Hard Choices. Allison Leigh

go of him, and peered up into his face, her expression shrewd.

      He wondered what she saw. Whatever it was, she waved her arm toward one side after a moment, encompassing the lush landscaping that surrounded the main inn. “Surprised you haven’t managed to lose your license somewhere along the way. It took nearly ten years for the trees over at the corner to recover after you plowed that darned fool car of yours into them.”

      Behind him, Logan heard Riley stifle a snort. Of laughter or disgust, he couldn’t tell. “Didn’t expect the brakes to go out, Maisy,” he said easily. “I managed not to take out the side of the inn at least.”

      She laughed again, a sure sign that time could heal some wounds. Twenty-three years ago when he’d been a brand-new sixteen-year-old behind the wheel of a rattletrap car his father had forbidden him to buy, Maisy had been plenty mad about him mowing down her trees. She’d meted out her punishment over an entire summer of drudgery. He’d done everything from scraping paint off her kitchen cabinets to babysitting her precocious daughter. Back then, he’d preferred dealing with the paint to dealing with Tessa. She’d been a pain in the ass.

      And he still felt badly that he hadn’t been around years later when she’d died. He’d only learned the news from Sara when one of her scarce letters had caught up to him.

      “Well, if you’re here for lunch, come on in,” Maisy said, her eyes taking in Annie and Riley as well. If she saw anything unusual in Logan accompanying them, she kept it to herself, and Logan was glad. Maisy wasn’t known for keeping her mouth shut when she figured something was her business. “Grapevine must have a branch missing that I didn’t hear about you before seeing you.” She turned toward the building. “Hugo didn’t mention a word that you were coming.”

      Logan held open the door for the females, ignoring Maisy’s reference to his father. “Business must be good. I remember you used to offer only breakfast.”

      “More tourists coming to Turnabout. They needed to eat somewhere.” She walked straight through to an open-air dining area where at least two dozen other people were already seated at the round tables dotting the saltillo-tiled floor. “Sit anywhere you like. If it starts to rain, I’ll find you a spot inside. Somewhere.” She patted Logan’s arm and scurried back inside.

      “Have a preference?” He looked at Riley, who ignored him, and Annie, who shook her head slightly. He headed to the table farthest from the other patrons. Seeing Maisy was one thing, but he had no particular desire to run into anyone else he might know. He was only there to clear his conscience, not renew old acquaintances.

      He held out Annie’s seat, then habit had him sitting with his back to what passed for a wall in the dining area—a redwood trellis congested with climbing bougainvillea. A teenaged waitress he didn’t recognize brought them glasses of water with lemon slices in them and they ordered after she’d recited the day’s menu.

      When she was gone, silence settled, broken only by the murmur of voices from the other diners. Logan looked around. The middle-aged couple with sun-burned faces and crispy-new vacation clothes at the table nearest them were having a softly hissed argument. To their right was a smaller table, occupied by a lone young woman. She was reading a paperback book, occasionally looking up and studying the other diners as she toyed with her soup bowl. It was obvious to Logan that she was more interested in the people around her than the contents of her bowl. Beyond her was a young couple. Honeymooners, if he was any judge. They couldn’t keep their hands apart long enough to eat their sandwiches, and beneath the iron and glass table, the woman was running her toes up and down the man’s ankle. Logan half expected to see her slide over into her partner’s lap.

      He looked back at Annie. She was sitting quietly, her expression closed. Riley was studying her fingernails—painted such an ungodly black that it looked as if her hands had been caught beneath a ton of bricks.

      The school picture that Will had shown him the day before had indicated how much she took after him, but in person the resemblance seemed less marked. Her expression tightened when she noticed him looking at her and she shifted in her chair, crossing her arms.

      Classic defensiveness.

      “I guess I don’t need to ask if you and Sara kept in touch after you two graduated from Bendlemaier.” Logan turned his attention back to Annie. He was perfectly aware of Riley’s increased defensiveness when he mentioned the school. Another thing that Will had clued him into.

      He and Noelle wanted to send their daughter to the exclusive boarding school. But it was apparent that Riley liked the idea even less than Annie once had.

      Annie’s smile looked forced. “I, um, I didn’t graduate from Bendlemaier. But we kept in touch when she went off to college. We’d talked often enough about wanting our own shop, and when the opportunity arose, we went for it.”

      For some reason, Logan had assumed Annie had been in college with Sara. Showed how much he knew about his sister. He wondered if Sara had changed as much as Annie. Even though it hadn’t been in his plans—which were to do what needed doing and get out of there as quickly as possible—he had more than a fleeting desire to see his kid sister.

      He’d talked to her a few times in the past ten years on the phone, but he hadn’t seen her in person in longer than that. He still remembered her expression the last time they’d seen each other. Confused. Hurt. It had felt like his skin was being peeled away to know he’d never come back to Turnabout to be any sort of brother that mattered. Instead, he called when the need to do so grew too great and sent her money to salve his conscience. After enough years, he could almost convince himself his system worked.

      But he wasn’t there to deal with his family issues. So he studied Annie for a moment. He’d fully expected to see her, since Will had told him that his daughter was staying with her, but he hadn’t expected any of the feelings that had hit him when he did. “Your hair used to be longer, didn’t it?” He knew good and well how long it had been. Thick and shining, its wild white-blond curls had reached down to the small of her back. All those years ago, she’d used that mane like a weapon against any male in her vicinity.

      “Yes.” She poked her fork into her water glass, spearing the lemon, which she squeezed back into the water. Her cheeks looked vaguely red. “You look pretty much the same to me.” She glanced at Riley, making him wonder what she was thinking. “A little older, but aren’t we all?”

      “All this reminiscing makes me want to gag.”

      “Then face the other way before you do, Riley, so you don’t ruin our lunches,” Logan suggested mildly.

      She glared at him. It made him want to smile. She was very much like her aunt had once been. Full of attitude. The style of clothing had changed some in the past decade and a half, but she wore hers just as tightly and flauntingly as Annie had ever done.

      He watched Annie’s down-turned head for a moment. There was nothing flaunting about Annie’s appearance, now. She had on a sleeveless khaki jumper that nearly reached her ankles over a short-sleeved white T-shirt. The dress was shapeless and the neckline of the shirt didn’t even reveal the base of her slender throat.

      She wore a plain watch with a thin black band on her left wrist and no other visible jewelry. Gone were the jangling metal bracelets, the chains around her neck, the multiple sets of dangling earrings. Her brown lashes looked soft and naked and if she wore a hint of makeup, she’d done it too subtly for him to tell. When she’d been seventeen she’d seemed to pile on the stuff with a trowel.

      “Geez. Take a picture, why don’t you?” Riley rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, her disgust obvious.

      Annie looked up, her gaze flicking from her niece to Logan’s face. Then her cheeks flushed again. She moistened her lips and seemed about to say something, but the waitress returned, arms laden with their orders, leaving Logan to wonder what had caused that flush—if it had to do with the past.

      She’d never seemed the blushing type before.

      The last time he’d seen her had been at her parent’s