“I’m sorry,” she murmured, a lump of determination lodging in her throat. “I didn’t use to spring leaks like that at the drop of a hat.”
“You were very brave at the funeral. Ray would have been proud of you.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I know I thought you were pretty terrific. The kids, too.”
She closed her hand around his wrist, holding on for a moment as though she could draw from his inner strength. “If I never hear bagpipes playing a funeral dirge again, it’ll be just fine with me.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Someday I’ll play a Scottish jig for you on the pipes. That will lift your spirits.”
“You play that awful, squealing instrument?” she gasped.
He laughed out loud, a deep baritone that rumbled through his chest. “In my family, criticizing pipe playing is sacrilegious. My brother Derek and I are fourth-generation firefighters and about tenth-generation pipers. But I admit it’s probably an acquired taste.”
“I’ll agree with that.” She found herself smiling back at him, her first real smile in, well, a month. Having Logan around was like a dose of chin-up medicine. “I’ll go stir up some lemonade. The kids are down the block swimming in a neighbor’s pool, but they’ll be back soon and probably ready for something cool to drink.”
“Then I’d better get busy so I can earn my keep.”
Logan waited until she’d gone into the house, then slowly exhaled. What the hell had made him touch her? Her skin was so damn soft, so warm. He’d known it would be, which is why he shouldn’t have come within arm’s reach of Janice, the widow of a man whose life he might have saved if he’d acted more wisely.
His hand shook as he lifted the drill and drove the bit into the doorjamb. Wood shavings curled back around the quarter-inch hole. Thank goodness his pants were loose enough that the telltale bulge behind his zipper hadn’t been obvious. Talk about lousy timing. He didn’t dare let his feelings for Janice get out of hand. Right now, what she needed was a friend, not some lust-crazed firefighter with an overactive libido.
Within minutes, Janice reappeared, carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and four plastic cups.
“My gracious! You’ve already got the door hung.”
He opened the door for her so she could carry the tray outside. “It wasn’t that hard. I’ve still got to hook up the spring, though, so the door will close by itself, and then install the latch plate.”
“You’re a miracle worker, Logan. That door’s been gathering dust in the garage ever since I coerced Ray into buying it.”
“Half the battle is getting started on a project. The rest is easy.”
Setting the tray on the top step, she poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to Logan. Ice cubes rattled as he took a big swallow.
“In Ray’s defense, he was working awfully hard on his second job. It took most of his free time, but he wanted to build up our nest egg for the kids’ college money. You know how expensive an education can be these days.”
Logan’s eyebrows lifted. “His second job?”
“You know, the sales thing he was doing. He had to do a lot of travelling.”
That was news to Logan. Except that…on the morning of the fatal fire, Ray had arrived at the station late, not for the first time in recent memory. He’d been hungover and had complained about lack of sleep plus a long drive from Las Vegas back to Paseo. Grousing around, he’d been in no shape to fight a wastebasket fire, much less a three-alarm blaze in an abandoned warehouse.
“I don’t think Ray mentioned his job to me,” Logan admitted. “He probably told the other guys, though.”
She poured herself some lemonade. “I don’t know. You fellows seem to spend all your time talking about your heroic deeds with a fire hose, like you’re trying to impress each other.”
“It’s called one up-manship. An old tradition among firefighters.”
“It goes along with playing bagpipes, I assume.”
“Only a guy who’s really tough can get away with wearing a kilt.”
Her smile reached her eyes, making them glisten with good humor. “You gotta be tough and have great legs.”
“I have it on good authority my knees are knobby.”
Her gaze skimmed down his legs, and to his amazement, Logan felt the heat of a blush creep up his neck.
“I don’t think so,” she said softly. “It seems to me at department picnics, the wives have rated your legs right up there with the best of ’em.”
“Terrific,” he groaned as the heat reached his cheeks. “I always wondered what you women were giggling about when we men were giving it our all on the baseball diamond.”
“Now you know.”
He already knew more than he wanted to—that Janice had a great sense of humor and that he was more attracted to her than he cared to admit, even to himself. While she was married, he hadn’t had any trouble keeping his distance. He ought to feel the same way about a newly widowed woman—she was off limits. But he was having trouble remembering that.
Fortunately, the arrival of the mail carrier saved him from making a fool of himself.
“Afternoon, Ms. Gainer. Another load of junk mail for your recycling pile.” The young black woman, wearing navy-blue uniform shorts and a light blue shirt, handed over a thick fold of mail. “Hope you all are doing okay these days.”
“We’re fine, Alice. Thanks for asking.”
“I’ve been praying for you and your children. Your husband was a hero, Ms. Gainer. The whole town says so. It’s an honor to know you.”
Nodding, Janice looked embarrassed by the young woman’s praise. She glanced down and began to sort through the mail as the carrier went striding back down the walkway.
“You okay?” Logan asked.
She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hardest when people…she meant well enough, but a dead hero isn’t what I had in mind for a husband.”
Logan understood that. Worse, he was the one person who knew Ray hadn’t been a hero that day. He’d been an arrogant, hard-headed fool who hadn’t listened to Logan’s warning that the roof was about to collapse.
She lifted an envelope from the pile and ripped it open. “At last, the insurance company. This has got to be the check.” Unfolding a white sheet of stationery, she read it over, then sat down heavily on the top step of the porch. “This can’t be right,” she murmured. The color had fled her cheeks, and her trembling hand caused the letter to flutter. “It can’t be.”
Logan squatted down beside her. “What is it?”
“They say—” she shook her head “—they’re claiming the insurance policy lapsed more than a year ago because of lack of payment. But Ray—” She looked up at Logan with disbelief in her eyes. “Ray knew how important that money would be if something happened to him. I was supposed to pay off the mortgage with it. The children, me, that was our protection. Then the death benefit from the state would see us through for several years, till I could get a decent job. We’d talked about it. He knew we’d need the house paid off.”
Logan slipped the letter from her hand and read it quickly. “Maybe it’s a mistake. If