Charlotte Maclay - Between Honor And Duty

He worked his way out from behind the washing machine and crouched down in front of her. “What day are we talking about?”

“Miss Sebastian said Wednesday.”

Logan touched the tip of Maddie’s nose with his fingertip, leaving a greasy smudge. “Well, you tell your Miss Sebastian I’ll be there with bells on.”

Maddie’s eyes lit up and she threw her arms around him, giving him a gigantic five-year-old hug. “I knew you would ’cause firemens are special.”

A lump filled Logan’s throat, so big he could barely swallow, and a band tightened around his chest. Among all the experiences he’d miss by not marrying, the thought of never having children hurt the most. Still, it was a choice he’d had to make after his one attempt at marriage.

Concerned he might be overstepping his bounds with Maddie, he glanced at the child’s mother. Janice’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she mouthed, “Thank you.”

His tension eased, and he relaxed his hug around Maddie’s small body.

Clearing her throat, Janice said, “How about you change out of your school clothes, young lady, and let Logan finish up with the washing machine. We don’t want to keep him here all day.”

As though she hadn’t been down in the dumps only moments ago, Maddie broke free of the hug, her smile radiant. “I’ll change. Then I’ll come help him. I helped him real good on the screen door.”

“You certainly did,” Logan agreed, regret gnawing through him for what couldn’t be.

Janice rolled her eyes and leaned back against the doorjamb as her daughter ran off to change clothes. The child had more resilience than she did. More nerve, too.

“I don’t want Maddie imposing herself on you, Logan.” Janice had done plenty of that herself. “In time she’ll get used to—”

“It’ll be fun visiting her kindergarten. I like kids.”

He was wonderful with them, too, she mused. “I feel guilty taking you away from your own activities. Like studying for your engineers’ exam.”

“I’ve been studying for months. I could use the break.”

“When’s the test?”

“Two more weeks.” Reaching down, he picked up the screwdriver, rolling it back and forth in his hand. He had long, tapered fingers, almost like an artist’s. Hands that had been ever so gentle with her daughter. Just as his words had been.

“I gather you’re ambitious?”

“My dad retired a year ago as a fire captain right here in Paseo. His shoes are big ones to fill, but making engineer is the next step. My brother and I are in a race to see who makes captain first.”

“Who’s ahead?”

“Derek’s on the promotion list now for engineer in Merced. I’ll have to ace both the written exam and the oral to have any chance of making the grade before he does.”

“Somehow I think you’ll do just that.” She shoved away from the doorjamb. “Here I was trying to get Maddie to stop bothering you, and now I’m the one bugging you with questions.”

“You’d never bug me, Jan,” he said softly. “Not ever.”

A tremor of pleasure rippled through her. “I think I should…that is…” She stumbled over her words, her unruly thoughts tangling with her good sense. “I’m going to go wash Ray’s car and vacuum it. I’m putting an ad in the paper and hope to sell it this weekend. We still owe quite a bit on the loan. Owning a convertible is one expense I can do without.”

“Sounds like a smart move to me. You know how to price it?”

“I checked the Blue Book.”

“Good for you.” Nodding his approval, he eased back behind the washer, crouching down out of sight.

Deliberately, Janice turned away. She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of Logan’s kindness to her daughter, or fantasize about the intriguing timbre of his voice and how it raised gooseflesh along her spine. Or even how Logan, unlike her husband, seemed to think she had enough intelligence to make a reasonable decision.

She was a recent widow. Logan obviously felt a loyalty to her late husband. That was all she had a right to expect. She shouldn’t go looking for trouble.

Backing Ray’s Chrysler convertible out of the garage, she parked it in the driveway. The car had been an extravagance in her view, but Ray had been insistent. The symptom of a mid-life crisis, she supposed. She’d given in easily enough. He worked hard and deserved a little fun. Admittedly, it was a spiffy car—fire-engine red with a glossy finish. But for her and the children, the aging minivan would do fine.

She got the hand-held Dustbuster from Ray’s workbench. With the top down, it was easy to climb in and out of the car. She started with the driver’s side, trying not to picture Ray sitting there, smiling so broadly because he’d gotten a new toy. Teasingly, he’d called the convertible his “pickin’ up chicks” car. She hadn’t been particularly amused.

She tossed the floor mats onto the grass to wash later. The Dustbuster inhaled the collection of dirt and sand easily, and she worked her way across to the passenger side. She checked the glove box, setting aside the registration and the owner’s manual, vacuumed the carpeting on that side of the car, then climbed into the back seat.

The upholstery looked virtually pristine, no wear and tear evident at all. Thinking she ought to get a fairly good price, considering the car’s condition, she ran the vacuum beneath the front seat. When she brought the vacuum back into view, a piece of purple fabric dangled from its mouth.

She switched off the power and sat up on the seat staring at the swatch of nylon material. Her stomach knotted in apprehension. Slowly she pulled the fabric free.

Thong panties!

Could there be any innocent reason for another woman’s underwear to be in the back seat of Ray’s car?

Nausea rose in her throat. Could she have been so stupid, so naive as not to know Ray was having an affair?

She got down on her hands and knees, feeling around under both front seats. Her fingers closed over a small plastic tube. A lipstick.

Mango Madness! Never in her life had she worn that shade of lipstick. It would make her look like a hooker.

Trying to breathe against the pain that speared through her chest, she closed her eyes. To her dismay, she pictured a woman who had been at Ray’s funeral service. A stranger. Long blond hair. Dark glasses. Shockingly bright orange lips.

Outrage warred with the knowledge she had failed as a wife. As a woman.

Stomach heaving, she bolted from the car, collapsing on the grass near the flower bed she had so lovingly tended. She breathed deeply, desperately trying not to be sick.

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