time he spent with the woman, the more time he wanted to spend with her. She was one of the most fascinating people he’d ever met. So many damned layers. And he was enjoying peeling back each one to see what was revealed.
His interest was not that of a psychiatrist, though his training made it easier to understand why she could be so confident in some aspects of her life and so utterly vulnerable in others. If he ever met her father—not that it looked like there was much chance of that—Logan was more likely to sock the guy in the jaw than to shake his hand. That was saying a lot, since generally he frowned on violence and considered it a poor substitute for civilized discourse. But give him ten minutes alone with Mitchell Stevens and Logan would put his fists to good use.
Divorce or no divorce, what kind of man walked away from his children and failed to provide for them, not only financially but emotionally? Perhaps because of his own loving upbringing, Logan found it inconceivable and unforgivable. He ached for Mallory and detested the harm such an elemental rejection had done to her psyche. But his interest in her was not that of a doctor or counselor. His interest in Mallory was purely that of a man…a man who was having a damned hard time keeping his hands to himself.
The only stumbling block to total peace of mind was that he didn’t quite trust her. Not completely and without reservation. He needed to believe that Mallory’s only reason for seeing him was personal. He almost did.
Almost.
His hesitation had less to do with her reputation—which his agent called to remind him of daily—than it did with his past. Nearly a decade after Felicia’s bombshell that she’d found someone else and was leaving, his heart finally had healed. It was perfectly whole now, every last fissure mended. Not surprisingly, he wanted to keep it that way. But relationships—the serious and long-term variety, at least—required one to take a risk. Logan wasn’t sure he was ready to do so, even if that was exactly what he regularly advised some of his lovelorn callers to do.
Case in point, Emily in Elmhurst, whose e-mail was on his computer screen at the moment.
Dear Doctor,
I’ve been dating my current boyfriend for nearly a year. I would classify our relationship as serious, though he hasn’t mentioned marriage. We are both in our thirties and we both have suffered bad breakups in the past. My concern is this: I have yet to meet his family. They live nearby and he sees them regularly, but
I have never been invited along. Could he be trying to tell me something?
“Confront him about the matter, but without hostility. Discuss the situation calmly,” Logan wrote. “Your boyfriend may not think the relationship as serious as you do, or it may be something else entirely at the crux of his hesitation. Something such as…”
He frowned at the computer screen as his own experience juxtaposed with that of Emily’s beau. He understood the man’s hesitation. He understood it perfectly.
Logan hadn’t brought a woman around his family since his breakup with Felicia. They had accepted his ex-fiancée, loved her and when she betrayed him, they had felt betrayed, as well. So, just as he’d guarded his own heart these past years, he was careful with theirs.
He was contemplating the wording of his advice to Emily—advice he wasn’t sure he would be ready to heed—when his cell phone trilled. It was his brother.
“Finally,” Luke groused upon hearing Logan’s greeting. “You’ve been a hard man to reach lately. If it weren’t for hearing your voice on the radio, I might think something bad had happened to you.”
“Sorry. I got your messages.” Luke had left three in the past week. None had seemed urgent, or Logan would have returned them immediately. “I was going to call you today.”
“I’ve tried you day and night. Where have you been?”
“Out.”
Logan’s monosyllabic response earned laughter from the other end of the line. “No kidding.” Luke sobered somewhat when he asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Better than okay, actually.”
“Hmm.” More laughter followed. “So, what does she look like?”
“Funny,” Logan evaded. “Is there a point to this call?”
“Beyond my being concerned about my big brother’s welfare, you mean?” Barely fifteen months separated them in age. When they were boys, they’d fought unmercifully. As men, they had become the best of friends.
“Yeah. Beyond that,” he said dryly.
“Fine. I need your taste buds. Even though you’ll never be able to hold a candle to me in the kitchen, I trust your judgment.”
“Gee, thanks.” Logan leaned back in his chair and doodled on the edge of the desk blotter with his pen. “For what exactly?”
“I want to expand the Grill’s menu,” Luke replied, referring to his restaurant. “We offer a terrific selection at lunchtime. The diverse crowd we pull in reflects that. But traffic falls off significantly in the evening. The same patrons who faithfully come in at noon for our sandwiches, soups and salads, forget all about us when the sun sets.”
“Is business bad?” Logan asked. The economy being what it was, a lot of establishments that relied on people’s disposable incomes were foundering. If Luke needed cash to see him through to better times, Logan would offer it. No questions asked, no strings attached. They were family.
“I wouldn’t classify it as bad,” Luke hedged. “We do well enough thanks to eat-in and takeout lunch orders, but I’d be able to make a couple of my servers full-time if we brought in a better dinner crowd.”
Logan set his pen aside and rubbed his chin. “So, what kind of dishes are you considering?”
“Nothing five-star.”
“You’re too casual an establishment for that,” Logan agreed, thinking of the Grill’s comfortable interior. It boasted no linen tablecloths, chandeliers or fancy flatware, but with its framed vintage posters and brightly colored stoneware plates it was hardly on a par with a fast-food stop.
“Exactly. I have a few pasta dishes that I think would enjoy broad appeal, and I’m toying with the idea of a catch-of-the-day fish special to play off our proximity to the lake.”
“That sounds like a good idea. What about chicken or beef?”
“I put smothered chicken on the dinner special board last week and it did pretty well. Beef?” Luke blew out a breath. “Other than my burgers I’m undecided.”
“I’ve got a couple ideas.”
“That’s what I was hoping. So, do you think you could sample a few recipes and give me some advice?” Luke asked.
“Sure. Glad to. Just say when and where.”
“Tonight at the restaurant. Say around eight. The dinner rush will be done by then.”
“Tonight?” Logan’s heart sank. He and Mallory had reservations at an exclusive, celebrity chef—owned restaurant. It had taken nearly two weeks to secure them. “I already have plans.”
“That’s all right,” Luke said. No disappointment was audible in his brother’s voice.
“I’m glad you understand.”
“Oh, sure. No problem. I don’t mind if you bring her along. Just make sure she’s hungry.”
“Luke,” Logan began, but he was already talking to a dial tone.
Mallory opened her apartment door that evening wearing a strapless black dress. The satin ribbon spanning her waist made her look like a present—one Logan was eager to unwrap.
After sucking in a breath, he said, “Look at you.”
“And look at you.” Her gaze meandered down. Logan had forgotten all about the jeans and T-shirt he’d thrown on. “It would appear one of us didn’t get the memo. The last I heard formal attire was required at Romeo’s.”
“It is.” He winced. “There’s been a change in plans. I should have called, but…” He let the words trail off.
Her gaze skittered just to the left of his shoulder. “You’re canceling our date,” she guessed.
That had been his plan, and he could still do it. Mallory was giving him the out, already expecting him to disappoint her. Had he really thought their trust issues were all one-sided?
“Not exactly.”
The line appeared between her eyes as she continued to study the wall. She looked a little pale, he thought. And the vulnerability she tried to hide made an appearance. “What does that mean?”
“I promised my brother I’d come by his restaurant tonight. He’s thinking about adding a few new items to his dinner menu and he wants my input.” He swallowed hard. Once the invitation was tendered, there would be no going back. Is that what he wanted, for her to meet a member of his family? He answered the question by asking one of her. “Will you come with me?”
Mallory’s gaze veered back to his. “Are you sure? I’ll understand if you want to go alone.”
She would, too. She would understand his defection, because she was so damned used to it. Logan forgot about guarding his own heart. It was hers that required protection.
“Come with me tonight, Mallory.” He reached for her hand. “Please. I want you there.”
The smile that bloomed on her face was almost his undoing. “Okay. Just let me change my clothes.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE Berkley Grill was in a prime location just blocks from Navy Pier. Logan managed to find a parking spot on the street just up from the restaurant. As he escorted Mallory to the door, his nerves jangled. He was anxious about introducing her to his brother. Luke would like her and vice versa, but he hoped neither would read too much into tonight.
One step inside the bustling restaurant and Logan knew his brother had. The Grill was sparse on square footage, sporting no more than twenty tables and half a dozen booths that lined the walls. Almost every seat was filled with diners, including the one just outside the kitchen doors. At it sat his mother, father and sister, Laurel.
God help him. God help him and Mallory both.
He might have been tempted to grab her hand and head back through the door, but his mom was already rising to her feet and waving her arms.
“Logan, over here.” Her voice could be heard over the din of conversation and background music.
Mallory glanced at him in question. “It looks like my folks came tonight, too.” He had to clear his throat before he could add, “And my sister.”
“Apparently your brother wants them to sample some recipes, too.”
But her tight smile said she knew better. The Bartholomew clan had gathered to f
orm and offer opinions, but none of them had to do with the Grill’s new menu plans.
“If you’d rather not stay, I’ll understand,” Logan began. “We can stop somewhere else for dinner.”
“I have no problem meeting your parents.” The line reappeared between her brows then. “But maybe that’s not what you mean. Maybe you don’t want them to meet me.”
“Generally speaking, I don’t bring my dates around my family,” he admitted, and watched the line deepen into a groove.
“Okay.” She started to back toward the door, but he grabbed her hand, tugged her to his side.
“You didn’t let me finish. I said, generally speaking I don’t introduce the women I date to my family, but I want them to meet you, Mallory.”
He watched her swallow. “You do?”
It scared him a bit that he meant it when he replied, “Yes.”
The groove disappeared and a smile lit up her eyes. She looked so beautiful just then it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “I want to meet them, too.”
“Good.” He squeezed her hand, grinned. “Later, when they’re still picking over your bones, remember that I offered you a way out.”
“I don’t mind questions. I’m a reporter.”
“Take notes, then. My mother will make you look like an amateur.”
Mallory walked hand in hand with Logan through the restaurant. Outwardly, she knew she looked composed. Inside, she was a quivering bundle of nerves. Logan’s family. Was she ready for this? She could only imagine what they were going to think of her.
She swallowed and recalled the photograph of Logan and Felicia. Even in grainy black-and-white the other woman’s classical beauty had been undeniable. And her background had been much more in line with the Bartholomews’ social standing. Logan insisted that he found Mallory gorgeous, a fact that went a long way toward buoying her confidence now, but she knew she was a diamond in the rough compared to Felicia’s highly polished gem. What’s more, even though logically she knew no one could tell she was pregnant, Mallory still felt like she had a flashing neon sign on her forehead that read: Expecting.