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Texas Trouble
Kathleen O'Brien
It all starts with the kid…Life was better for Logan Cathcart before he crossed paths with nine-year-old Sean Archer. Because now he has to face the kid's mom, Nora. It's not that Logan doesn't like Nora. He does–a lot. Perhaps too much. Even though she's captivated him from the moment they met, socially he and the wealthy widow next door are leagues apart.Still, keeping his distance is next to impossible with Nora constantly on his ranch, determined to clean up the mess Sean made. With the kind of sparks that erupt whenever she and Logan are within touching distance of each other, there's a whole lot of trouble in Logan's future…the adult, let's-get-serious kind of trouble.



He watched her approach
Nora was too far away for Logan to see details, but his mind could conjure every inch. The silly auburn curls that frothed around her shoulders. The round eyes, too big for her face, forest-colored, mostly brown with shards of green and bronze. Little-girl pink cheeks, freckles and an upturned, cheerleader’s nose.
But a dangerous woman’s mouth, wide and soft and tempting.
Today, her head was bowed as she moved toward them, her pale face somber. She might have the coloring of a roseate spoonbill, but she had the soft melancholy of the mourning dove. The widow Archer. He squeezed the handle of the hammer he was holding. She was as beautiful—and as off-limits—as ever.

Dear Reader,
Many years ago, on a wintery Florida afternoon, my mother, my little girl and I spent a couple of hours at the nearby Audubon Center for Birds of Prey. It was an idle choice, mostly an excuse to get outdoors.
But as we walked under the spreading oaks, we were caught by the magic of the place. The long-taloned, steady-eyed raptors. The impossibly tiny owls, who peeked out of their houses, mere cottonballs with button eyes. The dignified barn owl turning his head solemnly from side to side while we watched. We laughed at his hauteur, but we were secretly honored that he had deigned to notice us.
My mother has been gone a long time now, and my “little girl” is a beautiful, independent woman. But that day lives on. That afternoon when we shared a mystical bond with nature, feeling completely at peace, one with the birds…and each other.
When I came to write Nora Archer’s story, I knew she needed a special kind of healing. Nora and her fatherless sons have been through so much. She needed a man, and a place, that could bring her that kind of peace. And so…I remembered the birds.
I hope you enjoy Nora and Logan’s story. If you have a wildlife sanctuary near you, please visit and support them. Then drop by www.KOBrienOnline.com and tell me all about it!
Warmly,
Kathleen O’Brien

Texas Trouble
Kathleen O’Brien

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathleen O’Brien was a feature writer and TV critic before marrying a fellow journalist. Motherhood, which followed soon after, was so marvelous she turned to writing novels, which could be done at home. She works hard to pack her backyard with birds, butterflies and squirrels. Indoors, her two cockatiels, Honey and Lizzie, announce repeatedly, if not humbly, that they are “pretty birds.” Her colorful Gouldian finch, who lives in her office, fills every day with music.
To my much-loved mother and daughter, who shared that extraordinary day with me.
I wish we could do it again.
And to the Audubon Center for Birds of Prey, for working magic year after year.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
A DRAGONFLY HOVERED INCHES from Nora Archer’s shoulder, its wings hypnotically beating the warm air of the hacienda courtyard. She ought to get up, get going, get Sean ready for Little League, but peaceful moments were too rare these days. She used to love sitting out here in the late afternoon, when the Bull’s Eye Ranch was quiet, the shadows stretched across the bricks, and the breeze was full of honeysuckle and wind chimes.
Milly, the housekeeper, was vacuuming on the second floor, a way of keeping an eye on Sean without making him feel like a prisoner. So, temporarily off duty, Nora lay on the lounger, prepared to steal a few more minutes.
A battle was coming with Sean, and she wasn’t eager to engage. They’d quarreled as soon as he got home from school, about whether his homework could wait until after the game. She hadn’t budged, though as always she’d needed to steel herself against the pain behind his angry hazel eyes. He was only nine… He’d been through so much….
But dealing with Sean called for discipline and routine, not sloppy emotion and inconsistency. So she’d held firm. As usual, he’d stomped upstairs in a fury and slammed his door.
Most days, after a scene like that, she would send Harry up to remind Sean it was time to shower and put on his uniform. No matter how prickly Sean was with his mother, no matter how sour he’d grown about his former love, baseball, he never took it out on Harry.
The hero-worship of a little brother had once been the bane of Sean’s existence, but not anymore. These days, Harry was the only one Sean seemed to trust.
Unfortunately, Harry was playing at a friend’s house.
So for just a few minutes more, she wanted to watch the dragonfly, bask in the spring sunshine, and pretend everything was normal. She wanted to pretend that her boys had a father, who at any moment might come whistling around the corner, shouldering a trio of fishing poles. She wanted to pretend that Sean hadn’t grown surly and difficult, that he hadn’t begun to hate everything he used to love, and that his nights were peaceful under acres of starry Archer sky, not haunted by nightmares of madmen, guns and fear.
A lovely fantasy, but it couldn’t last. Too soon the quiet hour was gone. She opened her eyes and saw that the sunlight had abandoned the last inch of courtyard, the shadow of the tiled roofline on the west touching the shadow of the tupelo on the east.
She sat up. Had she just heard a sound…maybe a car coming through the iron gates at the front of the hacienda?
Evelyn, already? Could it really be almost five?
Nora’s sister-in-law had agreed to picked up Harry and meet them here so that they could ride to the game together. Darn. Nora had hoped to get the war with Sean over and won before Evelyn showed up to witness it.
Evelyn always meant well, but the older woman always preferred sandpaper to honey, so she and Nora rarely agreed about how to handle even the smallest parenting issues.
Nora was tugging on her sneakers when, suddenly, the air seemed to burst into chaotic sound.
First, the shrill ringing of the telephone. She felt around under the lounger for the cordless handset. Just as her fingers closed around it, a whoosh of air swept through the courtyard, followed by the bang of the massive wood-and-iron front door.
Then voices. Her sister-in-law’s agitated alto. “Sean Archer! I told you I want an answer! What have you been doing?”
“Sean!” The short, high-pitched squeal of the housekeeper, Milly. “How did you get out? What happened to you?”
And, finally, the tearful defiance of her older son. “I didn’t do it. I don’t care what they say. I didn’t do it.”
Nora flew into the great room, the telephone still ringing in her hand. She determined first that Sean was all in one piece—and so was Harry, who stood holding Evelyn’s hand, eyes wide. Clearly upset, all of them, but no one seriously hurt.
Then she noticed that Sean was covered in dirt, and his left cheek was bleeding.
“I found him trying to sneak in through the side loggia. Look at him! God only knows what he’s been up to.” Evelyn tried to grab Sean’s shirt, but he ducked away. “Explain yourself, Sean!”
Nora winced at the tone, which was guaranteed to make Sean—or anyone—mulish. “Honey,” she said more gently. “What happened?”
He took one step toward his mother, as though his instinct was to run to her arms. But then he checked himself. His eyebrows drew together, and his jaw jutted out. “I didn’t do it. That guy is a liar.”
Harry had no scruples about racing over and burrowing his face into his mother’s stomach. “Sean’s bleeding, Mom. His face is bleeding.”
“I see that. But it doesn’t look too bad, really.” Nora kept her hand on Harry’s carroty curls, but she focused her gaze on her older son. She fought to keep her voice calm. “What guy, Sean?”
“Over at Two Wings. That son of a—”
Evelyn, whose weather-beaten face was every bit as grim as her nephew’s, raised her palm. “Sean Archer. We don’t use words like that.”
Nora felt a twinge of frustration. Bad language obviously wasn’t the real problem here. Two Wings, a newly constructed private bird sanctuary, was the property next door to Bull’s Eye Ranch. But in Texas terms, next door meant maybe a mile away. Could Sean possibly have been at Two Wings while she thought he was safely pouting in his room?
Without meeting Evelyn’s reproachful eyes, she bent down and spoke steadily to her son. “What guy at Two Wings? Do you mean Mr. Cathcart?”
“No.” He wiped at his cheek, his fist coming away streaked with dark red mud. Nora saw gratefully that the skin beneath was no longer bleeding—a fairly superficial scrape. “I mean Mr. Cathcart’s manager. He’s probably the one who was calling just now.”
Nora glanced down at the phone in her hand. It had given up its demands and gone silent, cycling over to voice mail.
Sean sniffed. “He thinks I killed a bird. But I didn’t.”
“Killed?” Evelyn’s voice roared. “For God’s sake, Sean, what did you—”
“I told you I didn’t,” Sean began hotly.
“Evelyn, please—”
“Mom,” Harry broke in, his voice rising as he absorbed the agitation around him. “Mom, is Sean okay? Does he have to go to the hospital?” The little boy’s voice trembled, and his arms tightened around her waist. “We don’t like the hospital.”
Her heart squeezed hard at the childish understatement, and all the pain that lay behind it. Little boys shouldn’t have the kinds of memories her sons had. They should barely know what hospitals were for.
“Of course not,” she said with authority. “It’s just a tiny scrape.”
Harry lifted his face, brightening, but Sean’s expression grew darker. His hazel eyes flashed, and his red eyebrows dug down toward the bridge of his nose. “I still want to go to the game.”
“You must be joking,” Evelyn snapped. “Do you think this kind of behavior will be rewarded by—”
“It’s not a reward!” Sean interrupted his aunt without thinking, but Nora cringed inside, well aware that the older woman had already been offended, and would now be doubly so. Every social faux pas the boys committed was proof, in Evelyn’s eyes, that Nora hadn’t taught them manners…or respect for their aunt.
“I hate baseball.” Sean turned to Nora. “But you said it was a commitment, remember? You said when people made commitments they had to follow through, and—”
“This is different.”
Nora knew what she’d said, but she also knew the rules about being consistent with your parenting message. Whoever invented those rules must never have been a parent.
“We need to get that cheek looked at. And then you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Most importantly, if you’ve been in some kind of trouble over at Two Wings, we need to talk to Mr. Cathcart.”
“We certainly do,” Evelyn agreed.
“No!” Sean wheeled on her, his hands fisted. “Not you! Why would you go?”
Oh, God, could this get any worse? Nora tossed her sister-in-law a smile, asking her to understand that Sean was afraid, and undoubtedly ashamed. He loved his aunt. He probably just didn’t want any extra witnesses to his disgrace.
But Evelyn didn’t understand. Nora could see by the narrowing of her eyes. She looked as if she’d been struck. Evelyn Archer Gellner was a tough Texas widow, pure steel from the inside out. But the boys, her only blood relations left in this world, were her Achilles’ heel. They could break her heart by simply twitching away from her kiss.
If only she could lose some of that barking bossiness, perhaps they could enjoy her more. But right now Evelyn’s wounded pride was not the focus.
“I want you to go upstairs with Milly,” Nora said quietly. “I want you to wash up and change into clean clothes. I’m going to call Mr. Cathcart.”
“He’s going to be mad. Because his manager is a liar, and—”
“Sean. Enough.”
Sean recognized his mother’s tone, and he took in a huge breath, preparing to throw a fit. But Milly, who had worked at the ranch since Nora’s late husband had been a little boy—and, thus, for the duration of their marriage—recognized the tone, too. This discussion was over. She swooped in and took Sean by the arm before he could get out the first furious syllable.
“Come on,” Milly said. Sean balked, digging in his heels, but Milly, who could see three hundred from her spot on the scales, just grinned. “You don’t want me to have to sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, now, do you? With your little brother looking on?”
At that threat, Harry mustered the courage to leave his spot in Nora’s embrace. He walked over to his big brother and took his hand.
“I know you didn’t kill anything, Sean,” he said. “Really. And Mom knows, too.”
Born to be a peacemaker, Nora thought with a rush of tenderness. And thank God they had one in the family these days. Evelyn looked like a thundercloud, and Sean’s scowl was almost as fierce.
But then Sean glanced toward Nora, and for a minute she thought she saw something else hiding behind the hostility. Something like…hope.
Hope that she believed in him.
In spite of the other sins, the tempers, the sneaking out, the running away and whatever had caused all that mud and blood, he wanted her to trust that he hadn’t done anything as terrible as destroy a living creature.
“Harry’s right,” she said, praying it was true. “I know you didn’t kill anything.” She ignored the intake of breath from Evelyn, who clearly thought she was, once again, being too soft.
Refusing to meet her sister-in-law’s outraged gaze, Nora watched as Milly and the boys climbed the winding staircase, Sean dragging his dirty hand along the iron railing. When they rounded the first curve, she called up the voice mail.
“Nora,” an elegant baritone said smoothly, “this is Logan Cathcart. My manager just said your son was at the sanctuary. He was— He’d been—” A short silence. “It’s nothing serious, but…I think we should talk.”
She shook her head, frustrated, and clicked the button. “He didn’t leave any details,” she said, for Evelyn’s benefit.
She began scrolling through the handset’s electronic address book. “I’d better call him and see what really happened. His message said it wasn’t serious, but of course he might be trying not to upset me. He’s a very nice man, actually.”
She had just found the Two Wings’s main number when she sensed Evelyn’s gaze boring into the top of her head. She glanced up. Her sister-in-law’s expression was even more unpleasant than Nora had imagined. It tried unsuccessfully to disguise her real anger as amusement.
“I know you want to come with us, Evvie,” Nora said, trying to smile. “But I honestly think we’d do better alone. Sean’s pride is one of his problems, and if you see him—”
“Oh, I know you would rather go alone. That doesn’t surprise me. I was just surprised that… You have his number on speed dial?”
“What?” Nora looked at the handset, confused. “Whose?”
“His.” Evelyn jerked her head toward the phone, as if there were someone in it. “Logan Cathcart’s.”
Nora’s hands stilled on the keypad. She was so shocked, she couldn’t think of a single response. Evelyn’s face…her tone…
What could she possibly be hinting at?
But then Nora realized her silence sounded guilty. It even felt guilty, which was ridiculous. She had nothing to be guilty about. She hadn’t spoken to Logan Cathcart, except to say hello if they passed in town, since Harrison’s funeral six months ago.
She’d hardly exchanged ten words with him even then. Or for several months before Harrison’s death, for that matter. Occasionally, in the middle of the night, Nora might wrestle with a guilty conscience about the handsome New Englander who had shocked Texas society by turning good cattle acres into a bird sanctuary, but Evelyn couldn’t possibly know that.
Could she?
“Of course I have the Two Wings’s number programmed. Why wouldn’t I? They’re our closest neighbors.”
Evelyn’s smile was cold. “And he is, as you say, such a very nice man. The kind of man you’d like to see…alone.”
Nora set down the phone carefully on the end table beside Harrison’s favorite leather couch. She faced Evelyn squarely, and waited for her to explain.
Clearly in no hurry to do so, Evelyn stared back, folding her arms neatly in front of her chest. Though she was almost sixty now, her skin leathered by years of too much sun, she was still a handsome woman. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair cut short and straight around her ears, accenting her black, bright eyes. Her body had been kept young by constant motion.
If she’d ever given a human being the same warmth she bestowed on her Jack Russell terriers, she might have been quite beautiful. In the ten years Nora had known her, though, she hadn’t seen that happen.
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply, Evelyn.”
“Of course you are.”
Nora hesitated, feeling as if she’d been caught on a dangerous square of an invisible chessboard. She knew that Evelyn didn’t like her. For so many reasons—many of them completely justified.
From the outset, Evelyn had been suspicious of a young nobody’s motives in marrying a very rich man twice her age. When it was clear she couldn’t prevent the marriage, Evelyn had tried to train Nora to deserve the name Archer, but in spite of her best efforts Nora’s social skills were slack, her ranching inferior.
She didn’t keep the correct distance with the servants, she couldn’t manage the appropriate intimacy with the horses and she never made friends easily with Harrison’s business pals.
And, of course, there was the matter of Bull’s Eye, the ten-thousand-acre horse and cattle ranch that had been the Archer home for generations.
Harrison had left Bull’s Eye to Nora, who didn’t appreciate it, involve herself in it or deserve it. Evelyn had been seething about it ever since the will was read.
Over the six months since Harrison’s death, the relationship had gone from marginal to messy. Somehow, they’d found a sliver of common ground in their mutual love for Sean and Harry, and Nora had tried to build on that.
Obviously it wasn’t working today.
“Isn’t that right, Nora?” Evelyn’s piercing gaze hadn’t flickered once. “You’re secretly glad to have an excuse to call Mr. Cathcart, aren’t you?”
Nora took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Evelyn, please. I don’t need anything else to worry about right now. If you have something to say, say it.”
“I did. I said that you have an interest in Logan Cathcart. And I’ll say more. I’ll say that you’ve been interested in him since long before your husband died.”
“That’s ridiculous. Where on earth did you get such an absurd idea?”
“From my brother.”
Nora felt her head recoil slightly, as if she’d been slapped. “That can’t be true,” she said. “Harrison would never have said…”
But she couldn’t finish the sentence. Harrison could have said exactly that. He had said it once, to Nora.
Evelyn saw Nora’s dismay, and she blinked slowly, a movement that was pained and triumphant at the same time.
“Yes, that’s right. He told me. He was my brother, and he confided in me. Did you think he wouldn’t? Did you think he’d suffer in silence?”
Nora shook her head. “It’s just that…I hoped he would have realized how wrong he was.”
“Wrong?”
“Yes. Not that I owe this explanation to you, Evvie, but he was wrong.” Nora’s throat felt dry. She was telling the truth, but she knew it sounded like a lie. That made her angry, almost as angry as Evelyn’s constant criticism and her heavy-handed interference in the boys’ lives did.
“Harrison did once suspect that I might be attracted to Logan. But I assured him it wasn’t true, and he believed me. There has never been anything between Logan Cathcart and me.”
She clicked Talk, and the dial tone hummed. She had a choice between two pre-programmed buttons, the Two Wings manager’s office, and Logan Cathcart’s home number. As her finger punched the home number defiantly, she looked up at her sister-in-law.
“And that’s the last time I’ll ever discuss this with you, Evelyn, because frankly it’s none of your business.”
The phone began to ring. She looked toward the fireplace, signaling the end of the argument.
But she should have known she wouldn’t get the last word.
“My brother has always been my business,” Evelyn said quietly, her voice a deadly monotone. “And so are my brother’s sons.”
Nora’s shoulder blades tingled, but she didn’t turn around. The phone kept ringing hollowly, and she imagined it echoing through Logan Cathcart’s small log-and-stone ranch house, which he’d inherited from his great-aunt.
She knew, somehow, that he was no longer there.
Illogically, the unanswered rings made her feel even more alone.
Alone with a troubled son, a haunted heart and a woman who hated her.
“I am always watching, Nora,” Evelyn’s voice came at her in low, hard waves. “I would never have let you hurt Harrison, and the same goes for Sean and Harry. There’s nothing I won’t do to protect my own flesh and blood. So be forewarned.”

CHAPTER TWO
EVEN BEFORE SEAN ARCHER’S unexpected visit, and the mess that followed, Logan Cathcart had been up to his eyeballs in alligators. Two candidates had shown up for the clinic tech job, but neither had any experience, so he was still administering antibiotics and changing bandages himself.
Three injured baby owls had been left in a shoebox on his doorstep overnight, and two of them didn’t have a chance in hell.
Finally, the county had sent over a ream of red tape so convoluted it made his law school years look easy. He wanted to shred it up for nesting material, but since the Two Wings tax break depended on it he had to resist.
So, frankly, he hadn’t been in the mood to hear that a troubled kid from the ranch next door had appeared with a dead bird in his backpack and for no apparent reason started tearing up the enclosures they’d just built yesterday.
He knew the kid’s dad had died, and the family was going through a bad patch. He even felt sorry for him. His manager didn’t believe the kid’s story—that he’d been bringing the bird here for tending, but it died along the way—but Logan did. Somehow he just didn’t think Sean Archer was that kind of crazy.
Still. A nine-year-old kid reacts to a bird’s death by ripping apart everything he can reach? That didn’t smell like fresh-baked mental health to Logan.
So now not only was he having to repair the damage himself, but also he was going to have to talk to Sean’s mother, and that was something he’d vowed to do as little of as possible. He’d decided to steer clear of Nora Archer about two days after moving to Texas, about two minutes after meeting her.
He tossed his hammer onto the pile of wood chips and pulled the measuring tape out. He might have to order new wood. The kid must know karate—he’d really smashed things up.
“Boss?”
Logan raised his gaze, sorry to see his manager, Vic Downing, standing at the edge of the hawk enclosure. He dropped the tape measure. “What are you still doing here? You should be at home. Tell Vic to go home, Max.”
Max, a red-shouldered hawk who was never going to live in the wild again, moved nervously from one foot to the other, head lowered on his flexible neck, fixing Vic with a beady-eyed stare. As if obeying Logan’s command, Max let out an ominous screech, the perfect sound track for a horror movie.
Vic just rolled his eyes. “Shut up, pudgy,” he said affectionately. It was all an act, of course. Max was gentle-natured, one-winged and a pushover for a fistful of treats. “Look, Logan. I can stay a little while. Let me give you a hand with that.”
“You’ve already worked fifty hours this week. Didn’t Gretchen say she’d shoot you if you missed dinner again?”
Vic stuck a piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth. “Yeah, but that was just the hormones talking.” He sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how insane pregnant women can be.”
Oh, yes, he would. But Logan didn’t say that, of course. He also didn’t say that Gretchen would undoubtedly get worse in the next few weeks. She had about a month to go, and if Logan remembered correctly from those last months with Rebecca…
But remembering was one thing he didn’t waste time doing.
He retrieved his hammer and a broken plank and started working out the nail that was stuck in one end.
“Anyhow,” Vic went on, “where I put the bullets, she’ll never find them.”
Logan looked up. “Where did you hide them?”
“Behind the Windex. Woman hasn’t done a lick of housework in months. Says it makes her cranky.” Vic tossed down the plank. “But what doesn’t?”
As they exchanged a sympathetic chuckle, Logan glimpsed the slow fluttering of something pale and pink at the edge of Vic’s silhouette. For a fanciful split second he thought it might be a roseate spoonbill, although he didn’t have any at the sanctuary, and undoubtedly never would. The delicate beauties didn’t show up this far inland.
He blinked, and the fluttering became the edges of a loose pink skirt. He blinked again, and saw the woman wearing it.
It was Nora Archer, probably the only woman on the planet who could wear that color with that red hair and pull it off.
She was too far away for Logan to see details, but his mind could conjure up every inch. The silly auburn curls that frothed around her shoulders. The round eyes, too big for her face, forest-colored, mostly brown with shards of green and bronze. Little girl pink cheeks, freckles and an upturned cheerleader’s nose. But a dangerous woman’s mouth, wide and soft and tempting.
Today, her head was bowed as she moved toward them, her pale face somber. She might have the coloring of a roseate spoonbill, but she had the soft melancholy of the mourning dove.
The widow Archer. He squeezed the handle of the hammer. As beautiful, and as off-limits, as ever.
Vic had noticed her now, too, and both men watched without speaking until she finally reached them. Max stared as well, cocking his head and rotating it slowly to follow her all the way. Logan smiled inwardly. It must be a male thing.
When she got close enough, he stood. While she was shaking hands with Vic, Logan dropped the hammer again, and brushed his hands against his jeans, sorry that they were gritty with sawdust and dirt.
But that was dumb. His hands were always dirty. The days when he spent all his money on designer suits and weekly manicures were long gone and unlamented.
“Hi, Nora,” he said. “I was going to call you again later.”
“Logan.”
She held out her hand, and he took it. It had been six months, and yet he knew to brace himself for the little electric jolt. She felt it, too, he could tell, though she had always been polished at covering it.
“I came to talk about Sean. To apologize, first of all. He told me what happened this afternoon. He said he did a lot of damage.”
“Not so much. He busted up a couple of enclosures. Nothing we can’t fix.”
Logan was amused to see Vic nodding vigorously, although an hour ago the manager had been ready to wring Sean Archer’s neck with his bare hands. That was the effect Nora Archer had on people. Male or female, young or old, one look into those wistful hazel eyes, and they wanted to don armor and jump on a white horse.
She let go of his hand quickly, then gazed around, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Did he—were there birds in any of the enclosures?”
“The screening wasn’t finished yet. It was just bare boards, really. Don’t worry, Nora. He hurt stuff, nothing living.”
She smiled, still sad but clearly grateful, then turned to Vic. “He tells me you were disturbed about the bird he brought with him. He thinks you believe he killed it.”
“Well, I—” Vic looked uncomfortable. “I couldn’t be sure. It was dead by the time I got here, and he was kind of going nuts, breaking boards and—”
“I can see why you were worried,” she said. “I was worried, too. But I’ve talked to Sean about it, and he told me everything. I’m convinced he’s telling the truth about that part. He simply doesn’t have that kind of brutality in him.”
Vic didn’t look quite as sure, but when he opened his mouth to respond, Johnny Cash’s voice suddenly growled out of his back pocket, promising in his rumbling baritone that he found it very, very easy to be true.
Max squawked, disliking the sound instinctively, and Nora’s eyes widened.
As the manager dug hurriedly in his back pocket, Logan chuckled. “Vic’s cell phone,” he explained. “That must be the new ringtone Gretchen put on it. That’s not the one that means the baby’s coming, is it?”
Vic shook his head. “No. That one’s ‘Stop, In the Name of Love.’ Johnny Cash is the get-your-ass-home-for-dinner ringtone.” He clicked the answer button. “Sorry, honey. I know what I said. I’m leaving right now. Yes, right now. No, not five minutes from now. Right now.”
Logan pointed at the clinic parking lot, urging the other man to get going. With an apologetic smile and a wave to Nora, Vic loped off toward his truck, keeping his wife updated on every step he took. “I’m ten feet from the truck, honey…”
The few seconds after Vic’s departure were subtly awkward. Nora stood in a ray of sunshine that poured in dappled blobs of honey through the oak branches. Logan stood stiffly by the broken wood, in the shadow of the hawk enclosure, surrounded by busted planks and tools.
Well, of course it was awkward. It was the first time he had been alone with her in about nine months. It was, in fact, only the second time he’d ever been alone with her in his life.
The first time had been at Trent and Susannah’s peach party, last summer. They’d had…what…five minutes alone together in the pole shed? Other than that, their encounters had all been casual, public, superficial. The same politely chatting circle at a cocktail party. Nearby tables at a busy café. Two customers apart in the checkout line at the grocery store. Four rows down at the city council meeting.
Funny how you could fool yourself, he thought, watching her scratch an imaginary itch at her throat, then fidget with the neckline of her creamy blouse. The truth was, he hardly knew her. And yet…
“I know you’re busy,” she said. “I won’t take up too much of your time. But I wanted to talk about Sean. I’d like to know what he can do to make this up to you.”
“Nothing.” He shook his head firmly. “That’s not necessary. Let’s forget it, okay? I know he’s had a hard time this past year.”
“Yes. That’s true.” She swallowed. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about it. I guess everyone has.”
He couldn’t deny it. Eastcreek was a typical small Texas town. People talked. And when they had something juicy to talk about, like the fact that one of its social pillars, Harrison Archer, had gone stark raving mad and tried to kill two people, they buzzed like hornets.
Logan wasn’t a fan of gossip. He and Rebecca and Ben had been the subject of enough of it for him to know how little it captured of the real truth. But he couldn’t help himself. He had wanted to know. He’d wanted to understand more about that wildly mismatched Archer marriage, so he’d listened.
“I heard. I discounted about half of it, though.” He smiled. “I’ve been here long enough to know that Texans are just as good at embellishing as they are back in Maine.”
“In this case, half is bad enough.” She moved a little closer to Max’s cage, as if she didn’t want to meet Logan’s eyes while she talked. The hawk, who had been preening his wing, paused briefly, then apparently decided she wasn’t a threat and went back to work.
“The basic facts are true. Harrison did threaten to kill Trent and Susannah. He lured Trent out to Green Fern Pond, so that he could shoot him, and when Susannah found them, Harrison held them both at gunpoint. But I don’t think he would have done it, even if Sean…even if Sean hadn’t stopped him. I really don’t.”
She looked back at Logan, her fingertips hooked into the wire screening. “Of course, I don’t know for sure. He was very sick, and he was in a lot of pain. He had been for a long time.”
He knew she didn’t mean physical pain, although that had probably played its part. Pancreatic cancer wasn’t a merciful disease. But the pain that had truly destroyed Harrison Archer wasn’t the physical kind. It was emotional, and it had apparently eaten away his soul, his conscience and his common sense.
Logan knew he ought to stop her from going on. He didn’t have any comfort to offer in return for her confessional. And she didn’t need to lay out the details of her private tragedy, like an offering on the altar, buying his forgiveness for Sean.
He’d already forgiven the poor, unlucky kid, for what that was worth.
“You probably know that Harrison blamed Trent for his first son’s death.” She turned her head back toward the enclosure. Her auburn curls slid across her breastbone, the tips catching the sunlight. “He never got over Paul’s death. Not even… Not even after Sean and Harry.”
Though many people found that part of the story perplexing, Logan had always sort of understood. The first-born, the miracle, the child of your dreams. You might love again—in fact, humans were probably hardwired to love something, anything, just to survive—but you’d never love like that a second time. Never with your heart wide open, just asking to be smashed to bits.
“Poor Trent.” Nora took a deep breath. “He blames himself, too, you know. He shouldn’t. Paul died a few years before I came to Eastwood, but from what I hear the fire was just one of those impossibly tragic accidents.”
Logan shrugged. “That doesn’t make it easier. But you don’t have to tell me this, Nora. I think I get it.”
“I’d like to explain, if you don’t mind listening. I think it might help you to understand Sean a little better.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile. “Anyhow, Harrison had just found out he was dying, and he wanted to avenge Paul’s death while he still could. So he…he took Trent out to the pond. It was the last place he’d ever been with Paul. Peggy, Harrison’s first wife, called us, and we came as fast as we could. We had no idea what we would find. And Sean…he ran ahead…”
She’d been telling the story with impressive composure so far. But finally, when she spoke about Sean, her voice trembled. Her eyes were shining, anguished, the muscles around them pulled so tight it hurt to see.
He picked up the hammer again and inspected the handle, which had felt a little loose when he was working earlier. He needed to resist this irrational urge to move toward her.
What was he going to do? Take her in his arms?
Oh, man. This was why he’d decided it was better to steer clear of her. There was something about her that wormed straight into the weakest chink inside him.
What exactly was her magic? She was small, only about five-four, he’d guess barely a hundred pounds. Nice figure, but she’d never stop traffic. She wore almost no jewelry or makeup, didn’t bother with ornamentation. She was soft-spoken and introspective.
She should have been easy to ignore.
And yet, ever since he’d moved to Texas eighteen months ago, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Not then, when she’d been a meekly married woman, clearly in the no-touch zone. And not now, when she was the epitome of Mrs. Wrong: a single mother with troubled sons. Vulnerable, grief-stricken and needy. Oddly innocent, incapable of the kind of no-strings fling he specialized in.
“Look, it’s really okay,” he said gruffly, trying to ignore the tenderness that was threatening to create itself inside him. Her problems were her problems. He couldn’t solve them. Hell, he couldn’t even solve his own. “I’m not mad at Sean, and the damage is easily enough repaired.”
“That’s very generous.” She finally turned completely around. Max grumbled, sorry to lose the attention, and the hope of a treat. “But, for Sean’s sake, I have to do more. I can’t let him get away with this. He needs to pay for what he’s done.”
Logan felt his chest tighten. He didn’t like where this was going.
“I’ll send you a bill. You can make him work it off. You know. Chores around the house. Teach him his lesson.”
She moved a step toward him. “That seems so remote from the crime, though, don’t you think? Is there any work he could do at the sanctuary? It would teach him so much more. He’d learn what you do here, for one thing. Surely, if he understood that what you do is so valuable, so unlike what his fa—”
She broke off awkwardly. But he knew what she meant.
Harrison Archer, whose family tree had put its roots down in Texas before it was even called Texas, had never thought much of Easterners, and he damn sure didn’t think much of wasting a hundred acres of prime horse and cattle country to nurse a bunch of half-dead hawks and barn owls back to health.
He’d undoubtedly passed that disdain on to his son, the heir-in-training to all the Archer arrogance. Logan hadn’t connected the father’s attitude to Sean’s outburst, but perhaps Nora was right. If Sean hadn’t heard so much at home about how worthless Two Wings was, the urge to do it violence might not have been so close to the surface.
“You’ve got a point,” Logan said, trying to sound reasonable. “It would be nice to have next-door neighbors who don’t think Two Wings is a waste of space. But I’m afraid Sean’s re-education will have to be done at home. We have only about six weeks before we open Two Wings to the public, and I’m just too busy to play guidance counselor, or parole officer, or whatever you’re thinking.”
“No, I didn’t mean you. Of course you don’t have time.”
Her eyes had clouded again, and he realized his rejection had been more forceful than he’d intended. Damn it. Why couldn’t he reach equilibrium with this woman? Why couldn’t she just be another pretty neighbor? Why did the idea of having her, and her little boy, at Two Wings every day make him so uncomfortable?
“I meant your manager. Do you think Vic might have time? I promise you, Sean can be a hard worker. He’s smart and he’s strong.”
Logan had started shaking his head when she began to talk, and he didn’t stop. She frowned, clearly wondering why his resistance was so absolute.
“And of course I’d be happy,” she said cautiously, “to make a donation to Two Wings, to offset whatever inconvenience or expense Sean’s presence might create.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Crap. That had come out too harshly, too, especially given the obvious differences in their financial states. Smooth, Cathcart. Whip out the whole bag of insecurities, why don’t you? Want to tell her about the puppy that died when you were two?
She studied him for a minute, her wide forehead knitting between the brows. “What’s really the matter, Logan? Do you think Sean killed that bird? Is that why you don’t want him here? You’re afraid he’s crazy?”
“No. Of course not. No.”
For a minute he considered telling the truth. She knew he was attracted to her, and vice versa. It had never been put into words, but it was as obvious as a neon sign. Would it be so bad to just talk about it?
But what exactly would he say? I’m not interested in a long-term relationship with a woman like you, but as you know I’m wildly turned on by you anyhow. I’m afraid that if we spend too much time together, I might seduce you, and I might end up breaking your heart….
Yeah, right.
Not in this lifetime.
Besides, the attraction was only part of the problem.
The rest of it was that he just didn’t want to get involved in the Archer family tragedy. Call him a selfish bastard, but he didn’t want to feel their pain. He didn’t want to dig around in the muck of their grief and see if he could help them drain the swamp. He didn’t want to lend his ear, offer his shoulder or hold the Kleenex while they cried.
He couldn’t help them anyhow. Bereavement wasn’t like some club you joined. There wasn’t a secret handshake he could show them, no guided tour he could lead to help them feel at home.
It was a private hell, and everyone was locked up in their own solitary fire.
“I’m sorry, Nora,” he said. He picked up the tool box to show that he was out of time. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

CHAPTER THREE
“JEEPERS, NORA. I ASKED you to come because I wanted to talk about Sean. But now I think we’d better talk about you, instead.” Jolie Harper, the music teacher at Eastcreek Elementary School, leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “You look awful. Aren’t you sleeping?”
“Not much.” Nora plopped into the visitor’s seat, relieved to be able to drop the brave face for once. She had volunteered in Jolie’s classroom several times a week for the past three years, and had come to trust her completely.
“I try to sleep, but my mind won’t shut off. I keep second-guessing every decision I make. I’ve told Sean he’ll have to work off the damage to the Cathcart place. But am I being too hard on him? Too soft? Does he need more freedom? Less? Evelyn thinks—”
“Ugh. Spare me what Evelyn thinks.”
Jolie stood and went to the window. Using her thumb and forefinger, she wedged a crack in the blinds so that she could peek into the rehearsal room, where her assistant was helping Sean and three other students learn “The Star Spangled Banner” on the guitar, flute, clarinet and bells.
She grimaced. “They sound terrible. Any chance they’d let us have our spring show in August this year?”
Nora smiled, although the joke, obviously meant to lighten the tension, paradoxically set off a new pang of guilt. The guitar was another former love that Sean no longer enjoyed. Getting him to practice was like pulling teeth, and half the time Nora just didn’t think it was worth the struggle.
They couldn’t fight all day, every day, could they? What kind of life would that be for a nine-year-old boy?
Or was she taking the easy way out, craving peace, even at her son’s expense?
She reached up and rubbed her aching forehead. This was the kind of emotional tail-chasing that kept her up all night. For Evelyn, life was so straightforward. In her opinion, Nora was a naive woman who had no idea how to steer her sons through this dangerous storm and should rely on Evelyn for guidance. End of debate.
In those sleepless hours before dawn, Nora sometimes wondered if she might be right.
“So why did you ask me to come in, Jolie?” She braced herself. She might as well know the worst. “Has something else happened?”
Jolie cast one more glance into the rehearsal room. Apparently satisfied that Sean was safely occupied, she leaned against the edge of her desk, close enough to speak softly and still be heard.
“Not really. Nothing dramatic. It’s just that…he seems very remote. He doesn’t volunteer for anything extra, doesn’t go for the chair challenges. He doesn’t hang out with his friends much, either. He sits by himself whenever he has a choice. He doesn’t cause trouble. He just doesn’t…” She sighed. “Doesn’t engage.”
Nora laced her fingers in her lap and squeezed tightly. Out of nowhere, she felt the urge to talk to Harrison. She would like his advice, of course, but she’d also like to be able to tell him that she understood so much better what he’d been through with Paul.
Intellectually, any human being could grasp that it was terrible to watch your son suffer and die. Anyone with a heart could sympathize with a tragedy like that.
But when you actually went through it, when the fear that your child might be hurting, might be in danger, ran through your veins like a fiery poison, threatening to blow your heart up right in your chest…that was a whole new level of understanding.
“I see that apathy at home, too,” she said. “At first I thought it might be an improvement, a sign that he was calming down. But it’s not natural. It’s too bottled up.”
“Right.” Jolie’s shiny blond ponytail bounced jauntily as she nodded, but her face was very serious. “Like a fire behind a tightly closed door.” She glanced toward the window again. “Is he still seeing the counselor?”
“Yes, but he’s down to once a week. It was the psychiatrist’s suggestion. He said it was time to move toward normalcy. I thought it might be too soon, but he said we should try.”
Evelyn had pooh-poohed Nora’s doubts, eager to accept the psychiatrist’s recommendation. The older woman didn’t set much store by talk therapy, which she believed encouraged brooding on your troubles, instead of moving past them. She called it “wallowing.”
“I’ll phone him tomorrow.” Just making the decision loosened the knot in Nora’s chest slightly. She leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. The varied scents of the classroom were soothing to her. The sharp, alcohol sting of whiteboard markers, the crisp sweetness of new textbooks, the warm musk of children.
And best of all, the muted laughter of students in the next room struggling to make music.
She’d always planned to be a music teacher, like Jolie. She loved working with kids, watching them light up as their clumsy efforts suddenly bloomed into beautiful sounds.
When she first went to visit Harrison at the Bull’s Eye Ranch that summer ten years ago, she’d been only twenty-one, just out of college, still interviewing for teaching positions in South Carolina. By the time she landed a job, she knew she might be pregnant. And by the time classes started in South Carolina that September, she was living in Texas, married to a very rich man twice her age.
Harrison quickly quieted her talk of teaching. Motherhood, he insisted, was a full-time job.
Understanding why he was a bit overprotective, she’d indulged him. He’d bought her a beautiful piano, so that she could keep up with her own music, and she’d appreciated the gesture.
Someday, she’d always promised herself, she’d start over. When the boys were older. When Harrison felt more secure—about her, and about them. She’d earn her Texas certification, and she’d finally stand in her very own classroom.
Guess someday was on permanent hold now.
And she didn’t mind. There was only one goal that mattered anymore. Shepherding what was left of her family through this crisis.
But she didn’t want her worries to monopolize this whole visit. Jolie had problems, too.
“So did the PTA finally agree that you need new sheet music?” Nora knew that the recent budget cutbacks had slashed the school arts programs. Jolie would have had to cancel the Independence Day concert if Nora hadn’t written a personal check for new instruments. She’d write another, if the PTA didn’t come through with funds. She might write one, anyhow. One of the nicer aspects of having money was being able to give it away.
“It’s still under advisement.” Jolie rolled her eyes. “Which means they’re waiting to see what the Phys Ed teacher needs. If it’s a choice between music and sports, we all know who—”
Suddenly, midsentence, she lurched forward, though she must have been reacting to some sixth sense. Nora hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Jolie murmured under her breath. She flung open the door to the rehearsal room. “Madeline, grab Sean.”
Nora was only a foot behind her, so she had just entered the room when Sean’s guitar hit the floor. Obviously the instrument had been flung with force. Contact with the linoleum made a hideous sound, part splintering wood, part ghastly harmonies from reverberating strings.
“Oh, Sean, no,” she said softly.
Her son didn’t hear her. He stood on the other side of the room, rigid as a pole, his eyes sparking with fury. His face shone palely, which made his freckles stand out like copper pennies on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, his collar lifted where Madeline, the assistant music instructor, held it in her fist.
Jolie had one hand lightly but authoritatively placed on the shoulder of a second boy. Nora knew him—Tad Rutherford. He and Sean had played together since the kiddie band in nursery school. Tad was Sean’s age, but twice his size, and something of a bully. Right now, his broad face burned red, his breath coming hard and noisy.
Nora’s heart beat high in her chest. But Jolie, as always, looked completely calm, in spite of the chaos, the wild-eyed boys and the smashed guitar, which was now two splintered halves held together only by the strings.
She owned the situation. She had frozen the potential for trouble right in its tracks with just the force of her silent authority. That was her gift. It made her a wonderful teacher.
She glanced at Sean, then at Tad. “What happened here?”
“I was just kidding,” Tad said, his chest still heaving. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t mean what?”
Flushing brightly, Tad ducked his head and stared at his shoes. Whatever he’d said, he didn’t seem to have the courage to repeat it in front of the adults.
Jolie looked across the room. “Sean?”
Sean didn’t flinch away from her gaze. He met it, his jaw squared so tightly he might have been carved from marble—if it hadn’t been for his eyes, which were alive with emotion.
Jolie’s gaze shifted. “Madeline?”
The assistant shook her head. “They were playing. I didn’t hear it.”
Jolie didn’t waste time with the third degree. She obviously knew what had to be done. She walked over to Nora. Her eyes were sympathetic, but her voice was matter-of-fact.
“I’ll have to call the principal,” she said quietly, touching the phone that hung from her belt. “The rules are very clear.”
Nora understood. “Of course.”
Nodding to her assistant, a message that seemed to speak volumes, Jolie slipped back into her office to make the call. Nora moved slowly to her son’s side, sidestepping the wreckage of the guitar.
“Sean.” She knelt in front of him and took his cold, limp hand. “Honey, can you tell me? Can you tell me what happened?”
For a moment he stared at her. And then, slowly, as if his neck were a rusted joint, he shook his head.
Such an absolute silence. She looked into his eyes, where sparks of fury still flashed and simmered.
And she thought of Jolie’s comment.
Like fire, she thought with a sinking heart. Like fire behind a tightly closed door.

LOGAN’S NIGHT HAD BEEN an unexpected success. Dinner and drinks with Annie…Aden? Arden? Something like that. The office manager for one of the vets he used at Two Wings.
He’d asked her out purely because she was smoking hot, and he was bored with the book he’d been reading. But he got the bonus prize, too. She’d turned out to be witty and sensible, and extremely easy to please. She liked her steak, she liked her wine. She liked his jokes, his car, his jacket and his smile.
It was also pretty clear she liked the idea of coming home with him. It should have been a slam dunk—sex with a woman who was easy to please. And did he mention smoking hot?
But for some reason he would never understand, he ignored all the signals, kissed her politely at her door and drove back to Two Wings alone.
He didn’t try to figure himself out. He’d never been into navel-gazing self-analysis. He was tired. Her perfume turned him off. He hadn’t been in the mood for a blonde. Whatever.
What difference did it make? There was always another night. There was always another Annie.
He poured himself a glass of water and picked up the sports section, which he hadn’t had time to read that morning. He kicked off his shoes and, with a satisfied yawn, settled onto the tweedy sofa that faced the picture window. It was only eleven, but he’d been up since five, and he’d be up again at five tomorrow. He was dog tired, and he had a right to be.
When the doorbell rang two minutes later, he cursed under his breath. But he swung his legs off the sofa and tossed the newspaper onto the floor. It might be someone dropping off a bird.
When he opened the door, at first he didn’t see anyone at all. Then his gaze fell about two feet, and he discovered a kid standing there, the pale oval of his face peering out from a black hooded sweatshirt.
He wore black jeans, too, and black sneakers. He looked like a miniature cat burglar.
“Hi, Sean,” Logan said wryly. “Did we have something else you wanted to bust up?”
The boy flushed, but he covered it well with a deep scowl. “My mom says she’s going to pay you for it. She’s making me work it off. I’m going to have to pull weeds about ten hours a day for a month.”
“Good.” Logan kept his hand on the doorknob, but he scanned the driveway for a car. “Is your mom with you now?”
“No. I came alone. On my bike.”
Oh, great. The moron had ridden a mile and a half in the pitch dark. All in black. Probably didn’t even have a light on his bike.
He needed a good shaking. Didn’t he have the slightest idea what it would do to his mother if anything bad happened to him?
“Does she know you’re here?”
“No. She’s out with my Aunt Evelyn. I didn’t climb out my window this time. I went straight out the front door. Milly’s supposed to be looking after me, but she always falls asleep. She’s got blood sugar.”
“Really.” Logan fought the urge to smile. “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you back, then. If Milly wakes up and finds you gone, she’ll have a heart attack to go with her blood sugar.”
“No. It’s okay. She never wakes up. I’m not going back yet.”
Logan looked at the boy, who clearly had amazing persistence and dogged determination in that stubborn jaw.
He did some quick thinking. He didn’t want to spook the kid. If Sean decided to dart off into the night, in that outfit, Logan would have hell’s own time trying to catch him. He was tired, and barefoot, and about twenty years older than Sean. He didn’t like his chances.
“Okay.” He held open the door. “Want to come in, then?”
Sean hesitated, still frowning. He glanced into the lighted great room, as if he were checking for trap doors and cages.
“Hey, suit yourself,” Logan said, chuckling. Kids were so dumb. Sean had snuck out in the middle of the night, wandered the darkness alone, knocked on a stranger’s door, then suddenly started remembering what Mom said about safety first.
He shrugged. “I have all the snotty kid prisoners I need at the moment, anyhow.”
Sean laughed. It was an awkward, sputtering noise, as if he hadn’t expected to, and hadn’t wanted to. He caught himself and cut it off, but it had undoubtedly been a laugh.
Encouraged, Logan opened the door wider, and ambled casually toward the kitchen. “Want some water? Must have been a dusty ride. Did you come the back way, by the creek?”
Behind him, he heard the door shut softly. Then he heard it open again, and once more click shut. Too funny…the kid must have been testing to make sure it didn’t auto-lock.
The soft slap of sneakers followed him to the kitchen. Then Sean spoke, with the belligerence dialed back a notch. “Water would be very nice. Yeah, I came by the creek. It’s nice in the moonlight.”
Logan slid a filled glass across the countertop. “But it’s a long way. And I’m guessing that if you get caught you’re in a boatload of trouble. What do you want so bad you’re willing to come all this way to get it?”
Sean picked up the water and swallowed about half of it before he answered. “I want the bird,” he said. “I was going to go to the center and poke around till I found it, but that seemed babyish.”
He lifted his small, pale chin. The hood dropped off when he did so, exposing his curly red hair, still sweaty from the ride over. “And I’m not a baby. So I decided I’d come ask you for it. You can’t want it. It’s not worth anything.”
In spite of the absurdity of the situation, Logan felt a stirring of respect. The boy’s behavior didn’t make any sense, and he could definitely use an attitude adjustment.
But that didn’t make it any less brave.
“I’m not sure I understand. What bird?”
“The one I brought over here yesterday.”
“The dead one?”
The scowl appeared again. “It wasn’t dead when I left my house. It flew right into my window, and then it couldn’t fly anymore. I thought maybe you could fix it. But I guess I took too long. When I got here, it was already dead.” His fingertips were white where they gripped the glass. “I…I couldn’t believe it. It just wasn’t breathing.”
Logan watched the boy carefully, recognizing that helpless anger, that bewildered impotence in the face of the implacability of mortality. If he’d had any doubts before about Sean’s culpability in the death of the bird, they vanished now.
“I guess that was a pretty bad moment. When you saw that it was too late.”
“Yeah.” Sean had to take a deep breath to stop his voice from quavering. “Yeah, it was. I wanted to save it. Maybe it was even my fault. Maybe if I’d asked my mom to drive me over—”
“No.” Logan couldn’t allow that thought to exist for a single second. “No. If it flew into your window, it probably broke its neck. No matter how fast you got it here, I couldn’t have saved it, either.”
“Okay.” Sean nodded, staring down at his water. “But your manager took it away from me. I don’t want him just thrown in the trash, you know? I want to bury him. But I don’t want to steal him. I shouldn’t have to. He’s mine.”
He lifted his head and stood ramrod straight. All the regal Archer entitlement was in that bearing, but so was the little boy’s fear and confusion. Those angry eyes were shining with unshed tears. The effect was incongruous, and oddly touching.
“So I thought I’d come over here and ask you straight. Will you let me have his body?”
Goddamn it. For a minute Logan felt his own eyes stinging. Damn it. He was not going to actually go soft over this kid and one silly bird. Birds died on him all the time in the sanctuary. No one wept over it, not even the most naive teenage volunteers.
“I can’t,” he said firmly. Facts were facts. “I’m sorry, but at least I can promise you it wasn’t thrown in the trash. We’ve already incinerated the body. We have to do that to all the birds we lose here at Two Wings. It’s the law.”
“Oh.” Sean bit his lips together, dealing with the disappointment. His throat worked a few seconds as he fought for control. “Why?”
He really seemed to want to know. Logan debated with himself for a second—would it be better to gloss over it, or offer up details as a distraction?
He decided on distraction. He simplified, but he laid out the basic setup, the federal laws that governed rehabbers and sanctuaries like Two Wings. Encouraged by Sean’s absorbed attention, he even included some interesting trivia about how hunters used to kill birds by the thousands because women wanted to wear their elegant nesting plumage in their ridiculous hats.
“There was a period, maybe a hundred years ago, when an ounce of ostrich feathers was worth more than an ounce of gold,” he finished up. “So the government passed laws to protect the birds. We aren’t allowed to keep so much as a single feather.”
The stories, and the time it took to tell them, did the trick. By the time Logan was finished, Sean’s eyes were brighter. The lightening of his fog of unhappiness was palpable. He probably didn’t fully understand most of it, but he was clearly fascinated by the brief glimpse of the rich history of bird lore.
Logan looked him over, above the rim of his own water glass. When Sean stopped all that glowering, he was a fairly nice-looking kid.
“Anyhow, I really should get you home now,” Logan said casually, hoping he wouldn’t rekindle the fire. “Think we can get your bike in the back of my truck?”
Sean nodded reluctantly. Whatever adrenaline had pushed him here was fading now that his anger and tension were gone. He was starting to look like a normal, sleepy little boy.
“Thanks,” Sean said. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”
And then, to Logan’s surprise, Sean suddenly thrust out his hand. Logan took it, feeling the fragile bones in the skinny fingers, and the calluses on his fingertips. The hand felt ridiculously small to be offering such a man’s gesture.
“You’re welcome,” Logan said, but he had to clear his throat to get the words out.
“I won’t bother you any more, Mr. Cathcart.” The boy looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday and messed up your cages. I wish I could do something to take it back.”
Logan felt himself being drawn into those hazel eyes, so round and so much like his mother’s. He was no psychiatrist, but his instincts told him this kid wasn’t crazy, or mean, or bad. He was just hurting like hell.
Oh, man. Logan felt himself about to say something he’d probably regret. Pull back, Cathcart. Think it through.
Remember the attitude. The flash of temper. The tragedy, hanging like a black wing over everything the boy did. Remember that half his DNA was from his dad, who had always been a jerk, and had ended up a head case.
Everything he’d told himself yesterday was still true. He still had too much to do. He still knew Nora’s sex appeal would be a distraction, an itch he could never scratch.
And he damn sure still didn’t want to jump on the Archer family trouble train.
Besides, would working at the sanctuary really be helpful for Sean? True, Logan honored hard, outdoor, sweaty work, and he believed in the therapeutic value of getting in touch with, and resigning yourself to, the rhythms of nature.
But this was a kid with death issues. A kid who would try to save his dad all over again every time he tried to save a bird. And lose his dad all over again every time he failed.
Logan wasn’t up to dealing with that. Just because, for a minute here, Sean reminded him of Nora, of the forest-colored sadness in her eyes…
That was no reason to—
He tried to apply the brakes, but nothing seemed to have the power to stop the skid.
“That’s the rotten thing about mistakes,” he said, testing to see whether Sean’s belligerence had really subsided. “Once you make ’em, you own ’em. You can’t take them back, no matter how much you want to.”
Sean nodded grimly, but no resentment sparked. “Yeah.” He sighed. “It sucks.”
Logan paused one more time, giving himself another second to come to his senses.
But it didn’t happen.
“I tell you what,” he heard himself saying. “Maybe there is something you could do. Why don’t we see if your mom will let you work off your punishment here with me?”

CHAPTER FOUR
THE SKY WAS ALREADY A HOT neon blue by eight o’clock when Sean reported for his first shift at the sanctuary on Saturday. More like summer than spring, really, Nora thought as she parked the car by the double row of hackberry trees, where the dappled trees would keep it cool.
She didn’t know how long she’d be staying. She’d expected to drop Sean off and return for him later, but as they neared the small wooden cabin that housed the sanctuary’s reception area, Sean’s shoulders grew rigid and his lower jaw thrust out.
Nora knew those signs. He was scared, but tightening every muscle to avoid showing it.
“You’re coming in, too, right, Mom?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” His shoulders loosened, and he gave her a shrug that said the whole thing bored him. “Mr. Cathcart’s probably forgotten I’m coming, anyhow.”
Nora bit back a frustrated response. She wished she knew how to prevent Sean from masking his fear with belligerence, but Harrison had worked hard to be sure his son and heir knew better than to show weakness. Probably the lesson of his own father, Harrison believed that anger was the manly man’s only respectable emotion.
It would take more than a few months with a child psychiatrist to make Sean disloyal to his father’s teachings now.
But the night Logan had brought Sean home, his bike in the flatbed of a Two Wings truck, had given her a glimmer of hope.
They’d rung the bell politely, and then Logan had stood with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if to lend moral support, while Sean had explained about sneaking out to retrieve the body of the bird.
Nora had hardly recognized her son that night. No stubborn silence, no slippery fibs, no tantrums. Just the truth, offered somberly, even apologetically, with a glimpse of the grown man he would someday be.
She’d kept her own tone equally forthright, though she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t upset, or that there wouldn’t be a punishment.
Then, together, the three of them had come up with this plan.
It called for Sean to work at Two Wings three hours every Saturday morning, and two hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday until the damage was paid off.
His salary would be five dollars an hour. Logan had estimated the damage at five hundred dollars, though Nora suspected him of minimizing the mess. Still, Sean would clearly be working into the summer. That night, he’d seemed reconciled to the plan.
But as the first day grew closer, his anxiety had increased, and out came the attitude. By this morning, he’d been sullen, difficult to rouse. He “lost” the green Two Wings T-shirt Logan had provided, groused about the jeans and sneakers his volunteer training sheet called for, and presented himself at the breakfast table with a scowl and no appetite.
She had a feeling Logan was going to regret his decision to bring Sean on board.
“See?” Sean shoved his car door shut, then looked around the empty parking lot. “Told you he forgot. There’s no one here.”
“Maybe we’re early.”
But she saw his point. Two Wings seemed deserted. The only sounds were the sawing of unseen crickets, the croaking of invisible frogs and the occasional melodic whistle of birds that flitted between the trees.
The ticket window, still unmarked awaiting the formal opening of the sanctuary to the public, was firmly shut, reflecting back only the blue sky and the ancient trees.
“He’s probably in the clinic,” she said, trying to remember how to get to the main part of the sanctuary. In the eighteen months since Logan Cathcart had moved in, she’d only been here once, the day she came to apologize for Sean’s vandalism.
She knew the general layout of the land, because she used to visit often when it was owned by Logan’s great-aunt, Doreen Cathcart. Doreen had been eccentric, but a kind woman. She’d never liked Harrison, who thought her land was wasted and wanted to buy it. But she’d always welcomed Nora and the boys.
The house was over on the western edge of the property. On the other side, Doreen had built an odd little amphitheater. She’d hoped to turn the whole estate into a performance arts center, but the dream died with the amphitheater when the money ran out.
“He might be back where those big enclosures are,” she said, trying to orient herself now. “I went down that little boardwalk, off to the left.”
He seemed unsure whether he should admit that he knew where that was.
She waited.
“Okay, fine. It’s back here.” Sean moved to the left, where the wooden boardwalk snaked through the trees.
He obviously knew his way well, and she wondered how often he might have been here. He’d been caught twice now, but was that all?
A chill crept through her as she watched him walk confidently through the heavily wooded maze, never hesitating when the boardwalk forked off in different directions.
How many lies had he been telling her? Would she have to take all freedom away from him? Was there to be no more fun, no more riding his bike with his friend Paddy James, or helping the ranch hands with the horses? Would she have to peek into his room every few minutes when he played video games, or did his homework, or even while he slept?
Would she ever be able to trust him again?
As they walked, birdcalls grew louder, and after a couple of hundred yards, the trees thinned and the path ended in a large open area filled with huge, screened-in wood pens.
And Nora saw that Two Wings was far from empty.
It bustled with life.
The enclosures were filled with hawks and eagles and owls and vultures. That didn’t surprise her. She’d seen them last week.
But, unlike last week, the place was teeming with human life, too.
At least half a dozen people moved purposefully about, ignoring the concrete paths and taking shortcuts across the sand and grass. They lugged hoses and bags of feed, rakes and brooms and boards. One man carried a large hawklike bird on his gloved hand.
“Sean. Good. You made it.”
Logan’s voice brought Nora out of her dazed surprise. She’d completely misunderstood the scale of the place. Harrison had always been so dismissive that she’d assumed Two Wings must be some kind of dilettante’s hobby.
But this was no hobby. This was a mission.
Logan nodded at Nora. “Thanks for bringing him. See you at eleven?”
She felt Sean tense up beside her. She smiled at Logan, hoping he’d understand. “I’m sorry to be the hovering mother, but could you show me a little of what Sean will be doing while he’s here?”
Logan didn’t exactly look delighted, though he was too nice a man to refuse, no matter how busy he was.
“No problem,” he said. “But remember it’s not glamorous.” He held out his hands, which were stained and gritty. “We’ve been spreading mulch. To tell you the truth, I’m going to be darn glad to let Sean take over.”
“Mulch?” Sean scowled. “I thought I’d be working with the birds.”
“Sean,” Nora admonished. “You’ll do whatever Mr. Cathcart—”
“No,” Logan said bluntly. “You won’t be working with the birds yet. You won’t be doing anything alone. We don’t take regular volunteers under the age of eighteen, so you’re kind of a special case. Todd or Matt will work with you. They’re good. You’ll learn a lot from them.”
“I think I can clean out a bunch of cages.” Sean frowned. “I’m not an idiot.”
“No, but you’re a beginner. Beginners make mistakes, and either they get hurt, or the birds do.”
Sean’s mouth was still set hard, but after a couple of seconds of trying to stare Logan down, he blinked first. He lowered his gaze, toeing the sand with his sneaker.
“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Fine.”
Nora’s cheeks burned, but Logan didn’t seem overly concerned about his new volunteer’s attitude. Maybe he’d expected nothing better. That was probably why he’d been so reluctant to let Sean participate. He undoubtedly knew he’d have to assign someone to follow the boy around like a nanny, to be sure he didn’t do something dumb.
Or just plain run away.
Logan might have said he didn’t want a donation from her, but she suddenly saw that it would take a mighty big check to compensate for the hassle Sean was likely going to be.
Scattered among the large bird enclosures were several small, neat, officelike buildings. Logan began leading them toward the one marked Clinic. Off to the side of that building, a couple of teenagers were scattering handfuls of dark chips that smelled like pine-bark mulch.
“Hey, Mark. Todd.” Logan waved toward the teens. “Come meet Sean—”
But at that moment a young girl’s head poked out of the clinic door. “Logan, the vet’s on the phone. He’s in a hurry, but he says Fritz is ready, and he needs to talk to you about Punk.”
Logan nodded. “Thanks, Dolly. I’ll take it.” He looked at Nora. She thought it might be time to depart. She was about to open her mouth and say so when he suddenly cocked his head. “Want to see one of our permanent residents?”
She looked at Sean, but he deliberately turned his head, just to show how unimpressed he was.
She smiled at Logan apologetically. “If it’s not too much trouble, that would be very cool.”
The clinic was small, more like a condo kitchenette than a vet’s office. When all four of them bundled inside, and Logan made quick introductions, there wasn’t much room to spare.
She usually avoided being this close, physically, to Logan. She never sat next to him at meetings, or gave him the same casual hug she might have given any other acquaintance she met on the street.
It was partly because of Harrison’s suspicions. But it was also a self-protective choice. As absurd as it sounded for a thirty-two-year-old housewife, Logan Cathcart gave her butterflies.
She wasn’t really sure why. Though he was amazing to look at, with his dark hair, his intense blue eyes and his six feet of lean muscle, she was completely immune to a hundred men equally well-endowed.
But Logan’s masculinity obviously transmitted on her frequency, and she wasn’t sure she ever completely concealed the jitters. The best bet had seemed to be maintaining a cordial distance.
Today, though, in such cramped quarters, she didn’t have much choice. And, with her emotions so caught up in Sean’s problems, anything as frivolous as butterflies seemed unlikely. She just tried to stay out of anyone’s way.
“Kind of messy, isn’t it?” Sean let his scornful gaze drift over the cupboards and bookshelves that lined the walls, overflowing with medical tomes and binders from various federal and state agencies.
“Sean,” she said, her voice stiff with warning.
Logan chuckled as he took the phone from Dolly. “Yeah, it’s a mess, all right. Maybe that would be a good job for you tomorrow.”
In the corner, hand puppets that looked like birds had been tossed into a basket. Sean went over to inspect them, but tossed each one back indifferently, as if they didn’t pass the test. Dolly ignored him, fiddling with instruments that looked like tiny forceps.
Logan’s phone call was brief, a few monosyllabic words that seemed to indicate satisfaction. Apparently the vet’s news was good, though Nora wondered how often that was the case. Surely not all the birds brought here found happy endings.
She looked at Sean, his tense, bony shoulders and his unruly red hair that stood up in a tuft at the part. For a minute she saw him as another of Logan’s wounded birds, and wondered whether he would be one of the lucky ones.
“Sorry about that.” Logan joined them at the counter. “The vets we use are all volunteers, so I had to catch him while he was free. Dolly, I’ll weigh Gulliver today. If you could make sure the status sheets in the pens are ready, that would be great.”
The young woman, whose hair was brown with purple tips, and whose nose was decorated with a serious piece of hardware, smiled amiably.
“Sure thing, boss,” she said, waving at Nora and Sean before skipping out the door and down the path toward the larger enclosures.
Logan moved to the farthest countertop, where cages stood in rows next to large scales and microscopes and first aid supplies.
“Gulliver is one of the birds we’re going to use for education,” Logan said as he opened a large gray cage and peeked in. “Hey, buddy,” he said to whatever occupant waited inside. “Time to see how fat you’re getting, living the life of leisure.”
He put his hand in slowly, and when he pulled it out, he held the most adorable piece of brown-and-white fluff Nora had ever seen. She smiled instinctively, and when she glanced at Sean, she saw that his scowl had deepened, which she knew meant he was working hard to suppress his curiosity.
“Oh, how darling,” she said. “Sean, look! It’s a baby owl!”
Sean moved dramatically away, sighing to communicate his boredom. But he remained angled, so that he could still glimpse the little bird out of the corners of his eyes.
Of course he was fascinated. How could he not be?
The owl was so cute Nora had to laugh. About six inches long, it fit neatly in the palm of Logan’s large hand.
And then the hand itself was almost too much of a distraction. It was definitely not a rancher’s hand, with its graceful, long lines. She was surprised to see the elegant fingers tipped in calluses.
Sean made an impatient sound as he toyed with the instruments on the counter.
“I thought,” he said, “that you weren’t supposed to let them see people much, so that they don’t imprint on humans.”
Nora gave her son a hard look, and she was glad to see that he flushed, obviously aware that his tone had been out of bounds. What made him think he could teach Logan his own business?
“Been reading up?” Logan nodded, as if he approved. “You’re right. For a baby, we’d have to wear the puppet, or even the whole outfit. But Gulliver here isn’t a baby. He’s a fully grown Eastern screech owl, and unfortunately somebody already let him imprint on humans before he got to us.”
“But he’s so small,” Nora said. “He’s fully grown?”
“I know.” Logan scratched the side of the bird’s head. The owl seemed quite content to lounge in his hand, blinking its large, shiny eyes at him sleepily. “They don’t get much bigger than this. And they don’t screech, either. Weird, huh?”
Sean was no longer pretending not to watch. His hands were fisted at chest level, as if he had to force himself not to reach out and touch the intricately patterned feathers.
Nora met Logan’s gaze over her son’s head. She wondered if he knew how embarrassed she was by Sean’s behavior.
Or how worried.
But she couldn’t read anything in Logan’s blue eyes except a polite patience.
“I should probably get going,” she said.
She should. She had a million things to do, and she was postponing the moment when Sean would have to adjust. Maybe, when the safety net that Mommy provided was gone, he’d settle down and behave.
If he didn’t, she knew it wouldn’t be long before Logan kicked his surly attitude out of here. Two Wings wasn’t occupational therapy for bratty boys. This was, as she’d observed earlier, a mission.
Logan Cathcart cared about this place and these birds. He wouldn’t waste much time on a nasty kid who didn’t understand that.
So she needed to let them get to work.
She moved toward the door.
“I’ll be back at eleven, Sean, all right?” She put her hand on the knob.
“I guess.” Sean stood stiffly.
She opened the door, looking over her shoulder. To her surprise, Logan was watching her, his hand gently holding the ball of fluff in place on the scale.
When she hesitated, his eyes softened, and he nodded briefly. The gesture was oddly comforting.
It’ll be okay, that nod seemed to say. I’ll take care of him.
She might be imagining it. God knew she’d imagined a lot of things about Logan Cathcart over the past eighteen months. Things that weren’t real, and never would be.
But, as she let the door shut behind her and made her way back to the parking lot, she realized she felt a whole lot better anyhow.

SEAN’S FIRST WEEK was a disaster.
It was a battle to get him to Two Wings every time. He complained bitterly, inventing a hundred obstacles. A test he absolutely had to study for. A blistered finger. An extra Little League practice.
Somehow, Nora held her ground, though when she presented him to Vic Downing, who seemed to have taken over nanny duty, she felt as if she were handing off a piece of dynamite, set to blow at any minute.
She never saw Logan, though she would have liked to thank him, and get his read on Sean’s chances of settling in.
Logan’s absence had to be deliberate. She assumed he didn’t want to have to say things that would hurt her. And he didn’t want to have to lie.
Every day when she picked Sean up, then drove him home in sour silence, she expected a call from Logan before the night was over.
He might try to gloss it over, if he felt kind. He might create some excuse that didn’t sound as if he were rejecting her son.
Or maybe he’d just tell it straight. They couldn’t handle Sean’s tempers or his arrogance.
Either way, she couldn’t blame him. Sean’s behavior had never been worse. He obviously hated the menial tasks Logan assigned him, and he resented being bossed around by the senior volunteers.
But, amazingly, the call never came.
The following Monday, when the boys were at school, she headed into town to proof the programs she’d designed for Jolie’s spring concert.
Because Harrison had insisted she stay at home with the boys instead of working, Nora had always been vigorously involved with the PTA. Over the years, she’d become fairly decent at designing flyers, newsletters, brochures and concert programs. The other parents considered her the go-to person for such things, and she welcomed the creative outlet.
Jasper’s was the only printer in Eastcreek proper, so she knew she might have to wait in line.
But she hadn’t expected to see Logan Cathcart standing at the counter.
She spotted him through the window as she fed the parking meter. In the past, she probably would have walked on by, and come back for the programs another time. Avoid those butterflies, whenever possible.
But she’d waited too long to find him, to thank him for giving Sean a chance. She pushed open the door. The tinkling sound of the bell caused both Logan and Jasper, who were studying something on the counter, to look up.
“Hi, Jasper,” she said. And then there were the butterflies, right on cue. She took a breath and smiled. “Hi, Logan.”
Though Logan smiled back, he looked oddly tense. She advanced toward the counter, telling herself not to take it personally. She didn’t know what had put that stiffness in his posture. It might have nothing to do with either her or Sean. Maybe something had gone wrong with his print order.
“You here to proof the programs, Nora?” Jasper, ordinarily the most laid-back of men, looked a bit distracted, too.
“That’s okay,” she said. “No rush. I can wait until you and Logan are finished.”
Jasper shrugged. “We pretty much are finished, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Logan. I should have called you when Nell’s file didn’t show up.”
The printer looked back at Nora. “Is Nell Bollinger okay, do you know? She was supposed to send over a flyer for Logan’s open house, but it never came. I’ve been trying to call her, but I just get voice mail.”
“I haven’t talked to Nell in a while,” she said. She wasn’t surprised, though, that Nell was volunteering for Two Wings. Nell had spent her life working for worthy causes, and even at eighty she wasn’t slowing down. “I’ll try to find out, if that’ll help.”
Logan shook his head. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure I can patch something together.” He patted the countertop. “I’ll e-mail you later in the week, Jasper. Good to see you, Nora.”
And just like that, he was headed for the door.
She didn’t have time to think it through or worry whether she looked a fool. If she was going to talk to him, she was going to have to chase him out onto the sidewalk. And so she did.
He turned when he heard her footsteps behind him. His face was, as always, polite but remote.
“Logan,” she said. “I’m sorry to hold you up.”
“No problem.” He didn’t wear a cowboy hat, as so many of Eastcreek’s men did. He faced the sun, which turned his eyes the incandescent blue of a butterfly wing. And speaking of butterflies…
She was suddenly trying to swallow past a swarm of them. How did he do that to her? He wasn’t flirting, and neither was she. And yet suddenly the air hummed with awareness.
“I wondered if you could tell me how Sean is doing,” she said. “I’m trying to let him handle his responsibility to you on his own, but naturally I’m concerned.”
He hesitated only a second or so. And then he shrugged. “He works hard. I can’t say he seems thrilled about it, but he does it.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “I wondered, because, at home, at least, he’s still a little…lukewarm about it.”
He chuckled. “He’d have to go a way to reach lukewarm.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But that first night, when you brought him home, he seemed almost enthusiastic. I was disappointed that his attitude changed so much.”
“Me, too.” He had his keys in his pocket, and he shifted them, making a jingling sound that hinted he had somewhere to be. “Look, I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Nora. He’s insecure. I guess that’s to be expected.”

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