spoke to her in Spanish. Carmen let her take Tomás. As the baby squirmed, Meg positioned him on her shoulder as naturally as any mother and patted the infant’s back. She looked so…beautiful, standing there like that.
Giving himself a mental shake, Logan said, “I suppose Doc is afraid if they leave, Carmen won’t seek out proper care if she needs it.”
“That, too. But I can’t convince Manuel to stay.” Meg gently rubbed her chin against the baby’s downy black hair.
Logan was gripped by an emotion so strong he knew he had to get away from this woman. “I’ll talk to him.”
Meg took a quick glance at Logan’s broad back as he went to the truck. He’d taken her by surprise when he arrived. She’d never expected he’d come back and check on Carmen and Manuel. Yet maybe with the birth of Tomás, he’d felt involved in their lives, too. It proved one thing about him—he was a caring man. She could never see Todd caring about this young couple, whether they stayed or left. Why hadn’t she seen his selfish streak sooner? Why hadn’t she recognized his self-absorption? His story, his career, his needs, always came first. Actually it was an old pattern, one she’d learned with her parents. But finally, at age twenty-nine, she’d realized in time that her needs mattered, too.
Logan called, “Ned, come here a minute.”
Meg could hear the low rumble of the men’s voices but couldn’t tell what they were saying as they walked toward the barn. When they reemerged, they were all smiling. Manuel came over to Meg and Carmen. “We stay. A little while. If I have work.” He helped his wife from the cab of the truck.
Carmen squeezed Meg’s hand. “Gracias.”
Meg shook her head. “No hicenada especial.”
Carmen gazed at Logan. “Gracias.”
He smiled. “De nada.”
Meg handed Tomás to the young Mexican woman. Manuel put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the house. Lily and Ned followed.
Closing the door of the cab, Meg turned to Logan. “What did you say to him?”
“It was what Ned said. I reminded him of all the machinery that needs a good overhauling and the back field that has to be mowed before winter. Manuel is going to take care of that and, in return for the work, he’ll accept room and board for his family.”
Meg clasped Logan’s arm. “What a wonderful idea!” His skin was hot under hers, the hairs on his forearm rough against her fingers. His green eyes darkened, and her heart raced. She removed her hand.
“Not wonderful. Just expedient. The trading of goods and services. I’m not so sure we shouldn’t do it more often.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Did you have breakfast?”
She shook her head.
“I’m not officially on duty for a half hour or so. How about going to the bakery with me for a doughnut and a cup of coffee?” When she hesitated, he added, “I get tired of my own company sometimes. I thought maybe we could just…talk. But if you’re too busy—”
“No, I’m not too busy. A cup of coffee sounds good. Aunt Lily makes me herbal tea. Even after all these years, I just can’t get used to it.”
Logan laughed, a deep, masculine sound that warmed Meg through and through. “She tries to serve it to me when I visit.”
“You visit? You haven’t since I’ve been here.”
“Yes, well, circumstances the last few months have changed my habits.”
Meg saw the pain again. “Aunt Lily told me about your son. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Sorrow, blame, regrets. None of it matters except finding Travis. But I don’t go on wild-goose chases anymore, driving into the dead of night, speeding down a highway, hoping when I get wherever the road takes me I’ll find him. Now I spend my time printing more pictures and flyers, studying the computer data bases, keeping in touch with contacts on other police forces and my private investigator…and working. Working to forget.”
Although Meg had always enjoyed her work, she knew about working to forget. She wanted to clasp Logan’s arm again, to say she understood, but touching him was dangerous. Doubting he needed her understanding, she nodded toward the house. “I’ll make sure Carmen is settled again and meet you at the bakery on Elm. Then you don’t have to drive back out here.”
The bakery bell tinkled as Meg pulled open the door. Logan sat at one of the five black wrought-iron tables for two. She’d had second thoughts about meeting him, and thirds. Why had she accepted the offer? Because she liked Logan MacDonald, besides feeling attracted to him. If talking could ease his pain concerning his son, she’d listen.
A mug of coffee waited at the empty place across from him, along with two doughnuts and a muffin. Meg couldn’t suppress a smile as she sat down. “Do I look underfed?”
His gaze brushed over her quickly. “No. You look just right.”
She felt the heat creep up her cheeks again. No other man had ever made her blush. She chose the cranberry muffin and pushed the other pastries toward him. “Aunt Lily tries to feed me constantly. She always has.”
“She mentioned a few times that you lived with them when you were a teenager.”
Meg had accepted Logan’s invitation expecting to talk about him, not about herself. But he was obviously fishing for her background. Picking up her coffee, she took a sip before she said, “My parents are anthropologists. For my first twelve years, I traveled with them most of the time—mainly in Central and South America, but I also spent time with my aunt and uncle. At twelve, I decided I’d rather stay in Willow Valley than globe-trot.”
He gazed at her a few moments as if he was trying to see what she wasn’t saying. She wasn’t even sure herself about all the emotions that surfaced when she thought about those years, when she thought about her parents not wanting her. Even though she’d had her aunt and uncle, she’d still felt abandoned.
Logan added cream to his coffee. He offered one to Meg, and she shook her head. “A purist,” he teased.
“What’s the point of caffeine if you dilute it?”
He grinned. “On my fourth cup, I find it more palatable. I have a pot sitting in my office all the time.” Leaning back in his chair, he broke off half of the doughnut and ate it. “So, at twelve you didn’t want to globe-trot, but for your adult life, you have.”
“I didn’t go into this profession to travel. That just goes along with it sometimes.”
He leaned forward again, his hand almost brushing hers as he rested it on the table. “Why did you choose to be an interpreter?”
Instead of touching his large hand, as she wanted to do out of curiosity to see what would happen, she toyed with the paper around her muffin. “Because I wanted to help people understand each other. I had a talent for languages because of my upbringing. I was always amazed by the difference in the way people treat each other when they can understand each other. There’s less fear, less anxiety, less suspicion.”
He pulled his hand back
