Falling for Leigh

“Just wait.”

A second later the three kids ran screaming, diving into the pile, rescattering leaves all over the yard.

“See?”

She couldn’t help envying her cousin and her five children. After years of trying to have kids, she’d been unsuccessful. The problem wasn’t conceiving. Three miscarriages, fertility treatments and countless tests had yet to determine the reason for her inability to carry a baby to term, and at thirty-eight, she was forced to face facts: having a child of her own wasn’t a possibility.

Especially now that she found herself single again after ten years of marriage.

Neil had filed for divorce four years before, claiming that the stress of trying to have a family had taken its toll on their relationship and created a wedge between them that he couldn’t get past.

Though she’d been devastated, she hadn’t been able to argue with the obvious: their relationship had changed. She couldn’t fault him for leaving. He wanted children and that wasn’t something she could give him.

Rachel touched her hand, bringing her back to the present. She lowered her voice as she asked, “Have you heard from the adoption agency yet?”

The cousins were close, yet it still amazed Leigh how easily Rachel could read her thoughts. “They called last month to say they’d received the first portion of my deposit.”

She toyed with the rim of the oversize mug. Deciding to adopt had been a major decision, and not one that she’d made lightly. She’d saved every cent of her divorce settlement from Neil for four years, waiting until she was certain she was ready to take this step, and now she was. She was fully prepared to raise a child on her own.

“It was enough to open my file and start the paperwork, but they said it could take months before I hear anything else.” Her shoulders sagged. She knew this process wouldn’t happen overnight, especially when she was hoping to adopt a newborn, but she was painfully aware that she wasn’t getting any younger. She wanted to start a family before she turned forty.

“Don’t worry, it will happen. You’re terrific with the kids in your day care. Anyone can see you will make a wonderful mom someday.” Rachel gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as Victoria joined them in the dining room, carrying a cup of black coffee.

“Sorry, I got caught up on the phone with Mrs. Dawson. She’s planning a Halloween murder-mystery dinner at the recreation center and she wants to advertise the event in the Brookhollow View. I was helping her with the wording. What did I miss?”

Leigh shot her cousin a look. The only people she’d confided in about her adoption plans were Rachel and Grandmother Norris, and she wanted to keep the information between the three of them. Until she had a child of her own, she didn’t want anyone to know she was going through the process. Disappointment was harder to bear when it had an audience, and if things didn’t work out...

Victoria glanced between the two women and took a sip of her steaming coffee.

Rachel cleared her throat. “We were just discussing our mysterious, brooding guest in the Blue Room.”

“Mr. Walters?” Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “He checked in yesterday morning. Said he planned to stay two or three weeks for sure, maybe longer. I checked out his website from the email address he left on file—he’s some famous mystery novelist.” She took another sip of coffee. “He almost knocked me off my feet when I came in today. What did he do now?”

“He was harassing Leigh about hanging her new day-care sign. Too loud.” Rachel reached for the antique teapot on the table and refilled her cup.

“In fairness, he did try to help me with the sign.” Leigh sighed. A writer? This was even worse than she’d thought. Was it too much to hope that he was left-handed? Though he probably required both hands to type.

“Then he fell off the ladder,” Rachel struggled to say, her mouth full of raspberry muffin.

“Actually I opened my front door and knocked him off the ladder.” Leigh hid sheepishly behind her tea mug, waiting for the reaction.

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Is he okay?”

Leigh shrugged.

“Don’t know,” Rachel said. “I hope so. I haven’t seen him since he rushed out of here this morning.”

Victoria stared at Leigh. “I can’t believe you.”

Leigh ran her index finger around the mug. “I didn’t mean to. I had cookies in the oven that were burning—”

Victoria waved that away. “I meant for using that old ladder. I told you not to use that rickety thing. It could have been you who fell. Please borrow ours anytime. Or better yet, just ask Luke to do it. He’d be happy to help,” Victoria said, volunteering her husband’s services.

The two had just gotten married in their second attempt at a wedding, after Victoria had called off the first one twelve years before when she moved to New York to follow her dream of a high-powered career. Luckily, fate had brought her home the previous Christmas and the two had realized their love had never faded, despite time and distance.

She bit a thumbnail. “Do you think he’s okay? I’d hate to think one of our guests may have gotten hurt.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Rachel said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

The front door opened and a cool October breeze rustled the end of the tablecloth and paper napkins as Logan Walters entered his right hand in a plaster cast from wrist to elbow. His hard eyes zeroed in on Leigh.

She swallowed hard.

“Okay, maybe not.” Rachel stood quickly and busied herself gathering their empty cups. She headed toward the kitchen.

“You.” Scowling, he pointed a finger of his uninjured hand at Leigh.

“Me?” Leigh’s eyes widened as she untucked her leg from beneath her on the chair and stood.

“Excuse me. I hear the phone ringing.” Victoria dashed toward the front desk, leaving them alone.

Great, thanks,friends.

Logan stopped inches from her. His height towered over her five-foot-two frame by almost a foot, but Leigh met his gaze.

“Look what you did.” He held his cast close to her face.

So it was broken. No surprise there. “I said I was sorry, but no one asked you to climb that ladder.” She sucked in her bottom lip. That hadn’t come out right. She should have stopped at sorry.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. “This is what I get for helping,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay your medical costs.” The money in her emergency fund was dwindling and this would make a further dent in it, but it would be better than him suing her for getting hurt on her property. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her before now. She wondered if her homeowners’ insurance covered something like this. Her day-care insurance covered the children in case of injury in her care, but another adult?

“I don’t need your money. I have insurance,” he grumbled, raking his casted hand through his hair. The sticky medical gauze got caught and he winced, pulling it free, taking with it several strands of dark brown hair. “Man, I can’t do anything with this thing on my hand.” Turning, he took quick, long strides out of the room.

She followed him into the hallway. “Mr. Walters, wait.”

He paused on the staircase, clearly exhausted.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back. Please say no.

He hesitated, and she held her breath.

Shaking his head, he continued up the stairs. “No.”

* * *

LOGAN STRUGGLED TO position his hand on the desk, straining the fingers on his right hand to reach the keys on the laptop keyboard. The edge of the cast hit the space bar and he raised his arm, flinching in pain, and backspaced to where he’d left off typing. Flipping the page of his handwritten work, he tried to focus on something other than the pain in his arm. He could do this. He hit a few keystrokes and grimaced. With each letter, his wrist spasmed and pain rippled through his arm. The extra weight of the plaster cast made the muscles in his right shoulder ache.