One Man's Family

She felt as if she should protest, but didn’t bother when she saw how easily he slung the bag over his shoulder. The same bag she’d wrestled with to get it down the stairs to her car earlier, and then back up when it became obvious that she wasn’t going anywhere in her own vehicle.

She followed him out the door, her mind moving ahead to the various tasks waiting for her at her brother’s house.

Child care wasn’t just cooking dinners and packing lunches, she’d soon realized. It was getting the kids out of the house in time for the school bus in the morning, then chauffeuring Lia to her piano lessons and ballet classes and Joey to his track-and-field practices and soccer games after school. There was also homework to oversee, tests to study for and bedtimes to enforce, all the while trying to ensure that the children were adjusting—as if anyone could adjust—to their father’s absence.

Scott unlocked the passenger door of a sparkling powder-blue sportscar and tossed her bag into the back-seat before stepping back for her to slide in. She did so, almost sighing with pleasure as the butter-soft leather enfolded her in its embrace. He closed the door for her, then went around to take his seat behind the wheel.

As he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. His hand settled over the gearshift, his broad palm gently cupping the knob, his long fingers resting casually against the stick. He shifted gears and pulled away from the curb, the vehicle slipping smoothly into the stream of traffic.

Great hands, she thought, then tore her gaze away from the man and focused on the car.

“I would imagine it’s difficult for a private investigator to blend in driving something like this,” she said.

“I have another car for blending,” he told her. “This baby is for pure pleasure.”

“I can imagine,” she said, running a hand over the sleek contour of the dash. “Wow.”

“That’s exactly what I said the first time I saw her,” he admitted.

“Her?”

He shrugged. “The most beautiful things in the world are female.”

“And that includes a classic 1966 Corvette Stingray?”

“You know cars,” he said, sounding surprised.

Now it was her turn to shrug. “My brother has a knack for anything with an engine, and I picked up a few things here and there from hanging around the garage with him when we were kids.”

She fell silent, thinking about her brother and happier times. And she wished, more than anything, that he could be here with her now. He would love this car. More, he would love to be on his way home to be with his son and daughter instead of depending on her to take care of the children who meant the world to him.

“I’m guessing you picked up more than a few things,” Scott said. “And I have to wonder how a woman who can appreciate a spectacular machine like this could be satisfied driving a tin can on wheels.”

“My little car has been getting me where I need to go for the past eight years,” she told him.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“The answer is economics. My paycheck goes to rent, food, tuition, books and—every two weeks—a tank of gas.”

“Tuition?”

She squirmed in her seat. She didn’t usually talk about her schooling. In fact, no one other than her family and her supervisor at work even knew about the courses she was taking. “Med school,” she admitted.

“Impressive.”

“Have you requested the transcript from Joe’s trial yet?” she asked, determined to move the focus of their conversation back to her brother’s case.

“I left a message for the court reporter today, but she hasn’t got back to me yet.”

“Oh.” Alicia wasn’t really surprised, but she was disappointed.

“And I talked to Jordan,” he continued. “He’s going to get your brother to sign a release so he can give me copies of everything in his file. Then, when I know what evidence the court had, the names of the witnesses who testified and what they said, as well as everything your brother told his attorney, I’ll be able to determine the best direction for my investigation.”

She had been one of those witnesses, and she cringed at the memory of her appearance in court. She’d blamed Joe for not taking the stand, but she’d realized—after the fact—that she’d made as big a mistake in choosing to testify. And when Scott read the transcript, he would know how badly she’d screwed up.

She was relieved when he turned onto Greenleaf Drive, as anxious to abandon the topic of the trial as conversation about med school. “It’s the fourth house on the right.”

She saw his eyebrows rise as he pulled into the driveway and noticed the plastic menagerie that lived in the front flower bed: the trio of faded pink flamingos, the banjo-strumming frog and flute-playing pig, and the cow wearing denim overalls and a straw hat.

“Interesting decorations,” he said.

“Thanks.” He hadn’t turned off the engine, and she guessed that it was his intention to make a quick getaway. While there was a part of her that urged her to let him go, acknowledging that she’d intruded on his time enough already, there was another part—indoctrinated by her mother—that insisted she offer him a meal in appreciation of his trouble. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”

Before he could respond, she was out of the car and halfway across the front yard toward the neighbor’s house.

“I just need to get Joey and Lia,” she called over her shoulder to him when she heard the engine finally shut off. “They’re next door with Mrs. Harbison. Then I’ll be right back to get dinner started.”

Scott had no intention of staying.

Although he appreciated the invitation—and he was more than tempted by the prospect of an actual home-cooked meal—he needed to remember that Alicia was a client. And sharing dinner with a client, when that client was a beautiful woman who stirred desires too long dormant, was dangerous—even with two children as chaperones.

Two children who were obviously surprised and none too pleased by his presence.

“Lia and Joey,” Alicia told him, indicating her niece and nephew in turn. Then, to the kids, “This is Mr. Logan.”

“So?” the boy asked.

Alicia’s gaze narrowed on him. “So say hello.”

“Hi,” he muttered with obvious reluctance after another moment’s pause.

“Hi,” Scott said back, still wondering how to extricate himself from this awkward situation as Alicia opened a side door and led the way into the kitchen.

The little girl followed her aunt but kept her eyes—as dark and beautiful as Alicia’s despite being redrimmed from crying—on him.

“You were late,” she finally said accusingly.

“I was late,” Alicia corrected her, laying her hand on the refrigerator door to keep it closed when she saw her nephew reaching for the handle.

“I’m going to start dinner now,” she told Joey. “And I know you had a snack at Mrs. H.’s, so you can wait twenty minutes to eat a proper meal.”

Then, without missing a beat, she returned to the conversation she was having with her niece. “And I would have been even later if Mr. Logan hadn’t given me a ride home.”

But Lia clearly wasn’t placated by this explanation. “You promised to be here when I got home from school.”

“I know I did, but I had a flat tire on my car. And you know that if you ever get home and no one’s here, you’re supposed to go to Mrs. H.’s—just like you did today.”

“But you promised.” The little girl’s eyes filled with tears again.