‘Logan,’ she whispered. ‘Logan.’
Pain closed around her heart, almost crushing it. She sat up quickly, grasped the poker and stabbed blindly at the smouldering logs.
What was the matter with her today? The weather, maybe. It had been overcast for days. Hadn’t she read something about a lack of sunlight causing depression? Talia rose quickly and walked to the little office just off the kitchen, switching on the lights and resetting the thermostat as she passed. There had to be some kind of work she could do to busy herself, even if it was only mindless paper-shuffling.
She really did feel awful. She’d begun to get a headache to complement her backache, and she was still chilly, even though this was the warmest room in the house. Maybe she was coming down with something; the man who delivered her wood had mentioned that everybody seemed to have the flu. Actually, she’d been feeling off for days, and she was probably a prime candidate—she’d lost weight and she didn’t sleep very well.
She groaned softly as she reached for a bulky sweater and pulled it on. She couldn’t afford to be ill—she had her first decent order to fill for the weekend: beef burgundy and chicken chilli, salads and a chocolate mousse for a party. If she was sick…
The shrill ring of the telephone made her start. She put her hand to her heart as she hurried across the room and lifted the receiver. Please, she thought, let it be another order, even if it was just for sandwiches.
‘Good afternoon.’ She winced. Her throat hurt, and she tried clearing it. ‘Stowe-It Catering. May I help you?’
John Diamond’s groan sounded softly in her ear. ‘Stowe-It Catering, huh? That’s so cute, it ought to carry a warning.’
Talia sighed and sank into the rocking-chair. ‘It’s not as bad as some of the other names I’ve seen. How does The Gay Gourmet strike you?’ He groaned again and she laughed. ‘How are you, John?’
‘I’m fine. But you sound as if you’re coming down with something.’
‘You’re probably right. The flu’s making the rounds up here.’
John clucked his tongue. ‘That’s what you get for living in the boondocks.’
‘It’s not the boobdocks,’ Talia said patiently.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a big ski town, and all the skiers are gonna beat a path to your door and buy your goodies.’ There was a pause. ‘Are they? Beating a path to your door, I mean.’
The oil burner gurgled, then belched loudly. ‘Business is picking up,’ she said. ‘It’s not booming, but—’
‘You could always come back to work for me, you know.’
She smiled. ‘Thanks, but—’
‘But no thanks.’ John sighed deeply. ‘I just don’t understand it, kid. You were on a fast track to the top, and then you just decided to walk away. What happened?’
Talia closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘We’ve been through this before. I told you, I—I just decided that I needed a change of pace. I’d have thought a veteran of the sixties would understand that.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to get back in the race one last time. I got a letter faxed from Logan Miller the other day.’
Her heart thudded. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’
She heard the sound of paper crackling. ‘Well, let me—yeah, here it is. He says he’s been trying to locate you. He says—’
Talia jumped to her feet. ‘You must be wrong, John. He wouldn’t—’
‘Listen, are you reading this or am I? It says right here, “I should very much like to contact Talia Roberts.”’
She sank back to the chair, trying to still the crazy leaping of her pulse. ‘What else does he say?’
‘He says you did a good job in Sao Paulo, blah, blah, blah, that his company’s prospering, blah, blah—here we go.’ John cleared his throat. ‘“In fact,”’ he read, ‘“we are about to open an office in Dallas, and we want to recreate the successful meal programme you and Miss Roberts initiated for us in our Brazil facility. To that end—”’
‘John. What has this to do with—?’
‘He wants you to act as consultant.’
Talia stared at the phone as if it had metamorphosed into a snake. ‘He wants…’
‘I phoned and told him you didn’t work for me any more. And I said—’
‘I hope you said it’s out of the question.’ Her voice was sharp.
There was a pause. ‘I told him I’d check with you, which is what I’m doing. Look, you said yourself that nobody’s beating a path to your door, Talia. Hell, you can pick up a bundle.’
‘Forget it.’
‘Talia.’ John’s tone softened. ‘What would it take? A couple of quick trips to Texas? Hey, most people would pay for the chance to dig out from under a zillion feet of Vermont snow and—’
‘Goodbye, John.’
‘Look, argue with Miller, not with me. He says you’re the only one who can do the job. So I gave him your address—’
She slammed the phone down, then folded her shaking hands in her lap. Easy, she thought, take it easy. It wasn’t John’s fault. He didn’t know anything. Besides, how could she blame him when it was Logan’s fingerprints that were all over the story?
Her head spun as she got to her feet. Aspirin. She needed aspirin. And hot tea. Then she’d go to bed and curl up under the duvet.
Miller says you’re the only one who can do the job.
It had never occurred to him that she’d turn him down, even though she’d walked out on him and her job in the middle of the night.
A sob broke from her lips and she clapped her hand to her mouth. How ironic that she, who had never wanted to love, should have fallen in love with a man who didn’t know how to love. There was a terrible irony to it, an awful rightness that two such emotional cripples should have—
Something slammed against the door. A branch, she thought, taken down by the wind. She started forward and the room seemed to spin away, then turn grey. She leaned back against the wall, waiting for the world to right itself, and the sound repeated. Was there someone at the door, on a night like this? Surely no one would come out for a take-away meal in the midst of a snowstorm?
The knock came again, impatient and angry. ‘All right,’ she croaked. ‘I’m coming.’
The door swung open. Snow swirled into the room, in a mad dance of icy flakes, and a man stepped through the door. Talia stared at him, at the gold-streaked hair now dusted with snowflakes, at the broad shoulders and lean body…
‘Logan?’ The word was a papery whisper drawn from her aching throat.
‘Yes. You’re damned right it’s…’ He took a step forward. ‘Talia? Are you ill?’
‘Me?’ She leaned away from the wall. ‘No,’ she said clearly, ‘not at all.’
And then her eyes rolled up into her head and she tumbled into his arms.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE night passed in a blur of half-remembered images and fleeting sensations. Talia felt the brush of cool hands on her fevered skin, heard a husky voice urging her to drink the liquid being spooned between her lips, saw a shadowed face swimming above her. When she awoke the next morning, weak but clear-headed, she thought she must have dreamed it all.
But she had no memory of going to her bedroom and none of undressing. Yet here she was, in bed, in her flannel nightshirt. She struggled to sit up but the effort exhausted her and she sank back against the pillows. Logan, she thought, remembering. But that was impossible. She was ill—she knew that much. If she’d run a high fever, perhaps she’d hallucinated. Perhaps she’d imagined it all.
‘Good morning.’
Talia’s breath caught. Logan was no hallucination. He was reality, standing in the open doorway, watching her expressionlessly, a glass of orange juice in his hand.
‘What—what happened?’ she asked. ‘What are you doing here? Why…?’
A smile curved across his face. ‘How do you feel?’
She swallowed. ‘Better than last night. Was I—was I very ill?’
Logan walked to the bed and sat down beside her. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out the glass of juice, ‘drink this. And take this tablet.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an antibiotic. The doctor says you’re to take them for the next week.’
‘The doctor? But—’
‘Everything in good time,’ he said patiently. ‘First the pill and the juice, then I’ll get you to the bathroom, and when you’re back in bed, we’ll talk.’
She felt her cheeks redden. ‘I don’t need help to the bathroom, thanks. I can manage on my own.’
Logan’s eyes became shuttered. ‘Yes, I saw how well you managed on your own. You’ve lost weight and you were walking around with a case of the flu that would have put an ox down.’ He put the tablet to her lips. ‘Take this and stop arguing.’
Obediently, she opened her mouth and he put the tablet on her tongue. That taste of his skin was shockingly familiar; it sent a sharp wave of bittersweet memory through her.
‘Now drink the juice, Talia. All of it, to the bottom. You lost a lot of fluids last night, sweating out that fever.’
The images came again, strong yet gentle hands peeling off her damp nightgown before replacing it with another, those same hands drying her body… Again, colour leaped to her face. ‘You—you undressed me.’
Logan gave her a grim smile as he put aside the empty glass, then drew back the blankets and lifted her into his arms. ‘That’s a charmingly modest reaction,’ he said drily as he carried her to the adjoining bathroom. ‘But I didn’t see anything of you I haven’t seen before.’ He set her down gently on the floor. ‘Now, can you manage on your own? Or shall I stay?’
‘I can manage,’ Talia said quickly.
‘Are you sure? You don’t look any too solid to me.’
‘I’m positive.’ She sighed when she saw the unyielding look on Logan’s face. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘Really.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be just outside the door, if you need me.’
Her smile faded as the door swung shut and a sudden wave of weakness made her reach out to the sink and cling to it for support. Logan, here? It was impossible. Why had he come? She thought back to yesterday’s call from John Diamond. No, that was insane. Logan had been arrogant enough to expect her to agree to set up a new catering programme for him. But he wouldn’t be fool enough to come all the way up here to try and convince her to do it.
Talia sank down on the closed toilet seat. Yes, he would. If Logan Miller wanted something badly enough, nothing would stop him.
‘Talia?’
She jumped as he rapped sharply on the door. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m all right. Just give me another few seconds.’
There was a tray on the night table and he was remaking her bed when she finally emerged from the bathroom and leaned weakly against the jamb. Logan plumped her pillows one last time, then turned towards her.
‘Better,’ he said, his eyes flicking over her. ‘But still not good.’
She flushed beneath his impersonal scrutiny. She’d managed, despite the feeling that her legs didn’t quite belong to the rest of her, to wash, brush her teeth, and comb her hair. But make-up had been beyond her, not that she’d have bothered putting any on if she could. Logan was here on business. It didn’t matter to him what she looked like, just so long as she agreed to his terms. And she would never do that, no matter how he’d helped her last night. She had agreed to his terms once before, and it had left her with a broken heart.
‘I’m not in a beauty pageant,’ she said coolly.
His smile was tight. ‘I was talking about the state of your health,’ he answered. Before she could take another step, his arms closed around her and he lifted her from the floor and crossed the room. ‘As for the other…’ She heard the sharp rasp of his breath as he lowered her to the bed and drew the blankets over her. ‘As for that, you’re just as beautiful as ever.’
She looked up at him, stunned as much by the huskiness of his voice as by his words, but he had already turned away. When he looked at her again, his expression was impassive. ‘All right,’ he said briskly, putting the bed-tray across her lap, ‘I want every bit of this eaten.’
Talia looked at the toast and cereal in front of her and paled. ‘I don’t think I can. I’m not used to eating that much in the morning.’
His mouth narrowed. ‘Or any other time of day, from the looks of you.’
‘And you said you’d explain things. You said—’
‘What I said was, first things first.’ He scooped some cereal into the spoon and held it out to her. ‘Have your breakfast, and then we’ll talk.’
Somehow, she managed to make a respectable dent in the level of the bowl and to eat half the toast. Finally, she groaned and turned her face away.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘not another mouthful, Logan. I won’t be responsible for what happens if you make me take another bite.’
He looked at her, sighed, and rose to his feet. ‘OK. I’ll let you rest for a while. But you’ll have to do better at lunch.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Her cry stopped him as he started out of the room. He stopped and turned to her. ‘You said you’d explain after I ate breakfast.’
He smiled pleasantly. ‘I lied.’ He winked at her, and the door closed softly after him.
Talia lay back against the pillows. She knew she ought to go after him and demand that he answer her questions. But she was exhausted. She sighed and rolled over on her belly. Logan had changed the sheets and pillowcases while she had been in the bathroom—she hadn’t realised that. The fresh linen felt smooth and cool.
Her eyelids fluttered to her cheeks. Yes, she’d go after him and find out exactly what he was up to. But she’d do it later. Later, not now…
* * *
When she awoke again, Logan was sitting beside the bed, reading a magazine. With some surprise, she recognised it as one of the stack she’d accumulated since she’d bought the house. It was an architectural digest; she’d picked it up because it headlined an article about restoring old New England homes like this one, even though she knew restoration was only a much too expensive pipe-dream.
He was reading it as if he was really interested. It was strange, but she’d never before seen him read anything other than a newspaper or a business report. Talia watched him for long minutes from under her lashes. He’d brought in the rocker from the living-room, and his feet were propped on an old hassock. He looked altogether different from how she’d ever seen him, she thought suddenly; he looked relaxed and comfortable and…
‘Well. The lady awakens.’ He smiled, closed the magazine, and tossed it aside. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes.’ It was true, she did feel better. The light-headedness was gone, and she was hungry.
Logan’s smile broadened. ‘Good. Time for another tablet and then a trip to the bathroom, and then—’
‘I can manage on my own,’ she said quickly.
He paused, eyeing her narrowly. ‘Are you certain?’
She wasn’t. But the thought of having him bring the tablet to her lips, of tasting his skin and then having his arms close around her while he lifted her from the bed, was more than she could handle.
‘I think so,’ she said. Carefully, she sat up and swung her feet to the floor. The room swayed a little and she took a breath before taking first the tablet and then the glass he held out to her. She swallowed, then gave him a shaky smile. ‘See? I’m not completely helpless.’
Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘Only a little,’ he said, watching her, and then he smiled. ‘OK. Let’s see if you can make it to the bathroom on your own.’
She did. And she almost made it back. But halfway across the room, her legs buckled. Logan muttered an oath and caught her up in his arms.
‘Enough of that nonsense,’ he said. His arms tightened around her as he looked down into her face. ‘From now on,’ he growled, ‘we’ll do things my way.’
Talia linked her hand
s behind his neck. A tremor raced along her skin. His mouth was so close to hers—all she had to do was raise her head and she could put her lips to his. She swallowed and looked away from him. ‘Could I—do you think it would be all right if I had some lunch?’
Logan grinned. ‘I think it would be terrific. What would you like? Chicken soup? French toast? A cup of custard? Rice pudding, maybe. That’s supposed to be good for invalids.’
Her eyes met his and she laughed softly. ‘How are you going to manage any of that? Did a cook materialise in my kitchen overnight?’
He smiled back at her. ‘Just put in your order and watch what happens.’ They kept looking at each other. After a moment, Logan cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to eat inside, by the fireplace? I can bundle you up and sit you on the couch.’
‘Yes,’ she said, while her foolish heart raced a million miles a minute, ‘that sounds nice.’
He carried her into the living-room and settled her in a nest of pillows and blankets. She watched as he bent to the fire and added a fresh log, then crossed the room to the kitchen. She could just see him through the open doorway; there were pots on the stove and dishes on the centre counter. She sniffed, then sniffed again, for the first time noticing the lovely smells in the air—cinnamon and nutmeg, chicken and celery.
Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together and put them in her lap. What was going on here? She knew why Logan had come—to try and talk her into accepting his job offer. But why had he stayed? The doctor had been here, he’d said. Surely the doctor could have made arrangements for her care. Logan could have seen to it…
‘Luncheon is served, ma’am.’ She looked up and he smiled as he set a tray down on the coffee-table. ‘We have here some soup, some custard, and a dish of rice pudding.’
Talia laughed. ‘Custard and rice pudding?’
‘No good, huh?’ He shrugged his shoulders as he squatted down on his haunches before her. ‘Pick one, then. Your choice.’
‘Where did all this stuff come from? I didn’t—’
‘No, you certainly didn’t.’ He waited as she took a spoonful of soup. ‘How is it?’
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