Secrets and Lies

by N. C. Anderson

  Not wanting Della to pursue further intimate questions, Selena glanced at her watch. “I need to go pick up Gregg.” Della retrieved her cup from the desk. “Do you want me or Connie to show Doctor Logan the land tomorrow?"

  "No,” Selena said, grabbing her leather shoulder purse out of her drawer and hurrying toward the door. “I can face my ghosts, Mom. Don't worry about me.” Selena couldn't help worrying with respect to herself. Logan had merely walked into the office, and her heart had thundered into fifth gear. She would have a handle on it by morning. She'd better have a handle on it by then, if she intended not to make a fool of herself. It didn't seem to matter how hard she tried; hiding her feelings wasn't something she'd ever learned to do.

  Chapter 2

  When Selena guided her black Mercedes up the long, twisting drive the next morning, it seemed like returning to the scene of disgrace. Except it hadn't been a disgrace, it had been sensational, tender, passionate, honest. Then Logan's words had replaced all the sweetness with dishonor—No. Not dishonor, but definitely despair—and a lost-in-space feeling she could never shake out of her system.

  The homestead lay almost a half-mile from the main road, situated at the top of a hill, and hidden from view behind huge, ancient oak trees. Selena started up the hill, passing by an apple orchard where the weeds had grown nearly as tall as the fruit trees. Then she spotted Logan's pickup parked under a sprawling buckeye tree. It was under the same buckeye where love had become a reality, where life as she'd known it had changed, never to be the same again.

  Her heart began a tattoo against her chest, and her cheeks burned. She should have listened to Della. She should have allowed her or Connie to show Logan this property. She didn't want to be here. It hadn't occurred to her how potent her reaction was going to be, not having returned to the scene—except in her daydreams. At any rate her dreams had stopped years ago. What with four years of rigorous schooling, plus years of caring for a son and an invalid husband, she found there was little time left for any dreaming.

  Selena parked her Mercedes beside Logan's truck, tucked the key in her purse, and straightened her shoulders. She would not let her emotions get out of hand. Logan waited here to conduct business. Business is what she would stick to. He most likely didn't remember much of what happened between them sixteen years ago. If he did remember, she wasn't about to risk embarrassing herself by letting him realize she hadn't forgotten anything.

  After sliding out of her car, Selena adjusted her rayon faille skirt and hoisted her shoulder purse into place. She glanced over the landscape, searching for a sign of Logan.

  "Logan,” she called out then listened for a response. A gentle flutter of wind through the oak trees seemed the only reply to her call. Suddenly, a whine, then a sharp bark startled Selena into looking toward the house. A plump sable-colored German Shepherd skidded around the corner of the deserted adobe house, heading straight for Selena.

  Unable to control the delight of seeing an old friend, Selena knelt instantly, holding her hands out toward the charging animal. “Tanya,” Selena greeted affectionately while warding off the wet kisses Tanya seemed determined to bestow on her. “I can't believe it's really you."

  "Besides myself, you're the only one I've ever seen Tanya rush to like that,” Logan said. “But, this isn't the Tanya you knew. This is her granddaughter."

  Selena lifted her gaze to watch him amble toward her. He wasn't smiling, or frowning, appearing remote, cool, business-like. Although his jeans and boots looked the same, instead of western shirt and Stetson, a soft pullover jersey enhanced his muscular frame, and the gentle breeze seemed to dance through his collar-length hair. He looked strong, healthy, and a menace to her protect-yourself and keep-away-from-him decision. She was thirty-two, matured, no longer a susceptible sixteen year old; she could handle this. Of course she could.

  A twinge of pain in her hip forced her to stand up. “I should have realized you couldn't still have her. Tanya would be eighteen years old.” The dog had always accompanied them on most of their dates. Tanya had retrieved their tennis balls, swam with them at Millerton Lake, eaten popcorn at the drive-in movies, jogged with them in Valencia Cove park. The total likeness of the two dogs was uncanny.

  Logan signaled for Tanya to lie down. “Almost eighteen,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I lost her about four years ago."

  I wonder if all your memories have faded, Selena thought. I certainly hope so. Being alone with him was more difficult, more painful than she'd expected. She'd thought her fractured heart had healed; it still had a weak crack in it. Well, she wouldn't let that crack get any wider. “Have you looked over the land and house recently?"

  Logan shook his head, his gray eyes examining her carefully. “I went through the house to see if it was salvageable. I'm certain it is.” He gestured for her to join him as he walked away. “It's been several years since I inspected the land."

  They strolled the two-acre perimeter around the house and barn while Selena listened to Logan explain his plans for raising cattle and horses and everything else he wanted on the ranch. Much of what he said echoed the dreams she'd heard from him years before.

  After they returned to the front yard, he motioned her to follow him, and he led her to the back of the house. The pool's once elegant tiles had weeds growing healthily between them. Five, rare old pot-belly shaped light poles that had at one time lined a city street, leaned precariously in what seemed dejection near the pool, their glass globes cracked. There were roses and numerous other flowers growing amongst waist-high wild oats. Selena easily envisioned how twenty years ago beauty had filled the gardens and given joy to a family.

  With an effort to shake off the melancholy mood the sight was putting her in, Selena glanced at the house. The switch wasn't helping. Its red-tiled roof was drooping; its adobe walls, cracked and crumbling; its structure built for a large family. Although instead of the usual sad, eerie, haunted look of most deserted, crumbling homes, this house seemed almost majestic, magical. The morning sun's rays appeared to scrub the grayness from its once white adobe exterior. It illuminated the cedar-colored railing on its sagging balcony above, making the house look as if it were smiling at them—somehow, giving them a blessing.

  "Has a way of drawing you, doesn't it?” Logan said. His tone was low, smooth, almost loving. His manner seemed less distant as his gaze captured Selena's, and she couldn't make herself look away. “It's a home in need of a family."

  Instinctively, Selena backed up a step, denying an impulsive need to move closer. And blocking out a vivid image of more than one child, each of whom just happened to resemble Logan, playing in the garden.

  His left brow elevated slightly as a grin twitched the corners of his full, enticing lips, giving Selena the feeling he had forgotten nothing. “Do you know the history of this land?"

  Her body heated then chilled, remembering the sweet pleasure his mouth was capable of; this had to stop. “No,” Selena answered, tearing her gaze away. “I know only that it belongs to a trust and none of its owners seem interested in ranching or living on it. My mother listed the property, and I haven't had time to really research it.” He'd once told her the ranch was special to him, that he wanted it, but nothing of its history.

  "All the owners are of one family,” Logan said. “Some offspring don't seem to inherit the same basic nature as their ancestors. The couple who developed this land, built this house and garden, inherited it from their grandparents, who'd inherited it from their grandparents. The earlier generations seemed to hold family and loyalty as most important in tradition. Modern times tend to promote the opposite. They had twelve children, and none of them feel any of what their ancestors valued highest.” He gestured at the house. “But I feel it, and I want it."

  "How do you know all this?” Selena asked. He talked as if he'd known these people intimately.

  "Because they were my grandparents,” he answered without hesitation. “They died when I was young, b
ut not before I had a chance to stay with them several times. Their love was an exclusive communion, and everyone who encountered them knew it. Even this land seemed to acknowledge it by the way it nurtured everything they brought here."

  "Then, why would you have to buy this place?” Selena couldn't help asking. If one of his well-to-do parents and aunts and uncles owned the land, why didn't they just give it to him?

  "That's personal,” he said amiably. “I'm ready to make an offer whenever you get your pad and pen."

  Well, what had she expected? That he would allow her into his thoughts like an old friend? She wouldn't have to worry about keeping away from him; when they concluded their business she would probably only see Logan from a distance. “I have my contract papers in the car,” she said, turning away from him. “If you'll come back out front, we'll get started."

  After reaching her Mercedes, she opened the back door and seized a stack of papers from the white leather seat. “They are asking one thousand an acre. Which is a grand total of two hundred thousand dollars."

  Logan leaned against the front fender and hooked his thumbs in his jeans’ pockets. “My offer is one hundred eighty thousand,” he said, as if he were dickering for a trinket in Mexico.

  "Conventional loan?” she asked.

  "Cash,” he answered, shifting to stand. “Let's sit down over there.” Logan unhooked one thumb and pointed to cement benches which lay in sections that encircled a cement table under the buckeye tree.

  I don't want to go near that damned tree, she thought; just looking at it brought home her years of yearning for him. “Right,” she said, wading through the weeds toward the table. “What kind of earnest money do you want to put down?"

  Selena perched herself on the rugged bench, watching him pull a checkbook out of his rear pocket. He sat down beside her and tossed his book on top the table. “One hundred thousand and the rest on closing."

  He patted his pants’ pocket, looking for a pen. Selena handed him hers. He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Thanks. I must have lost mine while we were walking around the property."

  Selena inhaled slowly. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to close her eyes and run her fingers over the soft cotton shirt he wore then reach up and feel the satiny texture of his black hair. It had been a long time since she'd touched anyone that way; touched someone to feel their heart beat, to explore the heat of their skin—to be touched in return. Selena berated herself. Hadn't she learned anything about heartbreak? Hadn't she learned from her father how self-centeredness worked, how until-death-do-us commitment was a fantasy made up by die-hards who wanted more than anything for it to exist?

  Selena stifled a groan. If she wanted to see one of those die-hards, she could just look in a mirror.

  Five minutes later Selena had Logan's check in hand and his offer written up. She rose to her feet and looked down at him. “Where can I find you when I have their answer?"

  Logan pushed to his feet and motioned toward her car. “This afternoon I'll be at my clinic in Valencia Cove. You can bring it with you when you keep your appointment."

  It took all of Selena's diligent attention to keep herself from limping as they walked across the drive. “I don't have any reason to have an appointment. I told you yesterday I wouldn't come."

  "You'll come,” he said, as he opened her car's door, and she slid inside.

  "No,” she countered flatly, slamming the door. “I won't."

  She started her car and drove around the circular drive before she could hear his answer. The accident had cracked her spine, broken her leg, crushed her hip, and each of her doctors said the damage was permanent. Did Doctor Patrick Logan think he was some sort of miracle worker? Well, he didn't need to know anything about it. She'd suffered enough pain, had had enough of doctors probing and poking and shaking their heads.

  Then parts of their earlier conversation sank in, and Selena realized she should have done her homework on the property. The trust owners were all members of one family. The original owners were his grandparents.

  Logans—she would have to deal with Logans.

  * * * *

  Selena was overly stubborn and overly independent, Logan thought, as he watched a whirl of dust and dirt whip into a thick cloud behind her Mercedes. The lush scent of her perfume still lingered in his nostrils.

  Logan kicked a rusted tin can across the drive. However, neither of those descriptions fit the Selena McRae he'd held in his arms, made love to, and suffered guilt over, sixteen years ago. He could never forget how her husky voice had excited him; how, instead of expensive perfume, she'd smelled of violets when she melted against him; how she'd given herself innocently yet provocatively. He also couldn't forget she'd been a virgin, or the pain in her sienna-colored eyes when, at eighteen, he'd not been secure enough to take on a wife and the demands of college, had refused to see her again, and his guilt welled-up in him again.

  He tried to assuage his regret as he yanked open the truck door and signaled Tanya to climb into the cab. What was wrong with him? He'd found out early that libido was what existed; lust, passion, greed, a drive to increase a station in life, or keep it, existed; but love, with all-out purpose of respect, cherishing, friendship, was a legend from an extinct breed. Legends like his grandparents and their parents. Hadn't Selena married a wealthy man to get away from destitute parents? He couldn't condemn her for wanting something better than her drunken father provided; although, he couldn't understand Selena running out on her mother.

  He jabbed the key into the ignition, and turned the engine over, vaguely listening to its instant, powerful response. What had love ever done for him? When had he ever received anything but lip service? His parents loved him when he followed their rules and kept to the map they'd made for his life. His wife Irene had loved him because his name was Logan. The name Logan meant a clan of affluent doctors, some of which had gathered together in one conglomerate practice. Few people realized that if his grandparents hadn't owned several hundred acres of prime land, raising cattle and fruit and working themselves to death, no Logan offspring would have become educated, or rolling in dough.

  When Irene found out he had no intentions of joining his family's practice, she couldn't get out of his life fast enough. He couldn't blame her. He'd married her to please his parents. He'd done a lot of things to gain respect from his parents, until he discovered none of it gained him what he valued—like being a doctor for those who were neither rich nor packing heavy medical insurance.

  Logan shifted sideways and slipped his checkbook from his rear pocket. “Well, Grandpa, there's just enough leftover in there to remodel your house and restore the barn,” he said to the air surrounding him. “I wonder how you knew exactly the amount I needed to do this job?"

  He guided the truck around several deep potholes in the drive. The only hitch was the family his grandfather wanted him to have living in the house. The letter he'd left for Logan said, “Fill the place with little Logans and enough love to keep the walls braced, Patrick. If anyone can do it, you can.” What a laugh. The only way he could fill the house with love would be by moving his clinic into it. Love might not be the correct term, but caring ran rampantly in the clinic.

  His patients might be impoverished, but they faced life with a passion. They were the people his father's skill seldom touched, unless they came to his hospital via a government from another country, and it meant splashy coast-to-coast news coverage.

  He turned onto route 63, passing the miles of orange groves and grape vineyards lining the road to Valencia Cove's city limits. Poor Selena. She would have her work cut out for her when she faced his father with his offer. Aunt Rebecca had given the listing to Della, but she was ill, and that authorized his father and uncles to handle the sale. He hoped his father didn't come unglued and frighten Selena when he found out what Logan planned on doing.

  She might show up at the clinic needing help with more than her limp.

  * * * *


  Logan knew this would happen to her. The rat probably sat in his clinic, munching cheese while waiting to see if she survived. He had to know she and his father weren't compatible.

  Selena slammed the car door and glanced around the parking lot. She scanned each of the signs scattered around the cluster of one-story brick buildings until she found the words Surgical Center. Clutching her leather briefcase in shaky fingers, she headed for the office marked Logan Surgical and Internal Medical Doctors.

  A secretary, smartly dressed in a mint-green suit, directed Selena to a door marked Consultation Room. She rapped on the solid, gray wood, and heard a muffled “Come in” from the other side.

  Selena recognized Brian Logan instantly. She would never forget the last meeting she'd had with him—never forget his treating her as though she were a “Lady of the night.” It had been a frightening encounter for a sixteen year old. However, she was no longer sixteen.

  At first Doctor Logan looked surprised then a frown pinched his thick gray eyebrows together. “Mrs. Flynn?"

  "Yes,” Selena answered him, enjoying his confusion. She glanced at five other men seated at a long, lustrous oval table.

  "You've brought an offer regarding the mountain property?” Brian Logan's tone was abrupt, and it didn't seem he intended to introduce the others.

  Selena walked to a chair fitted in the curve of the oval, pulled it out and sat down. She opened her briefcase, lifted several papers, and handed them toward the frowning elder Logan, forcing him to walk across the three feet separating them.

  While he read Logan's offer, Selena turned to face five pairs of eyes staring at her. “I'm Selena Flynn from McRae Realty,” she said evenly. “Mrs. McRae sends her regards and wishes for Rebecca Tames to regain her health soon."