Must Love Pets: A Romance Box Set

by Theresa Weir

  “You’re constantly telling me how bad you are, but a really bad man would try to convince me he was good.”

  “Maybe I’m using reverse psychology.”

  “On me?” She frowned. “Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

  His eyes roamed up and down her, but since she was wearing black slacks and a blue sweater that was five years old and machine washable—and she didn’t want to think how old her bra was—she didn’t even flinch.

  Then his gaze continued up to her eyes and stayed there. “You don’t know how…unusual you are.”

  “‘Unusual’ is a synonym for ‘odd,’ so if you’re trying to flatter me, it’s not working.”

  “‘Unusual’ could also be a synonym for ‘rare.’”

  She let her breath out in a puff. “You see, that’s why I can’t believe what you’re saying. I’m not rare. There are millions of women like me.” She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. “I’m not putting myself down. I think I’m just fine as I am, but I know what I am, and that’s someone who’s down-to-earth and does what needs to be done. Don’t make any more of me than that.”

  Before he could say anything more, she hurried away.

  She didn’t know where that…stuff he’d said about her came from.

  She almost liked it better yesterday when she was afraid he’d call the sheriff on her.

  On the other hand, if it weren’t for Zach, she would have sex with him.

  If he asked her… But every once in a while when she looked at him, his eyes darkened, and heat stole beneath her skin….

  But Zach was here, and so that was that.

  Chapter 7

  She walked away, but it was a small house, and the devil seemed to have gotten into him.

  Not the first time, and he doubted it would be the last.

  When she returned in jeans and a blue sweatshirt, he flirted subtly as she set the table. She gave him that look again. As if he were a useless but harmless insect she couldn’t swat away.

  She amused him. But more than that, he liked her. And she kept him from thinking about her. His enchantress, his dark queen. The woman whom no other could match.

  Olivia would laugh at him if she overheard his conversation with Maddie. She would tell him not to raise the serious young woman’s hope.

  Not that Maddie seemed to be affected by him, though he knew if he pushed hard enough, he could have her. He’d seen it more in the way that she’d sometimes avoided his gaze than the way she’d looked at him. And when he’d touched her face, she’d jerked away from him, and he knew she’d felt the same spark as him, their bodies calling to each other.

  Biology, pure and simple—though there’d been nothing pure about his thoughts, just simple. The same thing most men would feel with an attractive woman. Hell, sometimes even a woman who wasn’t attractive. Sometimes all a man cared about was the looks, but Logan needed something more.

  Maddie had something more.

  He was tempted…but her son complicated things. He didn’t consider himself a good man—far from it. But there were some things he didn’t do. In addition, she was living in his house, and if they had a short affair, getting her out could get awkward.

  During dinner, he held himself back—no flirting in front of the kids. Instead, he observed the two kids and Maddie as if they were specimens from another planet. He’d been a child with busy parents. They’d loved him, but they both had had jobs and interests they’d enjoyed. He didn’t recall feeling neglected. He’d just felt as though they didn’t need him. Their lives were complete without him.

  His mother remembered his childhood differently. She said he was independent, even as a small child.

  Though there had been his dog…. When he’d lost Einy, it had been the first time his heart had broken. It had taken him years to get over the loss.

  Even now, thinking about Einy, sorrow scraped out a hollow place in his chest.

  He didn’t love easily, but when he did, it lasted forever. He suspected if he had time to think a few minutes as he lay dying, he would close his eyes and picture Einy waiting for him in whatever place he was about to end up—whether it was up with the angels or down with the devil.

  The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Zach’s friend jumped up, eager to go home with her mother, and Maddie strode to the door. Logan disappeared, heading up to his room. Better to not get cozy with the neighbors.

  He remained in the bedroom with his phone off. Before coming to Angel Lake, he’d told his so-called friends he was going to be offline, and so far he hadn’t checked his normal online sites. He sat at his computer now and looked at the second scene of the screenplay he’d started this morning. It was a black comedy about a man who found a woman in his house. Sleeping in his bed like Goldilocks.

  Only in his book, the intruder wasn’t a child, and the homeowner didn’t have a wife or a baby.

  The golden-haired girl in the original tale had to have known when she’d broken into the house that she was committing a trespass. He always did think the real Goldilocks got off lightly. That a real bear would have eaten her.

  In his screenplay, the intruder would have to pay.

  As he fleshed out what he’d written earlier today, voices drifted into his room, Maddie talking in Zach’s bedroom, too far away to hear the words. The voices paused and, as he stopped breathing to hear better, he clearly heard the snitch of a door closing.

  Zach had gone to bed.

  His pulse quickened. His nostrils flared, as if sniffing the air for her scent.

  Like a hunter, he thought. Or the anti-hero in his screenplay.

  He’d told himself earlier that he wouldn’t act on his libido—but that was in the daytime, and this was night. The sun disappeared at night and, apparently, so did his few scruples.

  * * *

  The other shoe fell.

  That was the thought in Maddie’s mind when he came downstairs as she was trying to find a show on TV in which men were not saying stupid things to each other in the mistaken belief that it was funny; in which woman were not being assaulted, chased, or horribly killed; in which housewives in full makeup and five-inch heels were not bullying each other.

  She’d finally found her comfort station as he stepped into the living room, where he obviously was taking up too much air, because she felt a whoosh of oxygen leave her body. And she did not like it.

  “HGTV?” he asked. “You planning on renovating a house?”

  “Not this one, so don’t worry.” She spared him a glance then nodded at the TV. “That’s my perfect man.”

  “A contractor?”

  “A hunky contractor. He fixes things and has better taste than I do.”

  “He’s probably gay.”

  If it were anyone else saying that, she would wonder if he was jealous. Though why not him?

  The thought cheered her, even as she wished it wouldn’t. If not for Zach, she would pack up and leave this place. She was only staying here because she didn’t want to uproot him. “Are you ready for your story for the night?”

  “When your heartthrob is on TV?”

  She leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair then rested her chin in her palm. She was so tired she might fall asleep in the middle of tonight’s story. “I’ll settle for seeing him in my dreams.”

  “We don’t have the same dreams.”

  “I can imagine what yours are like.”

  He raised his right eyebrow and lowered his voice. “If you could, you would be running scared.”

  “Did anyone tell you you’re a drama queen?”

  He stilled. For a second, she wondered if she’d gone too far.

  But what the hell. If she’d gone this far, why not go further?

  “Why are you trying to scare me away?”

  “Because you’re a mother who cares for her son. And because that son is tucked in his bed, sleeping.” He leaned in closer. “And because you want me as much as I want you.”

  She sat back. But
not too far back. She didn’t want him to think he frightened her. Didn’t want him to think he was right. “I couldn’t do anything with you, either. You’d always know you’d be second choice.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she could’ve sworn she felt a freezing blast of wind whistle through the room. “And who’s first?”

  “You forgot about the hunky contractor already?”

  He blinked, as if he’d gone to a dark place and, in that instant, he stepped out of it. “If you’d like”—he lowered his voice so it curled around her—“I could show you my saw and hammer.”

  “That would impress me so much. Will you let me hold them as you undress?”

  His lips didn’t curve, but laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “What do you plan on doing with the hammer and the saw?”

  “You don’t want to ruin the surprise, do you?”

  He straightened. “You are something else. I’m getting a drink.”

  “A cold one, I hope. With lots of ice. Next time, don’t try to seduce me.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I told myself I wouldn’t.” He frowned then headed to the kitchen.

  She stood and followed him to the kitchen, telling him to look in the cupboard above the stove hood where she kept her booze. Unlike her, he was able to reach it without climbing on a stool.

  She resented that, even though she knew it didn’t make sense. “So you were thinking about having sex with me but decided not to?”

  He took out a bottle of brandy she’d never opened. She’d gotten it three years ago, a Christmas present from Caroline.

  “Too many complications,” he said.

  “That’s me. Complicated.”

  He looked sideways at her, his left eyebrow cocked. “You’re not complicated. You’re as clear as glass.”

  “I guess I am.” She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she watched him open the top easily while she always struggled to open jars and bottles, her teeth gritted as she made grunting noises. Nice to know Mr. Supercilious had a useful skill besides shoveling snow and making a great lasagna. “My major purpose is to not lose my present job and not screw up my next job.”

  “Already thinking of the next job. You sound like a… Never mind.”

  “A working, single parent.” She heard the toughness in her tone, the think-what-you-want-and-stuff-it attitude. “That’s what I sound like. I got my masters in business this last summer. The town administrator is retiring this January, and I’m taking over.”

  “You’re ambitious.”

  “Yes, and I’m proud of it. And…” She pushed away from the wall, and the bravado seeped out of her. “I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Do you have a glass? Or should I say, do I have a glass?”

  “How do you want it?” She stepped to a cupboard and opened it.

  “Neat.”

  She grabbed a glass that she used for Zach’s orange juice then handed it to Logan. “I’ve been wanting to say something to you.”

  His eyes turned wary, but he nodded, as if giving her permission to speak. But she didn’t need his permission. This was something she should have said yesterday.

  “Living here is the reason I got the job. The townspeople trusted me because they thought you did. Well, not you specifically, but whoever inherited your grandmother’s house. Because of that trust, Zach goes to a great school, and we have a great future.” She hesitated, because that wasn’t all she had to say to him. “But I took advantage of this much longer than I should have. I should have left sooner, and I didn’t.”

  He held the brandy bottle with one hand, the glass with another. Not saying anything. Forcing her to go on.

  “I’m grateful, and I’m sorry.”

  “If you’d left,” he said, “who would’ve helped Sarah and all the other people make it through their hard times?”

  She looked away. “It’s true, but I was doing it without your permission. It’s your home, and using it that way is a form of stealing.”

  “You look tired.” His voice was rough. “Go to bed.”

  She realized that as she’d talked, she’d stepped back against the cupboard, pressing against it. She pushed away from the cupboard, her head up. “I’m not that tired. We made a deal, and I’m sticking to it. You want me to tell you a story, then let’s do it.”

  He poured brandy into his glass. “I think I’ll need this. You want some?”

  She hesitated then shook her head. Around him, she seemed to lose her shut-mouth, turn-on-brain button. Anything alcoholic might make her talk more and think even less. “I’ll do better justice to the story without alcohol.”

  “But what if it’s not justice I want?”

  Good thing she didn’t have any alcohol, because she might tell him she wanted the same thing. “Then that’s your problem,” she said.

  He laughed, but there was an edge to it, and tension sliced through her body. A combination of restlessness and need that made her get up and leave the room like he was Satan and she was an angel in trouble. Only they both knew she was no angel.

  * * *

  “My story is a derivative of Sleeping Beauty.” She sipped the hibiscus tea she’d made because hibiscus was supposed to be good for her heart—and her heart was beating way too fast. Once again, he sat on the recliner, and she sat on the couch. This time, Ginger draped her purring body over Maddie’s jean-covered legs.

  “I’m going to guess the beauty is a former, pregnant college student,” Logan said.

  “Really? That’s your guess? You try going into a coma with a baby in your belly.”

  “I’ll pass on the baby in the belly. Go on.”

  “My story starts with a young girl running through the woods. Her name is…Jazlyn.”

  “By herself?”

  “Not quite. Rabbits and squirrels bounded and scampered alongside her. Bluebirds and cardinals flew above her.”

  “No butterflies?”

  “Many. Hundreds of butterflies. In all the colors of the rainbow.”

  “Were Jazlyn and her menagerie, winged and otherwise, going to grandmother’s house?”

  “No, the young girl was training for a half marathon.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you going to let me tell you the story my way?”

  He sat back, holding out his hands in apology.

  She inhaled to relax herself and sat back. “She stumbled over something. Luckily she landed on the ground covered with leaves—though her palms did sting. But she got to her feet, wiped her hands on her skintight runner’s pants, then looked behind her to see what she’d tripped over. It was a man. She recognized him from the tabloid papers she’d seen at grocery stores. Though his hair was dark brown, almost black”—she leaned forward to stare at his face until Ginger squawked a protest—“instead of golden, he was the fairest prince in the land. His eyes were the color of the plume of a bluebird. His lips begged women to kiss him. And his form…” She sighed and allowed her gaze to dwell on his lips curving upward, then she raked her gaze very slowly down his body then very slowly up again. “It was just right. The kind of figure young girls dreamed of on their Prince Charming.”

  Ginger squawked again, this time a demand for Maddie to pet her. Used to her cat’s demands, Maddie glanced down at her orange and white cat and decided she was surrounded by beauty tonight.

  Then she gazed back at Logan’s smirking face and thought, at least in appearance.

  Yet he hadn’t called the sheriff and hadn’t thrown her, Zach, and Ginger out of the house and into the snow. That counted for something.

  “One woman especially became enamored of him,” she continued. “Sonya was his female counterpoint, so beautiful that when she was very young, she’d been called by a magazine the ‘Fairest Woman in the Land.’”

  He stilled. Though he didn’t change position, she saw his body tighten, and he held his body motionless, as if breathing shallowly.

  In the same tone she used to tell bedtime stories to Zach, she said, “
She took it as her due, because her mirror told her they were right. But this magazine named a new ‘Fairest Woman in the Land’ every year. It wasn’t fair, because this second year, she was even more beautiful and glowing. More exquisite. But despite her obvious superiority, the magazine voted another woman most fair. The year after that, it was another woman. And then another year and another Fairest in the Land. Because she’d been recognized so young, years were passing, and she feared people thought she was old.

  “It infuriated Sonya, so that her dark eyes snapped and her mind seethed.” She paused, taking a breath before continuing. “Like a witch’s brew in a pot over a fire. She had to do something.”

  She gazed at Logan. His face was so smooth it could’ve been a mask, his full lower lip flattened to a line.

  “The day after the latest issue of the magazine came out, she opened the magazine and saw that she was number sixteen most fair. Sixteen! Bloody sixteen! The editors were blind, they were prejudiced. Perhaps they’d been bought off, though her manager swore to her that if she tried to bribe the magazine and got caught, the world would snicker at her.

  “She had to do something. That night, she went to a party, and she saw the prince. He was a star in the room. The next new thing. As she’d once been. And the most wonderful thing was that he didn’t know he was a star.” She took another deep breath. “She immediately saw this handsome, young prince was her equal in beauty. And you know what she did then?”

  “I think so,” he said, and his voice was harsh.

  She replied in a whisper, bending forward, as if they were telling secrets. “She enthralled him.”

  When a visible shudder went through him, she felt slightly sick. Not throwing up but wanting to.

  She forced herself to continue. “In fact, that’s what he told people, his smile twisted as if pulling a joke on them. Only this prince knew that the joke was on him, and it was poison in his soul.”

  “I thought this was about a sleeping beauty.” His voice sounded like it had been dragged through the bottom level of hell. “It sounds like your guy is awake.”