across his wide shoulders and tucked in at a narrow waist. His sandy-brown hair was trimmed to a medium length and combed back, lying neatly on his well-shaped head. Unlike some of the firefighters Janice knew, Logan always looked pulled together, even on his days off.
She’d often wondered why such a tall, good-looking firefighter wasn’t married, but she’d never thought it was her business to ask. Certainly Ray wouldn’t have been pleased if she’d expressed any particular interest in another man.
She watched as Logan measured where the hinges would go and marked the screw holes with a pencil. He appeared comfortable in the role of carpenter, going about the task with a minimum of wasted effort. She’d always thought of him as unflappable, both personally and on the job. A good firefighter.
“So how’s it going?” he asked as he picked up a drill and slid in a bit, tightening it in place.
“Some days are better than others.” The first week after Ray’s death had been a total blur, her children distraught, relatives coming in from out of town, neighbors helping out, firefighters and their wives trying to lend a hand.
She still felt numb, not so much with grief, although that was part of it, but with the frightening array of decisions she’d had to make. Ray hadn’t been real good about keeping her in the loop.
“My biggest problem right now is getting the insurance money. Chief Gray says the state is always slow. Since Ray was only in the department six years, what little pension I get barely covers the grocery bill.”
Lowering the drill, Logan looked at her, his gaze both sympathetic and intense. His eyes were hazel with touches of green and gold, she mused, realizing this was the first time she’d noticed that detail.
“There’s a widows’ and orphans’ fund that can help out in an emergency.”
“We’ll be all right. I filed the papers a couple of weeks ago for the life insurance we’ve been paying for since Kevin was born. I had to wait for copies of the, ah—” she stumbled over the word and swallowed hard, still unable to totally accept the fact that Ray was dead “—death certificate before I could do that.”
To her amazement, he tenderly cupped her face with his hand, using his thumb to wipe away a tear she hadn’t known she’d shed. His gentleness nearly undid her. She was striving so hard to survive on her own, she didn’t dare let herself fall apart. She might never be able to pull herself together again.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, a lump of determination lodging in her throat. “I didn’t use to spring leaks like that at the drop of a hat.”
“You were very brave at the funeral. Ray would have been proud of you.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I know I thought you were pretty terrific. The kids, too.”
She closed her hand around his wrist, holding on for a moment as though she could draw from his inner strength. “If I never hear bagpipes playing a funeral dirge again, it’ll be just fine with me.”
One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Someday I’ll play a Scottish jig for you on the pipes. That will lift your spirits.”
“You play that awful, squealing instrument?” she gasped.
He laughed out loud, a deep baritone that rumbled through his chest. “In my family, criticizing pipe playing is sacrilegious. My brother Derek and I are fourth-generation firefighters and about tenth-generation pipers. But I admit it’s probably an acquired taste.”
“I’ll agree with that.” She found herself smiling back at him, her first real smile in, well, a month. Having Logan around was like a dose of chin-up medicine. “I’ll go stir up some lemonade. The kids are down the block swimming in a neighbor’s pool, but they’ll be back soon and probably ready for something cool to drink.”
“Then I’d better get busy so I can earn my keep.”
Logan waited until she’d gone into the house, then slowly exhaled. What the hell had made him touch her? Her skin was so damn soft, so warm. He’d known it would be, which is why he shouldn’t have come within arm’s reach of Janice, the widow of a man whose life he might have saved if he’d acted more wisely.
His hand shook as he lifted the drill and drove the bit into the doorjamb. Wood shavings curled back around the quarter-inch hole. Thank goodness his pants were loose enough that the telltale bulge behind his zipper hadn’t been obvious. Talk about lousy timing. He didn’t dare let his feelings for Janice get out of hand. Right now, what she needed was a friend, not some lust-crazed firefighter with an overactive libido.
Within minutes, Janice reappeared, carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and four plastic cups.
“My gracious! You’ve already got the door hung.”
He opened the door for her so she could carry the tray outside. “It wasn’t that hard. I’ve still got to hook up the spring, though, so the door will close by itself, and then install the latch plate.”
“You’re a miracle worker, Logan. That door’s been gathering dust in the garage ever since I coerced Ray into buying it.”
“Half the battle is getting started on a project. The rest is easy.”
Setting the tray on the top step, she poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to Logan. Ice cubes rattled as he took a big swallow.
“In Ray’s defense, he was working awfully hard on his second job. It took most of his free time, but he wanted to build up our nest egg for the kids’ college money. You know how expensive an education can be these days.”
Logan’s eyebrows lifted. “His second job?”
“You know, the sales thing he was doing. He had to do a lot of travelling.”
That was news to Logan. Except that…on the morning of the fatal fire, Ray had arrived at the station late, not for the first time in recent memory. He’d been hungover and had complained about lack of sleep plus a long drive from Las Vegas back to Paseo. Grousing around, he’d been in no shape to fight a wastebasket fire, much less a three-alarm blaze in an abandoned warehouse.
“I don’t think Ray mentioned his job to me,” Logan admitted. “He probably told the other guys, though.”
She poured herself some lemonade. “I don’t know. You fellows seem to spend all your time talking about your heroic deeds with a fire hose, like you’re trying to impress each other.”
“It’s called one up-manship. An old tradition among firefighters.”
“It goes along with playing bagpipes, I assume.”
“Only a guy who’s really tough can get away with wearing a kilt.”
Her smile reached her eyes, making them glisten with good humor. “You gotta be tough and have great legs.”
“I have it on good authority my knees are knobby.”
Her gaze skimmed down his legs, and to his amazement, Logan felt the heat of a blush creep up his neck.
“I
