Fathers and Other Strangers

“Hey—which room do you want?”

Blair made a face. Shrugged. Grabbed the earpiece from Jenna and rammed it back into place.

Reminding herself that this was no time to lose her patience, Jenna left Blair to her sulk and cranked open the next window, finally letting in some air. Hallelujah. Thus fortified, she returned to her niece and repeated the unplugging procedure. “Well, why don’t you go look at them and decide?”

That got a disgusted look. “I don’t care, okay? Geez, Jenna—there isn’t even a pool or anything. And it smells funny in here.”

“It’s just a little musty because it’s been closed up,” Jenna said, although she had to admit the aroma was doing nothing for a tummy already on the fritz from nervousness, exhaustion and heat. “It’ll clear out now that the windows are open.” And after I get my hands on some Lysol. “And maybe we can swim in the lake.”

Horror streaked across her niece’s features. “There’s probably, like, fish and…things in there! And seaweed! Gross!”

Jenna pointed out it would be tricky for seaweed to grow in a freshwater pond. Especially in the middle of the continent. Then, commandeering the last shreds of her quickly fading energy, she swatted her niece on the sole of her sneaker. “Come on—I need you to help me lug in the cooler. Then we can see about doing something for dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Although, to be truthful, the last thing Jenna wanted to think about right now was food. No, actually, the last thing she wanted to think about was Hank Logan. Or any of the reasons why they were there to begin with. All she really wanted to do was go to sleep for about a week and forget about moody nieces, revelations in diaries, P.I. reports and newspaper clippings and sexy, rumpled, grumpy men with bedroom voices who wigged out her hormones.

Speaking of grumpy…Blair actually deigned to haul her tush off the sofa and out to the car, dumping a miffed Meringue onto the floor in the process.

Jenna’s spirits lifted, just a little. Miffed cats she could handle.

Springing earth-shattering news on people was something else again.

“Jenna! Jenna—wake up!”

Fighting her way out of a dream, Jenna pried open one eye and looked—if you could call it that—at Blair. “Wha—?”

“The toilet’s overflowing!”

At this point, Jenna experienced one of Life’s Little Truisms, which is that one’s urge to pee is in direct proportion to the discovery that there’s no toilet. Especially when one last went—Jenna finally screwed up enough oomph to peer at her travel clock—ten hours ago.

“Jenna! It’s like really coming out fast, all over the bathroom!”

Three seconds later found Jenna wading through the inch of surprisingly frigid water rapidly threatening the living room. Cursing and muttering, she prayed there was a turn-off valve under the toilet, both because she didn’t relish the idea of swamp living and because the gushing water was doing nothing for her full bladder.

There was. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t budge. Cursing and muttering more loudly, especially at the dumb cat who got right smack in her path, Jenna sloshed out of the bathroom and across the living room to the kitchen, where the valve under the kitchen sink did work. Which stopped the flooding—which was the good news—but also shut off the water for the entire cabin. Which was the bad.

She swore again, a meatier word this time, then stomped back to the bathroom, grabbed the spare roll of toilet paper off the commode, said, “I’ll be right back” and hotfooted it outside, still in her shortie pj’s. When she returned a few minutes later, Blair was standing on the porch, her expression duly horror-stricken.

“You went in public?”

“Yes, Blair,” Jenna said, zipping past her and on into her room, where she rummaged in her still-packed bags, grabbing the first things that came to hand. Okay, she was now officially in a bad mood. Dammit—she had planned to sleep in. She had planned on a bracing run, then a leisurely shower. She had not planned on dealing with Hank Logan before coffee. Or a shower. “I went all the way back to the road and squatted right where anybody coming or going could see me. For heaven’s sake—” she quickly hauled on shorts and a white T-shirt “—it was just me and about five million startled birds.”

She turned to face her niece, whose expression had changed from horrified to disgusted. Jenna grabbed her Redskins ball cap from the nightstand and crammed her hair up into it, feeling about as attractive as grout gunk. “I’m going to report this. You might as well get dressed while I’m gone, since I guess we’re having breakfast in town. TP’s on the coffee table if you need it.”

“This was a really stupid idea, Jenna.”

Jenna looked up and saw the tears cresting on her niece’s lower lids. On a sigh, she closed the gap between them, pulling the girl into her arms.

“I’m sorry things started out so badly,” she whispered into her niece’s soft, slippery hair. “But it’ll get better. I promise.”

Then she left before the hysterical laughter escaped.

Even after more than two years, Hank still occasionally had mornings where he’d jerk awake in a sweat, gasping for air as though somebody’d dumped a load of wet cement on his chest.

Shutting his eyes against the almost painful pounding of his heart, he rolled himself up to sit on the edge of his bed, fumbling for his cigarettes. His hands shook so badly it took him three tries to get the damn lighter working. He’d actually quit for several months a year or so ago, but between the memories during the day and the night terrors…well, the smoking seemed the lesser of the evils, frankly.

He took his first drag of the morning and waited for his heart rate to settle down. Ryan, his pain-in-the-ass brother, who happened also to be Haven’s sole M.D., ragged on Hank whenever he saw him about the smoking. Which was one reason Hank tended to stay out of Ryan’s way. Besides—damn, how long was it gonna take for the nicotine to kick in, already?—it wasn’t like he had any real reason to prolong his life….

Aw, hell. Who was banging the crap out of the office bell this early?

He swore, took a last pull on the cigarette and stamped it out, then yanked on the pair of jeans he’d left by the bed the night before. Didn’t bother with underwear. The way he figured it, if this was who he figured it was at—what the hell time was it, anyway?—seven-fifteen in the morning, she should be grateful he bothered getting dressed at all.

For some reason, the image of Jenna Stanton’s expression at the sight of him in the altogether brought a glimmer of sunshine to what was undoubtedly fixing to be a rotten day.

“You can lay off the bell now,” he said, jerking open the door between his apartment and the front office. Predictably enough, she jumped back, her eyes huge underneath the brim of her ball cap, her breasts straining against the fabric of her tucked-in T-shirt like a pair of little—very little—kids’ faces pressed against a candy shop window.

“Mr. Logan! What if this had been Blair?” She flapped her hands at him; he bet she’d be fit to be tied if she realized how red her cheeks were. “Please—g-go back and finish getting dressed. I’m not in that much of a hurry.”

Hank’s accession to her demands extended as far as snapping his jeans’ waistband. And while he wouldn’t go so far as to say he was enjoying watching her watching him, he did have to admit he was getting a perverse sort of pleasure out of ruffling Ms. Stanton’s very ruffleable feathers.

“You come knockin’ before 8:00 a.m., Ms. Stanton, you take me as you find me. Now am I correct in assuming you’re not here to invite me to breakfast?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “The t-toilet was overflowing. In the cabin. I turned off the main valve to the cabin, but now we obviously have no running water. So it needs to be fixed right away.”

Hank scratched his chin, thinking maybe he’d get around to shaving today. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on it for a bit. “No water, huh? You need to use my can?” He nodded toward the apartment.

“No, I don’t need to use your…bathroom. We, um…”

In spite of himself, he felt a grin tugging at his mouth, if not chasing away what was left of the nightmare, at least dulling its effects somewhat. Lord, but it had been a long time since he’d had this much fun yanking a woman’s chain.

“I take it, Ms. Stanton, you have enough sense not to use leaves to—”

“Blair and I are going into town for breakfast,” she interrupted, her cheeks full-out blazing now. “I…I’d appreciate it if you could see to the problem before we get back?”

Then she turned on her heel—rope-soled shoes today—and stormed out, her fanny not daring to move a single extra muscle as she went.

“Ms. Stanton?”

She turned, brows hoisted. Hank dug in his jeans pocket and extracted a five-dollar bill. “Since you’re going into town anyway, d’you suppose you could bring me back a bacon and egg sandwich from Ruby’s? With a side of hash browns? Oh, and while you’re at it—” he went on a second excavation for another five “—get me a chocolate shake, too.”

For a good two or three seconds, she regarded him with what could only be described as a cross between stupefaction and profound pity. But she tromped back over to the counter and snatched the bills from Hank’s hands. “I suppose that’s the least I can do in exchange for your checking out my plumbing so early in the morning.” In rapid succession, she blushed, cleared her throat, and said, “You drink milk shakes for breakfast?”

For some dumb reason, a big old smile stretched across Hank’s face. “Spoken truly like somebody who’s never had one of Ruby’s chocolate shakes.”

She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, only to spin around again. This time, he let her make it all the way outside, thinking he sure did like that indignant little backside of hers.

Yep, Jenna Stanton might be a priss, but she was a damned attractive priss. In fact, she was the kind of woman that set a man’s hands itching to stroke some of the starch right out of her, to back her up to whatever was handy and kiss her senseless. Just for the challenge, y’know?

And Hank was damned grateful that he was old enough, and, he hoped, smart enough, to know that he had no business thinking he might be that man.

Chapter 2

Jenna had read about places like this—hell, she’d written about places like this—but before this morning, she’d never experienced one live and in person. Judging from Blair’s owl-eyed expression, her niece wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Ruby’s Café, either.

Blair leaned forward. “God, it looks like a movie set or something.”

Jenna leaned over as well. “I know. And don’t say ‘God.’ It’s tacky.”

Blair made a face, then slouched back against the seat. A pretty brunette waitress in standard-issue pink sleaze had already given them menus and poured Jenna a cup of decaf. The place was crowded, mostly with men in various permutations of denim and cotton jersey. Over a constant stream of good-natured insults and laughter and you-reckon-it’s-ever-gonna-rain-agains?, dishes clattered and bacon sizzled on the grill behind the counter. And, despite the inauspicious start to the morning, Jenna started to feel better. A little.

Then she picked up her cup. And there, shimmering like a mirage in her decaf, stood Hank Logan, half-naked and freshly aroused. Awake. Awake, she corrected herself, quickly lowering the heavy ceramic cup back into its saucer.

Blair frowned. “What’s the matter? Your cheeks are all pink.”

“Nothing.” Jenna tried a smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

That got a shrug.

“Charmaine told me we had visitors,” a rich voice intoned over their heads. Jenna looked up into a round, dark, beaming face topped with short white hair. “How’re you folks doing today?” As Jenna and Blair mumbled their “fines,” the woman, dressed in a loose white shirt and pale-blue polyester pants, topped Jenna’s still-full coffee cup, then said, “Glad to hear it. I’m Ruby Kennedy. My husband Jordy and I run this place, so if there’s anything you don’t see on the menu, just go on ahead and ask, and we’ll see what we can do. Although I’m thinking seriously about making up some blueberry pancakes, if that might be of interest to anybody.” She looked pointedly at Blair, who in turn looked pointedly at Jenna with something almost like interest flickering in her blue eyes.

Jenna chuckled. “Go for it, sweetie.”

“C’n I have coffee, too?”

“Nice try, and you know the answer. Juice or milk.”

For a second, the grump face reappeared, but then, on a sigh, Blair said she’d like the blueberry pancakes with orange juice. Please.

“How about some bacon or sausage with that?” Ruby asked.

Blair visibly shuddered. “I don’t eat meat.”

Ruby’s brows lifted, but all she said was, “And what about you, baby?” to Jenna. “You want the blueberry pancakes, too?”

“Actually, no, I think I’ll stick with a bowl of Special K and a grapefruit half.”

Now Ruby laughed. “Lord, no wonder you’re so skinny. But if that’s what floats your boat, who am I to say? Okay, we’ll get that right out to you—”

“Oh, wait!” Jenna called out to Ruby as she started to leave. “I just remembered—I’m supposed to bring back breakfast for Mr. Logan, too.”

“Mr. Logan? Which one?”

She and Blair exchanged glances. “There’s more than one?”

“Three, as a matter of fact. Brothers. Although one’s a doctor, not a mister. Which one you want breakfast for?”

“Uh…Hank.” Shouldn’t the P.I. have told her there were brothers? “The one who runs the Double Arrow.”

That was worth a frown and a pair of crossed arms underneath a prodigious bosom. “You stayin’ out there?”

“We’re renting one of the cottages for the month, yes.”

“Where you from, honey? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“D.C. Why?”

“And you came all the way out here to stay in one of Hank Logan’s cottages?”

Jenna tried to staunch the uneasiness beginning to fester in her stomach. If her and Blair’s staying there looked odd to this Ruby person, who else might find it suspicious?

Then Blair chimed in with, “My aunt’s a writer. She’s here doing research for her next book.”

Ruby’s gaze drifted back to Jenna. “Is that a fact? You written anything I might have read?”

Feeling the familiar panic rising in her throat as several heads in the vicinity turned in her direction, Jenna mumbled her pen name. Ruby’s face lit up.

“You’re kidding? You’re Jennifer Phillips? Who writes those Stella Moon books? Land, honey, I’ve read all of those so many times, they’re like to fall apart. Hey, Jordy,” she yelled back toward the counter, where a big, bald black man in a sparkling white T-shirt and apron was manning the griddle, “guess who’s sitting right here in our diner? Jennifer Phillips, that writer I’ve been telling you about!”

“No fooling?” Jordy glanced over his shoulder, never missing a beat as he flipped what looked like dozens of pancakes onto several plates, garnishing them with bacon or sausage before setting them out on the counter and hollering to the two waitresses. Then, wiping his hands on a towel, he came out from behind the counter and over to Jenna’s table, his wide grin showing off a gold tooth that coordinated quite nicely with his earring.

“You sure do write some good books, Ms. Phillips. I never can figure out whodunnit until the end, and I almost always do with other mystery writers.”

After a minute’s conversation, Ruby and Jordy went back to the kitchen, but not before five or six other patrons left their seats and came over, all apparently tickled to death to meet her, asking if she’d mind autographing their copies of her books for them while she was there and what her next book was going to be about and if she needed any ideas, you know, in case she got that writer’s block.

To Jenna’s surprise, the panic that invariably made her palms sweat and her stomach knot up so badly she’d stopped doing book signings altogether never really developed. Why, she didn’t know, other than maybe, even though it didn’t make any sense, these people didn’t really feel like strangers.

Ruby brought their breakfast over to them herself, shooing everyone away “so these people can eat their breakfast in peace.” Then Ruby asked Blair how old she was, and when Blair said thirteen, Ruby said Sam Frazier had a girl the same age, he had a farm just out behind the Double Arrow, and wouldn’t it be nice if Blair and Libby Frazier could get together, since Ruby imagined that Libby, who apparently had five younger brothers, might appreciate having another girl to talk to?

Not until a young woman came in, her arms loaded with what looked like pie boxes—“Six apples, three peaches and three cherries, right?” she called out to Ruby, who went to relieve her of her burden—did peace finally descend. About halfway through her grapefruit—which was plump and sweet—Jenna looked over to see Blair looking at her with a funny expression on her face.

“What now?”

“Nothing. It’s just that it must be so cool, to have all those people saying how much they like your books and stuff.” She crammed a huge bite of pancake into her mouth and said around it, “I mean, I would think it was, anyway.”

“Well, yes. It is.” A wry smile tilted her lips. “It’s certainly a nice change from rotten reviews.”

“Then why don’t you do book signings anymore?”

Jenna’s fingers tightened around the serrated spoon. “You know why, honey.”

Her brows dipped. “How come it’s okay for you to be scared of something, but if I say I am, you tell me I have to face it anyway?”

Jenna took a deep breath, then dared to meet her niece’s gaze, deciding the din of chatter and clanking silverware on stoneware was sufficient to mask their own conversation. She’d never really understood the debilitating shyness that had made her childhood a living hell, or why it had pretty much faded away for so many years only to make a cruel and equally puzzling comeback after Phil’s death. The only thing she did understand about it was that she never knew when it was going to strike. And that she’d gotten tired of fighting it, unless she had to.

Like now.

“It’s not okay for me to be afraid, Blair. And as far as facing things that frighten me…” She stopped, thinking about why they were here, about how whatever decisions she made could change her world. Then the memory of Hank Logan’s unapologetically harsh features crashed into her thoughts, speeding up her heart rate, making her skin go clammy, her stomach lurch. Speaking of facing things that scared her.

“I don’t mean to come across as sounding callous, sweetie,” Jenna said. “Or as if I don’t think your fears are valid. I do understand, I swear.” She shook her head, frowning at her grapefruit as she dug out a segment. “I also know what it’s like to let them cripple you.”

“But you were fine just then—”

“Blair, please.” Jenna lowered her voice. “I know I was. But I don’t know why I was. So can we please just drop the subject—”

“I am so sorry,” Ruby said, reappearing at their table. “With all the excitement, I completely forgot to take Hank’s order so I can have it ready for you when you get ready to go. Although I can probably guess—bacon and egg sandwich, side of hash browns and a chocolate shake, right?”

In spite of her quaking stomach, Jenna smiled. “I take it he comes in regularly?”

“Baby, men are so predictable, it’s pitiful. Even though, no, actually, he hardly comes in anymore, not since he moved back. But when he was a kid, he’d come in here just about every day, order the same thing each time. I’d be real surprised to hear he’d changed his stripes.”

“He hasn’t,” Jenna said, and Ruby laughed. After calling out the order to Jordy, she turned back to Jenna.

“And how about you? Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I think that will do,” Jenna said, reaching for her purse. On the other side of the restaurant, she heard the whirrr of the old-fashioned milk-shake machine. She looked up in time to see Jordy dump in enough thick, rich, gooey chocolate syrup to coat the entire state. She felt her lips part, her eyes glaze over, as lust swept through her.

She looked up into Ruby’s knowing, dark eyes, connecting on a level as basic as life itself. “On second thought…”

“Jordy?” Ruby called over.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Need another chocolate shake over here—”

Blair raised her hand.

“Make that three.”

Jenna and Blair looked at each other and started to giggle.

After he’d fixed the john, Hank had a moment’s tussle with himself over whether to go on back to the office or stay put and wait for his breakfast right there. Either way, he’d have to talk to Jenna. Of course, if he hadn’t asked her to bring back his breakfast, it wouldn’t even be an issue, now would it?

He decided to stay. What the hell, he’d already left a note on the office door, in case anyone needed to find him. Well, you never knew.

The metal toolbox clattered mightily when he set it on the porch, right behind the railing. Plunking his butt on the steps, he lit up, then leaned back on his elbows, scratching his chest through the “This Old House” T-shirt Ryan’s new wife Maddie had given him as a joke last Christmas. He’d taken a fast shower after Jenna’s wake-up call, so at least he smelled okay. Still hadn’t bothered to shave, though. Seemed a waste of time.

A mountain jay squawked overhead, setting off a twittering chorus from sparrows and finches. It was going to be hot as hell later, but right now the breeze messing with his still-damp hair was just the right temperature, gliding like a woman’s fingertips over his skin. Except for his growling stomach, he might almost believe he was at peace. Except he knew he wasn’t. And probably never would be. Some things, you just don’t make peace with.

The force shrink had suggested he find something to keep him too busy and too tired to brood. A six-month leave had been the plan. Except then this place had come on the market, dirt-cheap, and he’d snapped it up, even though he’d had no idea what he thought he was going to do with a guest lodge. Still didn’t. But damned if the shrink hadn’t been right—if it was mind-numbing you were after, nothing beat day after eighteen-hour day of grueling manual labor. Still, it was like learning to live without a limb; you adjusted, and you got by, but you never knew when the phantom pain would strike. And that alone was enough to make him vow to never set himself up for that kind of pain again.

Hank stared at the cigarette in his hand, frowning for a second or two, then lifted his gaze toward the lake, sparkling in the distance. Maybe he’d take a dip later, after he finished redoing those gutters on Number 6….

He stood when he heard Jenna Stanton’s Toyota chugging up the road. Kinda on the old side, the car was. But then Toyota owners tended to hang on to the things until they rusted out from under them.

She pulled up alongside the cottage; both doors swung open, both females emerged, sucking like mad on straws poking up out of Ruby’s bright-red take-out cups. A plastic bag swung from Jenna’s left hand, the white foam carry-out box clearly visible through it. Hank’s mouth started to water.

From underneath the brim of her cap, questions flickered in those chilly blue eyes. She handed him the bag, the kid making a great show of swatting at the air in front of her. The girl’s eyes were blue, too, he saw. Darker, though.

“Smoking is so gross!”

The straw popped out of Jenna’s mouth. “Blair!”

“No, she’s right, it is,” Hank said, grinding the cigarette into the dirt with the toe of his workboot. “I just happen to like gross things.”

The young gal shuddered, then stormed up the steps and on inside, making loud slurpy noises with her straw. The screen door slammed shut behind her; Hank looked at Jenna. “She out to save the world?”

“One deluded soul at a time.” She sucked on her own straw for a moment, then said, “So. We have water again?”