But just so I won’t be surprised or shocked, what sort of things am I likely to hear?”
“That I’m responsible for my wife and son’s death. That I benefitted by getting an ungodly amount of insurance money.” He shoved back his chair and stared down at her upturned face. “They’re right on both counts.”
CHAPTER THREE
LOGAN’S WORDS left her speechless. And just as she was picking her chin up off the floor, she caught a tiny glimmer of satisfaction on his face and a lingering impression that he was entirely too pleased with himself over her reaction. As if he was deliberately trying to shake her up. Well, he’d certainly succeeded.
Before she could recover enough to comment, Logan turned and left the kitchen. Had he meant what he’d said? Had he really been responsible for his wife and son’s deaths? The sound of the front door shutting noisily behind him snapped her from her reverie. She’d just seen a side to Logan Monahan she must never lose sight of. The man was nobody’s fool.
With the warning firmly implanted in her mind, Avery set to work cleaning the kitchen. The only sounds were of her own making. Sounds that were normal, everyday noises to anyone else, she treasured. Water running into the sink, the clink of dishes, the slap of the mop on the kitchen floor. Even the sound of her own humming.
When the kitchen was spotless, Avery stood back, admired her work and smiled. Who would have thought that in less than a year she could take so much pride in menial work? It certainly wasn’t something she’d ever excelled at before. Eight months didn’t seem like such a long time for so many changes, but for her it had been a lifetime. She’d learned a lot about herself and her abilities. She was stronger than she’d imagined. She was wiser, yes, but cynical and distrustful of everyone. And she’d come to realize she was a poor judge of people. But she was free and that was all that mattered—that and her job. She knew she’d do whatever it took to keep this job and her freedom.
The light housework gave her a chance to spend much of the morning roaming the big house, duster in hand, peeking behind closed doors, more mystified then ever by the lack of furnishings. All the upstairs bedrooms, except for Logan’s, were empty. The barren rooms made her uneasy. There was a sadness about them, and they made her shiver as if someone had walked over her grave.
Her inspection of Logan’s room told her little about the man other than he was neater than any male she’d ever known. Certainly tidier than her slovenly brother and even her fastidious father. Logan made his bed, picked up his clothes and placed them in the hamper. He even left the bathroom sink sparkling clean.
As she headed downstairs, she realized Logan Monahan didn’t really need anyone to take care of him. Then why was his father so insistent? A more disturbing thought was why had Logan agreed she could stay?
She worried at the edges of the question until something else struck her about what was missing in the house—the usual array of family photographs. The walls and dressertops were bare of pictures, nor were there any belongings or reminders of his wife or child. The house was as impersonal as a hotel. If he was responsible for their deaths, as he said, did that explain it somehow?
Don’t try to figure it out. Mind your own business and don’t get involved. She remembered the warning she’d given herself; she was prepared to follow it as if it was set in stone. With that thought in mind she continued with her morning work.
When she finally stepped into the office, her interest in working for Logan was stirred. Like yesterday, the desk was a chaos of papers, unopened letters and bills. Her eyes actually brightened at the overflowing boxes of files just waiting to be organized. At last her hungry gaze came to rest on the pillar of computer manuals perched rather precariously on the edge of the desk. Yes, she’d enjoy this work, and she’d be good at it.
She inhaled the scent of leather, stale coffee and books—all the essences an office should have. To her the scents were as intoxicating as French perfume. Once, not so long ago, her world had been centered in just such an office, a world of power and position, a world of people who looked up to her and listened to her advice as if she were a goddess. She caressed the top of the monitor as she rounded the desk, and didn’t even mind that her fingers came away dusty. Her heartbeat accelerated as she settled in the big leather chair, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Logan may not need her pitiful domestic talents, but he needed her office help.
The shrill ringing of the telephone jolted her upright. She’d been far away in a daydream of a happier time; she’d thought she could actually smell the leather of her executive chair. She’d have sworn she heard her secretary’s laughter and her father’s deep rumbling voice.
The phone shrilled again and reflexively she picked it up and said, “Yes, Margaret?” She caught herself, then said, “Monahan ranch.” The caller would think she was the village idiot. When there was no answering voice, she repeated her greeting.
Still nothing but silence. Just as she was about to hang up, she heard the distinct sound of fast breathing. She felt a creeping sensation, as if something clammy was crawling over her skin. Inexplicably, she knew this call wasn’t a childish prank, but something more insidious.
Nevertheless, she tried again. “This is the Monahan ranch. Who’s there?” She used an angry tone, hoping to banish her fear that someone already knew about her.
“Hang up.”
The male voice charged with authority didn’t come from the receiver but from the doorway, and three things happened at once. Avery gave an ear-piercing scream. The phone clattered to the floor. And as she jerked to her feet, she knocked the stack of computer books off the corner of the desk.
The stranger filling the doorway clamped his hands over his ears and backed away slightly. “Hey. I’m family.”
She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “So do you usually just waltz in without knocking or letting anyone know you’re coming? You scared the living daylights out of me.” He looked a lot like her boss, but was taller—at least six-seven—and whereas Logan was solid and muscular, this man was lean and stringy. She eyed him warily.
“I’m Tanner, darlin’, Logan’s youngest brother. And I’ve never knocked before and don’t intend to start now. You must be Avery—the burr in Jessie’s craw, new grist for the gossip mill and the reason Dad’s walking around with a grin the Cheshire cat would envy. And yes, I use to play pro basketball.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“But you wanted to.”
“No,” she lied, “it never crossed my mind.” He was charming, handsome and obviously having entirely too much fun at her expense. Avery tried to keep him in her line of vision as she began picking up the fallen manuals. “You called yesterday, didn’t you.”
He nodded and grinned. “Yep. I was surprised when Logan the Bear didn’t answer.”
“Logan the Bear?”
Tanner laughed, a delicious sound of pure amusement. “You got it, sweetheart. He has other pet names—as do we all. But that’s for another day. You can see I’m harmless, though, so why don’t you stand up and let me get a good look at you?”
“Harmless” was not a term that fitted this man. His charm, she sensed, could be most dangerous. And where Logan’s eyes were light brown, Tanner’s were black, lively and full of mischief. Even though she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking a dozen questions, one slipped out. “Why did you order me to hang up?”
“It was an obscene call, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “No one said anything.” As she restacked the manuals on the desk, she continued to watch him, but he didn’t seem inclined to do more than drape himself in the doorway. “What makes you think the call was obscene?”
“You were angry. Your cheeks were on fire, and those big gray eyes were kind of iced over.” He straightened. “We’ve all gotten a