Devoted to Drew Read online

  There was a lot to like about this man, from a certain confidence that was anything but conceited to that straightforward way he had of looking a person right in the eye.

  “Drew says it was a birthday gift from your dad.”

  “It’s one of my most prized possessions and one of my favorite childhood memories,” Bianca admitted. “Dad was a great guy but not very big on the warm fuzzies—his term for hugs and kisses.” But he’d hugged her that day, and she’d never forget the crisp, clean scent of him.

  And then she yawned.

  Smiling, Logan said, “I’ll just take that as my cue to hit the road.” He tapped the folder on his way out of the kitchen. “If I can do anything to speed things up, just say the word.”

  In the foyer, he hesitated, one hand on the curved door handle, the other in his pocket.

  “Thanks for the spaghetti. And the pie. And for trusting me with Drew.” He nodded. “That was…it was a real treat.”

  “And thank you for the file. I don’t know how long it would have taken to dig up the same information on my own.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He opened the interior door. “So I’ll call Sandra tomorrow, get her to make a decision about the job. If she says she’s interested, are you up for a short meet-and-greet to get the ball rolling, so to speak?”

  “Sure. Tell her to bring the kids. I’ll make pizza, and afterward, while they’re playing, the three of us can talk. Be sure to tell her the kitchen and family rooms are connected.”

  “In case she wonders how we’ll discuss business and mind the kids at the same time.”

  He might just make a pretty good boss, she thought.

  A slow smile lifted the left side of his mouth. “I have a birthday coming up. Okay if I bring cake?”

  “That might be fun.”

  “And if there’s time before I leave,” he said, stepping onto the porch, “maybe you can show me the rest of your paintings.”

  He pulled the door shut behind him, stopping long enough to add, “I’ll call you as soon as I know where Sandra stands on the job thing.” And then he winked. “Sleep tight,” he said, closing the door.

  Bianca locked the knob and the dead bolt and began what Maddy referred to as battening down the hatches. Climbing onto the stool kept in the front hall closet, she turned the key in the lock at the top of the front door, then repeated every step at the back door, the one between the kitchen and the garage and the French doors leading to the deck. After inspecting every first floor and basement window, Bianca leaned the stool against the foyer wall and headed upstairs to make sure all the windows were locked. With Drew, she couldn’t be too careful.

  Maddy’s door, as usual, was closed. And if she knew her mother, it was locked from the inside. Not that she blamed her; sleeping with one eye open and one ear cocked toward the hall wasn’t exactly conducive to productive rest.

  She gave in to an overwhelming urge to see for herself that Drew actually was asleep and not playing quietly with his Hot Wheels or scribbling in one of his coloring books. Sidestepping the floorboard squeak outside his bedroom door, Bianca tiptoed into his room. Kneeling beside the bed, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, listened to the calm, quiet breaths…

  …and silently wept. Not for herself, but for Jason, who would never know how much joy this bright, big-hearted boy bestowed on all who looked past the tics and noise and unending questions. Logan, in the forty minutes he’d spent with Drew, had gained a better understanding of the boy than his own dad had! She wept for her son, too, because through no fault of his own, he’d never known a father’s love.

  He sighed softly and rolled onto his side. In the shard of moonlight spilling in from the window, she saw long lashes that curved toward thick blond bangs. It was too dark to see the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, but she didn’t need light to know there were exactly one hundred and thirteen golden specks. “One for each angel kiss,” she’d told him the day a kid in his class had called him Dotty. The backs of his hands still bore the shallow dimples of his pudgy, baby-boy days. A slight upturn to his pale eyebrows fixed an angelic expression on his perfectly shaped little face. Would he look as innocent in five years? In ten? Or would life’s ugly realities replace the sweetness with worry lines?

  On her feet again, Bianca resisted the temptation to kiss his sweet face for fear of waking him. Knuckling tears from her eyes, she backed out of his room, taking care not to trip on stuffed animals, toy trucks and colored pencils.

  The house was locked up tight, but she’d forgotten to turn off ceiling fixtures and table lamps. The warm golden glow drew her to the first floor. As she walked through the rooms, clicking their switches off, Bianca remembered how Jason had always grumbled about the expense of keeping each lit. Reluctantly, she had given in, but now that she was in charge of paying the bills, Bianca lit every shadowy corner of the north-facing house.

  After the day she’d put in—seven hours at the station without a break, errands, supper and assorted chores squeezed between Drew’s homework and the visit from Logan—she ought to feel weary enough to fall into bed and drift immediately into deep, dreamless sleep. But half an hour later, even after a long, relaxing shower and changing into cotton pj’s, Bianca still couldn’t relax. Too agitated to read, she looked for something on TV, and when nothing captured her attention, she remembered she had ironing to do. She went to the laundry room and bumped into a stack of cleaning rags, sending them to the floor. When she bent to retrieve them, Bianca saw the legs of her easel and, beside it, three blank canvases she’d put out of sight on the night of Jason’s funeral.

  Had it really been more than three years since she’d painted?

  It had, as evidenced by the thin layer of dust covering the wooden chest that held brushes and tubes of paint. She’d put Jason’s tackle box here, too, thinking Drew might want it someday. He hadn’t been interested in lures and flies or hooks, but he had liked the container. So she’d gathered up the contents and gave them to Marty, and Drew used the box to store sparkly rocks found in the driveway and odd-shaped coins Maddy brought back from trips to Europe and Canada. Once, she’d asked if he wanted to stash his treasures elsewhere and restock the tackle box with fishing gear of his own. Bianca would never forget the way he’d crossed both arms over his chest, eyes narrowed in grim determination as he said, “He didn’t like me, so I don’t like his stuff. And I don’t want to be like him, either.”

  Nothing she’d said could convince him that his father had loved him, and the same had been true every time the issue came up in the years since.

  What if she painted Jason’s portrait? She’d make sure he looked like the Jason she’d married, young, happy and hopeful…not the Jason he’d become when he’d learned his son would never fit into his plans for the future. Maybe, if Drew could look into that face when she told him his father loved him, the words would be easier to believe.

  She’d missed the scent of paint, the satisfaction that came from blending colors, the soothing sound of the brush bristling across the canvas, giving life to the images in her mind. When she had packed up all the supplies, Bianca told herself it had been for the best; there were barely enough hours in the day for Drew and work.

  “There you go,” she muttered, “wallowing in self-pity again.” An old D. H. Lawrence quote popped into her head: “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself; a small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

  The poet had been right. She needed to get over herself. Hopefully, a cup of herbal tea would calm her down. On the way to the kitchen, she spotted an old issue of Autism Today lying faceup on the kitchen desk. She grinned at Drew’s attempt at subtlety. His disappointment at missing last year’s autism walk was all but forgotten when he realized Maddy would move in on race day. Still, he’d saved the paper—and made sure Bianca would find it—so they wouldn’t miss it this year.

  An idea sparked. Why not feature the race o
n The Morning Show? She grabbed a pad and pen and began scribbling notes. The minute she got to the office tomorrow, she’d see about arranging prerace interviews with organizers, and talk to the noon and evening news producers to see about coordinating reporters and camera crews. Sipping her tea, she looked at the wall calendar and smiled. This year, with Maddy’s help, she could work one of the concession stands, and maybe Drew could help out.

  Bianca’s cell phone buzzed and did a slow crawl across the table, stopping when it bumped into the folder Logan had delivered earlier. Bold white letters glowed from its black screen: 11:03 p.m. Below it, smaller text said Logan Murray. He’d just left; had he forgotten something?

  “Aw, gee. I’m sorry you answered.”

  “Gee. Thanks,” she said, smiling.

  “Wait. That isn’t what I meant. Well, it is, but…I figured you’d be in bed by now, and I could leave a message without calling the house phone and waking everyone.”

  Bianca held the teakettle under the faucet. “I hardly ever go to bed before midnight.” Putting the kettle on the front burner, she added, “So what’s up?”

  “I feel like an idiot. The list of names and addresses—most important thing in the file—fell out of the folder.” He explained how, on the way over, the driver in front of him had come to a dead stop. “Thought I’d found everything on the floorboard, but I missed a page.”

  She didn’t want him to come back. There wasn’t time in her life for anyone but Drew. Logan looked good on the surface, but so had Jason…at first. She had to protect her son from ever having to experience that kind of rejection and disappointment again. If he had friends who could connect Drew with a companion dog for a reasonable price, she’d be a fool not to accept his help. Beyond that…

  “Can I call you when I get to the station in the morning?” she said. “I might have a few minutes after the show. Although the only predictable thing about that place is that it isn’t predictable! After all you’ve already done, I feel awful even suggesting that you drop it off. On second thought, can you scan the contacts list and send it in an email?”

  “Um, Bianca?”

  She almost said, Thank you for stopping me, or I might never have shut up!

  “I’m on your back porch.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HEART THUMPING, she whirled around. And sure enough, there he stood, waving a single sheet of paper.

  “Love those li’l clouds on your pj’s,” he said into the phone.

  She looked down at the big-eyed baby sheep that decorated her pajamas.

  “They’re not clouds. They’re lambs.” Oh. Fine, she thought. There’s a man on your porch, at eleven o’clock, but that matters.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s a relief. Because in my opinion, there’s way too much personification in the world.”

  Personification? What was he talking about?

  “I thought it was weird that the designer gave the clouds eyes. With eyelashes. And itty bitty smiles.” He jiggled the doorknob. “Left my jacket in the car, and it’s kinda cold out here.”

  Bianca had already locked up for the night, so she had two choices: Tell him to return to his car and drop the file in the mail, or get this over with, here and now. Groaning to herself, she dragged a kitchen chair to the door and, using the key that dangled from the chain around her neck, unlocked the door.

  Two panes of glass—one in the entry door, the other in the storm door—separated them. “Aw gee,” he said into the phone, wincing as she stepped onto the chair seat, “be careful, okay? If you fall again, I can’t catch you from out here.”

  A rational person would have let his call go to voice mail. A sane woman wouldn’t be opening the door at this hour to a man she barely knew. Bianca stepped aside as he walked into the kitchen. Clearly, she was neither.

  “Sorry to be such a pain,” he said, holding up the page, “but I know this could be important for Drew. I didn’t want you to have to wait to look through this.” Logan handed her the second folder. “’Cause I’ll be out of commission for a couple weeks.”

  While gawking through the door, his face had been backlit by the golden glow of the porch light. Now, illuminated by the bright beam of the ceiling fixture, she noticed bloodshot eyes and a certain weariness that sagged his broad shoulders.

  “Out of commission? As in…recovering from a surgical procedure?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. It’s just…” Frowning, he shook his head. “It’s business stuff. Driving back and forth between here and DC. Dozens of meetings. A couple of trips to New York…” His lips slanted in a boyish smile. “But I’m touched that a woman like you would worry about me.”

  Bianca did her best not to frown. “I wasn’t worried.”

  He didn’t believe it, and the proof was written all over his handsome face.

  “Just a little curious about what might put you out of commission and what it would take to correct it and how long it might take to recuperate after the procedure. Since you don’t need one, well, that’s a good thing.” She exhaled a sigh of frustration. “But really, it was a natural assumption because you look exhausted.”

  “Up since four-thirty, so I’m not surprised to hear I look a little done in.” The smile grew. “But I’m not the one carrying on a cell phone conversation with a person standing two feet from me.”

  Why hadn’t she noticed that he’d put his phone away? Bianca felt the heat of a blush color her cheeks as she snapped her cell phone shut…

  …and caught sight of her silhouette on the refrigerator door.

  After her shower, she’d pulled her hair back to pluck her eyebrows—and forgotten to remove the stubby ponytails.

  “Oh, good heavens,” she said, holding her breath. Because if she looked half as silly to him as she looked to herself…

  “If it’s any consolation, I think you look cute.” And then he pointed at the stove. “The teapot is about to whistle.”

  How could he possibly know a thing like that?

  Almost immediately she saw the telltale puff-sputter that always preceded the whistle. She’d made it her business to notice things like that because the price to pay—for Drew—was simply too high. Bianca turned off the burner and glanced at the clock. A moment ago, he’d teased her for talking on the phone to a person who stood mere feet from her. It had been unsettling then, seemed more so now. It had been years since she’d been alone with a man. Longer still since she’d been this close. And Jason had been the only male to see her in pajamas.

  “I should go,” he said, “so you can enjoy your tea.”

  “Actually, I’m more in the mood for hot chocolate.” She wasn’t, but Bianca couldn’t let him think he was right about everything. Courtesy and gratitude had motivated her earlier invitation, but taking his call and opening the door to him just now had been a mistake. Besides, if things went as expected, he’d be her boss in a few days, and this popping in and out of her private life—uninvited and unannounced—could not continue. Bianca knew she had to set some boundaries. But at the moment, she didn’t know how.

  “I’d say you remind me of my mom, standing there, looking all stern, but…”

  Do not take the bait, she told herself. Don’t ask him why—just let it slide.

  “Stern is tough to pull off…in lambie pajamas.”

  Bianca stared at her toes. Well, she had no one but herself to blame. And because she was in this deep, why not go for broke?

  She grabbed her favorite mug from the cabinet—the huge, lumpy red blob Drew had made in kindergarten—and said, “So tell me more about your mom.”

  “Did I tell you she has cancer?”

  “Only in passing.” She got another mug out of the cabinet. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Actually, I’m more in the mood for hot chocolate. Especially if I’m going to tell you about Mom’s illness.”

  Had she imagined the hitch in his voice? Bianca filled both mugs with powdered cocoa mix and carried them to the t
able.

  “You might as well have a seat.” She took two spoons from the silverware drawer and handed one to him. “Especially if you’re going to tell me about your mom’s illness.”

  “It’s stage 4 colon cancer. At least, stage 4 is what it was when they first found it. It’s metastasized, so things don’t look good. Not good at all.”

  Two words came to mind as she studied his weary face: defeated and helpless. Bianca patted his hand. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes shimmering with unshed tears?

  Logan glanced away and cleared his throat.

  “I know how hard it is,” she said, “watching someone suffer.”

  “Especially someone you love.”

  Love.

  The word hit her like a cold slap. How long had it been since she’d truly loved Jason? Years, she admitted. When he’d first told her how ashamed he was to have a son like Drew, she had blamed the shock of hearing he had cancer and had told herself he’d come around once he adjusted to the news. If anything, he had grown even more cold and distant.

  “That’s terrible,” Logan said. “Sorry you had to go through all that. Sorry Drew had to.”

  Maybe she was in the middle of a wicked nightmare because surely she hadn’t just said all of that out loud!

  If the look on his face was any indicator, she had.

  It didn’t seem like she could do anything right tonight. But she’d opened the door to the macabre subject, so Bianca decided to listen for as long as Logan needed to talk about his mom’s illness.

  “Are we friends yet, Bianca?”

  They’d spent, at most, the equivalent of one day together, sharing most of that with other people at the station and here at her house. Of course they weren’t friends.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just want you to know…you don’t have to pretend with me.”

  Pretend? She’d just bared her soul to him, every word 100 percent truth.

  “No offense, but I know the signs. My sister had a husband like yours.”