The Sheriff’s Proposal
Karen Rose Smith

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN ROSE SMITH

Award-winning and bestselling author Karen Rose Smith has seen more than sixty-five novels published since 1992. She grew up in Pennsylvania’s Susquehanna Valley and still lives a stone’s throw away with her husband—who was her college sweetheart—and their two cats. She especially enjoys researching and visiting the West and Southwest, where her latest series of books is set. Readers can receive updates on Karen’s releases and write to her through her Web site at www.karenrosesmith.com or at P.O. Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331.

To my husband, Steve.

Happy twenty-fifth anniversary. I love you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Sheriff Logan MacDonald’s office phone rang making his heart ache and pound at the same time. At the Willow Valley sheriff’s office, a phone call could mean a life-and-death situation or, more likely, a few cows had escaped their fencing and blocked a county road. A call could also bring Logan news of his son.

But now after four months, when he answered a call, he tried to keep his heart from racing and his hopes from rising. Still, an insistent voice inside him whispered, This could be the one. Maybe it’s news of Travis.

He snatched up the receiver.

“Doc Jacobs, Logan. I’m on my way over to Lily and Ned Carlson’s. They found a migrant couple in their barn. The woman’s having a baby, and they don’t want the rescue squad. But I might need some backup.”

Logan’s heart rate slowed, and his hopes hit the ground. Then Doc Jacobs’s words sunk in. The rescue squad in Willow Valley, Virginia, took care of the small town and the surrounding rural area. The closest hospital was a half hour away in Lynchburg. “I’m leaving now.”

Logan snapped down the receiver and tried to push thoughts of his sixteen-year-old runaway son out of his head.

Although it was midmorning, the steamy, end-of-August heat blasted him as he hurried to his car. The temperature would probably hit a hundred by three o’clock. He could have sent one of his six deputies to the Carlsons’ place, but he preferred taking some time out from his administrative duties and getting into the thick of things himself.

The inside of the sheriff’s cruiser was as hot as blazes. He flipped on the air conditioner full blast, letting the panel air hit him in the face. He tried to forget that his hopes had been crushed yet another time, that he still didn’t know whether his son was alive or dead. Four months. Four long months to agonize over every mistake he’d made as a parent.

Logan brushed his black hair from his brow as the cool air fought the intense heat, and he switched on the siren. The stores on Main Street flashed by, then the corner grocery. A few teenagers stood out front, reminding Logan that school would be starting in a week. And Travis…

Travis. Logan’s chest tightened.

He had moved his family to Willow Valley five years ago in large part because of Travis. Logan had wanted more time with his son in a wholesome country environment, rather than on the streets of a big city. His career as a cop had always added tension to a marriage that had been troubled from the start. Even Shelley had agreed that moving might help—that a job as deputy sheriff in Willow Valley and the surrounding county could make a difference in their lives. But their son had hated leaving the familiar—his school, his friends.

And Shelley? She’d never had any intention of starting over. Once they were settled in Willow Valley, Logan had figured they’d all have a chance at a fresh start. But he’d figured wrong. For his marriage. For Travis.

The farmland surrounding Willow Valley zipped by as Logan sped toward the Carlsons’ farm west of town. The green pastures, the cedars, the trees in abundance, usually filled him with a sense of peace. Even now he felt it, although his surroundings blurred as he pushed down the accelerator.

Logan drove down the lane to the Carlsons’ barn and parked on a patch of gravel beside Doc Jacobs’s SUV. He didn’t recognize the blue compact beside it, though he guessed it might belong to the Carlsons’ niece. He’d never met her, but he’d heard she was in town for a visit. As small towns go, anything happening in Willow Valley was everybody’s business, and rumors, as well as accurate information, traveled faster than the rescue squad with its siren blaring.

He rushed to the open barn door and stepped inside. The smell of hay and old wood wound about Logan. But when he heard a woman’s moans, he forgot about his surroundings and hurried to the far corner. Although he’d learned CPR and emergency-aid training as a police officer, he’d never delivered a baby. He’d been out on patrol when Travis was born. But if Doc needed help, he’d do whatever he could.

The tableau Logan found was one he wouldn’t forget for a long time. The woman in labor held on to her husband’s hand. A second woman kneeling beside her spoke to them both in a low voice. Her fluent Spanish was melodic and soothing, a calm in the midst of a strange situation. She looked vaguely familiar. The observer and investigator in Logan noticed every detail—from the slight tilt of her nose, the silkiness of the brown hair swinging along her cheekbones, to her eyes, which were a rich chocolate color that deepened as she suddenly realized someone else was in their midst. Her gaze slid over his uniform. Logan’s body responded to her figure in denim cutoffs and blue-and-white cotton blouse. He almost smiled. That hadn’t happened in a very long time.

Again she spoke to the woman lying on a blanket, patted her hand and explained something in Spanish. But it wasn’t her talent with the language that mesmerized Logan. It was her tone of voice, her smile. She was so kind, so compassionate. Then her gaze rested on Logan’s again for a moment. As it did, the place inside of him that hurt so badly suddenly felt a glimmer of sunshine.

“How can I help?” he asked, his voice husky. He cleared his throat.

Doc Jacobs looked up from his position at the woman’s feet. “We’re letting nature take its course. Hold her shoulders for her, Meg, or tell Manuel. This last push ought to do it. Come on now, Carmen. Give it all you’ve got.”

As Carmen moaned and another contraction gripped her, the young woman beside her translated what the doctor had said. Logan had a limited working knowledge of Spanish, and he could catch a phrase here and there as Manuel held his wife, and Meg coached and soothed.

Logan forgot his purpose, that he was the law-and-order keeper in Willow Valley. Rather, he got caught up in the drama before him. It brought back so many memories, both good and bad. He’d never forget the day Travis was born, the sense of pride, the overwhelming wave of protectiveness and responsibility that had washed over him the first time he’d held his son in his arms. He’d never regretted his decision to marry Shelley when he’d found out she was pregnant. He did regret the interests they’d never shared, the conversations they’d never had, the barrier that had grown between them until Shelley had felt deception was her only option. Most of all, he regretted the night of their worst argument—the night she’d rushed out of the house and…

Carmen’s face contorted in pain, and she squeezed Meg’s hand. Her husband spoke to her, and Logan heard, “Te quiero tanto.” “I love you very much.” His throat constricted.

Logan absorbed all of it—the love between the couple, the soft, caring voice of the woman acting as interpreter and coach, the tears in her eyes as they all heard the first cry. And then it was over, yet in most ways it had just begun.

The doctor suctioned the baby’s mouth, wrapped him in a towel and laid him on his mother’s stomach. Manuel kissed Carmen, and they gazed at their child.

Doc said, “Meg, why don’t you get some fresh air?”

“I’m okay, Doc.”

“Yes, I know you are, but I’m not going to need you again until after I clean up the baby,” replied Doc Jacobs, who tended to act as if he were everyone’s father. “I’ll call you if Carmen and Manuel want you. Now, scoot. Go get Lily. I know she’ll want to help, too.”

Logan waited for the woman who could speak Spanish as fluently as she spoke English and walked with her to the door. Close to her in the hay-baked heat of the barn, he smelled the faint scent of roses. Perfume? Shampoo? Whatever it was, along with her lovely smile and gentle voice, it packed a wallop.

He let her precede him outside. His shirt stuck to his back, but except for the swath of pink on her cheeks, she didn’t look as if she’d just helped deliver a baby.

He extended his hand to a woman whose smile could make him believe the sun would come up tomorrow. “I’m Logan MacDonald.”

Meg had heard a little about the sheriff over the past few years from her aunt and uncle. Not much, just that he was a widower and he ran his jurisdiction with an iron hand. Yet he was well liked by the constituents who’d gotten to know him as a deputy and had elected him sheriff because of his reputation and career in law enforcement. She’d been aware of his presence as soon as he’d walked into the barn. Her experiences had led her to be acutely aware of her surroundings, the tiniest inflections and mannerisms. All were elements of communication.

What Logan MacDonald had come upon in the barn had affected him deeply. She could tell from his expression, the huskiness in his voice.

The birth had affected her, too. Though early, this baby had been no accident. Manuel and Carmen didn’t have much, but they already had a nurturing love for this child, the kind of love Meg had only felt from Aunt Lily and Uncle Ned.

As Meg placed her hand in Logan MacDonald’s, she was aware that his physique in his uniform spoke of authority; the open top two buttons of his dark brown shirt told her he was impatient with the heat. He was sleek and muscled—tall with black hair and green eyes that seemed to be searching hers for something. He looked almost fierce in his concentration.

“Meg Dawson,” she returned as he gripped her hand. The touch of his skin against hers made her that much more conscious of the intensity in his green eyes. She felt warm and more than a little bothered.

Releasing her hand, he snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Now I recognize you. Margaret Elizabeth Dawson—the interpreter. Your picture was on the front page of most newspapers in the country not so long ago. I didn’t realize you were Lily and Ned’s niece.”

She’d shied away from the Willow Valley Courier and their attempts to persuade her to do an interview after the initial wire-service story ran. She’d wanted to recover and forget.

But Logan remembered the details. “You were taken hostage in Costa Rica with a diplomat and wounded when your kidnapper started shooting. Finally you talked him into letting you and Pomada go in exchange for a plane. He didn’t even get off the runway before the officials nabbed him. You should have been given a medal!”

She could feel her face turning pink. She hadn’t even blushed when the president of the United States himself had shaken her hand. Of course, she might have still been in shock then. Part of her still was. “We got out alive. I didn’t care about a medal,” she said softly.

Her heart rate increased as Logan studied her. Standing in the shade of the barn, she noticed the strands of silver along his temples, the slight beard shadow that she guessed would grow darker as the day progressed, the male scent of him that tightened her stomach in an exciting way. She willed her pulse to slow. She didn’t feel strong enough yet to get involved with anyone, let alone with a man like Logan, who exuded authority, intensity and a quality that told her he was hurting right now for some reason. She’d seen it on his face before Carmen’s baby had arrived. She could see it now as she looked into his eyes.

“Did you come to Willow Valley to hibernate?” he asked with a perception that rattled her.

There were so many reasons she’d come back. But she simply answered, “I feel safe here.”

Before Logan could respond, Doc Jacobs emerged from the barn. “Meg, ask Lily and Ned if they can put Manuel and Carmen up for a few days.”

Meg looked concerned. “Do you think Manuel will agree?”

“For Carmen’s sake, I hope so. We’ll work on him. Logan, any word on Travis?”

The same pain Meg had glimpsed on Logan’s face earlier shadowed his features again. “No.”

“Your P.I. have any new leads?”

“No. Nothing. But I have to believe he’s still out there somewhere.”

Doc Jacobs grasped Logan’s arm. “I know you do. And this whole town’s praying.” He ducked back into the barn.

Meg knew she had to talk to her aunt and uncle, yet her focus was still on Logan and the tortured look on his face. But she didn’t feel she could ask any questions.

The next moment, Logan seemed to compose himself, only the creases on his forehead hinting something more important was on his mind. “So, tell me what happened here today.”

Suddenly fatigue settled over Meg, fatigue that told her she was healing but wasn’t yet healed. She leaned against the rough wood of the barn. “Manuel and Carmen are migrants. Legal ones. They were on their way to Pennsylvania for the apple harvest. Manuel’s brother is already there.”

“I can guess the rest. They didn’t expect Carmen to deliver until they arrived in Pennsylvania.”

Meg nodded. “When Carmen’s labor pain became intense last night, Manuel knew he had to stop. He thought he could deliver the baby himself, but he got scared and, when we found them in the barn, he let us call Doc.”

“Why wouldn’t Manuel and Carmen stay here a few days?” Logan asked, studying her carefully.

“Because Manuel is proud and won’t take handouts. He insists he’ll pay Doc.”

“Doc’ll cut his fee in half.”

“Probably. But although Manuel doesn’t speak English fluently, he does understand it fairly well and knows the score. Convincing him to stay could be a problem. These two are stubborn. Manuel parked his truck on Black Rock Road last night, and he carried Carmen across the fields to the barn so no one would hear them.”

Logan looked away, to the willow tree not far from the house with its graceful branches silent and still in the August heat. After a pause, he said, “Manuel has to do what’s best for his wife and child.”

Something in Logan’s voice told her he’d had to make that decision. “I hope he will. He loves Carmen very much. I can feel the bond between the two of them. It’s the same kind my aunt and uncle have.”

Logan faced her again. “How long are you going to stay in Willow Valley?”

She was more comfortable talking about Manuel than herself. “I’m not sure. I’ve already been here a month. But it’s really hit me this time that my aunt and uncle are getting older. I think I’d like to stay until Thanksgiving, anyway.” The explanation was reasonable, but she knew her decision to stay was more complicated than that.

Disconcerted by the sheriff’s probing green eyes, Meg pushed away from the barn. “I’d better talk to Aunt Lily. It was nice meeting you, Sheriff MacDonald.” She started toward the backyard.

“Meg?” His deep voice vibrated through her.

She turned. “Yes?”

“My name’s Logan.”

With the hint of a smile, she nodded and headed toward the house.

Logan watched Margaret Elizabeth Dawson disappear. But he still felt the impact of her searching brown eyes. He could have gone back to the office, but he told himself he had to make sure the situation here was under control. In Willow Valley, helping sometimes became more important than enforcing. He liked that.

A half hour later, he and Doc Jacobs carried an old door from the basement of the farmhouse to the barn.

Meg sat on the floor next to Carmen and Manuel, speaking in Spanish. Manuel looked agitated. All three stopped talking when he and Doc came closer.

Huffing and puffing, Doc helped Logan lower the door down to the straw-covered floor beside Carmen and her baby. “I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled.

“More like you should take the advice you give to your patients,” Logan suggested blandly.

“I suppose you mean about trimming down and getting exercise. You’re only forty, Logan. When you hit sixty, then you come tell me how easy it is to do that.”

Logan caught Meg looking at him as if wondering what kind of physique was hidden under his clothes. Her appraisal sent a surge of desire through him. This time he almost welcomed it. He couldn’t help but say to her in a low aside, “I jog.”

Her cheeks pinkened. She avoided Logan’s gaze and looked at Doc. “Lily says Manuel and his family are welcome to stay until Carmen feels well enough to travel, but Manuel won’t agree.”

“We go north,” Manuel said in explanation.

Doc glared at the young Hispanic and said slowly, “Lily and Ned are good people. If they invited you to stay, they want you here. You must think of your wife and child.”

Meg put her hand on Manuel’s arm. “Carmen and the baby need a few days to get stronger. Do this for them.”

His almost black eyes searched Meg’s face, then his wife’s. In halting English, he said, “We stay tonight.” Then he lapsed into Spanish. “Sólo esta noche.”

Doc nodded. “We’ll start with that. Tomorrow’s another day.” He pointed to the door. “Manuel, you and Logan can carry Carmen to the house using that as a stretcher.”

Meg asked Manuel, “Lo entendió?”

“Sí.”

As Manuel helped Carmen and the baby get situated on the door, Meg slipped a folded towel under the mother’s head. When she did, the edge of her sleeve caught on the corner of the door, pulling it above her shoulder. Logan saw nasty red lines, healing but not completely healed. He remembered she’d been shot in the shoulder. He wondered just how serious the injury had been.

His gaze found hers. She quickly pulled the sleeve down, then fiddled with the towel swaddling the baby.

Logan and Manuel carefully and slowly carried Carmen to one of the guest bedrooms. Lily seemed to be everywhere, her smile warm, her manner gentle, making sure the new mother was comfortable. With a broad grin, Ned carried in a cradle. “I made this for Meg when she was born.” He winked at her. “I guess you don’t remember.”

She smiled fondly at the balding man. “I remember putting my dolls in it for their naps.”

Lily flicked back a stray strand of hair that had escaped her bun. “I’ll get it ready. We found a few baby blankets and kimonos in the attic. I threw them in the washer. We’ll be all ready for this little one in no time. Now, how about all of you come down to the kitchen and we’ll get some lunch.”

Manuel looked worried. “No trouble.”

Lily planted her hands on her hips. “Meg, tell him we have to eat. A few more mouths are not a problem.”

In Spanish, Meg explained her aunt’s philosophy. Manuel didn’t look convinced. Doc Jacobs motioned everyone out of the room. “C’mon folks. Let’s let mother and baby get some rest. Meg, after lunch I want to go over a few points with you about nursing. You can explain it to Carmen.”

Logan watched as Meg said a few last words to the young mother. Then she followed him into the hall.

Standing close to her, he blocked her from going down the steps. “How serious was the injury to your shoulder?”

“It looks worse than it was.”

“How bad?” he pressed.

Her back straightened, and she lifted her chin. “Does the sheriff want to know?”

“No. The man wants to know.” He wanted to know too badly for his own good. Something about Meg Dawson drew him. Maybe it had to do with them watching a new life enter the world.

Tension hummed between them for a moment—man-woman tension…and awareness.

Finally she let out a pent-up breath. “I finished with formal physical therapy in Lynchburg last week, but still do exercises every morning and night. I’ll recover completely.”

The vulnerability in her eyes told him she might recover physically, but he wondered about the emotional toll the incident had taken. He knew about emotional tolls. First there had been Shelley’s accident, then his son’s change in behavior…now his disappearance.

Logan’s job sometimes drew crisis situations like a magnet. But he was used to investigative work or breaking up a brawl in a local tavern. Personal crises were a different matter. He suddenly realized the last thing he ought to do was get involved in Meg Dawson’s.

He moved away from her and waited for her to start down the stairs. “I have to get back to the office.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You’re not staying for lunch?”

It was just a polite question. He didn’t hear interest in her voice. Thank goodness. “No. Duty calls.”

At the bottom of the steps, she waited for him. “Thanks for your help with Carmen and Manuel.”

“No thanks necessary.” She was standing close enough to touch, close enough that he could see golden lights in her eyes, close enough that he had to leave now. He stepped away from Meg toward the door. Then he left, unsettled, without saying goodbye. Because if he did, he might decide to stay for lunch, and he wasn’t looking for another complication in his life.

Chapter 2

After supper that evening, Meg weeded the flower garden by the front porch. As Lily peered over her shoulder, the older woman said, “I want to plant yellow and orange tulips this year and put pink ones out back.”

“They’ll look pretty in the spring with the daffodils,” Meg responded, her mind on Logan MacDonald, not the flower garden.

Ned pushed himself back and forth on the porch swing, his head covered by a straw hat. “I should go see if Manuel is still tinkering with his truck. Maybe I can learn something.”

“Carmen and the baby are napping,” Lily replied. “I checked them before I came out.”

Meg had looked in on them, too. She’d stood for a long time watching mother and baby, an unfamiliar longing deep inside her.

Suddenly a yellow-striped kitten scampered out from behind a yew and brushed against Meg’s leg. She smiled at Leo, a stray she’d found and befriended soon after she’d returned to Willow Valley.

Ned stood and came to the edge of the porch. “A reporter called from the Willow Valley Courier. He wanted to do an interview with Manuel and Carmen, but they didn’t want to talk to him. They’re very private. I told him to call Logan for the details.”

Meg glanced at her uncle. “I’m hoping we can convince Manuel to stay for a week or so.”

“It’s a shame Logan couldn’t stay for lunch.” Lily cast a quick look at her husband.

“He’s a fine man,” Ned remarked as if on cue.

“Fine” wasn’t quite the way Meg would characterize Logan. Strong. Decisive. Intuitive. “Who’s Travis? I heard Doc ask Logan if he’d heard anything about him.”

Lily tidied a few strands of hair that always came loose from the chignon at her nape. “Travis is Logan’s son. Logan moved his family here about five years ago. From what he’s said and I’ve heard, Travis never liked Willow Valley. Coming from Philadelphia, I guess that was natural. Logan wanted to give him somewhere wholesome to grow up. But Travis wanted none of it.”

“So he ran away?”

Lily exchanged a look with her husband. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

Ned added what he knew. “About a year after they moved, Logan’s wife was in an accident and died. It was tough on the boy. Afterward Travis gave Logan quite a few headaches—coming home late, drinking, grades slipping. Logan was at his wit’s end and tried to get the boy help. But Travis wouldn’t go to the appointments with the counselor. One day about four months ago, he just up and ran off. He’s only sixteen, and Logan’s worried sick.”

“The police are still looking,” Lily explained, “and for the first two months, Logan searched for the boy himself as far as Richmond.”

Meg sat back on her heels, forgetting about the weeds. “Doc mentioned a private investigator.”

Ned grunted. “Logan’s trying everything he can to find Travis.”

Her heart aching, Meg said, “Logan must be in unbearable pain. Not knowing where his son is, imagining the worst. How does he go on?”

“He’s a strong man,” Ned answered.

“A good man,” Lily added.

Ned pushed his hat back on his head. “Rumor has it Logan’s marriage was rocky before Shelley died. But Logan never talks about it.”

Meg couldn’t forget the look in Logan’s green eyes when Doc had asked for news of Travis.

“Are you going to see Logan again?” Her aunt’s tone was filled with eager interest.

“What?” Meg asked dropping her gardening trowel.

“Honey, I can read you like a book. You don’t ask idle questions.”

“Aunt Lily…”

Her aunt laughed. “It would be good for you to get out, go to dinner, date a man.”

“You know dating is the furthest thing from my mind.”

Lily’s smile faded. “I’m worried about you, child. You’re not the same person you were before that terrible man shot you.”

Most of the time Meg tried not to think about it. She just wanted to get over it. The problem wasn’t the shooting. It was the terror, the panic and the trapped feeling that still gripped her sometimes. But she hadn’t had a nightmare in over a week. That was progress. “I’m fine, Aunt Lily. You and Uncle Ned and Willow Valley are all I need.”

“For now,” her aunt pronounced.

Petting Leo, who’d curled in a ball by her knee, Meg decided she wasn’t going to ask what her aunt meant. She didn’t want to know.

The following morning, Logan drove to the Carlsons’ farm. He was curious to see how Manuel and Carmen were faring. He wished he could do something for the young couple, but he knew Manuel wouldn’t accept charity.

He was halfway down the lane when he saw Manuel packing the back of his truck. As he drove closer, he saw Meg standing by the open passenger door. She was gesturing to Manuel and speaking fast while Lily and Ned looked on. Logan could guess what was happening.

He parked on the gravel patch beside the blue compact. Climbing out of his car, he heard Meg speaking to Carmen. All he caught were the words quédese, “stay,” and unos pocos días, “a few days.” Carmen spoke quickly and gestured to her husband. As Logan approached, he could see the tears in the young woman’s eyes.

Stopping beside Meg, he denied the sudden surge of adrenaline rushing through him. “They’re leaving,” he said, summing up the situation.

“Yes, and they shouldn’t. I’ve talked to Manuel till I’m blue. But he won’t listen.”

“Has Carmen tried?”

“She says he’s the head of the family—he makes the final decision. But, Logan, just look at her! She needs rest and care…at least for a few days. Doc wants to make sure Tomás—that’s what they named him—is nursing adequately. But Manuel insists he can’t take advantage of our hospitality.”

The baby in Carmen’s arms wriggled and cried. Carmen looked as if she were close to tears herself.

Meg spoke to her in Spanish. Carmen let her take Tomás. As the baby squirmed, Meg positioned him on her shoulder as naturally as any mother and patted the infant’s back. She looked so…beautiful, standing there like that.

Giving himself a mental shake, Logan said, “I suppose Doc is afraid if they leave, Carmen won’t seek out proper care if she needs it.”

“That, too. But I can’t convince Manuel to stay.” Meg gently rubbed her chin against the baby’s downy black hair.

Logan was gripped by an emotion so strong he knew he had to get away from this woman. “I’ll talk to him.”

Meg took a quick glance at Logan’s broad back as he went to the truck. He’d taken her by surprise when he arrived. She’d never expected he’d come back and check on Carmen and Manuel. Yet maybe with the birth of Tomás, he’d felt involved in their lives, too. It proved one thing about him—he was a caring man. She could never see Todd caring about this young couple, whether they stayed or left. Why hadn’t she seen his selfish streak sooner? Why hadn’t she recognized his self-absorption? His story, his career, his needs, always came first. Actually it was an old pattern, one she’d learned with her parents. But finally, at age twenty-nine, she’d realized in time that her needs mattered, too.

Logan called, “Ned, come here a minute.”

Meg could hear the low rumble of the men’s voices but couldn’t tell what they were saying as they walked toward the barn. When they reemerged, they were all smiling. Manuel came over to Meg and Carmen. “We stay. A little while. If I have work.” He helped his wife from the cab of the truck.

Carmen squeezed Meg’s hand. “Gracias.”

Meg shook her head. “No hicenada especial.”

Carmen gazed at Logan. “Gracias.”

He smiled. “De nada.”

Meg handed Tomás to the young Mexican woman. Manuel put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the house. Lily and Ned followed.

Closing the door of the cab, Meg turned to Logan. “What did you say to him?”

“It was what Ned said. I reminded him of all the machinery that needs a good overhauling and the back field that has to be mowed before winter. Manuel is going to take care of that and, in return for the work, he’ll accept room and board for his family.”

Meg clasped Logan’s arm. “What a wonderful idea!” His skin was hot under hers, the hairs on his forearm rough against her fingers. His green eyes darkened, and her heart raced. She removed her hand.

“Not wonderful. Just expedient. The trading of goods and services. I’m not so sure we shouldn’t do it more often.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Did you have breakfast?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not officially on duty for a half hour or so. How about going to the bakery with me for a doughnut and a cup of coffee?” When she hesitated, he added, “I get tired of my own company sometimes. I thought maybe we could just…talk. But if you’re too busy—”

“No, I’m not too busy. A cup of coffee sounds good. Aunt Lily makes me herbal tea. Even after all these years, I just can’t get used to it.”

Logan laughed, a deep, masculine sound that warmed Meg through and through. “She tries to serve it to me when I visit.”

“You visit? You haven’t since I’ve been here.”

“Yes, well, circumstances the last few months have changed my habits.”

Meg saw the pain again. “Aunt Lily told me about your son. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Sorrow, blame, regrets. None of it matters except finding Travis. But I don’t go on wild-goose chases anymore, driving into the dead of night, speeding down a highway, hoping when I get wherever the road takes me I’ll find him. Now I spend my time printing more pictures and flyers, studying the computer data bases, keeping in touch with contacts on other police forces and my private investigator…and working. Working to forget.”

Although Meg had always enjoyed her work, she knew about working to forget. She wanted to clasp Logan’s arm again, to say she understood, but touching him was dangerous. Doubting he needed her understanding, she nodded toward the house. “I’ll make sure Carmen is settled again and meet you at the bakery on Elm. Then you don’t have to drive back out here.”

The bakery bell tinkled as Meg pulled open the door. Logan sat at one of the five black wrought-iron tables for two. She’d had second thoughts about meeting him, and thirds. Why had she accepted the offer? Because she liked Logan MacDonald, besides feeling attracted to him. If talking could ease his pain concerning his son, she’d listen.

A mug of coffee waited at the empty place across from him, along with two doughnuts and a muffin. Meg couldn’t suppress a smile as she sat down. “Do I look underfed?”

His gaze brushed over her quickly. “No. You look just right.”

She felt the heat creep up her cheeks again. No other man had ever made her blush. She chose the cranberry muffin and pushed the other pastries toward him. “Aunt Lily tries to feed me constantly. She always has.”

“She mentioned a few times that you lived with them when you were a teenager.”

Meg had accepted Logan’s invitation expecting to talk about him, not about herself. But he was obviously fishing for her background. Picking up her coffee, she took a sip before she said, “My parents are anthropologists. For my first twelve years, I traveled with them most of the time—mainly in Central and South America, but I also spent time with my aunt and uncle. At twelve, I decided I’d rather stay in Willow Valley than globe-trot.”

He gazed at her a few moments as if he was trying to see what she wasn’t saying. She wasn’t even sure herself about all the emotions that surfaced when she thought about those years, when she thought about her parents not wanting her. Even though she’d had her aunt and uncle, she’d still felt abandoned.

Logan added cream to his coffee. He offered one to Meg, and she shook her head. “A purist,” he teased.

“What’s the point of caffeine if you dilute it?”

He grinned. “On my fourth cup, I find it more palatable. I have a pot sitting in my office all the time.” Leaning back in his chair, he broke off half of the doughnut and ate it. “So, at twelve you didn’t want to globe-trot, but for your adult life, you have.”

“I didn’t go into this profession to travel. That just goes along with it sometimes.”

He leaned forward again, his hand almost brushing hers as he rested it on the table. “Why did you choose to be an interpreter?”

Instead of touching his large hand, as she wanted to do out of curiosity to see what would happen, she toyed with the paper around her muffin. “Because I wanted to help people understand each other. I had a talent for languages because of my upbringing. I was always amazed by the difference in the way people treat each other when they can understand each other. There’s less fear, less anxiety, less suspicion.”

He pulled his hand back and wrapped his fingers around his mug. “How many languages can you speak?” His knee briefly touched hers under the table, but he moved his away.

“Four fluently, not counting dialects.” She sipped again at her coffee.

“You’re uncomfortable talking about yourself, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t expect to have coffee with you and talk about me.”

He smiled. “Why not?”

“Because I thought you might want to talk about Travis.”

He went silent and his jaw tensed. If she’d ever seen a man in pain, that man was Logan. She waited.

His voice deeper, his words terse, he responded, “I think about him day and night. Believe me, I don’t want to talk about the thoughts that are running through my head. And you don’t want to know what they are.”

They sat at a stalemate, Meg wondering if Logan kept all his feelings bottled up, not just those about Travis. She understood his need to keep a lid on his emotions. She did the same thing.

Logan’s cell phone beeped, breaking the tension. “Excuse me, I have to take this call.”

Meg watched Logan as he took the call. The calls for him must be a constant source of hope, but disappointment, too. His face remained neutral. As he began talking, he rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t getting news of his son—not good news anyway.

After he ended the call, he said, “I have to cut this short. Cal needs me at the office.”

She stood. “I need to get back, too.” All of a sudden, Meg knew that getting involved with Logan would be more complicated than being involved with a photojournalist who always considered his career more important than their relationship. She didn’t need involvement; she needed peace. As they walked to the door and she said goodbye, she knew the less she saw of Logan the more peaceful she’d feel.

A few days later, Meg picked up the Willow Valley Courier. When she saw her own picture on page one, the same picture that had run in newspapers across the country five weeks ago, memories overwhelmed her. By the time she’d finished the article, the numbness had worn off and she was furious.

Logan’s comments to the reporter about Manuel and Carmen were strictly factual. But he had included her in the mix. Inadvertently or not, he’d dragged her into their drama. He might be sheriff, but she had a right to her privacy just as Manuel and Carmen did. She sat and fumed for a few minutes, then suddenly decided to tell him how she felt.

Meg drove to the sheriff’s department and turned off the ignition before she changed her mind. When she pulled open the door to the office and stepped inside, she saw Cal Martin, one of Logan’s deputies, sitting at the front desk.

In a crisp tone, she said, “I’m here to see Sheriff MacDonald.”

Cal looked her over. “And your name?”

“Meg Dawson.”

Cal’s gaze flashed with recognition. He pointed to the closed office in the back. “Just knock on his door.”

She could feel Cal’s eyes on her back as she crossed the room. Seeing Logan sitting at a massive, scarred wooden desk, she rapped sharply on the glass-paneled door.

He looked up and rose from his chair, opening the door in one quick motion. She’d stood face-to-face with him before, but today his shoulders seemed broader, his legs longer. She should have done this by phone.

“What’s the matter, Meg?”

No doubt her color was high. She hadn’t bothered to run a brush through her hair, and her old cutoffs and short, sleeveless knit top didn’t add to a sense of self-confidence. Boy, she really hadn’t thought this through.

She slapped the paper on his desk and her purse on top of it. “That’s what’s wrong. Why did you mention me and Costa Rica?”

Logan’s brows arched. “Everything I told the reporter is a matter of public record. Doc Jacobs delivered Manuel and Carmen’s baby boy in Lily and Ned’s barn. You acted as interpreter. The reporter was the one who remembered you’d made news before. I just confirmed it.”

“Why did you have to mention me at all?”

Her voice had risen with her question. Cal was looking at her and Logan.

Logan firmly clasped her arm and tugged her away from the door so he could close it. “What’s going on, Meg?”

Feeling embarrassed for making herself a spectacle, she stepped away from him. “Carmen and Manuel turned down the interview. I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to one. This…this—” she waved to the picture “—was unexpected. That’s all.”

Logan’s gaze probed hers until she looked away. She took a few deep breaths, then pushed her hair behind her ear, staring at her picture in the paper, the picture of her and Ramón Pomada standing at the car on the airport runway after the kidnapper had run to the plane. She involuntarily clutched her shoulder, remembering the way it had hurt. She remembered…

Logan was close again. “Meg,” he said gently, “what are you thinking?”

“I, uh, I guess I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should have realized even old news is still news in Willow Valley.”

Logan rested his hands on her shoulders. “Have you talked to anyone about what you went through?”

She looked over his shoulder, trying to deny the emotions swelling inside her. “Just the debriefer.” Her breaths were coming quicker.

“You weren’t allowed to give interviews, were you?”

Her chest tightened, and the air in the room suddenly got thinner. “The governments involved thought it would be better if I didn’t. They just gave the facts.”

“So why did the rehash of the story bother you now?”

His gentle voice stirred her emotions into chaos, making her feel too vulnerable. “The picture,” she murmured as she felt tears prick at her eyes. Now she really felt foolish. She ducked her head and stared straight into Logan’s chest. She could see each breath he took, could feel the warmth of his hands on her shoulders…and wished she was anyplace else but here.

He tipped her chin up. “It’s okay to let it out. If you haven’t yet, you’re going to have to soon or it will eat at you.”

“But I…” She couldn’t stop the tears.

He pulled her against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

Logan couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Meg. Her reaction seemed to have surprised her more than him. He suspected she wasn’t used to leaning on anyone. From what she’d said about her childhood, she’d learned at an early age to depend on herself. When he’d invited her to have coffee with him, he’d acted on impulse. He’d found himself thinking about her often, wanting to know more about her, weighing the pros and cons of seeing her again.

Right now she was a woman who needed a shoulder…his shoulder. With his arms around her, her hands pressed against his chest, he wished she could just let go of her ordeal and its effects, but it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was. He could feel her quick breaths, feel the tension as she resisted his support.

The scent of roses teased Logan, Meg’s curves against him felt too right and holding her aroused him. The warmth between them became heat. Her top was a thin barrier as his thumb slipped from the material to her bare skin. His desire grew stronger, and he closed his eyes. Bittersweet pleasure. His life was a mess. She’d go back to her job after Thanksgiving. Even if he wanted just a—

Meg abruptly pulled away, avoided his gaze and reached for her purse. She took out a tissue, blew her nose, then faced him. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She looked at the file cabinet behind him. “I’m not like this. I don’t cry. I don’t overreact.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what to talk about.”

“Maybe how terrifying it is to be held hostage?”

She shook her head. “I just want to forget it.”

“I’ve been in the middle of gang wars and drug deals. I understand, Meg, I really do.”

She took a deep breath, and he wanted to pull her into his arms again. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Dinner?” She looked surprised he’d asked.

He’d surprised himself. “Yeah. I’ll cook something at my place. And if you want to talk about Costa Rica, you can.”

She gave him a weak smile. “And if I don’t want to talk about it?”

He could think of something else he’d much rather do than talk, starting with kissing and ending with… “If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to talk.”

She moved closer to the door, but it also brought her closer to him again. “Lily might need my help if Carmen and Manuel are still here.”

He thought about stepping away from her, but didn’t. “I think she and Ned can handle one evening by themselves. Don’t you?”

When Meg slowly nodded, her shiny hair barely brushed her shoulders. It was as natural and free as she was. He wanted to touch her hair, to touch her. Leaning forward, he felt led by a force greater than them both.

She gazed into his eyes and he couldn’t help but slip his hand along her neck under her hair and lower his head.

Meg waited for Logan’s kiss, thought about it, was eager for it. He’d felt so strong and sturdy and safe as she’d let him hold her. But now, as she gazed into his eyes, she knew he wasn’t safe. There was passion there, and yearning and needs only a woman could fulfill for a man. If he kissed her, they’d tap the need—in both of them.

But Logan didn’t kiss her. Instead, he removed his hand from under her hair, the touch of his fingers as they slid along her neck leaving a burning heat she wouldn’t soon forget. When he raised his head and dropped his hand, she felt a loss of something she suspected would curl her toes.

A slip of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. With a nod, he gestured to the outer office. Cal stared directly at the two of them through the glass pane.

Logan’s tone was wry. “This isn’t the most private place in Willow Valley.”

She backed away from Logan and picked up her purse on the desk. “Sometimes I wonder if any place is private in Willow Valley.”

He studied her carefully for a moment. “We’ll have privacy tomorrow night.”

Flustered, her emotions swirling, not only from what had almost happened with Logan but from the confusion the picture in the paper had stirred up, she moved toward the door. “All right. Can I bring anything?”

He shook his head. “Just yourself.”

If she was making a mistake, she’d find out tomorrow night.

Chapter 3

Standing at the door to Logan’s house Saturday evening, Meg took a deep breath. The air was getting cooler. September had arrived, and with it the promise of fall. She shifted the bottle of wine to her left arm and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, Logan opened the door to the brick bi-level. She’d never seen him dressed in anything but his uniform before. He wore a simple white polo shirt, black shorts and Docksides without socks. His thighs were muscled, his legs long, his arms bronzed by the sun. Black hair curled at the V where his two buttons were unfastened. He was sexy and virile, and she was suddenly very nervous.

She handed him the bottle of wine. “I couldn’t come empty-handed.” His green eyes swept over her, from the gold barrette in her hair, over her emerald culotte dress to her white sandals. When his gaze lingered a moment on her lips, she felt shivers slide up her spine.

Taking the bottle from her, he smiled. “This will be just right. I’ve barbecued chicken on the grill. I thought we could eat on the deck.” Logan motioned her inside. “Come on in.”

She followed him up a few stairs to the living room. “Do you have a family room downstairs?”

“I use it for storage. I’m a little short on family right now.”

The pain on his face hurt her. He looked as if he were far away somewhere, and she suspected he was thinking about his son. “I’m sorry, Logan. That was thoughtless of me.”

When he met her gaze, the pain was still there but controlled now. “You couldn’t be thoughtless if you tried.”

“You just met me.”

“Maybe so. But in my business, I have to read people in an instant sometimes. My life has depended on it.”

“Willow Valley must seem tame compared to what you came from.”

“It’s different. But that’s what I wanted when I moved my family here.”

Despite how Logan had reacted at the bakery when she’d mentioned Travis, she wouldn’t let his son be a taboo subject between them. “Aunt Lily told me Travis wasn’t happy here.”

“He wasn’t. He had his mind set before we came.” Logan’s curt tone told her he still preferred not to discuss his son.

Meg examined the living room. A gray sofa, streaked with abstract shapes of navy, sat across from an ebony entertainment center. A gray easy chair complemented the sofa. A ladder-backed rocker, two end tables with gray ceramic lights and a coffee table completed the room. But the place still didn’t look lived-in.

She crossed to the entertainment center and picked up a framed picture on one of the shelves. A teenage boy stood by the trunk of a maple tree, staring absently across the yard. “Travis?”

Logan nodded.

“He’s a handsome young man.” He looked a lot like his father.

Logan crossed the room and stood beside her. “He’s an unhappy young man.”

Meg thought about her own upbringing. “Raising children is complicated.”

The silence between them lasted a few moments. Finally Logan said, “You’re determined to make me talk about him, aren’t you?”

“You need to talk about him, about more than his disappearance.”

When Logan raised his hand, she knew he was going to touch her. His fingers on her cheek gave her a thrill of pleasure she’d never known.

His voice was husky when he asked, “How did you get so smart?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with being smart. The heart and the head don’t always speak the same language.”

He smiled. “I guess the trick is getting them to understand each other.”

She nodded and, when his fingers slipped away, she wished he was touching her again. She took the picture with her to the sofa. “Tell me about him.”

Logan sat beside her, his knee barely brushing hers. “He’s sixteen, thinks he’s the smartest kid in the world and is more rebellious and stubborn than any teenager I’ve ever known.”

“He’s a junior?”

“Yes. At least he would be if he came home.”

“What does he like to do?”

Logan looked at a loss for a moment. “Besides getting in trouble, I don’t really know. We haven’t had an amicable conversation in a long time.”

Logan’s expression was full of regret for all that had been. “The last time we talked, he called me his jailor. If he wasn’t home by curfew, I’d go out and find him. I think he hated me.”

“Logan.”

“That’s the truth, Meg. And now I can’t sleep at night wishing I’d handled everything differently. If I could just find Travis, I’d tell him I don’t care if he wears three earrings or torn jeans or shaves his head. I’ll even make his curfew an hour later. I just want him home.”

Meg reached out and covered Logan’s hand. “Doc said the whole town is praying. Is there anything else anyone can do?”

He sandwiched her hand between his and gently rubbed his thumb over the tops of her fingers. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do except pray.”

She stared into his eyes, feeling his pain, feeling his need, drawn to him in an elemental way. Finally Logan cleared his throat and released her hand. “I have the chicken wrapped in foil on the grill. We’d better get to it, or it’ll be too dry to eat.”

Supper. That’s why she was here.

Logan had already set the picnic table. A light breeze stirred the paper napkins under the silverware. Steps led from the deck down to a long yard separated by a spirea hedge from the next-door neighbor’s property.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There’s a salad in the refrigerator.”

Besides the salad, Logan’s refrigerator was practically empty. Two bottles of beer, two cans of soda, a hunk of Swiss cheese, the remainder of a head of lettuce and a package of carrots sat on the top shelf. Other than that, his cupboard was bare.

Meg carried the teak salad bowl outside. Logan had just placed the chicken on a platter and unwrapped the foil from two baked potatoes. As she slid onto the bench, he straddled the one on the other side and gave her a quick grin. “I forgot to buy butter at the store. But I have salt and pepper. I don’t cook often.”

“You don’t spend much time here, do you?”

He swung his other leg under the table and raised his head. “No. Is it so obvious?”

“Nothing out of place in the living room, a spotless kitchen. Sure signs.”

“I spend most of my time in my office. When I’m hungry, I run up to Gibson’s Grocery.”

“Chips and cookies?”

“Uh-oh. The lady is on to me.”

She smiled. “Quick and filling. I do the same thing when I’m on the run. I get tired of cucumber sandwiches at receptions and hotel food.”

“Where’s your home base?”

“An apartment in Chevy Chase.”

“Are you looking forward to getting back?”

When she was traveling, she did. Her apartment was sunny, comfortable and close to anything she needed. “I’m enjoying my time with Lily and Ned. D.C. and foreign embassies seem a world away.”

Logan delved into world affairs with Meg as they ate. He was a stimulating conversationalist, quick to catch her train of thought, a good listener. Her stomach would jump whenever he smiled. His deep voice, lower when he disagreed with her, carried a timbre of authority, yet he listened when she explained her views. They both veered away from personal subjects. That moment in the living room had been too fraught with emotion, too tempting, too dangerous, to explore further, at least right now.

The sun slipped behind the clouds, streaking them and the sky with orange, pink and purple. The passage of time seemed inconsequential as shadows vanished into dusk and fireflies blinked under the maples in the yard.

Suddenly Logan stopped in midsentence. “We forgot the wine. Some host I turned out to be. I set it on the counter, so it’s not even chilled.”

“Perfect with ice cubes,” she teased.

“You are kidding.”

“Nope.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

She called after him, “Just half a glass.”

Climbing from the bench, she straightened her belt and wandered to the railing, folding her arms on the weathered wood.

It wasn’t long before Meg felt Logan at the back door, watching her. But she didn’t turn around. Whenever their gazes connected, the tumult inside her was too unsettling for her to analyze. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the glow of the kitchen light. The door opened and shut, and she found herself holding her breath, which was silly.

At least, she thought it was silly until Logan stood beside her and offered her a glass of wine. When he handed her the juice glass, she realized the trembling inside her extended to her fingers. She took a sip and set the glass on the balustrade.

He did the same. “We didn’t talk about Costa Rica and what happened to you there.” His voice was low, and in the shadows he seemed almost larger than life.

“It’s not necessary, Logan. I’m fine.”

“That’s a generic word that doesn’t describe or explain anything. You’re not a generic woman.”

Logan made her feel feminine and special. As she was growing up, tagging along with her parents, she’d often felt she was a bother. She’d thought she’d put all that behind her—the feelings of loneliness and isolation. Costa Rica had stirred them up, and being cared for and loved by Lily and Ned hadn’t eased them but had brought even more confusion to the surface. And now Logan, making her feel she was special…

“Meg?”

Even in the darkness, her eyes sought his. Connected to him for the moment, she felt the impact of her loneliness, more loneliness than she’d ever felt before.

Logan stroked her hair away from her cheek, and she trembled. When he bent his head, she knew she wanted his kiss and needed his kiss. But panic rose within her. In an instant, she realized she was as afraid of involvement with Logan as she was of returning to her profession.

Afraid? Of doing the work she loved? Why?

The questions alarmed her almost as much as the thought of drowning in Logan’s embrace. She pulled away from him, confused and afraid, but not sure of what.

“I have to go, Logan.” Her voice was firm although her insides were quivering. Always keep an outwardly calm appearance. Always hide personal feelings. Always smile and act gracious. She’d learned to hide her feelings from her parents, and her profession reinforced her inner rules. Often she had to hide her thoughts while she conveyed someone else’s words. But she didn’t want to think about it now; she just wanted to escape.

Logan didn’t mention the almost-kiss. But he did confront her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s getting late, and Lily and Ned will worry.”

“You’re a big girl, Meg.”

She summoned up a smile. “Lily forgets that.”

“You don’t have to run off just because we were getting a little too intense.”

Intense. Yes, and turned-on, too. Ignoring his statement, she plowed on as if he were a foreign diplomat and she were his interpreter. “Thank you so much for dinner. I enjoyed it.”

Logan frowned. “I did, too. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

Not until she straightened out her thoughts. Not until she knew what was scaring her so. She nodded and went to the door. “I can let myself out. Really, Logan, I had a lovely time.”

She reached for the door, and he didn’t move. Maybe he realized if he came toward her, she’d run even faster.

“Tell Lily and Ned I’ll stop by soon,” Logan said in a low voice, reminding her she couldn’t run from him forever. “I want to see Manuel, Carmen and the baby again before they leave.”

Opening the door, she stepped into the kitchen. “I will. Thanks again for supper.”

Meg let the door shut behind her. Logan didn’t follow her, and she told herself she was glad. But when she reached her car and turned on the ignition, she wondered how different the night might have been if he had.

The morning was clear, the sky blue, the air carrying the lingering fragrance of the last days of summer. Meg had decided to walk to Willow Valley high school Monday morning for her appointment with the principal instead of driving. She needed the time alone to think.

After she’d left Logan’s apartment Saturday night, she’d returned to Lily and Ned’s and sat on the porch in the old wooden swing. For the first time in a long time, she’d remembered the conversation she’d overheard when she was twelve. The conversation that had changed her life.

“Meg was an accident that never should have happened,” her mother said to her father. “But everything has worked out. She’s only held us back a few times. If she decides to stay with Lily while we go to New Delhi, that’s her choice. She’s old enough to make it.”

At that moment Meg had realized she was old enough to make a choice and decide what was best for her. She would stay with her aunt and uncle permanently while her parents traveled, and accept the love her Aunt Lily and Uncle Ned could offer—because her parents apparently had none to give.

Swinging and staring at the moon last night long after midnight, she understood why she was afraid to get involved with Logan. When she was a child and her parents left her at her aunt and uncle’s while they traveled, she’d learned that attachment hurt. Loving her parents, wanting their love in return, she’d discovered abandonment hurt even worse. Nurtured by Lily and Ned, she’d missed them when she traveled with her parents. But staying at Lily and Ned’s, she’d longed to be with her parents. The situation was confusing for a child. At twelve she’d tried to end the confusion by staying in Willow Valley.

When she was an adult, her relationship with Todd had just reinforced the fact that attachment led to hurt. She’d made friends in D.C. But they were social friends, not friends in whom she’d confide. She’d never confided in Todd, either, not about her deepest feelings and dreams. Yet she’d let Logan see a vulnerable side of her she usually kept hidden. She could still feel his arms around her, the brush of his fingers against her cheek. Her attraction to Logan had taken her by surprise. Yet she could cope with that. After all, she didn’t have to be around him. She didn’t want to get involved, so she’d simply stay away. The solution to that problem was easy.

But her career and her fear of returning to D.C. were another matter. She loved her work. It was important and necessary. Yet she was scared that she’d be put in a situation again where her interpretation skills could be a matter of life and death. She was afraid of the responsibility, afraid of getting hurt again, but most of all, afraid of making a mistake. She could have cost everyone involved their lives. It was her fault that their kidnapper had started shooting. Thank God she was the only one who’d gotten hurt. But what about the next time? What if…?

Meg hurried across the parking lot of the high school, trying to chase her thoughts away. Entertaining doubts would only give them more power. She swung open the door to the building and headed for the office. The lobby had a familiar recently polished floor smell, and she smiled. During her time in high school, living with her aunt and uncle, she’d finally experienced a sense of belonging and stability that had been missing from her first twelve years.

When Meg opened the door to the office and stepped inside, the secretary smiled at her. “Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Michael Holden at eleven-thirty.”

The door to the principal’s office stood open. Meg heard two masculine voices. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken…

Michael stood in the doorway and motioned to her to come into his office. He was six feet tall and in his late thirties. He’d accepted the position as principal of Willow Valley high school the year before. Lily had introduced Meg to the man after church services one Sunday. Meg didn’t know much about him—just that his blue eyes twinkled when he smiled and his voice was gentle yet strong enough to persuade recalcitrant teenagers to listen to him. He’d e-mailed her, asking her to consider participating in an assembly for the students. She’d made this appointment with him to discuss it.

Except she hadn’t expected to see Logan MacDonald standing in the principal’s office. In his uniform, he always seemed to be taller, broader, a force she couldn’t ignore.

Logan stared directly at her, as if he were trying to see something inside. “I had a meeting with Michael this morning. He’s organized a local parents’ group that will go to work as soon as a child is lost or missing.”

The Sheriff was making it clear his presence here had nothing to do with her. Without waiting for a response from her, he said to Michael, “I’ll call you after I’ve spoken with my P.I. again. Meg, I’ll see you soon.”

His tone was cool and polite, reserved in a way it hadn’t been before. But she knew it was better for both of them if they limited contact. After all, she’d be going back to D.C. eventually. She focused her attention on Michael Holden and the program she wanted to present to his students.

Logan left the school, fully intending to drive back to his office. But once in his car, he didn’t put the key in the ignition. All he could think about was Meg Dawson—the way they’d connected, the way she’d left his house so abruptly, the way she’d stood in Michael Holden’s office, a wall surrounding her. Something had spooked her. And damn if he wasn’t going to find out exactly what it was.

He examined the visitors’ parking places and didn’t see a blue compact car. It was possible Meg had walked to the school. Ned and Lily’s place was about a mile away. Logan checked his watch every five minutes. Finally the sun blazing in his windshield urged him to get out of his car.

Twenty minutes later, Meg pushed open the door of the lobby and stepped outside. The sun shone on her brown hair, making blond strands glow. The gold buttons on her red sailor blouse gleamed. Her white slacks seemed to reflect the sun as a warm breeze blew.

Logan slid behind the wheel, shut his door and started the car. He moved on instinct rather than logic. Before Meg stepped off the curb, he’d driven in front of the entrance, reached across and opened the passenger door.

Her expression showed her surprise. “What are you still doing here?”

“I decided to take my lunch break and give you a ride home. You don’t have your car, do you?”

“No, but…”

He appraised her, from her silky brown hair to her sandals. “And you certainly don’t need the exercise, so hop in.”

“Logan, I don’t need a chauffeur.”

“Of course you don’t. And I don’t want to be one. Hop in anyway. We need to talk.”

“Logan, really…”

“Miss Dawson, we’re soon going to cause a scene if you don’t get in. Because I’m not leaving without you.”

She looked thoroughly frustrated with him as she slid inside, then slammed the door.

It was clear that whatever talking he wanted to do, he’d have to initiate. He pulled his car out onto the two-lane road and headed towards Lily and Ned’s. “Tell me what happened Saturday night.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I don’t see you as a woman who hides behind denial. You’re too intelligent for that.”

Meg stared out the windshield. “I’ve solved my own problems for a very long time. I’m not about to depend on someone else to do it now.”

“So there is a problem.”

“Let it go, Logan. Life’s like a puzzle. You just have to figure out how to fill in the pieces so they fit.”

He glanced at her profile. “Your philosophy?”

“Uncle Ned’s.”

Meg was making it very clear she wanted him to butt out of her life. And he should. Their roads wound in different directions.

After he cruised down the lane to the farm, he got out of the car quickly and went around to Meg’s side. She’d already opened the door. When she climbed out, she stood beside him looking nervous.

He was feeling a bit jittery himself, unsettled by the inner turmoil he felt whenever he was close to her. “I understand if you don’t want someone to problem-solve for you. But if you need to talk, I can listen.”

When she looked up at him, he wanted to kiss her. But he knew he’d scare her away. So instead, he gently tapped the tip of her nose. “You know where to find me.”

It was hard for him to leave her there, to drive away without another word. He’d give her some time. If she didn’t come to him, he’d be back to find out why she was afraid of him…of them together.

The terror. She could still feel terror. She was cold…so cold. Despite the heat. Despite the perspiration. She interpreted their kidnapper automatically. But her teeth were chattering, she hadn’t slept for three days and she was scared…scared she’d say or do something wrong. Think something wrong and put it into words.

The terrorist rattled off his demands. She conveyed what he wanted to the official on the phone. Suddenly their kidnapper shouted and waved his gun. Pomada yelled. Meg didn’t know what she’d said wrong. But she moved toward the man, hoping to reassure him—

He shot.

The searing pain brought her to her knees. No one helped her. She knew Pomada was afraid he’d get shot, too. She reached out anyway. No one reached back. Her ears rang, and dots floated in front of her eyes, turning everything to gray. She couldn’t pass out…she couldn’t…she couldn’t….

Meg awoke, drenched in sweat, the terror as real as it had been that day weeks ago. When would the nightmares stop? When would she forget?

Sunday afternoon, Meg drove to Logan’s house, not sure she was doing the right thing. But maybe Logan was the one person who could help her. Maybe he’d understand her fear of going back to work. She needed someone else’s perspective. Logan himself had said he’d experienced traumatic situations. How did he make himself do it again? How did he persuade himself to take the same risks or face the same challenges when he’d narrowly escaped injury before?

Meg rang Logan’s doorbell, not wanting him to solve her problem but hoping he’d share his experience. When he didn’t answer the door, she rang the bell again and reminded herself she was here to talk about her work, not to satisfy her curiosity about her attraction to him.

Both the sheriff’s car and Logan’s sedan sat in the driveway. The garage door was open, so he had to be around. She descended the porch steps and followed the path around the side of the house. A low buzzing became louder as she rounded the corner. Logan was using a hedge trimmer on the spirea. His bare back, tanned and muscled, gleamed with sweat in the bright sun.

Because of the buzz of the trimmer, he couldn’t hear her as she walked toward him. She stared at the strong column of his neck, his hair damp and wavy on his nape, his straight spine, his khaki shorts riding low on his hips. The sparks inside Meg flicked against her warning to herself, threatening to ignite with a matching response from Logan.

Suddenly he turned around.

She stopped and took a deep breath. But that didn’t help because she inhaled sun and male, potent enough to make her head spin.

Logan’s stare was intense, then he smiled. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Her gaze went straight to his chest—a broad chest covered by black hair. A mat of it whorled around his dark male nipples then arrowed down the center, disappearing under the snap of his shorts. Meg felt herself getting hotter the longer she stared. “I, uh, thought I’d ask about your perspective.”

“On…?”

“What happened to me in Costa Rica. There’s something you don’t know.”

He came closer. Her fingers tingled, and she realized she wanted to touch him. There was no point denying it.

“Why don’t you sit on the deck while I shower? Then we can talk.”

Meg went up the stairs to the deck and settled in a lawn chair while Logan wound up the cord to the hedge trimmer. He climbed the steps and opened the door, his gaze lingering on her. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

She heard the underlying message. He didn’t want her to run away. As he went inside, she closed her eyes. She’d never been afraid of life or the challenges it presented. But right now she felt like running far away and hiding. She made herself sit still and wait.

Not ten minutes later, Logan opened the screen door. “Iced tea or soda?”

“Iced tea.”

He gave her a smile that made her knees wobble although she was sitting.

She heard the ring of the phone in the kitchen and Logan’s deep rumble as he answered it. A few seconds later, he came outside, his expression grim. “That was a hospital in Richmond. Travis was mugged.”

Chapter 4

Logan’s expression reflected a mixture of dismay, relief and worry.

Meg couldn’t keep herself from going to him. “How is Travis? Are his injuries serious?”

Logan raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Cuts and bruised ribs. A black eye. They kept him overnight for observation. He only gave them my number now because his doctor threatened him with the juvenile authorities if he didn’t. They wouldn’t release him on his own.”

Meg knew the drive to Richmond would take about three hours. She could imagine Logan’s concern, recriminations and hope as he drove. “Would you like me to go along?”

His green eyes gentled, then darkened with the same intensity that had been there right before she’d evaded his kiss. “I’d like that.”

An hour later, Meg sat beside Logan as he drove and wondered if she should have offered to come along. She’d called Lily so her aunt wouldn’t worry. But Logan had been silent ever since they’d gotten into the car. Meg felt as if she was intruding.

Suddenly he glanced at her. “I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”

“I understand.”

He grunted. “No, I’m afraid you don’t. You’ll probably wish you’d stayed in Willow Valley. Travis can be…” Logan sighed.

“Are you afraid he won’t want to come home with you?”

Logan adjusted his sun visor with a snap. “I know he won’t want to come home.”

“Even after what he’s probably been through?”

“I told you he hates me, Meg. And maybe he has good reason.”

“Logan!”

“He’s never said it, but he thinks his mother’s accident was my fault. And I’m not so sure it wasn’t. We had a serious argument. Travis came home just as she raced out of the house. An hour later, she was dead.”

Meg didn’t know what to say to ease Logan’s pain and guilt. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Since that night, he’s pulled away. Now I’m not sure all the talking in the world will help.”

Meg could feel Logan’s torment. He wanted to love his son, but he thought his son no longer loved him. Meg knew what it felt like not to have love returned. Love was more than saying words. It was a bond that transcended arguments and misunderstandings.

But not abandonment.

As long as Logan kept trying to communicate with his son, trying to reach him, that bond would live. Somehow she had to explain that to Logan. “I didn’t know how to talk to my parents. They were so far above me.”

He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“Their concerns were lofty. They cared about the history of civilization and their research, not about what I’d learned about basket weaving from a native girl my own age, or about the friendship we developed. They met my physical needs—they made sure I was safe. But a child needs more than that.”

“I couldn’t even keep Travis safe.”

Meg could imagine the feelings of responsibility as a parent—the immensity of protecting a child, guiding him on the right path. “Maybe if you talk to him about why he ran away…”

“If I know Travis, he won’t be in a talking mood.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“If I can chain him down,” Logan muttered.

A few minutes later, he switched on the CD player, and classical music filled the car. But as they drove closer to Richmond, the tension increased. Meg wanted to reassure Logan in some way, but didn’t know how. She was much too aware of his foot going from the brake to the accelerator, his large hands on the steering wheel, the curling black hair on his forearm and wrist, his tan skin. He drew her gaze again and again. Whenever she peeked at his profile, her stomach fluttered. His rich black hair was cut close to the nape. The lines around his eyes hinted at his forty years, but his strong cheekbones and his determined jaw gave his face vitality and power that wouldn’t diminish with age.

He’d shaved when he’d showered. Meg could smell spice, not strong, just part of his scent. Yes, she was too aware of everything about Logan MacDonald. She had been since the first moment she’d felt his presence in her aunt and uncle’s barn.

Logan followed signs to the hospital in Richmond. After he parked, he came around to the passenger side and opened Meg’s door. She stepped out, and he gave her a wry smile.

They entered the hospital, and Logan halted in the lobby. “The doctor gave me Travis’s room number. Would you like to wait here?”

Meg preferred activity to inactivity. “I’d rather come along if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. But I don’t know what Travis’s attitude will be.”

She smiled, hoping to ease Logan’s tension. “I’m not afraid of sticky situations. I get involved in them often.”

He smiled back. “I guess you do. I keep forgetting you’re a professional woman who’s been around the world a few times.”

“Forget?”

His gaze caressed her face. She could feel it and knew he wanted to touch her. “When I’m with you, I only think about the here and now.”

She knew what he meant. It was scary. With Logan, she felt different. Yesterday and tomorrow seemed far away. The feeling wasn’t only scary; it was also dangerous.

If she turned the conversation back to Travis, she could ignore the tugging she felt toward Logan. “What floor is Travis on?”

Logan’s eyes remained the same deep green. He knew exactly what she was doing. “Five.” When he broke eye contact and nodded toward the elevators, she walked ahead of him, knowing if he touched her, the tugging would become stronger.

They found Travis’s room easily. Logan paused outside the door, his jaw set, his forehead creased with concern. Then he strode in, as if he belonged in the hospital, as if he belonged in his son’s room.

Travis was dressed, sitting in a chair by the window flipping through a magazine. The sleeve of his shirt sported a long tear, and the denim of his jeans hung in strips over his knees. His school jacket lay across the back of the chair. The right side of his face was swollen, and his right eye was as black and blue as it could be. Meg saw Logan take a deep breath and realized how difficult it was for him to see his son in this condition.

The teenager looked up when he heard footsteps. Meg glimpsed fear in his eyes, relief and, an instant later, defiance.

Logan stood before his son. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Dad. Can’t you tell?”

Logan frowned. “I can tell you’ve gotten yourself into a mess of trouble. Are you ready to come home?”

Travis grunted. “I don’t have any choice.” He looked over at Meg. “Who’s she?”

“This is Meg Dawson.”

Coming closer to Travis, Meg extended her hand. “Hi.”

Travis scowled at his father. “Seems like you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.”

“Travis…” The anger in Logan’s tone was evident.

Meg dropped her hand. “Have you been busy, Travis?”

The sixteen-year-old looked at her curiously, then dropped his gaze. “Yeah. I sure have. Enough to know I want to be on my own.”

“That’s impossible until you’re eighteen,” Logan snapped. “You don’t even have a job.”

“Maybe I’ll get one. Maybe as soon as I get some money, I’ll leave again.”

Logan looked as if he wanted to shake some sense into his son. “You try it, and I’ll be more of a warden than I’ve ever been.”

“You mean you’ll lock me in my room? You might as well.”

Meg saw the distress Logan was trying to hide. She saw him try to make himself relax, and she knew his next words were a real effort. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

Travis’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t respond. Instead, he said, “You have to sign release forms out at the desk before we can go.”

Logan tried to hide his pain. “All right. I won’t be long.”

Travis watched Logan leave, closed the magazine and stared out the window.

“I only met your dad a short time ago, Travis, but I know he has been worried.”

The teenager looked at her then, as if assessing her. Meg let him study her. Finally he asked, “So how did you meet Dad? Did he stop you for speeding or something?”

She knew he was goading her on purpose. Instead of becoming combative, she asked, “Do you know Ned and Lily Carlson?”

Travis nodded.

“They’re my aunt and uncle. I lived with them on and off when I was growing up. I’m back for a visit.”

Travis grimaced. “Why would you want to visit Willow Valley? There’s nothing there.”

“My aunt and uncle are there, and I love them.”

“It’s a one-horse town.”

“Were you any happier in Richmond?” she asked softly.

His tone turned defensive. “I was on the streets. If I had my own place, it would be a lot better than Willow Valley.”

Her questions for him came from a deep place inside her. She’d never known a real home, and she wondered why he was so anxious to run away from his. “Would it? Or would you get tired of it the same way you got tired of Willow Valley?”

He took his jacket from the back of the chair. “I never liked Willow Valley. It wasn’t my choice to move there.”

“Did you give it a chance?” she asked quietly.

He remained silent and slung his jacket over his arm.

“Sometimes it’s not the place that matters but the people there or the work.”

He studied her curiously. “So what do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

She’d apparently piqued his interest. “Where do you usually live?”

“Washington, D.C.”

Travis’s eyes widened, and he looked impressed.

Logan came back into the room. “Everything’s set. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Travis mumbled.

Logan frowned and waited for Travis to stand. The teenager held his ribs. Logan moved forward, then stopped. The expression on Travis’s face told him to stay clear.

If Meg thought the trip to Richmond was tense, the trip home couldn’t be described. Logan asked his son questions about where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and Travis sullenly mumbled a few monosyllables. The muscle working in his jaw, his hands taking a strangle-hold on the wheel, Logan gave up and drove.

An hour from Willow Valley, they passed a few fast-food restaurants. At a red light, Logan asked his son, “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes or no, Travis.” Meg could tell Logan was at the end of his patience.

“Go ahead and stop. I don’t care where.”

Logan pulled into the next fast-food restaurant.

The silence at the table was deafening as Travis devoured two deluxe burgers and a large order of fries. After a slurp of his milk shake, he checked out Meg again. “Do you travel much with what you do?”

“Quite a bit. I have albums full of pictures. In fact, I’m going to be giving workshops at your high school on some of the places I’ve seen.”

“Yeah?” There was a gleam of interest in his eyes, the same green as Logan’s.

“Your principal and I have been discussing the best way to do it. Probably through social-studies classes. What do you think I can do so I don’t bore everyone?”

Travis shrugged. “Dunno.”

Logan frowned.

Meg didn’t give up. “What would make it interesting for you?”

The teenager thought for a while. “Not just a PowerPoint presentation. But talking about something neat that happened each place.”

Travis had a point. She didn’t want to do a travelogue or a lecture. Getting the kids involved would work the best. “I’ll have to think about that. If you come up with any ideas, let me know.”

His expression was doubtful.

“I mean it.”

Travis settled back in his seat with his milk shake.

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