all I can afford. You know that.”
Emma, dear Emma, had flared, “And it’s all my fault that we’re poor! Of course! I didn’t ask you to leave Daddy!”
She hadn’t had to ask, not after the horrific scene when Ian had lost his temper, held her down and shoved food into her mouth.
“Look at it this way,” Logan Carr said now. “Not a penny spent on this house is wasted. You’ll get it all back if you re-sell. These old houses can’t do anything but gain value.”
“Even Ryan concedes as much.”
Logan gave her a quizzical glance. “I take it you and your brother aren’t close?”
“Actually, we are.” She smiled at his surprise. “Jo says we squabble like a couple of kids on a family vacation. Insulting, but accurate.”
He laughed again, which pleased her. She liked his laugh.
“Well, I’d best get out of your hair,” he said, pushing away from the door frame. “You must have a million things to do.”
Like climb into bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend all her troubles would go away. Or cry. She hadn’t decided which.
“Well, not a million, I hope,” she said with a practiced chuckle. “You probably have plenty waiting for you at home, too.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it. She saw the impulse to say something and the instant when he thought better of it.
“Unfortunately,” he agreed.
She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been going to say. Nobody and nothing is waiting for me at home? Or, Yeah, the wife insists I fix the leak under the kitchen sink tonight?
She saw him to the door, chattering about nothing in particular, another skill acquired from the years of entertaining Ian’s business associates.
There, she said, “We’ll look forward to seeing you a week from Monday.”
“Actually, you’ll only see me if I need additional measurements. I’ll build the cabinets at home and call you when I’m ready to install them.”
“Oh.” She was embarrassed not to have realized as much, and inexplicably disappointed. “Yes. Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”
With a shrug, he said, “You figured they weren’t ready-made, they got built here. That’s reasonable.” He paused, his gaze intent. “Ms. Monroe…”
“Kathleen. Please.” Her heart seemed to be pounding.
The cabinetmaker nodded. “Kathleen. I don’t suppose…” He stopped, frowned fiercely, and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?” She wanted to stomp her foot.
“No.” His expression was stolid again. “It was just a passing thought. Nothing important.” He held out a hand. “I look forward to doing some work for you.”
What could she do but hold out her hand in turn? His was big, warm and rough-textured. It seemed to her that he released her hand reluctantly before nodding one more time and heading down the porch steps.
Tempted to watch him go, Kathleen made herself shut the front door. She was too old for delusions of passion and romance.
EMMA SAT AT THE TABLE in the dining hall and stared at her dinner tray. They could not possibly expect her to eat all that!
She sneaked a glance around and saw that a few of the other women and girls—right now, there wasn’t a single guy here—had matter-of-factly picked up silverware and started to eat. Maybe they had figured out some way to get away from their captors long enough to puke up all this food. Or maybe they had decided eating was the only way out of here. It wasn’t like they couldn’t lose the weight again.
Emma just didn’t want to. Gaining ten or twenty pounds, just so she could go home… She shivered at the thought. She’d be fat!
Reluctantly she picked up her fork and stabbed a few peas. Okay. She guessed she could eat them. They were starchy, but still a vegetable. Then maybe if she stirred some of the other food, made it look like she’d eaten some, they’d let her go.
The peas seemed to stick in her throat. She reached for her milk and gagged when she tasted it.
“It’s whole milk,” the girl beside her said. “Or maybe two percent. I’m not sure.”
“Even my mom buys nonfat!”
“Yeah, but this has more calories.”
Beads of sweat stood out on Emma’s brow. “I can’t eat this.”
“You have to. They make you sit here until you do.”
“All of it?”
“Didn’t they tell you?” The girl was really pretty, with shiny thick black hair, and so slim, lots slimmer than Emma was.
“They said I had to eat what they served, but I didn’t figure they meant, like, every bite.” She stared again in dismay at the pork chop, mashed potatoes and gravy and peas.
“I sat here for four hours my first day. The meat was even grosser when it was cold.”
Emma took a tentative bite of mashed potato. It slipped down easier than the peas had. “What’s your name?”
“Summer Chan. What’s yours?”
“Emma Monroe.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Seventy-six pounds.” Emma was embarrassed. “I wish I looked like you do.”
“But I’m only five-two.” She took a dainty bite and swallowed. “You look great. I’m the one who’s still fat. No matter what they say.”
Emma didn’t ask what she weighed. She’d end up being totally humiliated.
“Do they ever get so they trust you, and you can go to the bathroom and stuff alone?”
“No.” She took another bite. “I’ve been here before. If you want out, you have to cooperate.”
Emma poked at the pork chop. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“You had to tell them you were when you checked in. Now it’s too late. They’ll think you’re lying.”
Emma hadn’t been a vegetarian until she decided meat had too much fat in it. Now…her stomach quivered at the thought. It was almost like being hungry, but more like she needed to throw up.
Summer took a bite of hers and murmured out of the corner of her mouth, “You’d better look like you’re eating. Here comes Karen.”
Karen was one of the nurses. She was stocky, with chunky arms and shoulders and a thick neck. The idea of ending up looking like her scared
