скачать книгу бесплатно
He put one of her suitcases on the luggage rack, using the act to cover another quick but thorough study of his guest. Which he’d been doing since that first dazzling glimpse of her, he admitted. Her image was already fairly well set in his mind, the golden curls intent upon escaping from beneath her baseball cap, her apple cheeks and slanting eyebrows, the soft, sweet, generous mouth he had a compelling urge to taste.
His own mouth insisted on curving as he watched her place her pillow on the bed just so. Her eyes were an incredible color, somewhere between purple and blue. Violet, he decided. She was small, even fragile in appearance, but he sensed the steel in that slim spine. Expertly he appraised the white silk blouse tucked into tan slacks, the diamond solitaire that glittered at her throat, the tiny gold watch on her wrist.
Her nails were tapered ovals of soft, glossy pink. Nails that had never dug in a garden, he’d warrant. She wore sandals, and even her toenails were the same shining color as her fingertips. Pedicured feet, he decided. Pretty feet. Not that he had a foot fetish, but... Thomas raked a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. Not that women made him nervous... Oh, hell. Enough already, he admonished himself.
His guest was beautiful, all right, but he couldn’t help wondering at the shadows that haunted those enchanting eyes. What had caused the sadness that lay deep within their depths? Had someone hurt her? A man? Clamping down on his unsettling need to know, Thomas gave himself a brisk mental shake. “As I said, if you need anything... Oh, I’ll leave a key on the table by the front door. You can pick it up at your convenience. You can also sign the register later.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He certainly seemed eager to leave, Katy thought with an unseemly touch of resentment. Biting her bottom lip, she watched him stride out the door. His hair curled at his nape like a little boy’s. But this was no little boy, she was quick to warn herself. This was a man, a sinewy length of vibrant masculinity that warmed a woman all over.
He must drive the females on this island crazy, she thought. Patsy, too? Chagrined, Katy turned away to unpack. Even so, she was very much aware of him leaving the room.
It felt a little strange to think she’d be here alone with him. “Oh, Katy, he’s the host, for heaven’s sake!” she disparaged her nervousness. “Don’t go getting any crazy ideas about him.”
A late-afternoon breeze wafted through her window, and with it, the sound of Thomas Logan’s voice. He was speaking to the cat, chiding it, his laugh gentle.
The same gentleness she had sensed when he’d asked if she was all right. “When you went into orbit just because an airplane flew by a little lower than usual, Kathleen. Idiot!” she muttered.
Realizing she’d called herself an idiot for the third time in less than an hour, Katy smiled at herself. The usually derisive term was actually an affectionate catchword between two sisters. Katy even remembered the first time they’d used it. Karin, nine years old, red-faced and furious, lobbing Easter eggs at Katy and screeching, “You’re an idiot, you know that, Katy? An idiot! I do not like that creepy Bryant Hurst!”
Punishment was swift, of course; Nell, their beloved nanny, did not tolerate rudeness, not from anyone, and especially not from her young misses...
Oh, Karin, I miss you, I miss you! The lump in Katy’s throat, for all its familiarity, was painfully hard to dislodge. Suddenly aching with loneliness and grief, she hugged herself with a little swaying motion until the pain dulled to a manageable level.
With a physical effort, she closed the door on her memories and indulged in an elaborate stretch. Lord, she was tired! Every muscle ached with the strain of her long trip. She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock, too late for a nap and too early for bed. A walk, then, she decided. From her window overlooking the meadow she could see woods and inviting glades. The fragrance of clover and wild grasses beckoned to her.
Katy changed clothes, choosing sneakers, walking shorts and a cotton blouse, then tied the sleeves of a pink cardigan around her shoulders. Her hair, trapped under a baseball hat for so many hours, was a tangled mess and required a thorough brushing. The heavy, loosely curling, perennially tousled mane contained a dozen shades of gold, from dark honey to the palest blond. Leaving it loose around her shoulders, she hurried downstairs.
Thomas Logan was not in sight. She walked through the dining room to the French doors leading out to the back terrace. Borders of pink shrub roses separated the yard from the meadow. A fieldstone path led down the slight incline and impulsively she took it, following the sound of running water.
Just as the name of the B&B suggested, there was indeed a brook and it did tumble over black rocks, through banks of wild yellow iris and tall pink and white foxgloves in full, regal bloom. Beyond, the path ran uphill for a way before forking sharply. She followed the right fork to a gazebo perched near the edge of a bluff that descended almost straight down to the water.
Her absent Mr. Logan was painting the small structure; his lithe torso lengthening as he brought the paintbrush upward in a long, powerful sweep. A sharp little thrill rippled under her skin. Katy stopped, trying to decide whether to go on, or go back.
But, too late; he’d already seen her. “Hello, again,” she called, making her way along the stony path. Coming round the side of the gazebo, she gave a little gasp of pleasure.
“Nice view, huh?” he murmured.
“Nice,” Katy answered, thinking wryly that nice didn’t do it justice. Below her, spread out like dark green jewels on a velvet cloth of water, the San Juan Islands lay drowsing in the sunlight. The Washington coast was a dark blur in the distance, and clouds drifted down the highest hills to become tangled in the tops of soaring firs. Her camera was in her room, worse luck. But there would be plenty of time to take pictures.
She looked up and found his gaze on her face. “It’s s lovely,” she said.
“Yeah, lovely.” Putting down his brush, he walked over to stand beside her. “I love it. Always have.”
“Always? You’ve lived here all your life, then?”
“No, this was my grandparents’ home. I grew up in Baltimore, but I loved to spend the summers here when was a boy.”
She had turned her attention back to the view. While he spoke, Thomas let his gaze play over her again. Honey-toned skin everywhere he looked, face, arms, long shapely legs. Masses of honey-colored hair blowing in the wind.
“I guess you think Tumbling Brook’s a pretty fancy name for this place,” he said idly.
“I did wonder, yes.” She swept out her small hands in a movement that reminded him of butterflies. “It doesn’t suit you,” she said simply.
“It doesn’t, huh?” He chuckled. “Actually, Grandmother named it, and since Grandfather thought she hung the moon, Tumbling Brook it was.”
Katy smiled at the colloquial expression. Obviously, his grandfather had adored his grandmother. It must be nice to be adored, she thought with disarming wistfulness.
“Well, the brook does tumble,” she said, and they both laughed. “Do you grow the roses? They’re lovely.”
“Yes, the roses, the flowers, a few choice vegetables. I supply the local merchants with fresh produce.” He grinned. “A hobby more than a money-making endeavor.”
He was so easy to be with, she reflected. Some small part of her insisted she knew him, from some other time, some other place. A little shaken, Katy reminded herself that he was also a stranger. “Mr. Logan, I need to make a telephone call. Long distance, but I have a calling card. I need to check in with my... family.”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “Telephone’s in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Excusing herself, Katy turned back and followed the left fork for a while. At length, she retraced her steps to the house and called Nell for a brief, reassuring chat.
Hanging up, Katy yawned with catlike languor. Perhaps she’d have that nap, after all.
Katy woke disoriented. Blearily, she noticed the sunset and wondered why Nell had let her sleep through dinner when she was so hungry. Then awareness returned fully and she sat up. This wasn’t home and that wasn’t her beloved nanny-turned-housekeeper she heard stirring downstairs. She sighed. Where was she going to eat tonight? She hated the thought of getting dressed and going out.
She lay there for a few more minutes, luxuriating in the perfect warmth of the goose-down comforter. She was still tired, still drowsy. But if she didn’t get up now, she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Well, this was the purpose of her trip, to rest, relax, unwind. Get away from it all, she reflected, without permitting her mind to explore the all.
Her gaze fell upon her camera and the rolls of film she’d stacked beside it. A freelance writer and photographer, she had combined her vacation with an assignment from a travel magazine she had worked with before Karin’s death. At the time Katy had felt ambivalent about accepting it. Although she had always loved her work, right now it seemed more of a burden than a pleasure. But both her therapist and her editor thought it would be good for her.
Well, maybe they were right, she reflected. Maybe working in this lovely place would revive her zest for life.
Her mind abruptly shifted to the hunger pangs knotting her stomach. They surprised her, for she hadn’t really been hungry for so long she’d almost forgotten how it felt. It felt pretty good, Katy decided.
Clad only in a tiny gold ankle bracelet, she padded to the closet in search of a robe. She needed a shower and the bathroom was down the hall. An inconvenience, but one often encountered at such establishments.
Catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door, she made a face. Napping had removed some of her makeup, and mascara darkened the shadows under her eyes. She wondered what the charming Mr. Logan would think of her were he to see her right now. Grimacing, she pulled on her robe, opened the bedroom door and nearly bumped into him.
“Oops! Sorry!” he exclaimed, dropping the towels he’d been holding and catching her arms just below the short, fluttery sleeves of her robe.
His touch on her flesh was electric. Katy jumped from both the unexpected encounter and the lovely sensations racing down her arms. God, it’s been so long since I’ve had these feelings, she thought, thoroughly surprised. When she moved, the tips of her breasts touched the hard male chest covered only in a thin T-shirt. She could feel his body heat. And her own.
His quick, indrawn breath gifted her with another shivery thrill.
“Are you okay?” he asked huskily. “I didn’t mean to bowl you over.”
Strangely reluctant to look at him, she understood why when their eyes met. Something disturbingly strong and splendid flowed between them, something not entirely physical.
“I’m fine, really.” Shaken, she pulled away and smoothed her tumbled hair. He knelt to pick up the towels he’d been carrying.
“Oh, I’m glad you have those—I forgot mine,” Katy said, somewhat breathlessly.
“I was just bringing these to you. I wasn’t sure you had enough. It’s been my experience that women require a lot of towels,” he drawled.
Experience in what capacity? Holding her tongue, Katy accepted the linens he handed up to her and thanked him.
“You’re welcome.” As his gaze swept upward, Thomas felt a vital quickening. From his kneeling position he had a fine view of sleek, satin-covered thighs and the sweet flare of her hips. Seen from below, her breasts were high and pointed. Proud breasts, he thought, small, but rich enough to satisfy the sudden itch in his hands.
He stood up and smiled at her. Her lips parted and he watched them curve up at the corners in a little answering smile that was at once seductive and innocent of seduction. How would her mouth taste? he wondered. And how long had it been since he had been so acutely aware of a woman?
She stepped around him, the shimmery robe clinging to her enticing form. She smelled delicious, he thought distractedly. Why did she want to shower?
As she walked from him, desire coiled low in his stomach, a deluge of yearning that stunned him a tittle, for it was mixed with other things. Nameless things, but very much there.
When she glanced over her shoulder, his tight mouth softened. Her face had the fresh, fragile beauty of a wildflower.
“Just a minute, Katy,” he said abruptly. “There are a few other things I want to tell you. One is that the living room is for your pleasure, also the kitchen should you want to prepare tea or coffee. There’s television downstairs... Let’s see, what else? The front door isn’t locked until eleven. After that, you’ll need your key. Oh, one more thing—what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
Unprepared for his question, she stammered, “Why, I—I’d planned to go out for dinner, that is, if you’d kindly point me toward a restaurant,” she ended with a small laugh. “Do you have a map of the island?”
“Yes. But I thought, well, you’ve obviously had a full day already, so if you’d like, you can have a bite with me tonight.”
Her mouth shaped an “Oh!” before she said, “But feeding your guests dinner isn’t one of your services, is it?”
Such beautiful eyes, Thomas thought. Big and dark and vulnerable. His voice gentled. “Not ordinarily. But now and then I do go out of my way for a guest. Dinner’s nothing fancy, just ham and fresh pinto beans and corn bread. Raspberry shortcake for dessert, though,” he added as an inducement when he saw doubt clouding her face. “I’d be delighted to have you join me.”
Katy bit her lip, devilishly tempted despite her habitual wariness. It would feel so good just to put on a comfortable outfit and have dinner here, rather than driving to a restaurant. Down strange roads, she reminded herself. And it would be nighttime when she returned.
Better to keep your distance, Katy. “Thank you, but I’ve had a nap and now I feel a need to get out for a while.” Her smile was spontaneous, warm. “But I appreciate your kind offer.”
“Anytime,” he said, apparently unbothered by her rejection.
He didn’t move. She hurried into the bathroom, closed the door behind her and leaned against its heavy surface. She could feel his presence tugging at her even through the wood.
After a moment she straightened. She’d forgotten her shampoo. Opening the door, she peeked out. He was going down the stairs. She hurried to her bedroom, then stopped just outside the door as she noticed for the first time the photographic gallery he had created on the hallway walls.
More family pictures: babies, graduations, weddings, outings, all the special occasions that bond a group of people. But what riveted her attention were two pictures of Thomas Logan.
In one, he waved from the cockpit window of a plane that bore the insignia T. L. Airlines and a decal of Pegasus, the mythical winged horse. In the second picture, he stood beside a sleek little jet that flaunted the same proud insignia. He wore a captain’s hat and a uniform bearing that unmistakable logo.
Katy recoiled. So this was his true profession, she thought with chilling disappointment. He was a pilot.
Becoming conscious of her tense stance, Katy released her breath and drew in air. This is absurd, she told herself. Why should you care what he does for a living?
But a pilot! She shivered and hurried into her room.
A moment later she returned to the bathroom. As she closed the door, she heard him downstairs, laughing as he scolded the cat. The sound of that husky laughter struck some vibrant chord deep inside her. Bemused by her spontaneous reaction, she grasped a corner of the mirrored shower stall to steady herself.
His effect upon her was startling, to say the least, Katy thought flippantly, trying to minimize its intensity. But she had never felt such a warm and immediate response to a man. And she knew with a profound feminine awareness that the feeling had been mutual. This thrilled her, and confused her. If she wanted intimacy, there was nothing stopping her. In fact, a little summer fling could be an exciting new experience.
“All you have to do is whistle,” Katy murmured with a wry smile for her rosy-cheeked image. She already knew he could whistle...
She sobered, her features tightening as she came back down to earth with a jarring thud. What if it didn’t remain just a pleasant little fling?
He’s a pilot, she reminded herself, and shuddered as a host of images shot through her mind with the swiftness, and destruction, of summer lightning. To Katy, the plane he touched so proudly was a symbol of devastating loss. Flying was synonymous with death.
Hot tears surged to her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. All day she had tried not to think of the date. An anniversary of sorts, she thought bleakly. The nine-month anniversary of the death of the person she loved more than she loved herself, her sister Karin.
Karin, her identical twin, her other self. Katy drew a breath against the stabbing hurt. Love, to her, had become simply another word for loss. Fate had taken her entire family, parents, grandparents, sister. She’d even lost the man—had been dumped by the man, she corrected with searing honesty—she had loved. Or thought she had loved. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, she decided, suddenly ragingly furious. Love, lust, illusion. Whatever you called it, it was still devastatingly painful when it ended.
So she’d become wary. “Built myself a wall against love,” Katy conceded wearily. But wariness was both natural and sensible, she insisted as Thomas Logan’s clear blue gaze shot to mind. She was still in mourning. And she was still healing from the destruction of the hopes and dreams she’d brought into her marriage.
She’d had far too much trauma in her life already. No more risks equaled no more pain. An intelligent rationale, Katy told herself fiercely, swiping at tears.
Suddenly, she wished she had someone to hold her. But as usual, the only arms around her were her own.
Two
Thomas Logan walked downstairs still smarting from his encounter with the elusive Miss Lawrence. He wasn’t accustomed to having his dinner invitations rejected.
Besides, it made no sense for her to go out to eat when she was obviously exhausted. A nap hadn’t done that much for her, he thought moodily.
A fine rain had begun falling, shortening the dusky evening into twilight. His mood lowered even more. He didn’t mind eating alone, didn’t even think about it, most times. But he would have enjoyed looking across the table at that intriguing face tonight. Enjoyed it tremendously, in fact. And they could have talked, answered the dozens of questions whirling in his mind. He wanted to know everything about her.
“Curious, the feelings she stirs up,” he thought aloud. Sighing, he went to the kitchen and checked the fragrant pot of beans he’d been cooking. There was no better eating than fresh pinto beans, in his opinion. He grinned at himself. This from a man who used to dine in New York’s trendiest restaurants?
Just then, the telephone rang; someone wanted a reservation for the weekend. For a moment he nearly refused. Then common sense asserted itself. He’d hate to have to explain to his mother why he couldn’t provide a room to her best friends, especially when he had rooms to spare. The house was big, four bedrooms and two baths upstairs, the master suite and living areas downstairs.
After jotting down expected arrival times and replacing the receiver, he took the pan of corn bread from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. Bending over sent a dull ache down one hip, a rainy-day reminder of injuries sustained in the car wreck that had nearly killed him.
His thoughts lingered on the subject. Before his near-death experience, he’d been a Wall Street wizard whose main interest in life was what he’d arrogantly termed the easy-money game. Making money was a power-trip that had utterly consumed him, until the day he’d rounded a curve too fast and sent his Porsche and himself over the edge of a deep ravine.
During the ensuing days of pain and confusion, he realized what a joke his life had been up to that point. Motivated by the radical change in his outlook, he’d left New York and returned to the islands to help his adored grandparents run this lovely inn.
Remembering, he shook his head in wry amusement. No one could believe that he’d given up his glamorous, high-profile life-style for the rough urbanity of Orcas Island. They’d believe even less how happy he was here, he thought, uncapping a beer. He had taken up flying immediately upon settling here, got his license, discovered the sheer, rapturous glory of soaring into the sky. He could, and often did, spend hours in his plane, alone or taking people out on chartered flights.
True, since his grandparents had moved to Florida, it was lonely here sometimes, on nights like this, especially. But for the most part he was content. Or would be, if the rest of his needs were met, he conceded with another sigh. He was thirty-five, time to be getting on with the rest of his life. But he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to get on with, he mused as he uncovered the baked ham.
He had many women friends because he was a friendly, caring man. But they just stayed friends. Still, some were eminently qualified to become Mrs. Thomas Miles Logan. But all or nothing was his motto, though sometimes he wondered if such a thing as deep, passionate love really existed. Certainly passion did, and love, too. But together?
And if it did exist, would he ever find it?
A sound from upstairs tightened his stomach. Katy. A pretty name. A pretty lady. Who had no business going out tonight.
He fetched a tray and set it with silverware, dipped beans into a bowl, sliced the savory ham and cut a wedge of golden corn bread. Angel food cake layered with fresh raspberries and whipped cream made a sumptuous dessert, at least in his opinion. Then he spared a thought as to why he was bringing her a tray of food. The gesture probably came from having three sisters, he decided. His mother’s words rolled across his mind: “Watch out for your sisters, Thomas. Take care of your sisters, Thomas.”
Chuckling at the cozy memory, he carried the tray upstairs and tapped on Katy’s door.
She opened it, her damp hair drifting around her shoulders as she stared up at him. She was wrapped in a long white terry-cloth robe that clung to every gorgeous inch of her. Any brotherly thoughts instantly vanished from Thomas’s mind.
