Satin Sheets and Strawberries Read online

  Logan quickly rose to his feet. "Kelli, wait!"

  When she hesitated by the door, he ran fingers through his hair, desperately trying to think of what to say. "I am sor—"

  "Logan, you should never apologize for telling the truth." With her chin held high and her back straight, Kelli closed the door behind her and headed for the woodshed.

  #

  Logan pulled up the collar of his blue windbreaker and shivered. The March afternoon was turning bitterly cold. After a year of extreme heat, his body was finding it difficult to adjust. In the distance he heard the hum of a chain saw. A frown tugged at his mouth as he pictured Kelli wielding the heavy machine. It seemed too dangerous for her.

  He headed into the woods, following the faraway sound. He had forgotten how clean the air smelled in spring and how beautiful barren trees could look as they sported tiny new green buds. Everywhere he looked held the expectant air of rebirth. Tiny shoots were breaking through the damp soil and anticipation fairly sang in the trees as birds rapidly flew about looking for building materials for their nests.

  As he crossed over a wooden bridge spanning a small creek, a smile of appreciation curved his lips. He followed the path toward the chain saw noise, hoping it led to Kelli. He owed her more than an apology. He owed her his thanks.

  Logan rounded a curve in the path and stopped. Kelli was bending over an enormous log, and with the expertise of a lumberjack, was slicing it into a manageable size. Afraid that any movement from him would startle her, he stayed perfectly still and watched, fascinated. Plastic safety goggles protected her eyes from the flurry of flying wood chips. The blade was practically through the log when she brought it back up, and with her left leg pushed the log a quarter turn and finished the cut.

  The screaming saw quieted to a low roar as she positioned herself for the next cut. Logan took one step closer. A large old English sheepdog raised its head and barked.

  Kelli heard Tinkerbell’s bark over the roar of the saw and looked up. Logan. She muttered an unladylike oath, turned off the saw, and lowered the safety goggles to hang around her neck. After placing the saw on the ground, she reached for the thermos lying in the bottom of a rusty wheelbarrow. She watched, amused, as Logan eyed her dog. Tinkerbell weighed about seventy-five pounds, but with her thick shaggy hair she looked closer to a hundred. Presently, she was lying on the ground in a crouched position. Her teeth were bared and her eyes, one blue and one brown, were gleaming. To a stranger she looked ready to attack. Kelli knew the dog was really smiling.

  Perhaps he’d suffered enough. "Tinkerbell wouldn’t hurt a fly," she said. She saw him relax and start forward. "You leaving already?" Not waiting for a reply, she continued, "Have a nice trip and don’t forget to write."

  "I’m not leaving. Aunt Ruth invited me to stay." Kelli studied the thermos clutched in her hand. She had known this was coming, so why wasn’t she prepared for it? This was now Ruth and Henry’s home too; they could invite guests to stay if they wanted to. But why Logan? Why the one person who could spoil her newfound happiness—the person who could take her family away? She reminded herself again what Ruth had told her about Logan. He never stayed long. Sometimes it was a two-day visit; the longest was two weeks. Kelli could handle anything for two weeks, even Logan. As long as he cleared out alone, leaving his aunt and uncle behind.

  "It’s Ruth’s home too."

  "But you own it."

  She raised her chin. "Are you asking my permission?"

  Logan glanced around, uncertainly. It went against the grain for him to ask permission to stay with his aunt and uncle, but he wasn’t positive they would leave with him—yet. They liked living here and had become very attached to Kelli SantaFe in the past five months. Common courtesy required he ask her consent. "Yes," he said, "I’d like your invitation."

  Kelli knew what that request must have cost him. He obviously loved his aunt and uncle very much if he had agreed to stay in an elf village. She wanted to scream "No, you can’t stay," because he was the enemy, but her common sense told her Ruth and Henry would probably follow Logan if she pressed the issue.

  She looked at him and smiled. "You may stay as long as Ruth and Henry like. Why don’t you go get some shut-eye, you look beat."

  "Thanks. They offered me a bedroom in the house."

  "Ben’s old room?"

  "Yes. They said there wasn’t any room at their cottage." Logan saw a disturbed look cross her face. "Changed your mind?"

  Kelli had no option. Ruth and Henry shared a microscopic cottage about a hundred yards behind her house. Their cottage consisted of one large room that was kitchen, living room, and bedroom combined. She’d recently added a small bathroom and closet for their comfort. It really was impractical to expect Logan to stay there with them when there was an unoccupied room in her house. "You can stay." She pulled up her goggles and turned back toward the log.

  "Kelli?"

  She looked over her shoulder. "What?"

  "Can we talk for a minute?"

  "Listen, Logan, you’re dead on your feet and I’ve got work to do. Why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll talk later."

  "I want to thank you for what you’ve done for Aunt Ruth and Uncle Henry."

  "I didn’t do it for thanks."

  "I know." He kicked at a rock. The woman before him was small and compact, not quite five feet two. Her eyes were hazel, her nose had a slight slope, and her mouth was a trifle large for her face. She wasn’t beautiful, by current standards, but her skin held a healthy radiance. Wood chips clung to every inch of her body, and he had to suppress a desire to brush them off.

  For the past two hours Aunt Ruth and Uncle Henry had told him the story of how Kelli had rescued them from Edwin. Edwin had begrudgingly taken them in after they lost everything they owned in the fire. It was supposed to be temporary—only until the insurance company came through. But the insurance company had claimed they had no record of their policy, and their copy had been lost in the fire.Five weeks after they moved in with Edwin, he had taken them for a drive to give his wife, Suzette, a break. When Ruth saw the sign for Fairyland, she’d asked to stop. The story became fuzzy at this point, but the end result was they had moved in with Kelli that very day.

  Logan sadly shook his head at the picture she made with one foot on the log, goggles protecting her eyes, and one delicate hand clutching a chain saw. She was so tough on the outside, so soft in the middle. Anyone who would take in an elderly couple must be a pushover. He wondered why she put on such a tough front. He regretted that he was going to cause her more pain. "I’m sorry, Kelli," he said. "When I leave here, my aunt and uncle will be coming with me."

  Kelli pulled her goggles away again and studied him. The shadows beneath his eyes were even more pronounced and his shoulders sloped wearily, but he still radiated authority. Logan Sinclair was a man to be reckoned with; a man who knew what he wanted, and got it. The only thing was, he now wanted what she desperately needed—her family.

  She lifted her chin, pulled back her shoulders and faced her opponent without a trace of fear. "I think Ruth and Henry are old enough to make their own decisions." She put on the safety glasses, brought the saw back to life, and tore into the log lying at her feet.

  Logan silently congratulated her courage. If she’d screamed, shouted, and thrown him off the property, Ruth and Henry probably would have followed out of loyalty. But she opened her home to him, told him he looked like hell, and said the decision was Ruth and Henry’s to make. How was he supposed to fight that?

  With a weary sigh he headed back toward her house. Obviously it wasn’t time for any major discussion. He’d catch up on his sleep, plan some strategy, and then confront the fairy queen.

  Chapter Two

  Logan awoke feeling that someone was watching him. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the nightstand next to the bed. Less than a foot away crouched the largest cat he had ever seen. Its fur seemed to be a pale gray and its golden eyes shone in the darkness.
Could this be Mustardseed? he wondered. The cat certainly didn’t look much like a fairy.

  The clock in the red Buddha’s stomach on the nightstand showed it was five-thirty. With a sigh, he realized he must have slept through the night. Logan kept a cautious eye on the feline as he slipped naked from the bed and headed for the shower.

  He closed the bathroom door behind him and glanced around curiously. Yesterday he’d been too tired to take in much of his surroundings, but after fourteen hours of sleep he was refreshed. The room was white and had huge ferns and palms painted on three walls. The fourth wall was taken up by a claw-footed tub with a brilliantly colored parrot on the shower curtain. The mural was so vivid Logan felt as if he were standing naked in a conservatory. Not only was the painting well done, it somehow suited the cottage—and Kelli. A small flash of red on the wall caught his attention. Near the floor, behind the door, was a signature. Curious, he knelt and read the one-word signature. Kelli.

  That Kelli had painted the mural didn’t really surprise him. What did was that her signature was dated six years earlier.

  He turned on the water and stepped beneath the pounding warm water. So far Kelli was an enigma. He liked to pigeonhole people into little boxes. Everyone he knew fell into a certain category and there they stayed until something happened in their lives to make him change their box. It made life easier.

  But Kelli didn’t fit into a box. She was a puzzle, and he didn’t have all the pieces yet. He chuckled. He didn’t even have all the corner pieces yet.

  He slowly turned off the shower, dried, and reached into the medicine cabinet for his razor. His hand was on the can of shaving cream his aunt had unpacked for him, when he noticed how empty the cabinet was. Where were all the cosmetics, perfumes, and endless tubes of lipsticks? Where were the moisturizers, hair removers, nail polish, emery boards, tweezers, and the thousands of items that most women crammed into a bathroom cabinet? The only items on the four wide shelves were a pink disposable razor, toothpaste and brush, a roll-on deodorant, and a small bottle of baby oil. The middle shelf held all his items and the top shelf had a brush, comb, rubberbands, and a Dixie cup full of Q-Tips. He raised his chin and carefully ran his razor up his throat. Kelli SantaFe was still an enigma.

  #

  The sun was high in the sky and breakfast was over by the time Kelli rolled from her bed. She tripped over Tinkerbell and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later she and Tinkerbell walked into the kitchen only to find Logan and Ruth enjoying a cup of coffee. She mumbled "Good morning," before heading for the coffeepot sitting on the stove.Logan watched Kelli pour herself some morning brew and smiled. This morning she wore a pair of tight faded jeans and a red sweater that emphasized more than it concealed. Her hair was pulled back from her face with two barrettes and dangling red beaded earrings swung against her delicate neck. A pair of dark sunglasses were perched on her nose and electric red socks covered her feet. He wondered why she wore sunglasses at eight-thirty in the morning, especially in March.

  "Good morning, Kelli," he said. "Sleep well?"

  Kelli bit back a tart response. She had fallen into bed at five o’clock and her alarm had sounded at eight. Three lousy hours of sleep. She remembered the exhaustion that had lined Logan’s face the previous day and suppressed a snappy reply.

  She yawned daintily. "Like a baby." She reached into a Garfield cookie jar and handed the shaggy dog at her feet a bone.

  "Your pancakes are in the oven," said Ruth.

  "I’ve told you before, Ruth, please don’t cook breakfast for me. You know I’m not a big eater in the morning."

  "I didn’t cook them. Logan did."

  "Oh. Thank you, Logan. Since you are Ruth and Henry’s guest, feel free to help yourself to anything in the house. But you didn’t have to cook breakfast." She walked over to the back door and picked up a pair of brown leather boots that had seen one too many winters. "I have to run off. I have a meeting that I’m going to be late for if I don’t hurry. Thanks anyway, Logan, for the thought." She downed half the cup of coffee and pulled on the boots.

  Ruth handed Kelli a handful of cookies from the teddy bear cookie jar. "Eat these on your way."

  "She can’t eat those for breakfast," Logan said. Kelli smiled.

  "Why not?" demanded Ruth.

  "Because I’ve made her buttermilk pancakes."

  Ruth pulled herself up and glared at her nephew. Her ample bosom puffed out the plain flowered cotton housedress she wore. "I’ve been making those oatmeal cookies especially for her for the past five months. And she loves them, don’t you, Kelli?"

  "Yes, Ruth, I love them. I love all your cookies. Now both of you knock it off. I’ve been taking care of myself for years and I haven’t died of malnutrition yet." Smiling, she said, "Thanks again, Ruth, for the cookies." She kept smiling as she faced Logan. "Thanks again, Logan. If I weren’t in a hurry, I would have eaten your pancakes. I’m sure they are delicious. But the cookies are great, just like eating a bowl of oatmeal." She pulled on an old leather bomber jacket that had probably seen World War I, and shoved her arms in and zippered it to her chin. "Now you two behave and have a nice visit."

  "Will you be home for lunch?" asked Ruth.

  "No. I’m meeting Josh in town for lunch. I’ll be back sometime this afternoon." With a farewell pat to Tinkerbell she opened the door.

  "Well, you have a good time, and tell Josh I’m making a batch of brownies tonight. Maybe he’ll stop by."

  "I’m sure he will," said Kelli, laughing.

  Logan watched the back door close and glared at his aunt. "Who’s Josh?"

  With a sparkle in her eye, Ruth replied, "Why, Josh is a dear friend of the family. You really must meet him, Logan."

  #

  Logan answered the back door. His aunt and uncle were finishing up the dinner dishes. "Yes?"

  "You must be Logan Sinclair, Ruth and Henry’s nephew. I’m Josh Langley." Logan looked at the man standing before him. He disliked him on the spot. From common courtesy, he shook the offered hand. "Come on in. I believe we’re expecting you." When Josh entered the kitchen, Logan’s displeasure turned to hatred. The man was perfect. Coal-black hair, crystal-blue eyes, and gleaming white teeth shone in a model-perfect face that Hollywood would die for. Logan frowned as he noticed Josh’s dark blue policeman’s uniform, complete with shining silver badge.

  For the first time in his life, Logan felt threatened by another man. Unreasonably threatened, he knew. He’d held his own against some pretty steep competition for the affection of the few ladies that visited the oil fields.

  Henry turned from the cabinet he was putting plates into and smiled. "Hi, son. Knew you would come as soon as you found out Ruth was baking brownies."

  "Hi, Henry. How’s it going? You didn’t split that pile of wood outside, did you?"

  "Lord no, boy. Logan did that around six this morning."

  Josh turned to face Logan. "Thanks. I would have gotten to it this weekend. Where’s Kelli?"

  Logan forced a smile. "I think she’s in her workshop. I’ll go get her." He grabbed his windbreaker from the rack by the door and headed out into the chilly evening. He followed a path around the back of the house and headed to the dilapidated building Ruth had pointed out earlier as Kelli’s workshop. He didn’t know how it was still standing. The roof was sagging, paint was peeling off in strips, and two windows were cracked and held together by masking tape.

  Both Kelli’s house and the small cottage where Ruth and Henry lived were clean and in good repair. Nothing indicated wealth, but there weren’t any signs of neglect, either. With a grimace of distaste he knocked on the warped wooden door.

  No reply.

  Gingerly he opened the door and spotted Kelli. She was seated near a kerosene heater, with her dog lying beside her. Her back was toward the door and she appeared to be carefully painting the yellow tutu on a statue of a fairy. There were a pair of ear buds in her ears and she was softly humming along with the radio. In distress
, he noticed the three sweatshirts and the black knit fingerless gloves she wore. He closed the door behind him, but could still feel a draft move through the shack. How could she work in these conditions? he wondered. "Kelli?"

  She didn’t reply and Tinkerbell appeared to be sleeping. He took two steps further into the rundown shack. Shelves constructed of planks and cinder blocks held concrete statues of fairies, similar to the one she was painting. Two propane lanterns, the only source of light, hung from wires attached to the ceiling. The concrete floor was cracked, patched, and splattered with paint. Two more windows graced the back wall. One was undamaged, the other had a piece of plywood nailed over it.

  But, astonishingly, the room was clean. There wasn’t a cobweb or speck of dust in sight. A wastebasket held a paper bag half full of trash and a broom was propped against the far wall. Logan cleared his throat and called her name again. "Kelli."

  Kelli saw Tinkerbell raise her head. Without turning she knew someone was in the room. Tinkerbell was half deaf and relied mainly on sight to alert Kelli to visitors. She turned, saw Logan, and gently pulled the earphones out. "Is there something I can do for you?"

  Inexplicably, the anger shot through him. She was acting sweetly and politely toward him again. And Mister Uniform was waiting for her in the kitchen; all Josh needed was a telephone booth and he’d probably change into Superman. "Lover boy is here." One fine golden brow arched. "Who?"

  "Josh Langley. You know, the guy who chops your wood and meets you for lunch."

  Kelli was unsure why he sounded so sarcastic; she decided the best thing to do was ignore it. "Thank you, Logan. I’ll be right in."

  Frustrated at her lack of response, he demanded, "What’s he to Henry?"

  Kelli dropped the paintbrush into a container of water and placed the eighteen-inch statue on a shelf. "They’re friends. Being so far from town, Henry doesn’t get a chance to talk to other men. Whenever Josh visits they talk about fishing and stuff."