Her Sister's Children

Fred. Allowing the old fellow to “show what he could do” with the washing machine had been a mistake. If he got hurt...or made the situation worse...

Claire dashed down the porch steps and across the front lawn, shading her eyes against the laser intensity of the sun. Sunglasses. She needed to find her extra pair of sunglasses packed somewhere in the mountain of boxes, furniture and whatnot piled in the attic of the house.

For the hundredth time, she cursed the delay in New York that kept her from being present when the movers arrived. So far she’d uncovered three half-filled wastebaskets from her high-rise in New York, but she had yet to find all of her possessions. To make things worse, the large number of boxes that had come out of Brooke and Randall’s condo was now mixed up with her own.

Lost in thought, Claire rounded the closest corner of the laundry building. Her face hit a solid wall of fur.

The impact sent her staggering against the building. An iron-hard appendage grasped her arm. Pulling back with every ounce of her strength, she screamed.

Bears! Annie and Lissa were right.

The grip on her arm gentled, released. Even as she spun away, the furry object took shape.

It was Gilbert, the kids’ poodle. Held securely in Logan’s arms. Neither dog nor man looked pleased.

“Oh, dear. Excuse me!”

One hand over her heart to quiet its mad gallop, Claire stared in disbelief. It took a moment to catch her breath. “Uh...like our dog, do you?”

Logan bared his teeth, but didn’t smile. Gilbert bared his, as well, but from his sheepish canine grin to his drooping tail, he was the picture of embarrassment. His captor simply looked aggravated.

“He moved over to my place,” Logan said in a low, dangerous tone. “You were going to make sure none of your kids—or your pets—strayed.”

Claire wondered if anyone had ever laughed at him—and if so, whether they’d lived to tell about it. The sight of him—a towering, glowering man gripping an amorphous mass of dog hair—tested her ability to maintain a straight face.

“He was here just a few hours ago. What makes you think he’s moved in?” Her momentary alarm fading into giddy relief, she sagged against the broad white planks of the building and lifted one eyebrow for effect. “Brought his suitcase, did he?”

Logan snorted. “He likes garbage. He chases seagulls.” Glaring at the dog’s damp, unclipped coat bristling with twigs, leaves and pine needles, he added, “He belongs at your house.”

“He would have come home eventually.”

“Have you ever spent an hour listening to irate seagulls?”

“You could have told him no.”

“He thinks it means bark louder. Keep him at home, Ms. Worth. I don’t like this dog. He doesn’t like me.”

Logan put the dog on the ground and crossed his arms. Gilbert obediently sat. His innocent gaze fastened on a distant object, he began sidling back toward Logan’s legs, his front paws moving inch by inch.

The most spunk the old poodle ever displayed was at dinnertime, when he escalated to a faster shuffle to reach his food. And now, like an oversize gray mop, he was lying upside down across Logan’s shoes. A limp, pink dishrag of a tongue hung out one side of his mouth. “I can see he’s quite a fireball.”

Logan cleared his throat and gave Gilbert a pained look. “He was a lot more...energetic at my place.”

Claire nodded gravely. “I’m sure. How did you get him back here?”

“I tried to lead him. He planted his rear on the ground and wouldn’t move. I tried to bring him back in my car. He wouldn’t get in.”

She remembered all too well the battle Gilbert waged over getting into her van in Minneapolis. She’d had to make a fast trip to a discount store to buy a portable pet carrier. “So you—”

“I carried him.”

Claire grinned. Laughter bubbled up her throat. Jason had told her about the tortuous path leading to Logan’s house—over a quarter mile of boulders, brambles, steep climbs and narrow ledges. The man was nothing if not determined. He might deserve every sore muscle he’d have tomorrow, but for some inexplicable reason she wanted to give him a hug.

“Look,” Logan continued, giving her a narrowed look. “I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had a few days ago.” He reached down to pry several prickly strands of bramble vine from his faded jeans. “We don’t need to be adversaries. All I want is a chance to buy back my family land.”

Claire’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Wait. Just listen.” Logan reached out and touched her arm, but withdrew his hand as if he’d touched something hot. “I’ve talked to a couple of Realtors up here. I’ll give you fifty percent over the appraised value of the land. You could stay in the house until spring, rent-free. And you can let the cabins go empty.”

“What?” Claire stared at him. He was offering more than the land was worth, being too reasonable. He must want it really badly.

“Fifty percent above the value,” Logan repeated. “For that you could buy another resort in better condition, if you’re set on this kind of life.”

Claire’s thoughts raced. Her recent frustrations were almost enough to make her agree. The money would be good. She could begin an easier life for her new family in another place far from New York. But trusting Logan Matthews would be as foolish as trying to swim across Lake Superior in November. And, as she swept her gaze across the sapphire and diamond waves on the lake and the cozy cabins lining the shore, she realized she couldn’t walk away from Pine Cliff. “This land was Brooke’s.”

“She got half of the property that had been in my family for generations,” Logan countered. “Yet she hated being up here, and she never set foot on the place after our divorce. She hired a manager and left before the ink was dry on our settlement.”

“You make it sound like she came out like a bandit.”

“Didn’t she?”

We all paid dearly. A sense of loss flooded through her as Claire remembered their father’s shock over Brooke’s impetuous marriage after dating Logan less than six months, and his anger when Brooke came to him for help in ending it six months later. After a sudden rebound marriage, she completely broke off all contact with the family. Without that first ill-starred marriage, perhaps everything would have been very different.

Claire gave him a determined smile. “Like I told you, this is a great place to raise the kids. It’s also now my sole source of income.”

Logan’s expression darkened. A telltale muscle in his cheek jerked. “Okay, how about you manage this place until next spring? Keep it open—earn a salary. Not that there’s much business over the winter. And you’d still have the money from selling. How could you do better?”

By owning it myself. If the stories were true, this man had married her late sister to get at the family money, yet hadn’t honored his wedding vows. Even if Claire were broke and desperate, loyalty to Brooke precluded the possibility of selling the property back to him.

“I won’t uproot the children again. Not now, not next year.” She drew herself up to her full height. “They need a permanent home, and this place is safe and secure. Losing their—”

“Hey, Miz Worth?” the grizzled handyman called out as he rounded the far corner with a piece of black hose in his hand. “Thought I heard someone back here.”

“Did you find the problem?”

“You got any enemies?”

Logan studied her with intense interest. “Well, do you, Claire?” he murmured.

His voice vibrated across her skin. She felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck, sensed the sudden tension and heat of Logan’s body, just inches from her own. His long, tanned fingers flexed at his sides. Enemies? Only you, Logan.

“None I can think of,” she shouted to Fred. “Why?”

As the old man got closer, he held up the length of hose. “This was cut clean in two. And this wasn’t no accident, Miz Worth.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE VOICE SOUNDED familiar. Logan turned around and stared in disbelief. Fred Lundegaard, in all likelihood wearing the same set of tattered overalls he’d worn fourteen years before, stared back at him with equal surprise.