The kids were enough... Letter to Reader Title Page Acknowledgments CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN EPILOGUE Copyright

The kids were enough...

Claire had neither the time nor the inclination to complicate her life any further. So she would simply ignore the ridiculous, simmering attraction she felt every time Logan Matthews came into view. Instead—like any good neighbor—she’d do her part to establish a polite, somewhat distant relationship.

Not a problem. She’d earned the furtively whispered nickname her former employees had given her. Any Frost Queen worth her crown could easily control errant emotions.

And when she succeeded, she wanted an Oscar for Best Actress of the Year.

Dear Reader,

Each autumn for decades, as the leaves start to change and the air turns crisp, my family has headed up to Lake Superior’s North Shore. The steep cliffs, fragrant pine forests and wild beauty of Superior are unforgettable. What could be better than sitting around a campfire at midnight, with a wash of stars overhead and the sound of waves rushing against the shore? As children, my brother and I loved every moment we spent there, and now my own children love it just as much. We always hope Superior will grow fierce while we’re there, and send waves exploding against the cliffs.

I hope you’ll enjoy this story about a woman who leaves her urban life behind to take on the challenges of raising her sister’s young children in just such a place. The enigmatic man next door creates even greater challenges for her—especially when painful secrets from the past are revealed.

If you’d like to write, I would love to hear from you. My address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, IA, 52406-2550. Thanks so much!

And Mom and Dad—thank you for all the wonderful trips north, and for the beautiful memories. No childhood could have been better!

Roxanne Rustand

Her Sister’s Children
Roxanne Rustand

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to Leigh Michaels, Kylie Brant, Diane Palmer, Kathie DeNosky, Chelle Cohen, Lyn Cote, Monica Caltabiano, Shelley Cooper, Suzanne Thomas and Julia Mozingo. And special thanks to Rob Cohen. You’ve all helped my dreams come true!

CHAPTER ONE

IF SHE’D KNOWN about the snake, Claire would have thought twice about leaving New York.

Jason’s two-foot albino corn snake slithered sedately across the kitchen floor and coiled itself into a neat, flesh-colored pile at the base of the refrigerator. From unwelcome experience, Claire knew Igor would bask in the warmth of the motor indefinitely—to avoid northern Minnesota’s early-September chill, no doubt.

The children’s dog or cat napping there would have an altogether different—a more domestic—effect on the room. But Gilbert, the elderly poodle, always took off for the farthest reaches of the old Victorian house whenever Igor managed to escape his guaranteed-escape-proof reptile cage. And Sullivan, emitting Siamese yowls to rival any civil defense siren, had found her usual refuge on top of the cupboards.

Claire had developed an aversion to snakes as a child, but she’d never argued over Jason’s ownership of Igor. She’d tried to make every concession possible in hopes that Jason would feel welcome and happy. Nothing had worked.

A car door slammed. Heavy footsteps marched up the concrete walk. With a sigh, Claire remembered her days in New York as assistant personnel director of her father’s electronics firm. After four weeks of strangers knocking at her door at all hours, mountain-high piles of laundry and a phone jangling from morning till night, her familiar world of deferential employees and maid service was rapidly gaining appeal. Her parents’ wealth had never bought happiness, and her rise in the company had been her father’s dream, not hers, but there had been some definite advantages to having money.

She’d made her decision, Claire reminded herself with a rueful smile. She’d welcomed the challenge of taking in her late sister’s three children, although she had serious doubts about ever adjusting to their pets. So now she could dwell on her problems or view her new career as an exciting challenge. Here at Pine Cliff Resort she could finally succeed on her own merits, away from her family’s influence. And after losing their parents in a car accident six months before, the kids needed her, not a nanny. Nothing mattered more than giving them the best possible life. She loved them too much to settle for less.

A sharp knock on the door echoed through the room. Smiling at an older woman staring at her through the screen, Claire crossed the gleaming vinyl floor. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Mrs. Rogers,” the woman announced in a two-pack-a-day baritone. A cloying odor of heavy perfume and stale cigarette smoke blew in as Claire opened the door. “I have reservations.”

The decibel level of Sullivan’s yowls rose.

Though built like a woman who could clear timber and slay bears before breakfast, Mrs. Rogers drew back in alarm. She leaned to one side to peer suspiciously past Claire. “Where’s the manager?”

Suppressing a chuckle, Claire ushered the older woman into the small entryway and turned to the rolltop desk by the door. She ran a finger down the names in the reservation book. “I’m the new manager. Is cabin three okay?”

The woman shook her head and tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor. “When I called in June, I was promised the end cabin, as always. Check your book again.”

Claire dutifully rechecked the reservation book. “That one will be open tomorrow, but three does have a lovely view.”

A heavy, disapproving silence hung in the air. “We stayed in three once. My Henry, rest his soul, said the bed didn’t have enough support—” With a sharp intake of breath, Mrs. Rogers stepped backward, her eyes widening.

Apparently, she’d seen Igor. “Anything else?” Claire asked sweetly. A companion for your cabin, perhaps?

Handing the speechless woman a pen, Claire snagged a set of keys from the strip of Peg-Board on the wall and silently thanked Igor for cutting short a potential tirade. Until a month ago, Claire had fired irritating people. Now she had to smile at them.

It wasn’t easy.

After Mrs. Rogers backed out, key in hand, Claire lifted a bag of blueberry potpourri from a shelf above the desk, but decided that the delicate fragrance wouldn’t have a chance against the raw scent of cologne still clouding the air. Frowning, she opened the three windows behind the claw-foot oak table, then watched the lacy white curtains dance high on the incoming breeze. The children deserved a clean, cheerful home, not one smelling like a nightclub at midnight.

She glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the stove. Two-thirty. Just enough time to finish cleaning the last cabin before meeting the school bus at the resort entrance.

For a moment, an image of the children’s smiling faces and eager chatter warmed her heart. Maybe this time one of the kids would give her a hug. But Claire knew there was a greater chance for an August blizzard. The twins’ subdued, sad-eyed compliance and their brother’s veiled hostility hadn’t changed since she’d picked them up in Minneapolis last month and brought them north. Brooke’s will had given Claire the resort and custody of the children, but no legal document could guarantee an easy adjustment.

A second sharp knock at the door startled Claire. Another pleasant guest, no doubt.

She gave the snake a stern glance. “Stay!”

Motionless, with approximately the same dimensions and personality as a small pile of men’s underwear, Igor stared back at her. He looked unimpressed.

Summoning her best innkeeper’s smile, Claire lifted her chin and turned toward the door. A tall, broad-shouldered man in faded jeans and an ancient Nike T-shirt stood outside. His buff-colored jacket had the scent of fine leather. Backlit by bright af ternoon sun, his features were cast in shadow, but Claire had an eerie feeling she had met him before. A shiver raced down her spine.

“Yes?” She moved a half step closer and looked up into the stranger’s face.

Only he was no stranger.

Her heart stopped. Her breath caught raggedly in her throat. Logan. The past fourteen years had hardened the youthful beauty of his features, adding breadth and power to his elegant body. His hair had darkened to deep, sun-streaked caramel, but there was no mistaking those seductive deep blue eyes. Her pulse raced. Her knees wobbled. He was everything she’d remembered, only much, much more.

But this man was as safe as a plateful of nightshade or a midnight stroll in Central Park. He’d been the object of her first adolescent crush, then become the creature of her youthful nightmares.

And he had nearly destroyed her sister’s life.

Suddenly aware she was staring, Claire lowered her eyelashes. She felt momentarily unable to speak. What did one say to the devil himself? And why on earth was he here?

The silence lengthened, grew awkward. After taking a steadying breath, she lifted her gaze and caught his expression of supreme frustration. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” The boyish charm and humor of years past were gone, leaving a man who could glare the snarl off a rottweiler. “All I need is information. Can I come in for a minute?”

Claire considered the options of firmly dismissing him, or slamming the door in his face. The latter would be infinitely more satisfying, but—

Taking advantage of her brief hesitation, he reached out, opened the screen door and strode into the kitchen.

Claire pulled herself together—fast—and snatched the receiver from the phone on the desk. Her finger punched the first number of 911 before she had the receiver halfway to her ear.

Logan reached out, but she slid away and punched the second number. “Back off,” she snapped.

He looked at her in surprise and held out his hands, palms up. “I was going to shake hands and introduce myself. Are you always this edgy, lady?” He managed a damn good expression of innocence.

“Of course not. People don’t barge into my house every day.”

“Believe me, I’m no threat.” His voice was calm and low, with the quiet reassurance one might use with a frightened child.

Claire’s finger hovered over the last number. “Make one more move and I finish this call. The sheriff will respond whether I say a word or not.”

“No need.” He stepped away and slowly turned. The tension in his body seemed to dissipate as he studied the antiques and small paintings adorning the lace-curtained room. “Someone has been busy,” he said with a trace of bitterness. “Brooke was never one for the warm-and-welcoming look. I’m Logan Matthews, her first husband. All I need is the address and phone number of her executor.”

Claire stared at him. He doesn’t recognize me. Of course, fourteen years ago she’d been a child in pigtails and cutoffs, and the effects of her passion for French fries and hot fudge had been all too obvious. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve had remarkably bad luck trying to contact members of her family in New York and Minneapolis.” Logan ran a gentle hand over the surface of the old oak cupboards, as if reliving a memory. “My lawyer’s calls haven’t been returned and my letters came back unopened. Not twenty minutes ago, her mother’s housekeeper hung up on me for the third time.”

“Must have been your gracious manner,” Claire muttered under her breath, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Brooke’s children were the product of her second marriage. Once Claire got Matthews out of her kitchen, she would never have to see him again. “Surely you can’t think you were mentioned in the will.”

He gave her a look of complete disgust. “Of course not. But Brooke died owning something that belongs in my family.” He looked away and hesitated, as if considering how much to say. “She won this half of Pine Cliff in our divorce settlement. She’d always hated the place, yet she refused to sell her half back to me at any price.”

Claire lowered the phone to her side, feeling continued reassurance in its cool surface under her fingertips. “There must be other properties you could buy that are in much better condition.”

He moved across the room to the trio of windows overlooking Lake Superior. Bracing one arm high on a window frame, he silently stared out at the waves. Claire studied him in the bright sunlight. He had the face of an angel, but she knew his heart and soul belonged a lot farther south.

“I inherited this place from my grandmother years ago,” he said at last. “I just want a chance to buy it back.”

The faint note of underlying pain could not have come from him. Not unless he’d decided to gain her sympathy. She remembered Brooke’s tearful stories of how deceptive he’d been, how callous. But Claire was not the breezy, naive girl her sister had been. If he thought he could manipulate Claire Worth, he was dead wrong. She marshaled her coldest, most businesslike tone. “I’m her executor. Pine Cliff is not for sale.”

Logan turned and studied her for a moment, his eyes reflecting dawning recognition. “Claire?”

“Right.”

“Blond, but I don’t see any other resemblance to Brooke.” A hint of a smile tilted one corner of his mouth, although his eyes remained grim. “You were what, thirteen? Fourteen or so when she and I divorced? I can imagine what they told you.”

“Enough,” Claire snapped.

“I can see there’s probably no point in discussion,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with regret. “Brooke’s version of the past must have been... convincing.”

“It certainly worked for me.”

“Are you planning to sell later on?”

“I’m planning to stay,” she retorted. He stood there like a man in a TV commercial—muscled. sexy and altogether too appealing. Her sister had fallen for him almost overnight.

He lifted one eyebrow. “A little far from your social circle, aren’t you?”

“That’s not your concern.” Some of his old charisma surfaced in a lazy half smile and a teasing glint in his eyes, but she was not taken in. The flutter of her pulse came from tension, not a response to the dark and smoky tone of his voice.

He glanced at the open reservation book on the desk, then gave her an incredulous look. “You’re managing this place?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t last”

Exactly the sentiments of her ex-fiancé in New York, who had declared her incapable of raising three children and foolish for giving up her career. Of course, he’d been trying to protect his plan to become her father’s protégé and heir. Claire felt the heat of anger rising in her throat. “I’d like you to leave.”

Logan shook his head. “I should have recognized the Worth family wit and warmth right away.” He walked to the door, hesitated, then dropped a business card on the desk. “Blood does tell.”

“Out!”

His mouth curved into a faint smile, but no flash of humor showed in his eyes. “You’ll be in serious country-club withdrawal by Thanksgiving. You’ll be dying to sell. Don’t bother with a real estate agent, just call me. You’ll save time and won’t get a better price.”

As soon as he stepped outside, Claire shut the heavy oak door and rammed the dead bolt home, then moved to a window by the desk. After Logan’s gleaming black Explorer disappeared up the lane, she sank into the creaky swivel chair at the desk.

The faint scent of sandalwood and leather lingered in the air, sending her thoughts flying back to the time when she had nurtured the world’s most intense, embarrassing crush on this man.

As a teenager caught up in the throes of her first impossible romance, Claire had thought her older sister’s boyfriend represented masculine perfection—tall, witty and handsome enough to compete with any teen idol. She’d lived for glimpses of his slow, easy smiles, loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and deep dimples grooved his cheeks. He’d always ruffled her hair and teased her, treating her like a kid sister.

Her lack of perception at the time still astounded her. Granted, she’d been an inexperienced young girl, but how had she missed seeing what the man was really like? In all her life, no one had ever fooled her so completely.

Shoving a hand through her short-cropped hair, she started to sweep Logan’s business card off the desk and into the wastebasket, but his address caught her eye. She stared in disbelief. Matthews Architectural Associates, St. Paul, Minnesota. A local phone number and address had been written at the bottom. The address nearly matched that of Pine Cliff. Claire’s heart missed a beat.

It was discomforting to know that one of her neighbors had a long-term grudge against her family, and a proven propensity for deceit.

CHAPTER TWO

“I DON’T like fish.”

“Meat loaf. With baked potatoes?”

“No.”

“Hamburgers?” Claire stared at the thirteen-year-old tyrant standing in front of her, trying to ignore the snake looped casually around his arm. From the defiant gleam in Jason’s eye, she knew exactly why he held Igor—and why the creature managed to “escape” so often. Exasperated, she tried again. “Hot dogs?”

Jason shot her a look of utter disdain. “Our nanny never gave us hot dogs. Mother’s orders.”

Claire turned to the five-year-old twins, Annie and Lissa, who sat perched on matching stools at the breakfast counter like two wide-eyed owlets, silent and unblinking. “How about you girls?”

They stared at her, fidgeted, then simultaneously shot pleading looks toward their brother, who scowled back.

“Would you like to go out for pizza?” Claire cringed at her own desperate, pleading tone. The board members of Worth Electronics would die laughing if they could hear her now.

“Yes!” The twins spoke as one, their eyes lighting up with delight. Neither risked even a glance at Jason, whose sullen expression spoke volumes about their defection.

“Good.” Claire pinned Jason with a determined look. “I’m starved, aren’t you?”

Reluctantly, Jason returned Igor to his cage, then followed Claire and the girls outside. She could hear his feet dragging through the crunchy gravel and his occasional, long-suffering sighs. He took the rear seat of the Windstar as always, where he slumped in stubborn silence.

Buckling her seat belt, Claire looked over her shoulder. “Want to go exploring when we get back? We might see some deer.”

Jason slid farther down in the seat and scowled. “I have homework,” he said flatly.

“The first week of school?”

“Lots of it. I’ll need to come straight—” he faltered over the word as if it tasted of vinegar “—home.”

“What do you think, Annie and Lissa?”

The little girls exchanged worried frowns. “Are there any bears?” Annie asked, wrapping a blond curl ever tighter around her finger. “Jason says there’s bears.”

“I haven’t seen one,” Claire said, her voice firm. “And if we do, I’ll chase that old bear away. I hereby declare Pine Cliff off-limits to anything that has sharp teeth and growls.”

“There are bears,” Jason muttered darkly. “Especially at night. I’ve heard them trying to get into the trash cans. And there are wolves, and foxes, and coyotes.”

“All at Pine Cliff? The place is busier than I thought. They’ll have to start making reservations.” The twins rewarded her with tentative smiles. Jason didn’t.

Driving down the long lane toward the highway, Claire resolved to make it through the fourth chapter of Parenting: The Challenge of a Lifetime before falling asleep tonight. There had to be some clue, some nugget of information in that book that would help her.

“It must be hard, moving away from all of your old friends,” Claire ventured as she pulled to a stop at the junction of the resort entrance and the highway. “Want to invite someone up from Minneapolis, Jason?”

“Who’d wanna come up here?”

“Your best friends?”

“Yeah, right.”

Lissa leaned forward in the middle seat. “Mother doesn‘t—didn’t allow that. ’Cause we’re too noisy.”

Claire’s hands stilled on the steering wheel. “Didn’t allow what, sweetie?”

“Friends over. ’Cept when just the nanny was there.”

The child sounded dead serious, but envisioning happy-go-lucky Brooke as a stern mother took more imagination than Claire could muster. She hid her surprise behind a teasing tone. “You guys aren’t noisy in the least. How about it, Jason, would you like to invite someone up for a weekend?”

At the boy’s stubborn look of indifference, Claire sighed, waited for a semi to pass, then pulled out onto the road. How did one reach a troubled, grieving teenager? She’d made some progress with the twins, but Jason rejected every effort she made. Time heals, she reminded herself. I won’t give up on him.

As she drove, she found herself watching the mailboxes along the highway. With luck, Logan’s would be much farther away than the scrawled address on his business card indicated. She breathed a sigh of relief as the numbers on the boxes rapidly descended past his. Neither his name nor house number appeared. Perhaps she’d misread his address.

It didn’t matter. The North Woods was a vast, rugged area. She and Logan might never run into each other.

One thing was for sure. If she noticed him first, they would never meet again.

Two HOURS LATER, Claire parked the minivan back at Pine Cliff. The children, stuffed on pepperoni pizza with double cheese, had been quiet all the way home.

“Who’s ready for a good hike?” she asked, automatically hitting the door locks after everyone clambered out of the vehicle.

She looked down at the key in her hand, then scanned the vast forest rimming the resort on three sides. The endless expanse of lake to the east. The quiet felt almost overwhelming. This wasn’t exactly New York, where thieves stripped cars in minutes, and an unlocked vehicle might as well bear an engraved invitation on its hood. Where the continual sound of traffic and anonymous crowds blended into the white noise of familiarity. Loneliness and a sense of unease streaked through her as she pocketed her car keys.

Then she focused on the single row of fifteen cozy cabins hugging the shore, each flanked by a guest’s car. Gulls cried overhead and waves splashed. It wasn’t quiet, not really. She glanced at the children. And she certainly wasn’t alone.

“Why did we have to come up here?” Jason muttered, kicking a chunk of gravel across the lane. His chin lifted in sudden challenge. “Why didn’t we go to New York?”

Because I’m going to save you three from the lonely childhood I had. You’re going to have a real family.

Claire’s own mother and father had abdicated their parental duties to domestic employees long before their divorce when she was twelve. Brooke, by then a college freshman, married young and never again came home. Claire had landed in an exclusive boarding school she’d hated from the first day.

And now, back in New York, her obstinate father was determined to see his only grandson follow that Worth family boarding school tradition, though Claire had already made her opposition clear. The battles ahead defied description, but a buffer of a thousand miles would at least limit most of those battles to phone and fax.

She searched for an excuse. “You couldn’t have kept your pets in New York, honey. No animals were allowed in my building.”

Jason’s chin went a notch higher. “Coulda snuck ’em in.”

“You don’t know the doorman.” Claire rolled her eyes. “He must have been a secret agent in a past life.”

“Minneapolis, then.”

Darting apprehensive glances at Jason, the twins edged closer to her. Claire could guess what they were thinking. Until Brooke and Randall’s will was located and their tangled estate settled, the children had stayed at their maternal grandmother’s gated property in Wayzata. They were probably remembering endless hours of proper behavior and dutiful silence in that cold and lonely place.

“We’ll have more fun living up here, don’t you think?” Claire asked. Conflicting emotions raced across Jason’s face. Fear? Surely not. She gave all three children a dazzling smile. “So, shall we go for that hike?”

With a snort of disgust, Jason turned on his heel and stalked to the house. After a moment of indecision, the girls each took one of Claire’s hands and they started down the lane.

There was a sharp nip in the September air, hinting at the change of season that was coming. Claire breathed deeply to inhale the crisp, sweet fragrance of pine. To the left, early-evening sunlight sparkled across the gentle waves of Lake Superior.

She laughed aloud with sheer delight. The twins looked up in surprise.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” She smiled down at them. “I’ve never seen a northern Minnesota fall. The Herald says we’ll be seeing the best autumn colors in years.”

Both girls nodded silently and walked beside her, kicking up puffs of dust with their matching pink Nikes. When they passed the last cabin, Claire dropped to one knee and gave them both a hug. They instinctively stiffened at her touch, but she held them close for a moment before rising to her feet.

“Well, girls, where should we go next—down the shoreline? Or toward the highway?” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “We might see some deer in the woods.”

Annie dug her toe into the gravel. “I never saw a deer, ’cept in a zoo.”

“Then let’s look, okay?” Claire reached down to take little hands once more.

They turned up the mile-long lane toward the highway. Ancient pines towered high above them at either side, leaving scant space for grasses and wildflowers at the edge of the road. Beneath the dense, dark skirts of the trees stretched an endless carpet of bronze and amber pine needles. The muted sunlight and heavy incense of evergreen reminded Claire of her favorite European cathedral, its vaulted expanses hushed into reverent silence.

“This is lovely. Do you like it here?” Claire asked.

The little girls tightened their hands on her own, but they didn’t reply. In their entire month with her, they’d never said a word about their parents’ deaths, or about the many changes in their lives since that awful night. She’d yet to see them display the grief they must be feeling.

Should she bring up painful topics? Wait until they did? She wanted nothing more than to help them in any way she could.

They spied a meadow, just beyond a line of pines standing like sentinels along the road, and moved quietly to its edge.

“This looks like a perfect place for fairies, doesn’t it?” Claire whispered.

Annie nodded, her eyes wide and solemn. “I bet they dance here at night.”

They stood in silence for a while. The earthy scents of cold, damp moss and fallen leaves reminded Claire of her college years away from home—of hayrides and fire-roasted hot dogs and homecoming games of the past. She wondered if the somber girls were even aware of their surroundings.

“You can talk to me about anything,” Claire said softly, giving their hands a gentle squeeze. “Are you feeling sad? Will it help to tell me?”

Lissa dropped her head lower, but Annie looked up with eyes filled with such haunting pain that Claire drew a sharp breath.

“T-telling makes you cry. If we m-make you—”

Lissa jerked her hand away and spun around to face Annie. “No! Don’t say!”

Dear God. What did I do wrong? Claire cursed her own inadequacy. She dropped to her knees, drawing the little girls into a snug embrace. “Lissa. Annie. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Lissa glared at Annie, clearly issuing a silent warning. Annie stared at the silver ballerina appliqué on her sweatshirt, then sniffled and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. “If we talk about M-Mommy, you cry. If we make you s-sad you might—you might—” Small hiccuppy sobs shook her fragile shoulders.

Claire pulled the girls even closer. Her heart shattered. “I love you so much,” she murmured, her damnable, betraying tears welling hot and heavy against her eyelashes.

“See, see what you did?” Lissa’s voice rose to a shriek. She Hung a small fist at Annie, but Claire gently caught the blow in midnight.

Annie, like a stoic saint awaiting execution, had remained deathly still within the curve of Claire’s arm, ready to accept her sister’s punishment. Her voice, whispery soft, came indistinctly at first, then a bit louder. Complete resignation framed every word.

“You might send us back to Grandmother and Great-grandmother if we make you sad.”

Curse those women. Claire’s coldly aristocratic grandmother and mother were cut from the same cloth. No wonder her father had escaped to New York years ago. She could imagine them telling the girls, “Crying does not help. Sit up and eat your dinner” without so much as a pat on the shoulder. Heaven only knew how many times her own childhood emotions had been ignored. It had been a bad mistake to let the children spend any time—let alone five months—in that house.

The twins searched Claire’s face, as if sure their only refuge would now collapse in ruins.

Claire stroked their corn-silk hair and gave each a gentle kiss on the cheek. “If I cry, it’s because I’m sad for you. I’m sad for me, too. Your mother was my sister. It’s okay to cry.”

Annie snuggled closer, her tear-damp face pressed against Claire’s neck. Lissa wavered, her big blue eyes probing Claire’s expression.

“You’ll always have a home with me,” Claire added softly. “Cross my heart.” She considered for a moment, then added with a smile, “At least until you’re grown-up and ready to fly. Deal?”

“D-deal,” they said in unison.

Annie and Lissa snuggled deeper into her embrace, like two starving waifs finding unexpected salvation. A primal rush of tenderness surged through Claire. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep these children safe.

From just ahead came the unexpected clank of metal against metal. The rusty screech of a gate hinge. Claire lunged to her feet and scanned the surrounding forest, which suddenly seemed dark. Menacing. There were several other properties along the lane leading to the resort, but none of them included homes, and she had yet to encounter any of the owners. A feeling of vulnerability washed through her. She’d been foolish, walking so far with the girls this evening.

“Let’s turn around,” she murmured. “It’s getting late.”

They had walked just a few feet when Claire heard another unexpected noise—the soft rumble of an engine. She whirled around. A dozen yards away, a black Explorer slipped out of the trees and onto the road, angled toward the highway.

She stopped dead and stared. Logan Matthews. The vehicle also came to a stop, backed up a few feet, changed direction. Headed their way. Her pulse speeding up, Claire reached for Annie’s and Lissa’s hands.

The truck pulled up a few yards away. Its smoked-glass passenger-side window slid down a few inches. “I don’t mean to be unpleasant, but I don’t allow resort guests on my land,” he said.

Claire couldn’t see Logan clearly in the shadowed depths of the vehicle. Its darkened windows and the deepening twilight apparently prevented a clear view of her. The window began to glide upward.

Motioning the girls to stay behind, she crossed the road in two long strides, then braced one hand against the door and rapped sharply on the glass. Her career had taught her how to deal with men—and cowering before this one would be a major mistake. Bullies never expected strength.

“We’re not guests. And I believe you’re on my land, Matthews.”

“Claire?” His door opened, then he slowly unfolded himself from the front seat. Facing her from the other side of the truck he stared at her for a long moment. “I didn’t recognize you in this light—” he looked down at the girls, who had followed her across the road like ducklings “—and with children.”

His eyes were shadowed with old anger and dark secrets, but pure male interest glimmered there as well. Another man, another time...and her shivery inner response might have pushed her into the next step of a tentative relationship. But this was Logan Matthews.

“Three kids, actually,” she pointed out, sure his interest would wither. “The teenager is at home.”

He gave her a knowing look, as if he understood exactly why she’d elaborated, then grinned at Annie and Lissa. They hid behind her.

He gestured toward the path she and the girls had followed from the meadow. “The surveyor’s stake is hidden in those weeds.”

Claire stiffened. “I—I’m sorry. My original tour of the property was brief and in the rain. I thought the line was another twenty-five yards down.” A sudden thought chilled her. “Do you live out here?”

“Yes. I designed my house years ago, but didn’t get around to building it until this summer. By next spring, I’ll run my business from up here.”

As an architect he could do his work almost anywhere, she supposed. Which meant he would be practically underfoot every day of the year—a constant reminder of Brooke and her family’s deep bitterness over the past. Her heart sinking, she scrambled for an appropriate response. “You and your wife must have a lovely home.”

“No wife,” he said. “I try not to repeat past mistakes.”

She couldn’t let him get away with that dig at her sister. “Women throughout the world can sigh with relief.”

Logan threw back his head and laughed, his teeth gleaming white in the faint light. “Touché, Guin-evere.”

The sound of his laughter and the ring of his old nickname for her sent memories cascading through her thoughts. She studied him once more. He’d aged well—his eyes crinkled with laugh lines when he smiled, while a surprising hint of early gray at his temples added a touch of dignity.

“Look,” he continued. “It’s just the tourists I discourage. I don’t mind if you three wander on my land while you’re still up here.”

“Still up here?” Claire’s mellow thoughts turned to dry ice. “I certainly was naive years ago. I always thought you were a more perceptive man.”

A corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I am.”

“Then you realize the kids and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be happy at Pine Cliff. It’s a perfect place to raise a family.”

“You’ll get bored. Or scared, surrounded by these deep dark woods. Trust me.”

Claire didn’t try to hide her look of astonishment. “Interesting choice of words there, Matthews. Trust. Brooke certainly discovered the value of trust, didn’t she?”

“I’d say that lesson was mine. And it isn’t one I care to remember.” He pensively stared toward the meadow, a muscle working along his jaw. His gaze shifted back to Claire. “I do have a few good memories, though—of a sweet young girl in pigtails who told me her secrets, who said I was her Prince Charming. She said she would mar—”

“I was barely a teenager.” Claire felt warmth rise in her cheeks. “A young girl’s imagination takes wild flights.”

“I can imagine.” He winked at the twins, then looked up at Claire, his eyes grave. “I’ll give you a deal. Twenty-five percent above the market value for your half of Pine Cliff. You and your children can even stay in that house until spring, if you like.”

She hid her surprise. “All that for a struggling resort?”

“Not everyone has life handed to them on a silver platter,” he said softly. “This place means something to me. But I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You think—” He was the one who didn’t understand. Claire cleared her throat and started over. “If you only knew.”

His smile turned cold and cynical. “Choke on that silver spoon, did you?”

Startled, she stared up at him, caught between irritation and hysterical laughter at his assumptions. “We were discussing the property. It won’t happen, but I’m curious. If you did have all of Pine Cliff, what then?”

“The buildings will be bulldozed.”

He spoke as if it were going to happen. Claire looked at him in disgust. “High-priced condos?”

“Just wildlife and trees.”

“Lovely idea, Matthews. But I’m not selling. This place provides my income. I left New York under rather hostile circumstances and I’m not going back.”

“You could apologize—to your father, right?”

He had changed. One easy smile and he could still turn her knees to aspic, but his youthful determination and charm had darkened to an unfortunate blend of stubborn and aggravating. “That’s not even a remote possibility.”

He glared at her. She met his dark, cold gaze without flinching, and suddenly she saw beyond his anger. She saw old pain, coupled with remnants of grief. The emotions were gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined them.

The world seemed to shift under her feet as she began to see the past in a different light. What really happened between Brooke and Logan all those years ago—could he have been as cruel as her sister had claimed?

Endless boxes of Brooke’s possessions filled the attic of the Pine Cliff house. Perhaps they held clues to a truth far different than the version of the past she’d always heard. As soon as she could find the time, Claire would start looking for answers.

Annie tugged at a belt loop on Claire’s jeans. “Gotta go,” she mouthed urgently. “Now.”

“Come on, girls.” Claire gave them each a reassuring smile and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back,” Logan said, his voice soft and low.

From the corner of her eye, she watched his truck vanish down the road, leaving a faint haze of dust in the air. Leaving an odd sense of emptiness in her heart.

The woods fell silent. Shadowy pines now loomed above like dark and dangerous creatures of the night.

“Let’s get home and see if your brother has done his homework.” Claire gave each child’s hand a squeeze, keeping her stride calm and steady.

All the way back, she wondered if she’d really seen that hint of pain in Logan Matthews’s eyes.

JASON SCRAMBLED UP onto the rough shelf of granite jutting out into Lake Superior, and turned his face into the cold breeze coming across the water. Aunt Claire and the girls would soon be back from their walk. The smell of buttery popcorn might fill the kitchen. Gilbert would be at the door, begging for a walk. But Jason couldn’t go back. Not yet.

Waves spanked the rock face beneath his feet, then were sucked back out into the lake with a squelching sound, like wet sneakers. Above, a dozen or more seagulls drew lazy circles in the evening sky.

They were waiting for handouts—a piece of bread, a chunk of hot dog—but he hadn’t had time to raid the kitchen. He’d been in too much of a hurry. Escaping the house had been more important than bringing something for his birds. He’d simply had to get away; he couldn’t stand the feeling of being watched. The whole house seemed like a creature with a thousand eyes, watching. Waiting.

With his whole heart, he wanted to believe that they hadn’t followed him up here and that he was safe. But it wasn’t true.

He’d seen a familiar gray car cruising slowly through town, and the same car had pulled into the resort yesterday. It had stayed at the far end of the lane for a few minutes, then slowly drove away. Was that them?

He’d heard strangers’ voices arguing that awful night last spring, but hadn’t seen the men’s faces. Ever since, he’d held his breath whenever he saw strangers.

The sight of that car at Pine Cliff had made his heart stop.

If you go to the police, these guys will come after you and your sisters. His father’s last words played through Jason’s thoughts once again, an endless litany of warning that still stole hours of sleep and kept Jason’s nerves on edge.

If he’d been brave, he could have stopped what happened that night long ago. If he’d been stronger, he and the girls wouldn’t have lost everything that mattered.

He stared out across the water to where the sky and lake melted together in shades of gray. He wished he could ride the breeze like one of the seagulls overhead. He’d fly away from this place, away from the pain and sadness that sat on his chest like a two-hundred-pound bully.

The weight made every breath an effort, made his feet feel like lead. Worst of all, he knew the feeling would never, ever go away. Not until it was too late for all of them.

Sinking to his knees, he welcomed the sharp edges of rock that bit into his skin. At least this pain was something real—something he could control.

Alone, far from Pine Cliff, he lowered his head and on a soul-deep, shuddering sigh, his hot tears began to fall.

CHAPTER THREE

LOGAN STOOD at the glass wall of his new house and stared out at the whitecaps crowning Superior’s gunmetal-gray waves. The windows stretched twenty feet skyward, providing a spectacular view of the most scenic length of shoreline between Duluth and the Canadian border.

But it wasn’t enough. The Worths’ greed and anger had divided Pine Cliff years ago. He wanted it all—the only real home he’d ever had, the land his grandmother and great-grandparents had cherished.

He wanted to get on with his life.

It should have been easy, stopping by Pine Cliff today for the executor’s address. He’d figured the Worth family wouldn’t care about Brooke’s property in northern Minnesota. A handful of quaint cabins and an old Victorian house were hardly their style.

Finding Brooke’s little sister there had been a complete surprise. She was grown-up now, well educated in her family’s unique brand of arrogance and temper. Except she didn’t quite fit the Worth mold. He’d seen the way she kept a loving hand on each of her daughters. Beneath the superior tone and air of control, she apparently had a gentle heart—a distinct aberration in the Worth family gene pool.

Meeting her again had set off warning bells. Maybe it was the contradiction of her tousled, touch-me mass of blond hair and her steel-cold stay-away voice.

Logan sank into the beige leather couch facing the fireplace and reached for the Wickham Towers file. He’d brought the new project—a proposed shopping center and office complex—to work on while up north. Back in Saint Paul, his partner, Harold, was managing the office and the regular accounts. For a few moments he stared at the hypnotic dance of flames curling through the stack of pine logs, then began to flip through the file.

But he was unable to focus on work. An image of Claire answering her door jumped into his mind. At the time his heart had hit his ribs with a thump, his skin had warmed and tingled. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his reaction. Feelings like that had no place in a business transaction. Especially not with a Worth.

Claire might be a loving mother, but a woman related to Brooke couldn’t have much more depth than a mud puddle in August. Hell, after the first good nor’easter sent waves crashing into the cabins, she and her kids would be heading south. She’d be gone by mid-November, easy.

Satisfaction radiated through him like a swallow of hot coffee. So why did he feel this odd twinge of regret?

With a soft curse he launched himself to his feet and surveyed his surroundings, resolutely studying the features of his new house. Redirecting his thoughts.

The design was free and open, the exposed pine beams of the ceiling above as rugged and solid as the surrounding forest. But the place felt even less like a home than his austere office back in Saint Paul. Damp smells of plaster and paint, and the sharp chemical scent of new bedroom carpeting upstairs filled the air. The stark white walls were sterile and cold.

He needed a decorator to hang bright prints on the walls, to do whatever it took to make the place seem like home.

Home. Closing his eyes, he remembered the beloved Victorian at Pine Cliff and the glowing warmth of fine old oak and well-worn comfort. Its gables and turrets and fanciful cornice draperies had fascinated him as a child. Very different from this new place with its space and light and freedom from memories, both good and bad. Here he’d find the solitude he needed.

But right now, he needed fresh air.

After sliding open a patio door, Logan stepped out into the brisk evening air, sauntered across the deck, then descended a circular sweep of redwood stairs leading to the granite shelf below. It felt so good, so right, to be back at the lake, at the place he’d longed for these past fourteen years.

A brisk wind, raw with the threat of rain, ruffled through his hair, beckoning him to the edge of the cliff. The past filtered back in scents and in sepia-toned images. The sweet fragrance of long-past campfires and melting marshmallows, fragile wildflowers and warm chocolate-chip cookies. His grandmother’s vein-knotted hands, knobby with arthritis. Gentle, loving.

His mother and the raw stench of cheap booze.

The past no longer mattered. He’d grown up, worked hard, established a successful business. But sometimes, in the dark of night, he remembered that frightening evening long ago when his mother had thrown his clothes in a grocery sack, grabbed his hand, and hauled him out to a car where yet another one of her “boyfriends” waited. “Your grandma will take care of you,” she’d said, reeling closer for a sloppy kiss. “I’ll come after you in a while.”

He’d been left like yesterday’s trash on the steps of Pine Cliff that night, and his grandmother had raised him from that point on.

He never saw his mother again.

A squadron of fat white seagulls swooped low overhead. Their piercing cries were as evocative of his childhood as the scent of lilacs, his grandmother’s favorite perfume.

With keen eyes, constant hunger and an abiding love of handouts, the gulls were like feathered watchdogs, loudly announcing the arrival of any potential food source—any prowler—along the shore.

They swung lower, disappearing behind the sheer granite face, then shot upward, screeching with obvious disappointment.

Someone was on the shore below.

Irritation surged through Logan. The drive and shoreline were posted No Trespassing. Courteous hikers were fine, but some built bonfires, toasted marshmallows, then left behind crumpled food packages, grocery sacks, beer cans.

Moving to the other side of the cliff, Logan looked over the edge. Saw nothing.

He stalked along a narrow ledge, brushing aside the tangle of wild raspberry vines curling over the old trail. Ahead, aeons of winter ice and battering waves had pried away small chunks of granite, leaving irregular steps. With a growl of impatience, he caught the familiar handholds and descended to the rocky shore below. An avalanche of pebbles skittered underfoot, ringing against the rocks like a handful of marbles.

A small figure crouched at water’s edge, half hidden under an outcropping of rock. A young boy with a damp Minnesota Twins T-shirt clinging to his bony frame, his thin arms curled tightly around his knees. He didn’t move when the frigid waves licked at his sodden tennis shoes. Even at a distance, with the sound muffled by the slap of waves and raucous seagulls above, Logan knew the boy was crying. The scene was an eerie vision of his own past.

“Hi there,” Logan called out as he approached.

The boy stiffened. He rose slowly, but didn’t turn around. Hiding the tears, no doubt.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded silently.

“Is your family along here somewhere?” Logan continued, keeping his tone friendly. “This area isn’t very safe.”

The boy nodded again. His face averted, he started across the water-slick apron of granite at the base of the cliff. Two steps later his feet shot out from beneath him. With a small cry he fell, then gripped an ankle with both hands and threw his head back in a silent expression of pain. Surely he would begin crying in earnest now. Instead, he was oddly quiet.

Hunkering nearby, Logan offered an encouraging smile. “Can I get your mom or dad? Where are they?”

The kid was older than he’d guessed from a distance, probably middle school. He had a defiant tilt to his chin and a stubborn glint in his eyes despite the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks. That hint of rebellion triggered even more memories of Logan’s adolescence.

“Is your family along the shore somewhere?” he asked again.

The boy stared at the ground.

“What’s your name?”

No response. A stiff, rain-laden gust of wind came off the lake. The boy suppressed a shiver.

“Cold?”

“No.” His voice sounded subdued. His thin shoulders started to shake.

Raindrops peppered the shoreline. Across the water, a wall of advancing rain turned sky and lake charcoal.

“Come on, fella. Let’s get inside. You can use my phone.”

Staring out at the advancing storm, the boy balked. Then he reluctantly stumbled to his feet.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll help find your parents and get you home before you freeze.” Looping an arm around the boy’s shoulders for support, Logan turned toward the series of narrow, ascending ledges leading to his house.

The boy whimpered, sagged after the first step. “I can’t!”

“Want some help?” Logan waited until the child gave a grudging nod, then gently swung him up into his arms. “This is rough going down here. I’ll set you down as soon as we’re on level ground.”

His face pale and clammy, the boy murmured some sort of indistinguishable protest, then melted into boneless surrender, his eyes closed. Logan’s heart caught for a beat, until he saw the narrow chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. A little hot chocolate and a blanket would help until a parent showed up.

The child’s weight felt good in his arms, filling Logan’s heart with an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness. Probably just some latent, universal parent-mode kicking in, he thought wryly as he picked his way over the slippery rocks, though heaven knew when he’d ever hold another child in his arms. He sure as hell wouldn’t risk another marriage, and he’d never have a child without one. His own childhood had taught him that. Deep regret washed through him at the thought.

By the time they reached the house, sheets of icy rain obscured the landscape, plastering Logan’s shirt and jeans against his skin. The child had burrowed closer to Logan’s chest for protection, and their shared warmth felt as deep and essential as the beat of his own heart.

At the door of the house he stopped. “Think you can stand?”

The boy nodded vigorously, but when he stood up he carefully avoided bearing weight on his injured ankle. “Thanks,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

Logan pushed the door open. “Let’s get you out of this rain, bud.” Inside, he kicked off his wet sneakers and ushered the boy into the kitchen. The white cupboards and bleached-oak flooring had once appealed to his preference for wide, well-lit spaces, Logan thought as he glanced around, but the effect was nearly as cold as the weather outside.

“Phone’s there,” he said, pointing to the wall next to the curved breakfast bar. “I’ll get you a towel and a dry shirt.”

When he returned, the boy still stood at the kitchen door, a wary look in his eye. “I don’t bite,” Logan said, tossing him a blue bath towel and a faded Saint Olaf College sweatshirt.

The boy wrapped the towel around himself and shivered into it, his lips blue against his white face. If he didn’t catch pneumonia after this, it would be a miracle.

“Called your parents yet?”

A flare of something—rebellion again?—turned the boy’s cheeks pink. Poor guy. When Logan met this kid’s mother, he would damn well tell her about the dangerous cliffs along the shore. Logan’s own mother hadn’t been any better; she’d never given a damn, either.

Logan reached for the phone. “If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll need to call the sheriff. Someone must be worried about you, and a doctor should see that ankle.”

“I’m J-Jason.” A look of anguish filled his eyes. “Please—please don’t tell—”

He crumpled before Logan could reach him. The sound of his head hitting bare oak flooring echoed like a cannon shot in the vast emptiness of the house.

CLARE FRANTICALLY pulled open the massive oak and leaded-glass door, then rushed into the kitchen. She’d gone down the shore both ways, then followed the paths she’d shown Jason just days before. There’d been no sign of him. Her fears had intensified with every step.

After a last glance outside, she snatched the receiver and began dialing the sheriff’s office. Again. Why hadn’t a deputy arrived? Or the sheriff? The entire National Guard standing in her kitchen with muddy boots would have been a welcome sight. Her cold-numbed fingers fumbled over the last number. Punching the reset button, she redialed with a vengeance.

Annie and Lissa sat at the claw-foot oak table, their milk and chocolate-chip cookies untouched and their faces reflecting her own concern. Jason had never been out past nightfall. The forest and shoreline were dangerous in the dark. One false step—

“Hello?” Claire gripped the phone tighter.

A sharp rap at the door jerked her attention away from the receiver. Jason? With a prayer on her lips, Claire dropped the phone, raced across the room and flung open the door.

Omigod

A gray-haired officer stood there, short and rumpled, with a belly the size of Hennepin County and a glaze of exhaustion in his eyes. After surveying the room, his gaze snapped back to Claire. “Dep-pity Miller, ma‘am. Anyone missin’ a boy?”

Measured footsteps crossed the porch behind him. It was Logan, holding a limp figure in his arms. Jason—his eyes half-closed, his skin pale as flour—wrapped in a red plaid blanket.

Claire’s heart faltered, then picked up a rapid cadence that made the room spin. She sprinted out onto the porch. Her hands flew lightly over Jason’s arms and legs. “Dear God, is he all right?”

“Hold on. You’re going to embarrass the kid to death.” Brushing her aside, Logan strode into the kitchen, then lowered Jason into a high-backed chair between the twins. He kept a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Crimson flooded Jason’s cheeks when he saw the five pairs of eyes trained on his face.

“He’s fine, ma‘am, just a bump on the head and a sore ankle.” The deputy gave Jason a hard look. “Been trespassin’, I hear.”

Logan looked up at Claire as though she were barely worth feeding to the seagulls, but the steely glint in his eyes faded when he finally spoke. “The shore by my place isn’t safe—”

“People come up here, and have no idea of the dangers. Think they can just let their kids run,” the deputy cut in. “The shore is no playground for unattended youngsters.”

Logan scowled at the deputy. “I think Mrs.... Miss...Ms. Worth must realize that by now.”

Surprised and thankful for his support, Claire ignored the veiled rebuke in Logan’s tone. “I had no idea that he would go roaming like that.” She pulled an afghan from the back of the chair and smoothed it around Jason’s shoulders, then took his cold hands in hers and bent down to search his face. “Honey, why were you over there? I’ve been worried sick!”

When Jason tipped his head and didn’t answer, Logan silently dropped his hands back onto the boy’s shoulders. The gesture of masculine support touched Claire’s heart. “He seems so groggy. What happened? Was he unconscious?”

From behind her, she heard the deputy’s impatient snort. “Sounds like he might have fainted, and then bumped his head when he fell, but he’s been plenty alert. Couldn’t get a word out of him, though.”

“He must have been scared,” Claire protested, eyeing Jason’s pale face with concern. “We’re taking you to the hospital, honey.” She wanted to hug him fiercely, but knew he would jerk away. Tears prickled behind her eyelids.

Angling her face to hide her emotions, she moved to the sink, where she filled a measuring cup with water, then set it in the microwave to heat. After he had a hot cup of cocoa and a deep, warm bath, she would take him to the emergency room to check out his bumps and bruises. Maybe he would talk to her after the men left.

She spoke without turning around. “I can’t thank you two enough for bringing him home.”

“You’re damn lucky he made it back,” Logan said sharply. “Some of those cliffs drop a hundred feet, and in heavy rain it’s hard to see out there.”

Claire glanced at him in surprise. He’d defended her against the deputy, yet now he echoed the man’s criticism?

She lifted a box of instant cocoa from the cupboard, hesitating just long enough to temper her reply. “I’m deeply grateful for your help, believe me.”

She opened a packet with a sharp jerk that sent a puff of cocoa mix into the air. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“No thanks.” Logan said, giving Jason’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You okay now, kid?”

Jason jerked his head in assent.

“Then I’ll be—”

“Coffee would be nice, ma’am, it’s a long way back to town,” the deputy interrupted. He dragged two chairs away from the kitchen table. “Good to meet the new neighbors. Right, Matthews?”

A low growl rumbled from beneath the table. Gilbert rose from his spot at Jason’s feet, his teeth bared.

The deputy sidestepped, taking the chair farthest away. “Uh...nice pooch, there. You’ll need a good watchdog out here.”

Logan raised an eyebrow as he took the chair next to Jason. “High crime rate?”

“Nope, but off-season we’re down to the sheriff and me, and this is a mighty big county.”

Logan frowned. “So response times...”

“Depends on the circumstances. If we’re at the far end of the county, could be an hour or more. Otherwise, maybe twenty minutes.” Miller shrugged. “Population can’t support a larger staff, but usually there isn’t much going on.”

Claire suppressed a shudder. An hour? Coming from New York, she had no problem imagining a few dozen frightening scenarios as she finished preparing Jason’s cocoa and then offered a tray of coffee and fresh ginger cookies to the men. “Cream or sugar?”

The deputy creamed his coffee to a pale tan. “How do you all like it here?” He rocked back in his chair and took a long swallow.

Annie tore her gaze from the man’s badge and straining shirt buttons. “I’m scared of bears. We got a nice man next door, though.”

She extended one sticky finger toward Logan, nearly poking his arm. He looked down in surprise and she grinned back at him, her eyes sparkling. “You brung Jason home.”

A muscle jerked in Logan’s cheek. “Yes—well—he shouldn’t be out with a storm brewing.”

Watching Logan’s sudden discomfort, Claire wondered what he’d been up to all these years. It didn’t appear he’d had many conversations with children. Especially children who looked at him with such total admiration.

Years ago, had she looked at him that way herself? He’d been just twenty-two or so at the time, and as an awestruck fourteen-year-old she’d thought him handsome and wonderfully mature.

The deputy cleared his throat. “I’ll check up on you now and then.” Folding his hands across his belly, he gave Claire a broad I’m-your-guy wink. “You never know what’s out in them woods.”

She had no interest in any relationships right now—especially with an elderly deputy who eyed her like his favorite dessert. “Mr.—”

“Wayne, ma’am.”

“Thanks, but we’ll be fine.”

He twitched, patted his hip pocket. “Pager just buzzed me. Gotta go.”

Logan lifted his cup a notch higher in farewell. “Pine Cliff is safe tonight,” he murmured as the screen door slammed. “In town, I heard the county deputy was in an accident. Miller’s retired, but the sheriff brought him back for a few weeks.”

She gave him a dry look. “That isn’t very reassuring.”

“No one seems too concerned. The off-season population up here is really sparse.”

Fingering the slim gold bracelet she always wore, Claire stood at the back door and watched the taillights of the patrol car fade into the darkness. She hoped Deputy Miller wouldn’t entertain any romantic thoughts about her.

And then, without warning, the image of the deputy faded and one of Logan appeared in her mind’s eye. Tonight he’d arrived on her doorstep with Jason in his arms, like some old-time western hero. She envisioned him leaning against a door frame. tall and rugged, an unbuttoned oxford shirt revealing the hard, muscular curves of his chest and the flat ripple of muscle across his belly. A streak of dark hair disappeared into the unbuttoned vee of his jeans. His dark, sensual gaze drew her closer. Closer—

A dark Mustang pulled to a stop under the yard light. Claire blinked, refocused her thoughts. Residual adrenaline and fear had to be taking their toll. Nothing else could explain her unexpectedly sensual thoughts and the ridiculous longing that now sped through her veins.

Back to business, she reminded herself sharply. Standing straighter, she watched the occupants of the car climb out and converse at the end of the sidewalk. More guests. She turned away from the window. “Jason, I need to take a quick look at that ankle.”

Crossing the kitchen, she knelt beside him, gently propped his foot in her lap and started on his wet, tightly knotted shoelaces. From the corner of her eye, she saw Logan rise and finish his coffee in one long, slow swallow, then turn to leave.

“Don’t worry, my ankle’s okay,” Jason mumbled. “Mr. Matthews gave me an ice pack, and called some doctor.”

Claire looked at Logan. “You talked to a doctor?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t sound too concerned, but a trip to the ER wouldn’t be a bad idea, just to make sure.”

He paused at the door and gave her a brief smile, then scanned the room, as if memorizing each detail. The lights shadowed the angles of his lean face and sparked gold highlights in his hair, while his navy ski jacket emphasized the bulk of his shoulders and narrow waist.

A ripple of deepening awareness started low in Claire’s belly and unfurled into something akin to desire, a stunning echo of the errant thoughts she’d banished moments ago.

And something more—she felt a sudden longing to know him much better.

This is simple physical attraction, she sternly told herself. Nothing more. If she repeated it often enough, surely she would begin to believe it. She had to—there was too much at stake.

His hand on the doorknob, Logan glanced back at Jason. “Take it easy, kid. And listen to your mom from now on, okay?”

Jason’s quick grin faded at the word mom. “Yeah, sure.”

A tentative knock sounded at the door. Logan pulled it open, revealing a middle-aged man and woman whose faces were sallow beneath the bright porch light.

“I need to register,” the man wheezed. He lifted an inhaler to his bushy mustache and looked expectantly at Logan through the screen door. “We have reservations. The Sweeneys?”

Logan ushered them inside, then drew close to Claire and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Country clubs back home, or this? Ought to be an easy choice.” With a smile at the couple hovering in the doorway, Logan left.

So they were back to that—opposing camps, with opposing goals. Claire gave the newcomers a bright smile of welcome. “I’m Claire, the manager,” she said in a ringing tone, extending her hand. “I know you’ll enjoy your stay. I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else!”

The Sweeneys smiled in response. Through the screen door, she saw Logan continue down the stairs, though one of his shoulders twitched.

Sorry, fella, she said under her breath. There isn’t a person on earth who could make me leave.

THE OLD PRIMER-GRAY Chevy was perfect. Parked a couple dozen feet off the road between some pines, it blended invisibly into the shadows.

Drumming his fingers on the cracked dashboard, the driver eyed the house and then shifted his gaze back to the hulking passenger sitting next to him. The guy wasn’t very bright, but he had the muscle and skills of a back-alley street fighter. And he had just as much to lose. “Ain’t gonna be hard. Once the lights go out, we can get in and be real quiet.”

“But—”

“We’ve got to find the invoices and that tape.”

“But they’re home.”

“That woman and her kids are always home, dammit. We don’t have much more time.”

“They’ve got a dog.”

“It must be deaf. It didn’t bark when we went through the shed last night,” Hank snapped.

“What if that deputy comes back?”

“He didn’t see us.” Hank uttered a foul curse. “Just do what I say and shut up.”

At a sudden motion on the porch they both froze, and watched as a tall, powerfully built man strode down the sidewalk, then drove off.

“Who the hell was that?” Hank muttered. If he was the woman’s boyfriend, he might be back. Damn. “C’mon, Buzz, show time. Let’s check the back windows. I want to know how we’ll get in later.”

He eased his car door open and slid out. Buzz shoved his own door open and followed him toward the house.

Voices reached them from an open kitchen window, barely distinguishable over the sound of waves hitting the shore.

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are, Jason.”

“Not! I won’t go!”

Silence. And then, “There’ll be a bigger scene if the ambulance comes here to pick you up.”

“Ambulance!” A long pause, then a sullen, “You wouldn’t.”

“Want to bet? We need to make sure you’re okay. That bump on your head—”

“It’s nothing!”

“I want a doctor to check your ankle.”

Come on, kid. Cooperate. Hank stopped abruptly, thrust a hand against Buzz’s chest. A middle-aged couple strolled into view at the far end of the lane. Damn.

A few minutes later the woman and all three kids came out of the house, then climbed into a minivan parked in the driveway. Maybe things were looking up after all. An emergency room meant hours of waiting.

And hours of freedom to search the house.

“Let’s go,” Hank growled. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to scare her off, or force her into cooperating and risk being identified.”

“But—”

“You want one of our old pals coming after us? Or for her to go to the cops with Brooke’s evidence? What’s better—death or prison?”

At the look of naked fear on Buzz’s face, Hank gave a harsh laugh. “That’s what I thought.” Motioning to him, Hank slipped through the shadows to the back door of the house.

Three hours later, as they heard the minivan return and pull to a stop outside the house, Hank punched a fist against an attic wall and swore. Nothing.

Time was running out. Had the Worth woman already found the evidence? Hidden it? With a jerk of his chin, he signaled Buzz. They both sped silently down the stairs and out the back door.

They’d have to return another night. If she was real lucky, she wouldn’t get in the way.

If she wasn’t, she might just have to die.

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE’D BEEN SURE no one could ever make her leave Pine Cliff, but by noon the next day Claire was ready to admit defeat. Almost. Two of the next night’s reservations canceled. The Sweeneys had demanded two cabin changes, first because the “blinds let in too much light,” and next because their second cabin was “too close to the lane.” And Igor was once again contentedly curled up in front of the refrigerator.

“No, I don’t offer sick leave. This is a twenty-hour-a-week job. Seasonal. Part-time.” Holding the receiver farther from her ear, Claire winced at the applicant’s petulant response. “Yes, I know you can make more on tips at a restaurant.”

After hanging up, she slashed through the ninth name on her list and rubbed the tense muscles at the back of her neck. The advertisement for cabin help and general maintenance had run in the Duluth Herald for weeks. She hadn’t come close to finding a suitable employee.

The phone rang before she got to the back door.

“Pine Cliff, Claire Worth speaking,” she said automatically.

“Ms. Worth? I’m one of Randall’s former business partners. We’re missing some records from the past two years.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you—”

“We’ve got to get them back...need ’em for taxes.” The voice raised a notch. “We figure those records would have been in his desk at home. Uh...his wife did some of the books.”

Brooke? “Look, Mr....” Claire paused, waiting.

“Bob. Bob...Johnson.”

“None of that was sent up here. All of Randall’s business records were turned over to the estate lawyer and accountant.”

“They don’t have what I need. I’ll come up this weekend and help you look. I’ve got to have those records.”

Claire bit back a sharp reply. “Then you’ll have to talk to the lawyers, because I have nothing of the kind. And you’ll certainly not be going through his personal effects.”

Resisting the urge to slam the receiver down, she hung up and headed for the door, thankful that she’d had nothing to do with the business aspects of the estate.

Randall’s choice of business partners didn’t surprise her at all.

“YOO-HOO! Ms. Worth!”

Straightening, Claire dropped a sponge into the bucket of pungent disinfectant at her feet and rubbed the small of her back, then stepped out onto the pine-planked deck of cabin five. A deep breath of fresh air helped slow the spinning sensation in her head.

Mrs. Rogers scuttled down the lane bordering the cabins, one hand waving above her head. She looked like a broken-winged duck coming in for a rough landing.

“Anything wrong?” Thankful for a moment’s respite, Claire took another cleansing breath and wiped away a stray tear. Cleaning was certainly hard on the nose and lungs.

The older woman pulled to a stop a few feet away, sniffed, and frowned. “What are you—Never mind. Come quickly—the laundry building!”

A vision of the commercial washer and dryer going up in flames filled her with disbelief and horror. Claire ripped off her yellow rubber gloves, dropped them at her feet and broke into a run. “Fire?” Mrs. Rogers huffed along in slow pursuit. “Flood,” she wheezed.

Flood? Oh, God. Claire skidded to a halt in front of the small building.

Thank goodness she’d left the double doors open to the morning sun. And thank goodness, Mrs. Rogers had seen the problem.

The washer was still chugging along. Frothy water spewed from its base, and had already flooded the entire laundry area. An island of dirty sheets and towels stood marooned in the middle of the floor.

Mrs. Rogers caught up, panting with exertion. “Quite a mess, eh?”

“I can’t believe this.”

Squinting against the sunlight angling across the lake, the older woman studied the situation. “Looks like a whopper of a repair bill to me.”

“Great.” Claire grimaced. More money—just what she didn’t have. She’d already dipped into her savings to replace two cabin roofs and repair the old furnace in the house. With projected winter cabin rentals at a dangerous low, she couldn’t afford any major problems.

She reached around the door frame, fumbled for the fuse box and cut the power to the building before stepping inside.

The flooring was uneven beneath her sneakers. Though the water hadn’t yet flowed out the front doors, it was at least six inches deep through the center of the room—and very, very cold. Claire shuddered, imagining spiders and other crawly refugees clinging to the bits of laundry lint and debris floating past her ankles. Gritting her teeth, she sloshed forward to unplug the machine and turn off the water supply behind it. Claire turned to face Mrs. Rogers, who was standing in the doorway.

“It’s going to take a lot of mopping,” murmured Mrs. Rogers, a sympathetic expression on her face. She started to turn away, but stopped, putting both hands on her broad, paisley-draped hips. “By the way, dear, have you ever done much housecleaning?”

Claire felt a twinge of embarrassment. No, I’ve been a princess all my life. Until now. “Why?”

The deep, rasping laugh of an inveterate smoker echoed through the small building. “Most people dilute their cleaning chemicals, dear. Check the directions on those bottles.”

Watching Mrs. Rogers trot toward her cabin, Claire groaned. A business career had not prepared her for this. Cleaning. Laundry. Book work. And most important of all, the children. Without help, she would have endless days and very short nights.

A quick survey of the room revealed no extra-large, heavy-duty mopping equipment. The dainty pink sponge mop and bucket waiting for her in cabin five would be as effective as using a teaspoon to shovel a Minnesota snowdrift Worse, the pile of laundry was now slowly floating piece by piece toward the perimeter of the room.

Moving here had been a mistake. One huge, impossible mistake. Claire closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. Why had she ever thought she could handle all of this—?

A footstep sounded against the slab of pavement at the door. Claire turned to speak, expecting a cabin guest, but her words died in her throat.

In the doorway stood a grizzled old man, worn and bent, wearing grease-stained overalls loose as clown pants. Claire thought she detected the smell of alcohol, but there was no denying the distinctive smell of unwashed male.

“Name’s Fred Lundegaard. I worked at Pine Cliff most all my life. Tried the sunshine down south, but missed the pines and this ol’ lake too much, so now I’m back.” He grinned and lifted a hand, his broad gesture encompassing the laundry-room mess and the resort grounds beyond. “And it looks like I’m the answer to your prayers.” With that, he walked toward the washing machine, a determined look on his face.

AN HOUR LATER Claire stood at her desk in the kitchen, handed a receipt to the middle-aged couple checking out and prayed they couldn’t hear the string of oaths coming from the laundry building where the old guy was tackling the washing machine.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed your stay,” Claire said brightly.

The woman smiled as she glanced around the entryway and into the kitchen beyond. “Lovely place. Have you thought of turning the house into a B&B?”

“It would be perfect,” Claire agreed. “But with three kids and their pets we’re a bit too noisy.”

Stepping back through the door held open by her husband, the woman nodded. “Probably true. Actually, I did hear footsteps outside our cabin last night. Probably games of hide-and-seek in the dark?” She reached up and touched her cheek, looking apologetic. “Not that it bothered us, of course.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll certainly check into it right away,” Claire murmured, waving goodbye.

The children had all been in bed and asleep by nine-thirty last night. Hungry raccoons had to be the culprits, she decided, slipping the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. They’d already shimmied through the windows of the boathouse and pried open the door to the laundry building. Luckily those buildings held little that could be damaged.

Pensively tapping the edge of the counter with a forefinger, she considered her next move. Finish cleaning cabin five...run into town for groceries... finish mopping up the laundry building...

A sharp clang, followed by another string of oaths, came from the building at the far edge of the lawn.

Fred. Allowing the old fellow to “show what he could do” with the washing machine had been a mistake. If he got hurt...or made the situation worse...

Claire dashed down the porch steps and across the front lawn, shading her eyes against the laser intensity of the sun. Sunglasses. She needed to find her extra pair of sunglasses packed somewhere in the mountain of boxes, furniture and whatnot piled in the attic of the house.

For the hundredth time, she cursed the delay in New York that kept her from being present when the movers arrived. So far she’d uncovered three half-filled wastebaskets from her high-rise in New York, but she had yet to find all of her possessions. To make things worse, the large number of boxes that had come out of Brooke and Randall’s condo was now mixed up with her own.

Lost in thought, Claire rounded the closest corner of the laundry building. Her face hit a solid wall of fur.

The impact sent her staggering against the building. An iron-hard appendage grasped her arm. Pulling back with every ounce of her strength, she screamed.

Bears! Annie and Lissa were right.

The grip on her arm gentled, released. Even as she spun away, the furry object took shape.

It was Gilbert, the kids’ poodle. Held securely in Logan’s arms. Neither dog nor man looked pleased.

“Oh, dear. Excuse me!”

One hand over her heart to quiet its mad gallop, Claire stared in disbelief. It took a moment to catch her breath. “Uh...like our dog, do you?”

Logan bared his teeth, but didn’t smile. Gilbert bared his, as well, but from his sheepish canine grin to his drooping tail, he was the picture of embarrassment. His captor simply looked aggravated.

“He moved over to my place,” Logan said in a low, dangerous tone. “You were going to make sure none of your kids—or your pets—strayed.”

Claire wondered if anyone had ever laughed at him—and if so, whether they’d lived to tell about it. The sight of him—a towering, glowering man gripping an amorphous mass of dog hair—tested her ability to maintain a straight face.

“He was here just a few hours ago. What makes you think he’s moved in?” Her momentary alarm fading into giddy relief, she sagged against the broad white planks of the building and lifted one eyebrow for effect. “Brought his suitcase, did he?”

Logan snorted. “He likes garbage. He chases seagulls.” Glaring at the dog’s damp, unclipped coat bristling with twigs, leaves and pine needles, he added, “He belongs at your house.”

“He would have come home eventually.”

“Have you ever spent an hour listening to irate seagulls?”

“You could have told him no.”

“He thinks it means bark louder. Keep him at home, Ms. Worth. I don’t like this dog. He doesn’t like me.”

Logan put the dog on the ground and crossed his arms. Gilbert obediently sat. His innocent gaze fastened on a distant object, he began sidling back toward Logan’s legs, his front paws moving inch by inch.

The most spunk the old poodle ever displayed was at dinnertime, when he escalated to a faster shuffle to reach his food. And now, like an oversize gray mop, he was lying upside down across Logan’s shoes. A limp, pink dishrag of a tongue hung out one side of his mouth. “I can see he’s quite a fireball.”

Logan cleared his throat and gave Gilbert a pained look. “He was a lot more...energetic at my place.”

Claire nodded gravely. “I’m sure. How did you get him back here?”

“I tried to lead him. He planted his rear on the ground and wouldn’t move. I tried to bring him back in my car. He wouldn’t get in.”

She remembered all too well the battle Gilbert waged over getting into her van in Minneapolis. She’d had to make a fast trip to a discount store to buy a portable pet carrier. “So you—”

“I carried him.”

Claire grinned. Laughter bubbled up her throat. Jason had told her about the tortuous path leading to Logan’s house—over a quarter mile of boulders, brambles, steep climbs and narrow ledges. The man was nothing if not determined. He might deserve every sore muscle he’d have tomorrow, but for some inexplicable reason she wanted to give him a hug.

“Look,” Logan continued, giving her a narrowed look. “I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had a few days ago.” He reached down to pry several prickly strands of bramble vine from his faded jeans. “We don’t need to be adversaries. All I want is a chance to buy back my family land.”

Claire’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Wait. Just listen.” Logan reached out and touched her arm, but withdrew his hand as if he’d touched something hot. “I’ve talked to a couple of Realtors up here. I’ll give you fifty percent over the appraised value of the land. You could stay in the house until spring, rent-free. And you can let the cabins go empty.”

“What?” Claire stared at him. He was offering more than the land was worth, being too reasonable. He must want it really badly.

“Fifty percent above the value,” Logan repeated. “For that you could buy another resort in better condition, if you’re set on this kind of life.”

Claire’s thoughts raced. Her recent frustrations were almost enough to make her agree. The money would be good. She could begin an easier life for her new family in another place far from New York. But trusting Logan Matthews would be as foolish as trying to swim across Lake Superior in November. And, as she swept her gaze across the sapphire and diamond waves on the lake and the cozy cabins lining the shore, she realized she couldn’t walk away from Pine Cliff. “This land was Brooke’s.”

“She got half of the property that had been in my family for generations,” Logan countered. “Yet she hated being up here, and she never set foot on the place after our divorce. She hired a manager and left before the ink was dry on our settlement.”

“You make it sound like she came out like a bandit.”

“Didn’t she?”

We all paid dearly. A sense of loss flooded through her as Claire remembered their father’s shock over Brooke’s impetuous marriage after dating Logan less than six months, and his anger when Brooke came to him for help in ending it six months later. After a sudden rebound marriage, she completely broke off all contact with the family. Without that first ill-starred marriage, perhaps everything would have been very different.

Claire gave him a determined smile. “Like I told you, this is a great place to raise the kids. It’s also now my sole source of income.”

Logan’s expression darkened. A telltale muscle in his cheek jerked. “Okay, how about you manage this place until next spring? Keep it open—earn a salary. Not that there’s much business over the winter. And you’d still have the money from selling. How could you do better?”

By owning it myself. If the stories were true, this man had married her late sister to get at the family money, yet hadn’t honored his wedding vows. Even if Claire were broke and desperate, loyalty to Brooke precluded the possibility of selling the property back to him.

“I won’t uproot the children again. Not now, not next year.” She drew herself up to her full height. “They need a permanent home, and this place is safe and secure. Losing their—”

“Hey, Miz Worth?” the grizzled handyman called out as he rounded the far corner with a piece of black hose in his hand. “Thought I heard someone back here.”

“Did you find the problem?”

“You got any enemies?”

Logan studied her with intense interest. “Well, do you, Claire?” he murmured.

His voice vibrated across her skin. She felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck, sensed the sudden tension and heat of Logan’s body, just inches from her own. His long, tanned fingers flexed at his sides. Enemies? Only you, Logan.

“None I can think of,” she shouted to Fred. “Why?”

As the old man got closer, he held up the length of hose. “This was cut clean in two. And this wasn’t no accident, Miz Worth.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE VOICE SOUNDED familiar. Logan turned around and stared in disbelief. Fred Lundegaard, in all likelihood wearing the same set of tattered overalls he’d worn fourteen years before, stared back at him with equal surprise.

The moment of stunned silence broke when Fred’s face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “I heard you were back, boy!”

Fred dropped the length of hose and strode forward, his arthritic gait less steady than in years past. His craggy features had blurred a little, as if he’d softened with age.

Logan met him halfway and extended his hand. Brushing aside the offer, Fred gave Logan a bear hug followed by a couple of bone-jarring slaps on the back.

“I knew you’d be back someday. I knew it,” Fred chortled, stepped back to give Logan a once-over. “About time.”

“Too long,” Logan agreed, feeling his face shift into the unfamiliar contortions of a real smile.

Claire joined them and looked from one to the other, clearly mystified. “Old friends?” she asked, tucking a blond curl behind her ear.

In jeans and a soft pink sweater that molded to every curve and plane from neck to ankles, she could be mistaken for a college student. But her cool voice was that of a person accustomed to being in charge. A surprising and all-too-interesting combination, Logan decided.

“This boy tagged along behind me when he could hardly reach my knees.” Smiling broadly, Fred looked at Claire over the top of his wire-rims. “His grandma owned this place, you know.”

“So he says. You worked here?”

“Twenty-three years for Sadie, and after she passed on, six months for Logan and Brooke when they took over. Clear up through their divorce—” Fred shot a quick glance at Logan and cleared his throat, then suddenly became absorbed in an all-out search through his grease-darkened pockets. Finally withdrawing a round metal tin, he turned away to slip a wad of tobacco inside his cheek.

Old Fred had seen and heard it all, Logan thought wryly. Every step of the biggest mistake Logan had ever made. Hopefully, Fred had forgotten the details—or had sense enough to pretend he had.

“Yep, that Brooke was one crazy woman,” Fred continued. “She—”

With a sharp, dismissive wave of her hand and a look that could have melted granite, Claire broke in. “What were you saying about enemies?”

Logan had no doubt that the Worth family had collected its share over the years. He walked over to where Fred had dropped the hose and picked it up. Running a finger along each edge, he walked back and handed it to her. “Sharp knife, I’d guess. Doesn’t look like the act of a friendly person to me.”

Staring at the stiff black plastic in her hands, her eyes widened. “But, why? I don’t even know anyone up here.”

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