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Logan, in fact, hadn’t been near the house in two years. The walls suddenly closed in around him and he had to will himself not to turn and run. Maybe the place was too small for his new housekeeper. He thought of the big house with its five spacious bedrooms and large modern bathrooms and felt like an ogre. “This was originally built as a mother-in-law house. You don’t have to—”
He broke off as Jessie let the screen door slam behind her. “Logan,” she whispered. “Please.”
He held up his hand for her to stop, then gazed past her. “Get the door for Mac, Jess.” His heart was racing like that of a cornered wild animal. He leaned against the wall, making it look as if he was just getting out of his father’s way, when all the time he was using the support to keep from falling over.
“Are you all right, Mr. Monahan?”
He’d lost track of time fighting the memories and hadn’t seen his father drag the suitcase into the bedroom, nor had he noticed that Avery had been watching him. “Logan,” he said. “We’re an informal bunch. I’m sure in a couple of days you’ll find other names for me.”
“You’re probably right,” Avery said seriously, but her lips twitched.
Logan didn’t actually smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. “By the way, who’s Denise?”
Logan’s question coming out of the blue took Avery off guard. She replied, “Denise Kirk. She runs an employment placement agency in Houston. She’s also a friend.” She’d called Denise from the bus station in Haven, but planned to call her again. Her old friend would enjoy her predicament and all the drama.
“Do you mean to tell me that my father had to advertise all the way to Houston before finding someone to fill the position?” Logan laughed with real pleasure.
Jessie watched them with a scowl. Mac elbowed her and winked, and she jumped and rushed forward. “Why don’t you go rest, Logan, and take Mac back to the house with you? I’ll help Avery unpack and get settled in, then I’ll bring her up to the house and show her around.” Her lips twisted in a false smile as the men agreed and disappeared. She turned to Avery. “He doesn’t really need any help, you know. It’s just that Mac likes to have things his way and he thinks Logan needs someone.”
“Sounds like a concerned father to me.” Avery knew the girl was just itching for a scene or an argument, and she wasn’t about to accommodate her. She walked into the kitchen and started opening the cabinets, familiarizing herself with her new surroundings. It was definitely a change from her former residence.
“Mac’s concerned, but Logan can take care of himself, and I’m always around to help. We’re very close.” She picked up a pillow from the sofa and fluffed it.
Followed by Jessie, Avery headed for the bedroom. She was entertained by the girl’s jealousy and childish attempts to warn her off, but she could have told Jessie a thing or two about men, and Logan Monahan in particular. She’d seen the way he looked at Jessie. There was nothing in his eyes but controlled amusement. Certainly, there was nothing remotely sexual.
She opened her suitcase and began putting away her belongings under the young woman’s watchful gaze. It was hard to miss the swift lack of interest; she realized her clothes weren’t up to Jessie’s standards. Some of them even brought a sneer. Still, she could feel those angry, cat-green eyes boring into her, following as she moved around the room.
“Logan’s not interested in women, you know.”
Avery bit her lip, finished hanging up one of her cotton dresses, then gave Jessie her full attention. “You mean he’s gay? That doesn’t bother me.”
“God, no. He’s not gay. I meant, he’s still mourning Becky.”
Avery decided she might as well ask and save Jessie the effort of finding another way to tell her. “Who’s Becky?”
The turbulent gaze directed at her was a shock. She saw torment, an emotion far too heavy for one so young. The struggle to keep the pain at bay was evident in the way Jessie held herself so straight and stiff.
“Rebecca Middleton Monahan, his wife. My sister.” She cleared her throat, then swallowed hard. “They were madly, passionately in love. She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Avery said, pretending not to hear the anguish in the girl’s voice. She sensed that Jessie, under normal circumstances, would never talk to a stranger about her sister. But something other than her being hired to work for Logan had triggered Jessie’s highly charged state. All Avery could do was wait, seemingly not noticing, while the young woman composed herself.
“They were childhood sweethearts, you know,” Jessie finally added. My sister waited for Logan to finish college so they could get married.”
Avery had a sudden desire to put her arms around Jessie. Memories of a different time and place, of a younger girl, of heartbreak and misery, flooded back. She could have told Jessie that with time the pain would lessen.
Instead, Avery sat on the side of the bed, one hand squeezing the material of her dress. She was swamped by a wave of compassion and sorrow as it all came rushing back. She missed her friends, her job and her family. She missed laughing, and the secure feeling of being home. Texas was not Seattle. Logan was not her fiancé, and Jessie was not her sister, Emma. For her own sanity, Avery couldn’t afford to look back. She’d had to learn to be hard and unyielding for so long that any show of tenderness almost took her breath away.
The exacting lessons and self-preservation were powerful teachers. She’d made a promise to herself that no matter where she went or whom she met, she couldn’t afford to get involved. She would keep to herself, never ask questions unless they pertained to her job, and stay out of people’s personal lives. Most important of all, she would keep her mouth shut.
“What happened to Becky?” Avery asked. So much for promises, she thought wryly.
Jessie shrugged, got off the end of the bed and began to roam the small room, touching everything. “She and Jamie were killed in a car crash.” She tapped her fist to her chest as if she was having trouble getting the next words out. “It happened at the entrance to the ranch. She pulled out in front of an eighteen-wheeler.”
Jessie slid her fingers over the smooth wood of the bureau, then stopped in front of the mirror, where she straightened her bangs and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She checked the condition of her pink lipstick, then her eyes met Avery’s.
Her pose struck a too-familiar cord. Avery recognized the desperate actions of a person trying to disguise her feelings but still needing to talk. “Who’s Jamie?” she asked.
“Their son. My nephew. He was killed, too.”
Avery could think of nothing appropriate to say, nothing that would ease the hurt. She watched as Jessie angrily wiped away the tears from her cheeks with the back of a hand. Avery almost caved in and went to her, but suddenly their gazes clashed and she stopped in time. It didn’t take much to see that, for her own reasons, Jessie had made up her mind to hate her. She, Avery, was an outsider, an intruder in Logan’s life.
Jessie started to leave, then paused by the door to say, “I wouldn’t unpack everything if I were you. You won’t be here that long.” She gave the dress Avery was holding a contemptuous glance. “When you’re through, you’d better come up to the house.” The parting remark was said like the lady of the manor to a lowly servant. Avery gritted her teeth.
The girl’s lightning shift from heartbreak to arrogance puzzled her. With a shiver of foreboding, she thought maybe she should leave. There were too many dark currents under all that civilized surface, and too many raw emotions barely cloaked by strained smiles. But where would she go? With a sigh, she unhurriedly put away the rest of her belongings. As she did so, she realized something. She’d become a fighter, and she wasn’t going to be so easy to dismiss.
Before leaving the little house, she hesitated, taking the time to look around. This was her home now and the only one she was likely to have. All she had to do to stay was simply discover a way to get along with Logan Monahan.
CHAPTER TWO
AVERY FOLLOWED the well-worn path leading to the back door of the main house. The shade from the trees and the lazy breeze cut the noonday heat, cooling her skin and filling the air with the scent of honeysuckle.
She was a city girl, had never been on a ranch, but even so, she’d seen enough Westerns—movies and television shows—to realize something was wrong with the picture. The sun was shining. Birds were singing happily. She could even hear the rustle of trees in the wind. Somewhere far away she thought she heard the mournful bellow of a cow. The big brick building she thought was a barn appeared to be in perfect condition, but why the neglect everywhere else? The mystery was intriguing enough to ease her jumpy nerves and queasy stomach.
Avery mounted the steps of the porch, and as she drew closer to the door, she could hear raised voices. She hesitated before knocking. It was then that she recalled another nagging question. Except for the people in the house, the place seemed deserted. She would have thought a ranch would be a hive of activity.
Walking into the middle of a family argument wasn’t an appealing prospect. She’d done that too many times in her previous life and knew the pitfalls and the likelihood of getting sucked into taking sides. Curiosity got the better of her, however, and she tried to eavesdrop, but the rumble of voices on the other side of the solid door proved impossible to understand. She’d raised her hand to knock when the door was yanked open. Jessie pushed past her, followed by Mac at a more sedate pace.
“Don’t mind my son’s bark,” Mac said to Avery, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “It’s way worse than his bite, and he don’t mean nothing by it.” He patted Avery on the shoulder, winked, then lowered his voice. “And don’t let him bully you. He’s dang good at that.”
She smiled in gratitude, closed the door, then gathered her courage to face the lion in his den. The kitchen was spacious and wonderfully modern, obviously planned by someone who loved to spend a great deal of time there. Logan was seated at an antique oak table, his chair tilted backward, his hands locked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t help noticing that he still hadn’t buttoned his shirt.
Her line of thought shook her. She stomped on the mental brakes. For a long time she’d managed to bottle up that part of her, and this wasn’t the time to uncork it. There was too much at stake.
“Pull up a chair, Avery, and let’s have a chat.” Logan sighed wearily and closed his eyes. Avery took a chair opposite him. “It seems easier to go along with the program than fight my father,” he said, “so I guess you stay.” He dropped his hands from behind his head, settled the chair in an upright position and met her gaze across the table. “Let’s start off on the right foot and get something straight between us. I can’t abide mothering.
“Dad tells me you can handle a computer. That’s great, ’cause I’m terrible at it.” He rubbed his face and tried to concentrate. “He says you can keep books, do invoices, pay bills and generally make everything in the office run smoothly, so I can work. As for the cooking and housekeeping—” he shrugged “—I have a woman who comes in two days a week to clean. Sometimes she’ll cook a ham or a roast for me. But mostly I’ve been fixing my own meals when I can, or eating in town. So if you’ll just handle my meals, I think that’ll do. We’ll see how it works as we go along.”
“What about your father and Jessie?”
Logan frowned. “What do you—?” Then he realized what she meant and grinned. “They don’t live here, thank God. Jess stays on her father’s ranch with her brother. As for Dad, he divides his time between his house in town and the farm.”
She didn’t intend to involve herself in any personal conversations, and figured that keeping their association on a business footing was best. She needed to be efficient. Most of all she had to make herself irreplaceable. “That all sounds fine to me. You look exhausted, though. Have you eaten?” She pushed her chair back.
“You’re mothering me.”
“No, I work for you, Mr. Monahan. You just told me part of my job is to cook your meals. You also said your morning was long and hard. Mine was, too. It’s almost lunchtime and I’m hungry. I just assumed...” She let the unfinished statement dangle between them, and waited.
Avery was too logical for his sluggish brain to come up with a fitting retort. “I thought we’d agreed—none of this mister business. Just Logan.” He managed a strained smile. “A sandwich and a Coke will be fine, thank you. After that I’m going to rest for a couple of hours, so you might as well finish settling in.”
It didn’t take long to find everything she needed. His cleaning woman had baked a ham, and Avery quickly had his sandwich on the table. He was almost finished when she sat down. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he was watching her. It made her nervous, but she’d learned the hard way to hide her feelings.
“How old are you?” Logan asked, genuinely puzzled. She handled herself like a mature woman.
“Twenty-eight,” she said, then dabbed at the corner of her mouth and took a sip of her own Coke. “Is my age a problem?”
“None I can think of just now.” There was something that still didn’t seem right, but Logan gave up. He didn’t feel like playing games with her. He folded his napkin and rose from the table. “Your first official duty is to answer the phone and take messages.”
As HE CLIMBED the stairs to his bedroom, Logan wondered where he’d gotten the notion that she was playing games. Was that what she was about? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was more to Avery Jensen than she allowed him or the world to see. He’d have to give it some thought when he wasn’t one of the walking dead.
By the time he reached the landing, he felt like a man twice his age. As he passed one of the closed bedroom doors, he paused and stepped back. He put his hand on the cut-crystal doorknob and noticed how cold it felt. A familiar sense of foreboding settled between his shoulder blades. As much as he wanted to walk away, he couldn’t. He twisted the knob and opened the door.
He couldn’t force himself to take that step over the threshold, though, so he simply stood there. His son’s room was as silent as a tomb. It was also empty. Every piece of furniture, all the toys and posters had been taken away, but Jamie’s presence hadn’t been erased. Even the faint musty smell hadn’t obliterated that special child scent that was Jamie’s own.
For a moment Logan thought the pain in his chest would destroy him. He wished it would, and thus end the dreams and the awful longing. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could still feel small arms wrapped tightly around his neck and hear the bubbly giggling in his ear. At last he pulled the door shut and continued down the hall, his heart filled with tears he could no longer shed.
AVERY LISTENED to the muffled footsteps overhead, the opening and shutting of doors, the rush of water in the old pipes, and knew he was taking a shower. Folding her arms on the table, she lowered her head and breathed deeply. More than anything she longed to relax, let go and cry from sheer relief. She’d done it. Her life was about to begin anew. This time, she vowed, she wasn’t going to screw up.
With that thought firmly in mind, she got to her feet. First she cleaned the kitchen and then studied the contents of the refrigerator, freezer and pantry so she could plan dinner. Then she decided to acquaint herself with the first floor of the house.
It didn’t take more than a few rooms to see that someone had expensive taste and a flare for decorating. There were antiques mixed with chintz, lace and leather. Still lifes and nineteenth-century portraits were artfully mixed with Oriental paintings, and all were cunningly arranged with a few fine pieces of Western art. Eclectic taste, to be sure and it worked, but Avery’s first thought was that the display was the work of someone who liked change but was loath to let go of the past.
Avery was very observant, and she realized there was something out of place here, too. Expensive area rugs covered the beautiful hardwood floors, and she noticed impressions in the nap of the wool where furniture once had stood. The room was obviously missing some major pieces.
Wandering back toward the rear of the house, across the hall from the kitchen, she found the office. It was full of the usual things—file cabinets, a computer, printer, a phone and fax machine. The desk appeared to be an antique. An effort had been made to bring some sort of order to the desktop—it had a clean, white pad of paper, an in-and-out tray and a brass pencil-and-pen holder. It was obvious this room was Logan’s territory and he’d furnished it. Here and there were items that showed a feminine influence—a cut-crystal vase full of dried flowers, a delicate china dish of potpourri.
But like the rest of the house, something was lacking here, too. As Avery was about to leave the room, she spotted boxes stacked haphazardly in a corner. A couple of them were open, and she saw the edges of picture frames. Her boss was either moving in or moving out. Puzzles—the house seemed full of them.
When the telephone rang, Avery flinched, still startled by the almost forgotten sound. She hesitated, then picked up the receiver, a little unsure how to answer. “Monahan’s,” she said, and recognized the surprise in the long silence that followed.
“Who is this?” a male voice demanded rudely.
“Avery Jensen. Mr. Monahan’s unavailable at the moment—may I take a message?” There was another lengthy pause. As she waited, she frantically searched the stacked papers on the desk for something to write with, found a stubby pencil, then tore off a scrap of paper from the unblemished notepad. “Hello?”
“Yeah, this is Tanner. Tell Logan Molly’s gone down on me again and if he doesn’t get here quick, I’m going to have to put her out of her misery.”
The phone clicked in her ear so abruptly she wondered if she’d just received an obscene telephone call. With the blank bit of paper in one hand and the pencil in the other, she walked to the bottom of the staircase and called Logan’s name. The second floor seemed to be his personal domain, his space when he was home, and she was reluctant to invade it. Then she realized how ridiculous she was being and sprinted to the top landing.
As she made her way down the hall, she noticed all the closed doors. She was tempted to stop and inspect each one. “Don’t do it, Avery,” she warned herself under her breath. “Keep your mouth shut and your nose out of his business.” She kept walking toward the door directly in front of her. It had to be the room situated directly over the kitchen and office, where she’d heard most of the sounds.
She knocked and called his name, then waited a moment before doing so again. The doors in the old house were solid, and even pressing her ear against this one, she couldn’t tell whether or not he’d heard. She’d raised her fist to give it another good pounding when the door was suddenly yanked open.
“What?”
Her gaze flicked over him, taking in every detail of the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, his damp skin and long muscular legs. She also noted the expression of frustration and anger on his face. It flustered her, made her stumble over her explanation. “Some—someone named Tanner called.”
She looked down at the blank piece of paper in her hand as if it would help, but saw entirely too much of her employer around the edges. Her eyes bounced back up to his face. She struggled to keep her gaze steadily fixed on an imaginary spot in the center of his forehead. “He said Molly went down on him and...” Her voice trailed away.
Ordinarily Avery didn’t blush, but now she felt the heat rising in her cheeks and couldn’t stop it. All her concentration was fixed on relaying the message and keeping her eyes from darting where they shouldn’t.
Logan watched fire stain her pale skin and gave a rough bark of laughter. “That got your attention, didn’t it?” He hooked the towel in his hand around his neck. “Did Tanner say anything else?”
“Only that he was going to put her out of her misery if you didn’t come quick.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder at the big bed. He sighed. “I’d better get over there.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “By the way, Molly’s a horse and down with colic.”
Avery was as nervous as a cat. But she managed a nonchalant shrug and forced herself to calmly turn and walk away.
Logan watched her, his eyes narrow and his jaw tight. She was a cool one. Too calm, too cool and much too collected. She hadn’t even cracked a smile.
Avery vanished down the stairs and out the front door, her heart pounding like a racehorse’s at the starting gate. Once back in her quarters, she leaned against the door to catch her breath, amazed by the way her hands shook.
After a desperate search of the kitchen for tea bags and a juggling act with a teapot, she almost dropped everything when there was a window-rattling pounding at her door.
Logan was standing on the porch holding some keys. “I locked up the big house, so you’ll need these to get in.”
She didn’t think she was crazy, but he seemed incredibly agitated. “What time will you be back?”
He barely stopped from snapping at her. “I don’t know—maybe in a couple hours. Maybe not, but make yourself at home. Unpack, look around, and if you need me, there’s a list of numbers by the phone in the kitchen.” He turned to go. “If I’m late, just leave me something to eat in the oven.”
She stood on the porch, watching him, and realized the truck he was driving was different from the pickup she’d seen earlier. This was white and one of those paneled things, with double doors that opened at the rear. And on the side of the truck was stenciled in black letters Monahan’s Veterinary Clinic.
As the sound of the truck dwindled away and she was suddenly left in silence, she smiled. “A vet,” she said under her breath, and wondered if Denise knew. Avery had only been told her new employer lived on a ranch and raised horses.
Logan had suggested she look around, make herself at home, and she intended to do just that. But first she had to call Denise and tell her the news.
“So how bad can a man be if he administers to sick and injured animals, Dee?” Avery asked when she’d dialed her friend’s number. “Not very.” She laughed.
“It’s good to hear you laugh, Avery. I take it you’ll keep me up to date on the mystery?”
“Yes, but, Dee, I don’t know how often I can call. I mean, I don’t know his work schedule yet. I’ll call when I can.”
“Sure. First see how the wind blows.”
“Thank you, Dee.”
“For what?”
“Everything. Especially your trust in me.” The lump in Avery’s throat kept her from saying more than a strangled goodbye. She blamed her weepiness on exhaustion. She’d get an early night tonight.
AVERY SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in bed, her heart banging furiously against her chest, her nightshirt damp with perspiration. Confused and disoriented, she fought for breath as she tried to figure out where she was and what had awakened her. She listened to the night and in the utter silence remembered where she was. She squeezed her eyes closed as relief washed through her.
It was funny, really. For eight months, twenty-four hours a day, she’d heard nothing but noise. Every minute of every day had been filled with sounds. She would lie awake at night and pray for just a moment of this sort of silence.
Her wish had been more than answered, but crazy as it was, the quiet had kept her from falling asleep until well after midnight. Maybe it was a nightmare, already forgotten, that had startled her awake. As she tried to shake off the residue of fear, she glanced at the travel clock on the bedside table and groaned.
Five o’clock and she was wide awake. She knew she’d never go back to sleep. The craving for freshly made hot coffee was far more appealing than wrestling with the covers for a few more hours.
Just as she was about to climb out of bed, something thudded against the side of the house, next to her bedroom window. Avery froze, straining to identify the sound, waiting to see if it would come again. When nothing happened, she exhaled, then laughed as she realized she’d actually been holding her breath. It must have been a wild animal of some sort, or maybe the wind blowing something against the house. She threw back the covers, swung her legs to the floor and reached for the lamp.
