Brenda Harlen - One Man's Family

Apparently the petite nurse had a lot more going for her than a pretty face and hot body—she understood these children, and was determined to help them adjust to the recent changes in their lives.

But who was helping her? he couldn’t help but wonder.

And why did he suddenly feel the urge to plant himself firmly in her corner, to let her know she could count on him?

“Sorry about that,” she said, turning back to him. “The kids are still having a difficult time adjusting to Joe’s absence.”

“I’d guess that’s normal,” he said.

She smiled wryly as she reached into the fridge, coming out with a package of steak and a bag of vegetables. “As if anything about the situation is normal.”

“You’re worried about them,” he guessed.

“Of course.” She found a glass cutting board and selected a long knife from the butcher block on the counter, then began slicing the meat into thin strips. “Probably Joey more so than Lia, because he isn’t as open about his feelings as she is. She’s sad and she’s hurting, but she expresses her emotions—sometimes quite passionately—and gets over it. Joey keeps everything bottled up inside and I’m not sure that anything I say or do can help because, bottom line, I’m not his father.”

“Does he see his father?”

“He did last week.” She set a deep frying pan on the stove, drizzled some olive oil into it and turned on the burner beneath it. “I didn’t realize the intake process would take so long—more than four weeks—and that was the first chance we had to visit since he was transferred to Columbia River Detention Center.”

“How did it go?”

“Not good. Lia cried through most of the hour, Joey barely said two words, and Joe and I just stared at one another feeling helpless.”

The oil sizzled when she dumped the meat into the pan. “I wish I could believe it would get better, but I’m not sure that it will, and those kids have done nothing to deserve this.”

She dumped the board and knife into the sink, then turned on the tap and scrubbed her hands with soap and water. “Then again, I don’t believe Joe did anything to deserve his fate, either.”

She dried her hands on a towel, then found another board and knife and started slicing a red pepper into thin strips.

He watched her move around the kitchen, impressed by the efficiency with which she worked, and glad that he was sitting here watching her make dinner instead of on his way back home.

He tried to remember the last time a woman had offered to cook for him and couldn’t. He knew it had been more than two years because that was how long it had been since his ex-girlfriend moved out. And it had been a rare occasion for her to prepare a meal that didn’t come ready-made for the microwave. She hadn’t liked to cook and he’d understood that she didn’t feel like hovering over a stove after spending ten or twelve hours at her job. And yet, here was Alicia, not only undertaking the task at the end of what he knew had been a long and difficult day, but making it look easy.

“I wasn’t going to stay for dinner,” he told her.

She smiled as she sliced briskly through a zucchini. “You have to eat, and I had to cook for myself and the kids, anyway.”

“You look like you enjoy cooking.”

“I do,” she said, moving on to peel the carrots she’d set aside. “Even when I’m only cooking for myself, it relaxes me.”

She took a couple of cans of soda from the fridge, offered him one. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

He noted that she started when their fingers brushed in the transfer, as she’d done when he’d reached for her bag back at her apartment. Was she just jittery? he wondered. Or was she also feeling the sparks generated by the energy between them?

“You didn’t really give me a choice,” he said, leaving the chemistry issue aside for now. “And maybe I should thank you for that, because I would have gone home to a frozen dinner with only my TV for company.”

She stepped away from him, turning to stir the meat and vegetables in the pan. “It’s always more fun to share a meal with a friend than to dine alone.”

He popped the top on his drink. “Are we going to be friends, Alicia?”

“I hope so.”

Scott was starting to hope—against his better judgment—that friendship would only be the start.

Alicia knew she had a tendency to talk too much when she was nervous, and she found herself rambling throughout the meal and even after. Scott Logan, on the other hand, seemed to be a man of few words. He answered the questions she asked and responded to statements directed to him, but he did so with a minimum of words and always managed to redirect the conversation back to her.

It was a disconcerting change for Alicia to sit across the table from a man who didn’t regale her with stories designed to prove how interesting or important he was. Her most recent dating experiences had been with men who, though expressing an interest in her, were really more interested in themselves. She didn’t know many who would have hung around to dine with two ill-behaved children and even fewer who would have stuck it out through after-dinner negotiations over TV shows and bedtimes. So she was more than a little surprised to return to the kitchen after running Lia’s bath to discover that Scott Logan was not only still there but washing dishes.

Of course, this wasn’t a date, so she really shouldn’t compare the P.I. with the other men she’d dated. But she couldn’t deny there was something about the image of a strong man with his hands immersed in sudsy water that made her heart skip a beat. Forget candlelight dinners and long-stemmed roses—a man who willingly tackled household chores was the one who scored points with her.

“When I invited you to stay for dinner, I didn’t expect you to help with the washing up.”

“I don’t mind,” Scott said, wiping the cloth over another plate.

“Well, as much as I appreciate the effort, my mother would be appalled if I let an invited guest do my dishes.” She nudged his hip with her own to push him aside so that she could take over.

Of course, the subtle hip check didn’t even seem to register, except maybe in the glint of humor she saw in his dark eyes when he turned to meet her gaze. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a lot bigger than you.”

“I noticed,” she admitted. “But my brother taught me not to be afraid of someone’s size. ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall,’ he always told me.”

“That might be true,” Scott said. “But it would be easier for you to find a towel and dry these dishes instead of battling with me over washing them.”

She shrugged as she retrieved a clean towel from under the sink. “If you really want to help, I’m not going to refuse.”

“But it goes against your grain, doesn’t it? And not just because of your mother would disapprove.”

“What do you mean?”

“You strike me as a woman who feels compelled to do everything for herself, maybe just to prove to yourself that you can, or maybe because there hasn’t been anyone around to lend a hand.”

His words struck painfully close to the truth. “Were you a psychologist before you became a private investigator?” she asked.

One side of his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “No.”

“That’s right, you were a cop,” she said, remembering what Jordan had told her.

“Yeah, but my father’s a psychologist.”

“And you think that gives you license to perform an amateur analysis of my character?”

“No,” he denied. “But I am curious.”

“About psychology?”

“About you,” he said. “About how a woman who already juggles a full-time job and med school ended up with legal guardianship of her brother’s children.”

“He asked,” she said simply. “And there was no one else.”

“Their mother isn’t around?”

“Joe was granted full custody in the divorce,” she said. “That should tell you something about Yvette.”

“Grandparents?”

She shook her head. “Yvette cut all ties with her parents a long time ago. I don’t even think the Solomons have ever seen their grandchildren.”

“What about your parents?”

“They died almost four years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“There was a fire in the restaurant they owned. They lived upstairs. I know it probably sounds weird, but I actually found comfort in the fact that they were together. They’d been married forty-two years and devoted to one another for all that time.”

She slid open the cutlery drawer, dropping in forks and knives as she dried them.

“They were the reason I got interested in reproductive technology,” she continued. “Because my mom suffered through so many miscarriages, both before and after Joe and I were born.

“She and my dad always said they wanted a dozen kids, but it took a lot of years before she finally had Joe. Then, when she had me less than a year and a half later, they thought their luck had turned around.

“But I was the end of the line, and although we never had reason to doubt how much they loved us, we knew they were both saddened by the loss of the other babies she couldn’t carry to term.”

“So now you help other women have the families they want,” he said.

She nodded. “Not all of our patients get the results they want, but for those who do…well, it really is a miracle.”

“And for those who don’t?”

“It’s just one more heartbreak,” she admitted.

“It must be hard dealing with those emotional highs and lows.”

His insight and understanding surprised her, and made it impossible for her to hold back. “A while ago, I was reprimanded by one of the doctors who caught mecrying in the staff room. She said that tears were unprofessional and I had no business working at the clinic if I couldn’t hold myself together.”

“That was harsh.”

“Dr. Logan thought so, too. He—” She narrowed her gaze on him. “Dr. Jake Logan?”

“My brother,” he admitted.

“I should have guessed,” she said. Jake was a little taller and Scott’s shoulders were a little wider, but otherwise the physical resemblance was striking.

“You were telling me about crying in the staff room,” he reminded her.

“And your brother came in and interrupted Dr. Morningstar’s lecture to tell me that, in his opinion, compassion was more important than professionalism. Then he handed me a box of tissues and steered Dr. Morningstar outside so I could finish crying in peace.”

She allowed herself a smile before admitting, “I cry a lot—tears of sadness and despair when a procedure fails, tears of happiness and gratitude when one of my patients experiences the joy of giving birth.”

He rinsed the stir-fry pan, then pulled the plug. “Does Dr. Morningstar still give you a hard time about that?”

“She transferred to another clinic a couple of months ago—just after the Sanders adoption case hit the headlines.”

“That was a nasty one, wasn’t it?” He wiped around the inside of the sink as the water swirled down the drain.

“I’m not sure it’s over yet.” She put the pan away and folded the towel. “Now Robbie Logan—” She paused.

“My cousin,” he told her.

“Okay. Robbie has resigned and apparently disappeared, and there are still rumors that the agency might close.”

Despite her boss’s reassurances that they would weather this latest scandal, Alicia was concerned. Not just for the patients who desperately needed the hope the clinic offered, but for herself personally. If the Children’s Connection shut down, she’d lose not just the job she loved, but her means of supporting herself and her brother’s children.