Luck Be a Lady

by Cathie Linz

  “I know. I might not have found Astrid if it weren’t for her.”

  “Well, it turns out the woman died in some out-of-the-way place in Utah. Faith called me on the way over here.”

  “Which means Buddy is free to marry Gram now. That’s good news. I talked to her this morning; she said Buddy should be released from the hospital tomorrow morning.”

  “So it looks like everything is working out in the end,” her dad said.

  Megan smiled, thinking of Logan on his way to be with her, and the can of whipped cream she planned to use on him later. “Yeah, everything is working out,” she agreed. “Hold on a second, that’s Faith calling now.” Megan answered her BlackBerry. “Hey Faith, Dad and I were just talking about you.”

  “Do you have the TV on?”

  “No.”

  “Turn it on.” Faith’s voice was strained.

  “Why? I’m expecting Logan for dinner any minute—”

  “He’s going to be late.”

  Megan frowned. “What do you mean? How do you know that? Did he call you?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Faith, you’re scaring me.”

  Are you okay? her dad mouthed.

  Megan shook her head. “Turn on the TV. Channel Five.”

  Her dad reached for the remote, and a second later Megan saw a special report news segment with one of the local female reporters saying, “We’re here live at police headquarters. It’s still very early in this situation, so we don’t have a lot of information at this point, just that there’s been a shooting here. The building is currently in lockdown. We don’t know how many are injured or how serious those injuries might be. We have confirmation of one officer down, perhaps two. We also don’t know if it’s a single gunman or multiple shooters. We’re getting word that there may be a hostage situation going on here as well, but that is still unconfirmed as of yet.”

  “Logan works there,” Megan whispered, sinking onto the couch.

  “I know,” Faith said.

  “Maybe he already left. He could be on his way here. I’ve got to call his cell.” Megan hung up and hit speed dial. It went directly to Logan’s voice mail. “You know the routine. Leave a message.”

  “It’s Megan. Please call me. I hope you’re okay.” She had to keep her message short because she was afraid her voice would start cracking if she spoke any longer.

  “Don’t panic,” her dad said as he joined her on the couch and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Maybe he stopped at the hospital to visit Buddy.”

  A phone call to Gram, who was in Buddy’s hospital room visiting him, disproved that theory. “Is Logan with you?” Gram asked.

  “No,” Megan said, her stomach dropping to the soles of her feet. “I was calling you to ask the same question.”

  “Buddy says he’s sure Logan is okay because Logan is wearing his St. Michael medallion again.”

  “The patron saint of police officers,” Megan said.

  “That’s right. I know what’s on the TV now is scary, but hang in there, okay? And let us know when Logan calls you.”

  “Same with you, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Buddy and Gram haven’t heard from him,” Megan told her father.

  She shoved her fear down deep so it wouldn’t overwhelm her, but it refused to be managed. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Megan said with tears in her eyes.

  “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life thinking about a chance you didn’t take. I don’t regret taking a chance on Astrid even though it didn’t work out.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Do you want to know why?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Because loving her gave me you.” He reached out to cup her cheek. “And you are definitely the best and brightest thing in my life.”

  “Oh, Daddy.” She held back a sob.

  “You haven’t called me that since you were twelve,” he said gruffly.

  “I know.”

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked with concern. “Some tea? Wine?”

  “I’ll get it.” She brought the bottle of Argentinean Merlot that she’d offered Logan the first time he’d come to her condo and they’d shared a pizza. She brought two wineglasses and filled them both.

  Meanwhile the local station had resumed normal broadcasting. Megan channel-surfed but she couldn’t find any more coverage on the situation. A tense two hours later, Logan finally called in.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “Something came up.”

  “Yes, I heard. It was on the TV.”

  “I’m on my way now.” He paused. “Or is it too late?”

  Was it too late? Would she be able to hide her fear from him? Could she bounce back from the nervous wreck she’d been for the past few hours? She’d have to. “No,” she said unsteadily. “It’s not too late.”

  “Good. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  Megan’s dad and Logan crossed paths in the hallway. Megan kept her door open as she pulled Logan inside. He was wearing his customary work attire of black pants and blue shirt with a dark tie. She removed his black leather jacket and tossed it aside.

  “Are you okay?” She ran her hands over his arms and chest as if searching for possible injuries.

  “I’m okay.” He took her hands in his. “The media exaggerated the situation. The suspect was the one shot. The police officer down actually tripped and broke his ankle. No weapon was involved except maybe for his own shoelaces, which he tripped over while trying to apprehend the suspect.”

  “Were you in danger?”

  “I was in danger of missing a date with you and some whipped cream,” he murmured huskily.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Let me show you how serious.”

  Logan didn’t want to talk about it. Okay, Megan got that. She also got that he was using sex as a distraction, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be distracted by him. She wanted to be taken to new heights of ecstasy by him . . . and she was.

  But after they’d made love and Logan fell asleep, Megan sat and stared at him for hours. She saw the medallion around his neck and touched it as if to reassure herself that it was still there. He’d taken it off when they’d had sex but she’d insisted he put it on again afterward. She wanted him protected. She neededto have him protected.

  The bottom line was that Megan was spooked. She told herself she just needed some time to recover. For the next two weeks, she threw herself into holiday preparations and spending time with Logan. He helped her decorate her tree and didn’t mock the teacup motif of the ornaments she was using this year. She rewarded him with whipped cream, which she now kept stocked in her fridge at all times.

  She made love with him whenever she could but didn’t tell him she loved him. Not yet. She was still trying to work up her nerve.

  Meanwhile she carried out her customary holiday traditions, like lunch with Faith and Gram at the Walnut Room in the former Marshall Field’s store. Afterward, Faith stopped at Megan’s condo.

  “This is your first Christmas as a married woman,” Megan noted as she handed Faith a cup of hot cocoa. “How’s Caine holding up?”

  “He’s the best. He took such good care of me when I was sick. He even went to stand in line for Do-It-Yourself Messiah tickets for me. You know, legend has it that when Handel’s ‘Messiah’ debuted in Dublin in April 1742, the ladies were asked to attend sans hoops in their skirts and gentlemen sans swords because they expected the audience to be huge.” Her expression turned dreamy.

  “Thinking about Handel gives you that goofy look on your face?” Megan teased her.

  “No. Thinking about Caine and his sword does.”

  Megan laughed and took a sip of tea before saying, “Did I tell you that I got an e-mail from Fiona yesterday?”

  “Fiona of brothel fame?”

  Megan nodded. “She asked if I’d gotten the Woodstock jeans from Astrid. She als
o wrote that Pepper Dior e-mailed her asking for my address. Fiona didn’t know if she should give it out, so Pepper included a message for Fiona to forward on to me. I told you about Pepper from Last Resort, right?”

  “The one you got all those vintage outfits from.”

  “Right. Anyway, it turns out that that storage room where they tried to hold Logan and me had some unexpected treasures in it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a remarkably preserved Native American blanket worth . . . are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “$100,000.”

  Faith almost spewed her hot cocoa over Smudge, who was curled up on the couch beside them.

  “There were several antique quilts and other items worth money as well,” Megan said. “They’re going to use the funds for improvements to the café and motel. Pepper wrote that if I hadn’t been locked up in the storage room and found the teacup I liked, they wouldn’t have thought to look through the stuff.”

  “What teacup?”

  “This one.” Megan held it up.

  “Is it worth a ton of money too?”

  “Only to me.” She ran a finger over the Wedgwood design. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she and Logan had been marooned in Last Resort. So much had happened since then.

  “Tell me again why she wanted to lock you and Logan up in a storage room?” Faith said.

  “It was their version of a jail.”

  “Right. The shotgun wedding scheme. So tell me, what’s up with you and Logan these days? Things are pretty serious, huh? Have you told him how you feel about him yet? Has he told you?”

  “No to both questions. What’s the rush?”

  “Didn’t you tell me when Buddy was in the hospital that Gram saying time is precious really hit home and made you realize life is short?”

  “Okay, you’re right. I’m not making sense. But I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of everything.”

  “Well, that narrows it down.”

  “What if he doesn’t love me? What if this is just a fling for him? What if he doeslove me, and something happens to him? What if I can’t cope with the stress of his job?”

  “What if you drive yourself nuts by asking too many what-ifs?” Faith said.

  “Don’t try telling me what Jane Austen would do. That doesn’t work for me.”

  “What doeswork for you?”

  “Logan.”

  “There you go then. Just have faith and go with that. See where it takes you.”

  “What if it takes me right off a cliff?”

  “Then a parachute would come in handy.”

  “Yeah. Know where I can get one of those?”

  “It’s all about taking chances, isn’t it? You read Emma’s book Taking Chances. Risk versus reward. Is the reward worth the risk?”

  When Megan was with Logan, the answer to that question was yes. The problem was that when she wasn’t with him, the doubts and fears set in.

  But Gram was right. Time was precious and life was short.

  That was still the case when Logan picked her up to go to the ice rink Sunday afternoon. When she’d mentioned that she’d always wanted to go to the McCormick Tribune Plaza and Ice Rink on the western edge of Millennium Park, he’d insisted that he’d be happy to take her skating. She’d visited in the summer, when the rink was turned into an outdoor café with the awesome view of the Michigan Avenue skyline, but never in the winter. The skyline was just as impressive and was hands down one of the best views in Chicago. She, however, was not one of the best skaters.

  Megan was a reference librarian, so naturally she’d done her research beforehand, especially refreshing her knowledge on how to fall and get up again on skates. She’d also read all she could about police psychology and police families. Much of it she already knew, at least where the police stuff was concerned. The skating stuff was tied in because at times she felt like she was skating on thin ice. Especially when she almost fell on her fanny the second they got on the rink.

  Logan kept her upright and kept his arm around her. “Relax. Trust me, I’m a professional.”

  “A professional cop, not a professional ice-skater,” she said, tugging her angora knit hat down lower on her head with one hand while clutching his arm with the other.

  “I’ll have you know that you’re hanging on to a guy who played four years of hockey in college and could have played for the Blackhawks.”

  “Really. The Chicago Blackhawks?”

  “The Berwyn Blackhawks.”

  “I doubt there even is such a team.”

  “You doubt me?” He loosened his hold on her to give her a reprimanding look with those sexy eyes of his.

  She grabbed his arm as one of her skates almost slid out from under her on the slippery ice. “This is much harder than it looks.”

  “And that’s just my arm. You should feel the rest of my body.”

  “Logan! There are kids here.”

  “I love when you use your scandalized librarian voice on me.”

  “Behave yourself. As for your four years of hockey, I had four years of ballet in middle school.”

  “Hockey trumps ballet any day.”

  “Ha!” She was more determined than ever to show him some moves. She’d been deliberately underplaying her talent. Okay, maybe it didn’t rank as talent per se, but she wasn’t as klutzy as she seemed. She released his arm and did a pirouette on ice. “I did it!”

  “I love you,” he blurted out.

  “What?” She almost fell on her fanny with shock.

  “You heard me.”

  “Are you blushing?”

  ‘No,” he growled. “Keep skating.”

  “Wait. Did you mean what you just said?”

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t look very happy about it.”

  “I planned on telling you in a more romantic setting.” He glared at a group skating by. “Without all these people around.”

  “You can still do that.”

  “Yeah, but it won’t be the first time I tell you.”

  She unzipped her jacket as the sound of Gloria Estefan’s “Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow” filled the air around the rink with its sassy brass section.

  “What are you doing?” Logan demanded.

  “You’ll see.” She lifted the hem of her red sweater.

  “Are you going to flash me in public?” He appeared pleased by the prospect.

  “No. Look.” Beneath the sweater was the I LOVE D.C. T-shirt he’d given her. She’d put masking tape over D.C. and wrote on it so it now read I LOVE LOGAN. “I was going to tell you somewhere private too.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

  “You didn’t really say it yet. Are you sure you’re okay with me being a cop?”

  Here was the pivotal moment. Time to go forward and take chances instead of falling back in fear. Sure, there would be times she’d fall down, but as long as she knew how to get up again, she’d be okay.

  She was tough. She was brave. She was bold. She could cope with the stress of his job. She couldn’t cope with the regret she’d have if she never even tried.

  She’d been spooked by the realization that loving Logan was an emotional hazard that could end up breaking her heart. But she had the strength now to take that risk instead of playing it safe as she always had in the past. And so she said, “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I love you. Yes, I’m okay with you being a cop.”

  He dragged her sweater down and fastened her coat. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace quiet, private and romantic.”

  “My bedroom?”

  “That works.”

  It not only worked, it proved to be an incredible night filled with love, laughter, sex and whipped cream.

&
nbsp; Who could ask for anything more?

  One year later . . .

  It was a terrible day for a wedding in Chicago. The city was in the midst of the worst blizzard in years with wind-chills below zero. Luckily, Megan, Logan and most of their families were in sunny Las Vegas at the Venetian.

  Their guests at the ceremony included Astrid, who insisted she was there as “an interested bystander” and not as mother of the bride, which was fine with Megan. Also present were Last Resort residents Pepper, Rowdy and Chuck as well as Fiona from the Butterfly Ranch. Connor acted as Logan’s best man while Faith was Megan’s matron of honor.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind me using the same wedding venue that you did?” Megan asked Faith.

  “For the thousandth time, I’m sure,” Faith said. “And I appreciate you choosing an Empire-style matron of honor dress that not only hides the fact that I’m four months pregnant, but also is a gorgeous burgundy color. Now let’s go out there and be the bold women we were born to be.”

  “My little girl is about to get married,” her dad said as they prepared to walk down the aisle to where Logan stood waiting. “You look so beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Megan loved her wedding gown. The white dress was new although in a vintage princess style with a strapless satin bodice and a satin-lined tulle full skirt.

  “Logan is a lucky man and he knows it.”

  She blinked away the dampness in her eyes. “Don’t make me cry, Daddy.”

  “Don’t make me cry, either,” he said with an unsteady laugh. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Megan said firmly. “Absolutely.”

  She and Logan had selected music from the final verses of the song “Chances” for this part of the ceremony. Slowly walking down the aisle with her dad, Megan flashed back to Logan formally asking her dad for her hand in marriage last Valentine’s Day, right before Buddy and Gram got married.

  “Too bad the Swedish mob couldn’t attend,” Logan had teased the happy couple.