Jennifer Snow - Falling for Leigh

For too long her life had been the topic of conversation in the local diner, beauty salon and just about anywhere people congregated in town.

“Well, where?”

Leigh considered the options. If he was trying to keep a low profile around town, there weren’t many. Finally she said, “How about the gazebo in the backyard of the bed-and-breakfast? It’s heated, with a picnic table and lighting, and it’s secluded enough in the back corner of the yard near all the big trees that no one will notice.”

“Outside?”

“Yes.”

“It’s October. It’s absolutely freezing once the sun sets.” Logan shivered to prove his point. “Isn’t there a library or something?”

“Just about everything closes around here at six. Besides, if you want to keep your presence quiet—a public place isn’t really going to work, is it?” She waited. If he wanted her help, they did it her way or not at all. She didn’t need anything or anyone complicating her life.

Logan let out a deep breath. “Okay, fine.” He stared down at his offending wrist, weighted down as it must have been by the plaster, and turned to leave. “Tomorrow at six in the gazebo.”

Wonderful. She prayed his book was almost finished. “Can’t wait.”

“Lying really isn’t your thing,” he called over his shoulder.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Logan hesitated before opening the email from his lawyer, Eric James. The Manhattan Family Law Group didn’t waste time or their client’s money emailing without a good reason. Lately, whenever he heard from them, it was bad news, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the stress that morning. His hand and wrist throbbed, and the painkillers they’d prescribed at the clinic didn’t seem to help.

The message was marked urgent. There was no avoiding it. Opening it, he scanned it quickly.

Kendra’s lawyer had requested a financial statement. Fantastic. He had known that sooner or later she would play that card. Supporting his daughter with his writing was possible, given his investments and the royalties from his upcoming release, but his lawyer had cautioned him that proving his income in court might be challenging. Self-employed parents without medical benefits had a tougher time convincing the judge they could offer the best support.

Another reason he had to finish this book. Frustrated, he stood. The issues in his personal life were driving him to distraction and preventing him from writing, yet if he didn’t write, things in his personal life would be even worse. Without a steady income, no judge would award him custody of Amelia.

Lying on the bed, he closed his eyes, fighting to control the desperation and hopelessness he couldn’t escape.

Hours later, he sat on the wooden bench under the shelter of the gazebo. The October setting sun cast a glare across his laptop screen as he readjusted the computer into the shade. At least it wasn’t cold inside the heated space. Checking his watch, he stood: 5:58. Where was she?

He checked his watch again. Still 5:58. Time honestly passed slower in this small town, he was convinced of it. Two days before, that had been part of its original appeal; not anymore. He sat back down on the bench.

The sound of crunching leaves caught his attention. In the dusk, he saw Leigh—in a pair of baggy, faded jeans and a T-shirt with a sweater thrown over her shoulders—carrying a brown wicker basket. She smiled wearily as she approached.

She looked about as excited to do this as he was. He moved some of his papers aside to make room for the basket.

“I brought some snacks, in case,” she said, sliding her arms into her sweater and tugging it down over her head.

“I’m not hungry...thanks.” He opened his notebook to the pages to be transcribed. “So, here is where I left off typing.” He pointed to the middle of the page and moved the mouse to bring up the document.

Leigh busied herself with the basket, taking out a Thermos and pouring coffee into a mug. She took out a raspberry muffin and a plastic container of butter, then napkins and plastic cutlery. And then...a fruit tray?

“What are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” She bit into her muffin. “Mmm.... I got them from my grandmother’s bakery when I took the kids on an afternoon walk. She owns Ginger Snaps....”

He was barely listening, hearing an overbearing ticking in his brain as the sun continued to set.

“Are you sure you don’t—”

“I’m sure,” Logan snapped. He raked his left hand through his hair and rubbed his four-day-old beard.

Leigh frowned, took another quick bite of the muffin and turned her attention to his notebook. “Okay, sorry. I’m listening. So, these are your notes.” She squinted, leaning closer to the scribbled writing on the yellow legal pad.

“No, this is the first draft of the book,” Logan said, betraying his exasperation. He hated to be sharing this with anyone. The first draft was always written in haste, without care to grammar and punctuation. Sometimes he skipped over names. Not exactly a polished, finished product.

“And you wrote this before you broke your hand?”

Logan looked at the tiny chicken scratches. So they were hard to read. “That’s why we need to do this together. I’ll read it as you type.” He picked up the pad of paper and gestured for Leigh to take a seat in front of the laptop. “Ready?”

“Okay, go.” Her hands poised midair, she waited. “Go slowly, I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t type.”

Logan cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Nothing came out.... Reading his own unedited passages to her would be pure torture. He would find something wrong with each line. He usually did a round of editing as he transcribed.

Leigh turned to him. “You can’t read your writing, either?”

Logan tossed the pad back onto the table. “This isn’t going to work.”

Leigh held her hands up. “I’m sorry, I won’t make any more jokes.” She popped a chunk of muffin into her mouth and poised her hands over the keys. “Ready,” she said, her mouth full, a crumb falling onto the keys.

Sliding the laptop away from her, Logan picked it up and closed the lid. “Never mind,” he said as he unzipped his laptop case and shoved the computer inside.

“I don’t understand.” Leigh stared up at him. “I thought you needed help.”

He gathered his notes. “I do, but...” He paused as he stood. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re probably right, but now I just think you’re a little crazy, so...”

The look on her face indicated she did indeed think he was crazy and he laughed, surprising himself.

And her. Her mouth dropped but to her credit, she recovered quickly. “Nice to see you’re actually capable of a smile,” she said, moving over on the bench to make room for him. She picked up her coffee and took a sip.

Reluctantly, he sat. “The thing is...I never let people read my work until it’s done.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“And this book is unique in that it’s the last book in a series.” Did she know who he was? “The Van Gardener series.” He paused, waited.

She blinked. No recognition showed on her face, which he couldn’t help noticing was flawless in the glow of the setting sun.

“You don’t know it?” Could he really had stumbled upon one of the few people who hadn’t heard about the series, or his inability to finish it? One of the few who hadn’t read the extensive media coverage about his separation and his custody battle for Amelia...or the articles speculating he’d dropped off the map because of alcohol and/or drug addictions?

“No, I’m sorry if I should. I am an avid reader...I’m just not into suspense-filled mysteries.” She shuddered.