A few minutes later, a loud thud on the front door made her jump, spilling the hot liquid. She wiped at the wet spots on her dark leggings and oversize sweater, and set the book aside.
Another loud knock on her door made her rush to the entranceway. One of the kids’ parents? She didn’t recall finding any items left behind.
She stood on tiptoe and glanced through the peephole on the door as she unlocked the dead bolt, which seemed like overkill in Brookhollow but served to keep the children from getting out into the front yard.
Mr. Walters paced the front porch, his head down against the wind. What was he doing here? Come to yell at her some more? Serve her with a lawsuit for getting injured on her property? She opened the door with a sigh and placed a hand on her hip. “Look, I’ve already apologized—”
“I need your help,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” She hid her body behind the door, the cool air making her shiver. “With what?” she asked suspiciously.
“Typing.” He held up his broken hand.
She stared at him, trying to process his request. Finally she said, “I know I offered to help you, but the truth is...I can’t type.”
It was his turn to stare at her.
She shrugged helplessly. She’d never bothered to learn. She rarely used a computer. Had no real need for it, except to email or chat with her parents who were on one of their mission trips. All of her friends were within a stone’s throw of her house, so she didn’t need social media to reach them. Other than those weekly sessions with her parents, her computer sat untouched in the den. Surely, Logan needed someone more computer literate.
After several beats he said, “You have two operational hands. Anything you do will be better than what I’m capable of.”
“Don’t they have services that provide that kind of help for writers?” she asked, biting her lip. She’d been hoping to avoid him for the duration of his stay. She’d assumed he wouldn’t be in a rush to see her anytime soon, either.
“I wouldn’t need help if I hadn’t broken my wrist...helping you.”
“Well, I...” Leigh shifted from one leg to the other. Crap, crap, double crap. She knew she had to help—she had offered after all, but...
“I’ll pay you.” She heard his cool, distant desperation. The sound of a man hating the words coming out of his own mouth.
She hesitated, searching for a way out of this. Sure, she felt guilty, but since her divorce...she just didn’t want to spend time with a man this good-looking. Or any man, really. Didn’t want any possibility of romantic entanglements in her near future. “I don’t know when I’ll have time. I have the kids every day, during the day—well, Monday to Friday at least.”
Logan grimaced.
“Yes, I know how you feel about children,” Leigh said, rolling her eyes. Heartless man. Who didn’t love children? Most men her age were looking to settle down, have a family. Which was why she found herself single at thirty-eight.
Everyone in town knew about her inability to have a child.
The fact that everybody knew her personal failure—the one loss in her life she still grieved almost every minute of every day—was the only aspect of living in Brookhollow she didn’t like.
She didn’t blame the men for keeping their distance, though. Her own husband hadn’t been able to deal with her infertility.
“What about evenings?” he said.
Evenings. Her alone time...her books...her bubble baths...
“Please, Leigh.”
Exhaling slowly, she said, “Okay.” She would regret this. She just knew it.
“Thank you.” The words were choked out. Clearly, he didn’t use them often.
Opening the door a little wider, she said, “The kids are usually gone by five-thirty, so if you want to come over around six.”
Logan shook his head. “I was hoping we could work at the bed-and-breakfast. My stuff is scattered all over the place.” He paused when he registered her reluctance. “What?”
“You’re not from a small town, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t come over to your room at the bed-and-breakfast every night. Rumors would spread through town so fast.” Rumors kept Brookhollow alive with excitement.
Logan frowned. “Who cares what people think?”
“I do. You get to leave once your book is done.” She lowered her voice, “But I—” she pointed to herself “—live here.” Folding her arms, she said, “No way. In fact, my place isn’t really an option, either.” A handsome stranger entering her house every night...she could only imagine what her grandmother Norris would have to say if she found out.
For too long her life had been the topic of conversation in the local diner, beauty salon and just about anywhere people congregated in town.
“Well, where?”
Leigh considered the options. If he was trying to keep a low profile around town, there weren’t many. Finally she said, “How about the gazebo in the backyard of the bed-and-breakfast? It’s heated, with a picnic table and lighting, and it’s secluded enough in the back corner of the yard near all the big trees that no one will notice.”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
“It’s October. It’s absolutely freezing once the sun sets.” Logan shivered to prove his point. “Isn’t there a library or something?”
“Just about everything closes around here at six. Besides, if you want to keep your presence quiet—a public place isn’t really going to work, is it?” She waited. If he wanted her help, they did it her way or not at all. She didn’t need anything or anyone complicating her life.
Logan let out a deep breath. “Okay, fine.” He stared down at his offending wrist, weighted down as it must have been by the plaster, and turned to leave. “Tomorrow at six in the gazebo.”
Wonderful. She prayed his book was almost finished. “Can’t wait.”
“Lying really isn’t your thing,” he called over his shoulder.
CHAPTER TWO
THE NEXT MORNING, Logan hesitated before opening the email from his lawyer, Eric James. The Manhattan Family Law Group didn’t waste time or their client’s money emailing without a good reason. Lately, whenever he heard from them, it was bad news, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the stress that morning. His hand and wrist throbbed, and the painkillers they’d prescribed at the clinic didn’t seem to help.
The message was marked urgent. There was no avoiding it. Opening it, he scanned it quickly.
Kendra’s lawyer had requested a financial statement. Fantastic. He had known that sooner or later she would play that card. Supporting his daughter with his writing was possible, given his investments and the royalties from his upcoming release, but his lawyer had cautioned him that proving his income in court might be challenging. Self-employed parents without medical benefits had a tougher time convincing the judge they could offer the best support.
Another reason he had to finish this book. Frustrated, he stood. The issues in his personal life were driving him to distraction and preventing him from writing, yet if he didn’t write, things in his personal life would be even worse. Without a steady income, no judge would award him custody of Amelia.
Lying on the bed, he closed his eyes, fighting to control the desperation and hopelessness he couldn’t escape.
Hours later, he sat on the wooden bench under the shelter of the gazebo. The October setting sun cast a glare across his laptop screen as he readjusted the computer into the shade. At least it wasn’t cold inside the heated space. Checking his watch, he stood: 5:58. Where was she?
He checked his watch again. Still 5:58. Time honestly passed slower in this small town, he was convinced of it. Two days before, that had been part of its original appeal; not anymore. He sat back down on the bench.
She looked about as excited to do this as he was. He moved some of his papers aside to make room for the basket.
“I brought some snacks, in case,” she said, sliding her arms into her sweater and tugging it down over her head.
“I’m not hungry...thanks.” He opened his notebook to the pages to be transcribed. “So, here is where I left off typing.” He pointed to the middle of the page and moved the mouse to bring up the document.
Leigh busied herself with the basket, taking out a Thermos and pouring coffee into a mug. She took out a raspberry muffin and a plastic container of butter, then napkins and plastic cutlery. And then...a fruit tray?
“What are you doing?” Logan asked.
“I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” She bit into her muffin. “Mmm.... I got them from my grandmother’s bakery when I took the kids on an afternoon walk. She owns Ginger Snaps....”
He was barely listening, hearing an overbearing ticking in his brain as the sun continued to set.
“Are you sure you don’t—”
“I’m sure,” Logan snapped. He raked his left hand through his hair and rubbed his four-day-old beard.
Leigh frowned, took another quick bite of the muffin and turned her attention to his notebook. “Okay, sorry. I’m listening. So, these are your notes.” She squinted, leaning closer to the scribbled writing on the yellow legal pad.
“No, this is the first draft of the book,” Logan said, betraying his exasperation. He hated to be sharing this with anyone. The first draft was always written in haste, without care to grammar and punctuation. Sometimes he skipped over names. Not exactly a polished, finished product.
“And you wrote this before you broke your hand?”
Logan looked at the tiny chicken scratches. So they were hard to read. “That’s why we need to do this together. I’ll read it as you type.” He picked up the pad of paper and gestured for Leigh to take a seat in front of the laptop. “Ready?”
“Okay, go.” Her hands poised midair, she waited. “Go slowly, I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t type.”
Logan cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.... Reading his own unedited passages to her would be pure torture. He would find something wrong with each line. He usually did a round of editing as he transcribed.
Leigh turned to him. “You can’t read your writing, either?”
Logan tossed the pad back onto the table. “This isn’t going to work.”
Leigh held her hands up. “I’m sorry, I won’t make any more jokes.” She popped a chunk of muffin into her mouth and poised her hands over the keys. “Ready,” she said, her mouth full, a crumb falling onto the keys.
Sliding the laptop away from her, Logan picked it up and closed the lid. “Never mind,” he said as he unzipped his laptop case and shoved the computer inside.
“I don’t understand.” Leigh stared up at him. “I thought you needed help.”
He gathered his notes. “I do, but...” He paused as he stood. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re probably right, but now I just think you’re a little crazy, so...”
The look on her face indicated she did indeed think he was crazy and he laughed, surprising himself.
And her. Her mouth dropped but to her credit, she recovered quickly. “Nice to see you’re actually capable of a smile,” she said, moving over on the bench to make room for him. She picked up her coffee and took a sip.
Reluctantly, he sat. “The thing is...I never let people read my work until it’s done.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“And this book is unique in that it’s the last book in a series.” Did she know who he was? “The Van Gardener series.” He paused, waited.
She blinked. No recognition showed on her face, which he couldn’t help noticing was flawless in the glow of the setting sun.
“You don’t know it?” Could he really had stumbled upon one of the few people who hadn’t heard about the series, or his inability to finish it? One of the few who hadn’t read the extensive media coverage about his separation and his custody battle for Amelia...or the articles speculating he’d dropped off the map because of alcohol and/or drug addictions?
“No, I’m sorry if I should. I am an avid reader...I’m just not into suspense-filled mysteries.” She shuddered.
The tension of the past twenty-four hours eased a little. It was nice to meet someone with no preconceived opinions about him. “I guess it’s not really the kind of book you read to preschoolers,” he said, wiggling his fingers inside the cast.
“Itchy?” Leigh gestured toward the cast. “Every summer at least one of my kids—my day-care kids, I mean—breaks something or other. Thankfully not under my watch,” she added, reaching for a plastic fork. “Here, try this.” She handed it to him.
He took it and slid it into the cast. Instant relief. “Ah...”
“Better?”
“Much.” He tried to hand her back the fork.
She grimaced. “Keep it.”
He laughed again. Wow, twice in five minutes, more than he’d laughed in months.
“So, are we going to do this, given that I have no idea who you are or anything about the series?” Leigh waited, watching him over the rim of her coffee cup.
Logan hesitated. She had the most trustworthy face; her sincerity and genuine nature shone in her eyes. Probably why she was so great with children. Children could distinguish real honesty and affection.
Leigh checked her watch. “We’re wasting time,” she said, “and I have more muffins.”
“Okay. But I need you to sign something.” Tearing out a piece of paper, he glanced from it to his left hand. She’d have to write their agreement. He held out his silver monogrammed pen, his favorite, the only one he ever used. “I need you to write that you won’t reveal the contents of this book to anyone.”
She took the pen and wrote.
He watched in silence.
She paused and glanced toward him. “Anything else?”
That pretty much captured what he needed from her in a nutshell. “Just sign and date it, please.”
Leigh did as he asked and handed it back. “This book is a big deal, huh?”
He used to think so. The series had dominated his every waking thought for seven years, losing him his one and only serious relationship, his friendships and his sanity. Now he just wanted to finish it, dig himself out from the shadow of doubt and regain confidence in his abilities as a writer, in his own eyes as well as those of the court that would be deciding his and his daughter’s fate. “Yeah, it’s a big deal.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Leigh peered around the corner of Main Street. The town’s leasing office was above the bank and she was desperate to avoid her ex-husband’s new wife, Angela Conway, one of the only real-estate agents in town.
Living in the same town with the couple and their two young children was tough, and Angela’s office was two doors down from Leigh’s grandmother’s bakery. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the woman, and she wasn’t jealous of the life she and Neil shared with the family she hadn’t been able to give him...of course not.
Logan was right, she really wasn’t good at lying, not even to herself.
As she moved quickly past the brick office building, she waved to Kimberley Mitchell, one of the bank-loans officers, staring out her ground-floor office window with her phone cradled to her shoulder. Then, head down, eyes glued to the brick-patterned sidewalk, Leigh continued on, pretending not to hear Angela’s voice as she called from a window overhead.
>
She paused for effect when she heard the second, louder “Leigh!”, glancing in every direction but the one she knew the sound was coming from and then continued in a hurry. She heard her call again, but this time she dove around the side of Pearl’s Petals, the flower shop on the corner across from her grandmother’s bakery.
How was she going to get across the street without Angela seeing her? A quick glance revealed she was still waiting at the open window. She ducked her head back around the corner.
“Who are we hiding from?” a man whispered inches from her right ear.
Leigh jumped, her hand flying to her chest, knocking over a row of small potted plants on the outside sale table display at Pearl’s.
Logan dove for one pot before it fell off the table. He caught it easily in his left hand and set it back carefully, straightening the others and brushing the scattered leaves and dirt off the white tablecloth.
“Thanks,” Leigh said. She would’ve hated to have to buy all of those plants if she’d broken them. Children were her area of expertise—plants not so much. “And I’m not hiding,” she said, but she suspected her flaming cheeks gave her away. Gingerly, she touched the leaves on a plant she’d never be able to name if asked. “I’m shopping.” Pretending to be interested in one, she picked it up and examined it.
“Get many cuts and burns?”
“No. Why?” she asked, casting him a puzzled look.
“That’s an aloe plant,” Logan explained. “Shouldn’t you have an entourage of kids?”
“A college student works with me part-time. She’s doing a practicum for her childhood-education certificate. Gives me time to run errands.” She poked her head around the corner quickly. Angela was still there.
Falling for Leigh Page 3