The Family Man. Melinda Curtis

her get back to Seattle. In fact, she didn’t think she or the twins would be welcome in his house at all.

      “Oh, I get it,” she said, playing the dumb brunette because he might be the kind of hero who wanted to come to the aid of a helpless woman. “You put out fires in parks, like Yellowstone.”

      “Close enough.” The firefighter chewed on the inside of his cheek.

      Thea’s conscience tsk-tsked her. He’d been showing all the signs of a man shadowed with grief. Now she’d upset him even more with her “don’t worry about little old me, my IQ hovers safely below yours” routine. He didn’t know if she was ditzy, kidding or seriously intellectually challenged. That tended to yank the carpet out from under a guy.

      “You really shouldn’t do that,” she found herself saying as she studied him.

      “What?”

      Because she was a touchy-feely person, Thea came forward, and stroked his jaw with her forefinger. His skin was stubbled and rough to the touch. Of its own accord, as if entranced by the texture of his cheek, her finger continued to trail over his skin.

      The Hot Shot froze.

      Mortified, Thea snatched her hand back, oh so aware that her finger had started to stray toward his lips. She never reacted to men this way, as if she were a brazen woman of the world. For crying out loud, she was Thea Gayle, dateless Ph.D. candidate. Everybody knew that. Happy, harmless, lonely Thea Gayle. Well, that last lonely bit was her descriptor, but in the dating world, she was definitely not a player.

      She shoved her hands back into her pockets to keep them occupied, out of trouble and away from the firefighter. Her face felt warm. “You shouldn’t chew on your cheek. It must be painful for one thing, but it can’t be healthy.”

      He must think she was an idiot. She was a talker by nature and babbled to ease awkward situations. Usually, her babbling didn’t bother her, but this time Thea longed to escape. Only, she couldn’t leave the girls until she was sure Logan would care for them better than Wes had, and not turn them out.

      He wouldn’t turn them out, would he?

      She peeked at the man through her lashes. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then snapped it shut and shook his head. His jaw worked, as if he was trying not to bite the inside of his cheek again.

      “What do your friends call you?” she managed to say, trying once more to put him at ease.

      “Logan McCall.” There was the barest trace of a tease in his voice, as though he was reluctant to admit her question amused him.

      That teasing note meant a lot to Thea. It meant he wasn’t heartless. The girls would be fine. “You don’t have a nickname or something? Lo? Mac?”

      After a telltale pause, he denied it. “Nope.”

      Thea grinned, grinning wider when his mouth turned ever so slightly up at the corners in an almost smile.

      From the kitchen, she heard Glen’s tremulous voice.

      “Oh, I almost forgot them.” Thea grabbed Logan’s arm and tugged. “They can’t wait to see you.”

      Well, that wasn’t quite true. Still, Thea wanted to believe in happily-ever-afters, even if she knew firsthand they rarely existed. She could hope for Logan and the girls. The sooner she got this reunion over with and smoothed things out for them, the sooner she’d be able to get back to her own life.

      The thought was unexpectedly distressing.

      “I THOUGHT I HEARD VOICES.” Aunt Glen pushed open the swinging kitchen door with one sticklike arm, smiling when she saw Logan. Much as Logan had tried to keep meat on Aunt Glen’s bones this winter, she was skinny as a rail. “Back so soon, Logan?”

      Moving past Thea, Logan swept his fragile aunt into a careful hug. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Something to eat?”

      “Not a thing, dear.”

      Logan released her, more than a little annoyed by the arrival of his nieces and Wes’s ditzy girlfriend. She’d thought a Hot Shot was a stripper? The sooner Logan found out what was going on and sent her on her way, the better.

      Glen’s voice stopped Logan in the doorway. “Well, perhaps you could make a fresh pot of coffee. Deb drank the last of it before she went on her walk.”

      Logan gripped the kitchen door frame. Aunt Glen spoke of his sister in the present tense. Glen was slipping further and further into her own reality, just when Logan needed her to hang on to his.

      “I’ll make some.” Thea slipped into the kitchen.

      Aunt Glen seemed to sway as Thea passed her. Afraid she might fall, Logan put his arm around her back and, with one hand on each of her elbows, guided the frail old woman to the couch.

      “You treat me like I’m old,” she said, setting her mouth in a tight line.

      “No, I treat you like the lady you are.”

      Glen’s expression eased. “When I was younger, no one treated me like a lady. I was a broad and proud of it.”

      “You’ve always been both to me.” She’d always been there, trying to shield Deb and Logan from the horror that was their childhood. She’d taken them in when their parents died, and tried to give them a normal life.

      “What a sweet little dog,” Glen said, reaching down to pet Whizzer. “Is he yours?”

      The kitchen door creaked behind him and Logan turned.

      “Uncle Logan?” Hannah took a tentative step forward.

      Logan’s eyes watered as he saw his sister in her daughters’ faces. Tess had her chin jutted out in Deb’s stubborn manner and Hannah’s lip trembled just like Deb’s did before she cried. But they’d changed, too. Hannah had filled out a bit and Tess looked almost anorexic.

      Part of Logan wanted to hug them, part of him burned with guilt over letting his sister down and not fighting to keep them in his home, and part of him wanted to shatter with the physical reminder that his sister was gone.

      “I need to take a shower.” Logan escaped to the back of the house rather than face his nieces and admit—again—that he wasn’t the man he needed to be.

      CHAPTER THREE

      AFTER HIS SHOWER, Logan pushed through the kitchen door in search of caffeine. Thea stood at the counter wiping down a coffee cup, humming a tune and moving her body almost imperceptibly to some beat only she could hear. The coffeepot was gurgling with life, but it was Thea’s energy that held Logan spellbound.

      Colors. Bells. A woman’s voice.

      How long had it been since he’d felt happy enough to go out dancing? Never mind that he’d spent much of the last eight months recuperating from his broken leg. When was the last time joy of any sort had surged through his blood and energized his body?

      Logan yanked at the neck of his T-shirt, which suddenly seemed to be choking him. His sister had died in this house. Her two daughters had witnessed Deb growing weaker by the day. There was nothing to celebrate here. How dare this woman—this stranger who had replaced Deb in Wes’s life—come into his kitchen and bop around as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

      The kitchen door creaked softly as it settled into place.

      Thea started and turned, stopping when she saw Logan staring at her. She gave him a half shrug and a half smile as though he should understand that she couldn’t help herself.

      But she did stop moving.

      “Are you through?” he asked between gritted teeth.

      She blinked those milk-chocolate eyes of hers. If he was expecting a fight, he wasn’t going to get it.

      Logan struggled with his temper. Lately, anything could light his fuse.