by Sylvie Kurtz
"All night?"
She gulped. "After the Holiday Fair. After the tree-lighting ceremony."
"But all night." His hand snaked out, cupped the nape of her neck, forcing her to look deep into those smoky eyes.
"All night."
This close, she couldn't miss the leap of the pulse at his neck, the small flick of his tongue over his lips, the croakiness of a dry throat in his voice. "Stay?"
The wind had arrived last night, scouring the sky clean of clouds. The air was crisp and cold. The sky eye-hurting blue. But only heat prickled her skin, only dark desire gleamed in her neighbor's eyes. "Logan..."
"I'll make dinner."
"You will?" She was touched. No one had made dinner for her since she was twelve.
A teasing half smile turned his harsh face into the picture of temptation. "Real stuff. Steak and potatoes."
"You don't like my casseroles?"
"I like them fine. But once in a while a man needs real food."
"Steak and potatoes." Her mouth quirked into a smile.
"Steak and potatoes."
"I'll bring dessert." A meal. They'd shared dozens of them already. She was making much too big a deal out of his offer to cook for her.
"I was hoping you'd be dessert." The gruffness of his voice had her shaking and quivering like whipped cream.
"Oh." Her throat worked overtime. Her body felt on fire. Her brain ceased to function.
"Beth?"
"Mmm?"
"Say yes."
The thump of her heart was a mule kick. She treaded on dangerous ground, headed into risky territory. She was sliding headlong down a perilous hill and going way too fast. But she couldn't seem to stop. After so many years of doing without, she'd thought she was incapable of feeling those melty, delicious sensations, had thought her skin incapable of pining ever again for a man's touch. And there they were, all those yearnings, directed at a man who'd made it clear he wasn't offering a future, had nothing to give but a broken heart.
And she was no better. She'd loved Jim, and he'd left her, torn her heart right out of her chest and taken it with him to his grave. She'd sworn she'd never go through that pain again, had been glad to bury her sexuality along with her husband. She'd never love that deeply again. Of that much she was sure.
She looked into Logan's eyes, saw the vulnerability of his offer exposed in the soft gray of his eyes. They were a matched pair, broken by life, trying to muddle through.
"Yes, Logan."
With a last kiss that promised much, he sent her on her way. "Jamie's waiting."
She wasn't sure how she got home, but she was pretty sure her feet hadn't touched the ground.
* * *
Although the Holiday Fair wasn't slated to start until ten, traffic already clogged the common. According to Beth, there were twelve venues to visit, not counting the Rotary Club Christmas-tree sale and the free hot chocolate and apple cider stands—both on the common. Horse-drawn hayrides would go to and from each fair venue and various choirs would wander around entertaining shoppers.
To Logan it all added up to a mess he didn't want to be caught in.
Dropping Jamie off at his friend Bobby's had required a minor miracle and careful maneuvering. Beth's directions needed careful attention. And his temper slowly simmered. The last place he wanted to be was in the middle of all this merriment.
"The weather's perfect, too," Beth chirped. "It's going to be the best fair ever. Turn here. The church parking lot is on your left."
He grumbled an answer.
She was dressed like a Christmas tree—green pants, green sweater adorned with a decorated tree, white turtleneck, lightbulb earrings and a lightbulb necklace. Her ponytail bounced a bubbly rhythm as she talked nonstop. He couldn't wait to slip those earring off her lobes, to peel away the layers of brightness and taste all that soft skin below—to shut her up with a kiss and feel her quivering beneath him.
She'd said yes. He couldn't believe she'd said yes.
He had a feeling this day was going to drag on forever. He half feared she would change her mind, half feared she wouldn't. A day was too long to wait and worry... anticipate.
When they reached St. Mary's of the Angels church, it became clear he couldn't effect the quick escape he'd planned on. Beth's booth wasn't ready, so he helped her set up the table. Her teenage assistant, Sasha Blake, hadn't shown up, so he helped Beth carry her boxes of cookies inside.
When Sasha, pierced and dyed, and Eve finally showed up, Logan thought he might be able to slip away.
Then the kid caught his eye. Twelve, maybe thirteen, trying to look older. A biker or a skateboarder, he guessed by the shoes he wore. The army-green cargo pants, the black coat two sizes too big, and the expression of nonchalance that was anything but, added to the impression. The kid was up to something. He kept looking at the booth where two girls were setting up Christmas stockings on wooden trees.
When he thought no one would see him, the kid reached to the table of beaded jewelry and snagged a teal necklace from the velour tablecloth.
None of your business, Ward. You're not on duty here.
Before he could do anything either way, a woman came panting in.
"Beth! Beth! You've got to help! The tree fell, and Roy is trying to fix the mess by himself. You're on the committee. Talk some sense into him."
"Oh, no." Without a thought to her boxed cookies, she rounded the table and followed the panting woman. Over her shoulder she said, "Logan." Then ran out the door.
A murmured roar waved through the room and everyone rushed out to witness the disaster. The boy tried to join the flow of the crowd, but Logan accosted him.
"You gonna pay for that?"
"What?"
"The necklace you slipped in your pocket."
The boy sneered at him. "Who the hell are you?"
Logan crowded into him. "I'm the meanest son of a gun you'll ever meet. You don't want to mess with me."
"Yeah? What are you going to do?"
Voice low and slow, he drawled out his threat. "I'll embarrass the hell out of you."
The boy's lip curled. "Oh, yeah?"
Logan flashed a bit of metal from his pocket. "I'll drag you out in handcuffs and make sure we go right by your girlfriend."
"Jerk. I don't have a girlfriend."
"So who're you stealing the necklace for?"
"None of your business." The boy tried to shoulder his way past Logan and met with steel resistance.
"My guess is the little red-haired girl over there by the Christmas stockings."
Shock lit the boy's eyes. He leaned back against the wall, pretending he didn't care.
"The choice is yours. You can put it back, or we can take this up at the police station."
The boy threw the necklace back on the table.
Logan eased off. "Tell you what, you keep an eye on things, make sure nothing walks away, and I'll buy the necklace for you."
A flash of eagerness gleamed across the boy's eyes, then he shrugged and shuffled his feet. "Sure, whatever you say."
He's not a bad kid, Logan thought as he headed out the door. He just needed a reminder of what was right. The thought had him frowning, but he wasn't sure why.
Outside, Beth stood on the common, along with what seemed like half the town. An old man, shoulders bent with age, was trying to straighten a ladder by a crooked tree. His white hair and beard were carefully trimmed to Santa perfection. His round glasses gave the image more weight. Suspenders held up his black work pants, and a thermal Henley top peeked over the top button of his red flannel shirt.
"Roy, please, be reasonable," Beth begged.
"It's tradition."
"But Roy, Big Bill isn't here to help you this year."
"I've been doing this for near-on fifty years. Seems to me I know how by now."
"Look, everyone wants to help."
"You think I'm too feeble?"
Logan groaned. Talking wasn't going to help. He'd seen
Roys before, and the only thing that was going to get things done was to give the man an out. People like Roy were too stubborn to give in when it meant losing face.
"How are you holding up that tree?" Logan asked as he sidled between Beth and the old man.
"It's on a stand."
"Nails or screws?"
"Screws."
Logan crouched and reached beneath the lower branches. "Hold it in place, will you? I'm going to tighten these screws a bit."
The old man pushed on the trunk.
"Is it straight?" Logan asked. "Hey, Beth." He jerked his chin, inviting her closer. "Come hold the tree so Roy can take a gander and tell me if it's straight."
A smiling Beth obliged. "Of course."
"How's it looking, Roy?"
"To your left a bit. No, not that much. Okay, that's good."
Logan tightened the screws.
"Thanks," Beth whispered, using the tree's branches as cover so Roy wouldn't see her.
Logan grunted. He didn't need thanks. What he needed was to have his head examined. What the hell was he doing here? A doormat, Ward. That's what you are, a friggin' doormat.
He straightened and admired the tree with Roy. "Fifty years," he said and whistled. "Guess you're the expert, then."
"Nobody else knows the tricks," Roy agreed, pulling on his beard.
Logan reached for a string of lights in one of the boxes on the benches. "Where do you start?"
The old man joined him at the boxes. "The trick is to use different sized bulbs. I use the smaller ones up top, the bigger ones near the bottom."
"This one first?" Logan asked, taking hold of a string.
"For the top third, then I switch to these."
"I'm no artist. You'll have to tell me where they go."
Logan climbed the ladder and allowed Roy to impart his wisdom and expertise. Logan caught a flash of Beth's smile, of her wave and silently swore.
There he was, putting up another set of damned Christmas lights when all he'd wanted to do was go home and work on his house.
But it didn't seem so bad this time. Even Roy's harping flowed over him duck-slick.
He would be taking Beth home.
Soon.
She'd said yes. He still couldn't believe she'd said yes.
As Roy passed him up another length of lights, Logan started whistling. He was halfway through the tune before he realized it was one of those nauseating elevator ditties—"You Light up My Life."
Chapter 12
"There's only one reason a man obeys so meekly," Laura Darlington said as she arranged her crocheted pot holders in the booth next to Beth's. The brown cowl of her sweater lent her an overstuffed look. She leaned across the table, neck craned, eyes owl wide in her round glasses, mouth beaked in accusation. "You're being intimate with him!"
A steady pace of fairgoers trampled through the church basement looking and comparing, hoping to find a treasure. Laura's insinuation had a few of them lingering at her table, pretending interest in her gaudy potholders, but like dogs to some inaudible whistle, their ears were trained to the conversation.
The heat of a blush fired Beth's skin. Why did she have to make her embarrassment so obvious? She wasn't sleeping with the man... she was just thinking about it. "Really, Laura, don't let your unhappiness color everything you think you see."
"Well, I—" Laura sputtered and blinked. "I'm perfectly happy, thank you. I'm just worried at the example you're setting for the children who look up to you."
"What example would that be?"
Before Laura could answer, Eve chimed in. "Beth, you're turning red."
"I'm working. I always get hot when I'm working." She looked pointedly at Laura. The plate of white-chocolate cranberry cookies in front of Beth overflowed. Several cookies fell onto the red-and-gold tablecloth and she had to put some back in the box.
Mischief twinkled in Eve's eyes as she whispered, "Oh, we'll definitely have to have a heart-to-heart soon."
"Well, why else would he follow you like a lamb and take care of Roy?" Laura shook a skinny finger at her.
"Because he's a good man." That much was true. Beneath all the armor he wore, existed a tender heart, a gentle spirit, a strong sense of honor. He'd handled Roy just right and possibly saved him from an unfortunate accident. Roy was obstinate enough to have carried on with his self-imposed task no matter what.
"In my experience," Laura said, "men don't comply unless they're after something."
"Maybe your experience is limited." Beth sorted through the boxes. Where were the Russian teacakes and the shortbreads?
"You've been late, distracted," Laura continued. "Mrs. Bronski said you even started on the wrong menu yesterday. You were making Thursday's lunch all over again."
Mrs. Bronski talked too much. "I switched days because of a delivery problem." One she hadn't discovered until after her unfortunate blunder, but she wasn't going to admit that. She found the Russian teacakes and displayed them on a green plate.
Logan was on her mind much too much lately. His kisses, his touches lingered long after he'd left. He was slowly driving her crazy as she wavered between guilt and guilty pleasure.
Laura tisked. "The signs of a woman who's got her mind on a man, if you ask me."
"I don't believe anyone has." Beth dusted powdered sugar from her fingers and put the top back on the box of Russian teacakes.
"Everybody knows—"
"Everybody is wrong. Nothing's going on."
The proclamation came out much too loudly. Half the crowd in the room turned to stare at her. Some tittered, some blushed, some disapproved.
She wasn't having sex. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The thought petrified her as much as it excited her. And Jim, her gentle Jim, was caught in the middle of her seesaw. Was it betrayal? Was it simply life being lived?
"Not that it's any of your business." Beth crouched to stow the box of Russian teacakes under the table and wished she could stay there, away from the stares and the conjecture. Geez, she couldn't even think about doing anything without having to take the whole town's reaction into consideration. She'd never given this small-town fact a second thought before. Now it bothered her.
Eve joined her beneath the table. She had butterscotch on her breath.
"Have you been eating the goodies?" Beth asked.
"Taste-testing. The butterscotch sandies are perfect, by the way. And I'm glad."
"About the sandies?" Beth sorted through the boxes.
"About you and Logan."
"There's nothing going on." She let out a small growl as she fussed at the boxes, making sure each label was clearly visible, but not actually seeing any of them. "Just because Laura isn't getting any doesn't mean everyone else is."
"If you say so."
"Eve—" Beth made the mistake of looking at her friend and seeing the amused expression on her face.
"Jamie's staying overnight."
Feeling heat creep into her cheeks, Beth turned away. She was not going to give Eve the satisfaction of knowing she'd already imagined all that could happen. "Jamie's really looking forward to it. Whatever the big hush-hush plan you two have cooked up."
"Can't say, or it wouldn't be a surprise. But I think you should take full advantage of the free time." Eve reached an arm around Beth's shoulders and squeezed. "Cook the man a real meal. Lambchops or steak or chicken. Something he can sink his teeth into. I haven't got the faintest idea why you've been stuffing him with casseroles."
Beth didn't have a clue, either. At first it had seemed the easiest way to give him a balanced meal. Now? It was habit. It was connection. It was... care in a Pyrex dish? "He likes them."
"Try real food. Then, after you've fed him, seduce him. Give yourself permission to be a woman instead of a caretaker, for a change."
"Eve! You're as bad as Laura."
"I am not. I care about you. She's just jealous."
Beth knocked over two boxes as she reached for the shortbreads, which turned out to be
lemon stars. "And you should speak. You keep brushing Gus off."
"I turn down his marriage proposals, not his bed," Eve said, slanting Beth a meaningful gaze, then threw her hands up. "Okay, I'll shut up. You're too young to wrap yourself in a cocoon, that's all I meant. I just want the best for you."
"Then let me do things my way."
Eve backed off. "Okay, you're right. Did you make any of those chocolate caramel pecan bars?"
"In the box right by Sasha's feet."
Sasha's upside-down, blue-dyed hair appeared. "What are you two doing down here?"
"Eve's being a busybody, and I'm trying to find the shortbreads."
"They're already on the table."
"I'm buying the whole box of these pecan bars." Eve riffled through her purse and brought out her wallet. "I'm going to run them home real quick so you don't sell them by mistake."
Sasha crouched in the spot Eve vacated and played with the ring that pierced her eyebrow. "He's not really your boyfriend, is he?"
Beth sighed. Laura had the knack of turning a snowball into an avalanche. "No, why do you ask?"
Sasha shrugged. "Nick Barlow said his dad saw you two kissing."
Nick Barlow, son of Mark Barlow the mailman. "And when did he see that?"
"The day the power came back on."
Wednesday. Her front door. In bright daylight. She'd thought she was safe because Jamie was happily watching Dragon Knights. She thought she'd heard a car, too, but it didn't seem to matter when she was melting in Logan's arms. "Oh."
"It would ruin everything."
Beth rocked on her heels and faced Sasha. The crowd's noise buzzed all around them, but the drape of the tablecloth sheltered them. "What do you mean?"
"You'd get all goo-goo-eyed and forget—" Sasha shrugged again and started retreating.
With a hand on Sasha's arm, Beth pulled her back. "You can always talk to me. I'll always listen."
"Sure."
But her eyes said she wasn't convinced. The girl who, with her short razor-cut, blue-dyed hair, her slashed black clothes and her pierced nose and eyebrows, was so desperately trying to convince the world she wasn't worth loving needed reassurance.
"Have I missed a lunch?" Beth asked.
"No."