Critical Care (14 page)

Logan watched the one-eared animal glare at him from a perch on
the back of the suede couch, its tail twitching. He wasn't sure, but
the thing might have growled. "Hey, should I be worried about this
cat?" he called out.

The clatter of dishes in the kitchen beyond was replaced by
laughter. "Well, I'd watch my back if I were you," Claire answered.
Then laughed again, like she'd remembered some private joke. "But
we're taking our coffee out to the deck, so no need for panic."

Panic. Logan smiled to himself. She was a fine one to talk.
Which was exactly why he'd left the kitchen instead of continuing to watch Claire do things like measure the coffee, find the
cups, and retrieve some coconut cookies from a tin on top of the
refrigerator. Though he'd liked watching all that. Especially after
she'd pulled her hair up into a big clip and swapped her leather
boots for pink flip-flops. But he'd also noticed that Claire chattered
too quickly as she tried to avoid his eyes. Logan's presence made
her nervous. Which was the last thing he wanted. But then, what
exactly did he want? Good question.

Normally a Friday night would find Logan taking off on his
bike, maybe meeting one of the Placerville docs for some basketball. Then going back to his condo to finish off a pizza and call his dad. Or he'd spend a few hours wrestling with that oak stump
rooted deep in the middle of his planned home site. Anything but
making small talk in the confines of a woman's living space.

Logan looked around. Not that there were any frilly pillows,
fashion magazines, or scented candles anywhere in sight. It struck
him once again how the rustic cabin was completely devoid of
feminine touches. Or anything that seemed personal, except a pair
of women's running shoes sitting by the front door. Otherwise
there were simply paneled walls, a woven rug, a neat stack of logs
by the woodstove, a rock wall.... Logan's gaze moved to the collection of framed photos on the mantel. He glanced toward the
kitchen before crossing to look at them more closely.

In the first, a young man wearing a Superman T-shirt under
firefighter gear clowned for the camera. He was muscular, darkhaired, and good-looking. A twinge of jealously surprised Logan.
Was this firefighter someone Claire had dated ... maybe still dated?
Because there he was in the next photo with Claire and an older
couple who looked like they could be her parents. So this guy knew
her parents? A serious relationship.

His attention moved to the adjacent photo, a tin frame wedged
between the parent photo and what appeared to be a hand-stitched
line of Scripture. The photo was a black-and-white enlargement,
draped with a metal cross: the same young firefighter, but this
time he had one arm around a Hispanic child and the other across
the shoulders of a different young woman-holding her closeobviously his girlfriend. Not Claire.

Logan exhaled, realizing he'd been holding his breath without knowing it. And recognizing too that this unconscious act
may have answered his question about why he was here tonight.
For the first time in a long time, he was letting himself become interested in a woman. Hard to deny. Am I ready for something
like that? Logan stepped away from the mantel at the sound of
Claire's voice.

"We're ready in here," she said, beckoning from the doorway.

Claire watched as Logan, standing beside her, lifted the dainty shellpattern cup carefully to his lips. She smiled in the darkness. If he
risked putting his index finger through that delicate handle, he'd
be wearing the porcelain cup to work tomorrow. She should have
offered him one of those big mugs from the set of hand-painted
Mexican pottery that Gayle and Kevin-no, Claire wasn't going
to think about her brother tonight. She'd promised herself that.
One root beer, one dance. Now one cup of coffee? Her unplanned
detour was lasting longer than she'd imagined.

"So what's with your cat?" Logan asked, leaning back against
the weathered railing that surrounded the hilltop deck. Behind
them, the seasonal creek burbled in the darkness, already filling
with melted Sierra snowpack. Stingy illumination from a string
of solar lights lit the surrounding landscape in hit-or-miss fashion, outlining pine branches, the cabin's shingled eaves, a longabandoned copper fire pit, a small redwood table ... and Logan's
handsome profile set against a backdrop of sparkling stars. He
raised his coffee cup toward where Smokey, his single ear flattened,
pressed his black nose against the sliding door to the kitchen. There
was a thumb-size spot of fog on the glass from the cat's breath.
"He's not allowed outside?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "More like, won't come out. He's got that
little pet door, and sometimes he pokes his head out during the
daytime. But he won't risk even that after dark." She tapped her finger against her temple. "Poor Smokey's not quite right after the
raccoon ate his ear."

Logan's eyes widened. "What?"

"We ... I mean, I ..." Claire paused, telling herself she wasn't
being disloyal to her brother. It was only that she couldn't talk
about Kevin. To anyone. "I think it was a raccoon, anyway. There
are so many of them up here. Smokey's a rescue cat. He's only lived
here with ... me for a couple of years now. He's never purred. Not
even once. I suppose he won't come outside because he's afraid
he'll have to face another raccoon."

Logan set his cup down on the table next to the plate of coconut cookies. "Poor guy." He shook his head, his eyes on hers. "I
guess we're all afraid of something."

Claire's breath caught at Logan's words and she looked away,
helpless to stop the memory of Jamie's desperate struggle for air.
And her own crippling doubts as she'd tried to help him-the way
the incident forced the memories of Kevin's death to surface again.
Had Logan noticed all that? Was that what he'd just implied?

She fought a jaw-trembling shiver and then decided it was smartest to take the offensive. Turn the tables on this thread of conversation pronto. She took a sip of her coffee and faced Logan, lifting her
chin and forcing a smile. "So what are you afraid of, Dr. Cald-w-well?"
Despite her bravado, Claire's chin quivered, goose bumps rising as
her words dissolved into another full-blown shiver.

Logan pulled off his jacket and held it out, insisting until Claire
set her coffee cup down and slipped her arms inside. The jacket was
huge, and the denim, warmed by Logan's body, smelled so much
like him that Claire shivered again.

He stepped closer and turned up the collar. "Right now, I'm
mostly afraid I'll have to treat you for hypothermia." He clucked his tongue, chiding her like a protective parent. "Flip-flops and no
coat. Should we go inside?"

"No. I'm fine now," Claire said, finding her voice somehow.

He was silent for several seconds as his fingers lingered on the
jacket's collar, and she held her breath, very aware of how close
his face was to hers. When he finally broke the silence, Logan's
whisper warmed her skin. "What about you? What are you afraid
of, Educator?"

Claire's heart leaped to her throat. I'm afraid I want to kiss you.

Logan watched Claire's eyes and realized what she was most afraid
of right now was him. And since he didn't want that, he let his
hands fall to his side. By the time he'd taken a step away, she managed a laugh and a glib answer to his question.

"Afraid of? Only that I've let your coffee get cold. Would you
like some more?"

"Sure, thanks," he said, knowing he'd drink fifty of those awkwardly small cups of coffee and even pet the one-eared psycho
cat if it meant he could stay here longer. Learn more about this
woman.

"Coming up." She smiled and then walked-the foolish sandals making slapping noises against the soles of her feet-to where
she'd set the coffee carafe on a table near the door.

He watched, staggered by how beautiful she looked dwarfed in
his faded jean jacket, the loose strands of hair escaping the clip to
trail down over her shoulders. And how those amazing eyes still
looked a little anxious. It took everything Logan had in him not
to rush forward and take her in his arms. But instead he took the
coffee and was grateful she was back beside him at the railing.

He'd have to be careful, watch what he said, and move slowly
with this woman. She was different. Logan shook his head. When
had he ever worried about these kinds of things before? When
hadn't he simply rushed ahead full throttle right on down the
road? A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he set his cup down on
the redwood table.

"What?" Claire asked. "What's so funny?"

"Uh ..." Careful, slow. Safe subjects. "Nothing really." Logan
swept his arm wide, glancing around the deck. "I was only thinking that I wouldn't expect you to have a cabin way out here in the
woods. I don't meet too many pioneer women." He lifted his brows.
"So, how'd you and crazy Smokey end up with this place?"

He waited, and when the silence stretched longer and longer,
his smile faltered. What did I say? What's wrong?

Claire's pupils widened and she opened her mouth but said
nothing, studying Logan's face for a moment as if trying to make
some important decision. He had a gut-level feeling that somehow
he'd made a giant mistake.

Claire's voice finally emerged in a raw whisper, confirming
Logan's fear. "It's my brother's house," she explained, pain flooding into her eyes. "He died and left it to me."

Logan's throat constricted. Her brother? The photos of the
young firefighter on the mantel rushed to his mind. Then, with
sickening clarity, he remembered what Sarah told him. How Claire
had worked at the Sacramento trauma center. That she'd quit after
a family member was injured.

"Kevin was a firefighter," Claire continued, her voice sounding
hollow and faraway. "He was killed in that big warehouse fire two
years ago. In Sacramento." She looked down at her hands, then
back into his eyes, holding his gaze without blinking.

What could he say? He wanted to wrap his arms around Claire,
but would she be okay with that? He settled for taking hold of her
hand. She didn't pull away.

Logan brushed his thumb across the top of her hand and
cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Claire. I heard how bad that fire was.
And getting a call saying someone in your family-"

"I didn't get a call. I was there." She swallowed and her eyes
filled with tears. She stared hard at Logan, nodding to make her
point. "I was working in the ER when Kevin came in." Her breath
shuddered and a tear slid down her cheek.

In an instant, Logan's arms were around her.

Erin reread Brad's scrawl on the square of paper:

T n to- pte,W 1.&w Werrvt to- the, la" k,
M4#4. C'q& sjo-w t n9 W.

Lome,,

p./. W TrLel et ck. Yt Yk a 4,0~rv fW
d,a9".

She frowned, not sure which she felt more, anger or relief.
After all, she hadn't wanted to go. She couldn't stand anything
to do with gambling; Brad knew that. Just the way he knew she'd
promised to attend tonight's fund-raiser. But he'd seemed so upset,
as if he expected her to drop everything and leave her friends in
the lurch. And she'd done it, agreeing to meet him here at her
apartment. She'd rehearsed it all during the drive back from the fairgrounds, practicing out loud how she'd say that relationships
needed compromise. That while she couldn't ignore work responsibilities, she understood it was important to spend time together.
Then she'd found his note. From a dealership-logo memo pad and
stuck to her front door with a piece of duct tape. Leaving her confused, more than a bit bugged ... and lonely. Am I ever going to get
this right?