was even worse than she’d thought. Was it too much to hope that he was left-handed? Though he probably required both hands to type.
“Then he fell off the ladder,” Rachel struggled to say, her mouth full of raspberry muffin.
“Actually I opened my front door and knocked him off the ladder.” Leigh hid sheepishly behind her tea mug, waiting for the reaction.
Victoria’s eyes widened. “Is he okay?”
Leigh shrugged.
“Don’t know,” Rachel said. “I hope so. I haven’t seen him since he rushed out of here this morning.”
Victoria stared at Leigh. “I can’t believe you.”
Leigh ran her index finger around the mug. “I didn’t mean to. I had cookies in the oven that were burning—”
Victoria waved that away. “I meant for using that old ladder. I told you not to use that rickety thing. It could have been you who fell. Please borrow ours anytime. Or better yet, just ask Luke to do it. He’d be happy to help,” Victoria said, volunteering her husband’s services.
The two had just gotten married in their second attempt at a wedding, after Victoria had called off the first one twelve years before when she moved to New York to follow her dream of a high-powered career. Luckily, fate had brought her home the previous Christmas and the two had realized their love had never faded, despite time and distance.
She bit a thumbnail. “Do you think he’s okay? I’d hate to think one of our guests may have gotten hurt.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Rachel said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
The front door opened and a cool October breeze rustled the end of the tablecloth and paper napkins as Logan Walters entered his right hand in a plaster cast from wrist to elbow. His hard eyes zeroed in on Leigh.
She swallowed hard.
“Okay, maybe not.” Rachel stood quickly and busied herself gathering their empty cups. She headed toward the kitchen.
“You.” Scowling, he pointed a finger of his uninjured hand at Leigh.
“Me?” Leigh’s eyes widened as she untucked her leg from beneath her on the chair and stood.
“Excuse me. I hear the phone ringing.” Victoria dashed toward the front desk, leaving them alone.
Great, thanks, friends.
Logan stopped inches from her. His height towered over her five-foot-two frame by almost a foot, but Leigh met his gaze.
“Look what you did.” He held his cast close to her face.
So it was broken. No surprise there. “I said I was sorry, but no one asked you to climb that ladder.” She sucked in her bottom lip. That hadn’t come out right. She should have stopped at sorry.
He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. “This is what I get for helping,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m sorry. I’ll pay your medical costs.” The money in her emergency fund was dwindling and this would make a further dent in it, but it would be better than him suing her for getting hurt on her property. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her before now. She wondered if her homeowners’ insurance covered something like this. Her day-care insurance covered the children in case of injury in her care, but another adult?
“I don’t need your money. I have insurance,” he grumbled, raking his casted hand through his hair. The sticky medical gauze got caught and he winced, pulling it free, taking with it several strands of dark brown hair. “Man, I can’t do anything with this thing on my hand.” Turning, he took quick, long strides out of the room.
She followed him into the hallway. “Mr. Walters, wait.”
He paused on the staircase, clearly exhausted.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back. Please say no.
He hesitated, and she held her breath.
Shaking his head, he continued up the stairs. “No.”
* * *
LOGAN STRUGGLED TO position his hand on the desk, straining the fingers on his right hand to reach the keys on the laptop keyboard. The edge of the cast hit the space bar and he raised his arm, flinching in pain, and backspaced to where he’d left off typing. Flipping the page of his handwritten work, he tried to focus on something other than the pain in his arm. He could do this. He hit a few keystrokes and grimaced. With each letter, his wrist spasmed and pain rippled through his arm. The extra weight of the plaster cast made the muscles in his right shoulder ache.
Tossing the papers aside, he stood. How was he supposed to meet his editor’s deadline like this? The writer’s block had been bad enough; now he was physically incapable of getting the work done on time. Picking up his cell phone, he punched in his agent’s number. The man had called him three times already today, and now there would be no more avoiding him.
“Clive Romanis,” the man answered in his strong New York accent after the second ring.
“Clive, it’s Logan.”
“Hey, man, where are you? I’ve been calling you. You were supposed to email me those sample chapters two days ago.”
Logan cringed. The promised chapters hadn’t been written yet. Another reason he’d had to leave the city. It was easier to avoid his agent when he wasn’t living two blocks from his office. “Yeah, sorry, I left the city for a while to clear my head, get this book finished.”
“What do you mean you left the city? Where did you go?” The man’s voice barely contained his disbelief. Clive wasn’t truly convinced that there was anything beyond the New York City limits.
“Just a small town in New Jersey. I wrote part of the first book out here. It’s quiet and peaceful,” he lied.
It used to be.
“New Jersey?”
“Yes.”
Clive released a deep breath. “Tell me this isn’t you running away from your commitments.”
“No, of course not.” Running away and needing to get away for a while were two different things, weren’t they?
“So you’re writing? You’re getting it done?”
“Yeah.... Look, I’ve run into a bit of a problem meeting the deadline.” His best bet would be to pack up, head back to New York and hire a typist. The thought made him uneasy. He never let anyone read his work before it was done, especially a stranger. Other than his agent and his editor, he never discussed plotlines with anyone. And with the comeback he was making, he couldn’t chance that the resolution of years of work would be leaked before the book even hit the shelves.
“Logan, we’ve pushed the deadline back twice now. If I ask for another extension from the publisher, they may
