Bedeviled Angel (19 page)

"Dad, I know who can teach Mel to cook."

Melody stifled a new chuckle. "I know, too."

Logan narrowed his eyes and looked from one of them to the other, his shoulders tense, his look guarded. "Who?"

"You!" they said together.

"No, no, and no!"

IN Melody's opinion, Logan kicked and screamed his way to the inevitable. "How about a professional cooking instructor?" he suggested, even as he pushed her shopping cart of cookware and small appliances through a gourmet specialty shop.

He found a food processor that should clean the house, it cost so much, and placed it in her cart.

Melody took it out. "I can't afford it, and I don't need it."

Logan put it back. "You need everything."

She stopped fighting him. She'd return it later.

In the cookbook aisle, she showed him a copy of
Cooking for the Saucily
Impaired
. "Sounds perfect," she said.

Logan took it from her hand and put it back on the shelf. "You're saucy enough."

To prove his point, she chose
101 Uses for Strawberry Jam
, read the title, and winked.

Logan crossed his arms. "Are you turning up the heat?"

"I like to 'cook' fast."

"Slow is better." He chose a copy of
Chocolate Orgasms for Beginners
, put it in the basket, and grinned.

Melody took it out, shook her head, and walked away.

"Don't turn up the burners, if you can't take the heat," he said, and as she turned to respond, he tossed the book, like a gauntlet, back into the cart.

She'd return that, too… maybe.

At the checkout, he took her credit card from the clerk's hand and replaced it with his own.

Though Melody didn't want to make a scene in the store, she left steaming.

"Whatever happens," she said, on the way to the car. "I'm paying you back, and don't forget it."

"After what I saw on the show Wednesday, I'll have my money back in no time."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Judging by ticket sales, no, I'm not."

GARDNER wanted to stick with the New England theme for the second show, and Logan wanted a one-pan meal, since less could go wrong that way. They settled on an Indian Pot Roast with dumplings, and cherry slump for dessert The menu became the curriculum for Melody's first cooking lesson, and for however many lessons it would take for her to master that meal before the next show.

On Saturday morning, Melody felt like a domestic goddess. She enjoyed using her new garlic press almost as much as she enjoyed Logan taking over her kitchen in sweats, stocking feet, and a bib-apron.

She sauteed the garlic in butter, while Shane got so enthusiastically into nibbing the pot roast with salt and flour that he didn't want to stop when it came time to braise the beef.

Melody sliced the onions and laughed because she was crying, so Logan kissed her brow, causing a hum and shiver in her spine, and all she wanted to do was kiss him back. "Keep it up, Kilgarven, and my lessons will be more dangerous than flying glass." She turned to Shane. "Some chaperone you are."

"What's a chaperone?"

"Somebody who's supposed to keep people from kiss-ing."

"I like it when Dad kisses you. Kiss him back."

"Good idea," Logan said.

"Great," Melody said.

"No, the kid's right. It's only fair." For Shane's benefit, Logan closed his eyes, puckered like a fish, and reached for her… and Melody raised the peeled onion, smack, to his lips.

Logan's eyes flew open. "Yuck!" He saw the onion, made a face and little spitting noises, then he grabbed a clean towel and wiped his tongue.

"What were we supposed to do with the onions?" Melody asked to Shane's continued laughter.

"You'll get yours," Logan said.

Melody could hardly wait. "What next?" she said, reminding him where they were.

"Although, I did find a spell to make a recipe come out. Want me to try it?"

"Don't do anything weird, just cook."

"Then I need to know what to do next."

"Right. Spread the onion slices on the bottom of the Dutch oven, and put the sauteed meet, garlic, and butter on top," he said. "After that, we'll add the spices and rum."

Melody nodded, but when she tipped the skillet, so she could slide the meat into the Dutch oven, the roast fell hard and plopped, with a one-two bounce, splashing garlic and butter all over her. "Oops!" She put the skillet in the sink, wiped her cheek, and licked her finger. "Mmm."

Logan wiped a splotch off her temple the same way, and before either of them could react, he'd rescued a chunk of garlic from her cleavage. After the fact, they stilled and regarded each other, and Melody understood how her bacon had burst into spontaneous flame. Prickles radiated in waves from where he'd touched her between her breasts, puckering her nipples, and bringing a sullen heat to root deep within her. Logan's blue, blue eyes focused on her so totally, she thought he might guess what was happening inside her.

"Silly Mel," Shane said, breaking the spell.

Her laugh sounded hollow, even to her. "Yep, silly, that's me." For wanting what she couldn't have.

Logan nodded, looking dazed, wiped his hands on a towel, then ran a hand across his face, as if to test his day's growth of beard.

Melody raised a disconnected hand and found his unshaven jaw prickly soft, as silky as it was rough. Endearing. A lot like him, rough on the outside, as if to hide a warm, soft center. "You should try growing a beard," she said, stepping away, seeking a modicum of normal.

Logan shook his head as if to clear it. "Makes me look like a street punk."

"You could never look that rough."

He laughed out loud. "Right. Let's get to whipping up those dumplings."

"Then dessert?" Shane asked.

Logan ruffled his hair. "After we make the cherry slump, I'll go get some ice cream to go with it."

MELODY was relieved when Logan left her to clean up while the roast simmered, and Shane went to play on his swings in the back where she could watch him. She needed space, time to herself.

What a mess. Twenty pans for a one-pan meal. Did that make sense? There had to be an easier way. And a faster one. She checked the roast. She was starving, and it was hours away from being done. She shrugged, turned up the burner, and began to do the dishes.

She liked that Logan didn't shave on weekends. The concept eased the whole

"suit-and-tie" stigma. It made her want to curl up with him… and the Sunday paper… in bed.

An unexpected cry caught her attention. She looked out the window, and ran.

Shane was hanging upside down from his swing set, one of his legs bent at an odd angle. Oh God. Melody got him down, as Jess came running. "Call 911," Mel said. She didn't want to jar his leg, so she held Shane with his head on her lap until the ambulance arrived.

She was so focused on him, the paramedics saw the smoke pouring from her kitchen windows before she did, and they called the fire department.

Logan arrived home to find two fire trucks and an ambulance blocking his driveway. He came running and shouted, "No!" when he saw Shane on the stretcher.

He fell to his knees. "You okay, sport? Where does it hurt? Tell Dad."

"He's okay," Melody said, already beside him. "It looks like a sprain. We were waiting for you to go to the hospital. Dinner burned, and my kitchen, too, I think."

"But nobody's hurt, thank God." Logan squeezed his son's hand, and at the paramedic's signal, he stood, taking Melody up with him. He slipped an arm around her. "Hold on a minute, will you?"

Melody did, happy for the support, but the force of Logan's trembling required her to do the supporting. "Woe, you're not gonna pass out on us, are you?"

"I never pass out."

"Really? Yet you couldn't be more white if I threw a bucket of paint at you."

The paramedics made Logan sit down so they could check his vitals.

A fireman stood to the side, waiting patiently for Melody's attention. "Sorry, Ms.

Seabright," he said when she turned to him. "There is some damage. I wouldn't sleep in there for a few days, if I were you."

"Hey, Mel, you can bunk upstairs with us," Shane said as they lifted his stretcher into the ambulance.

"That's the spirit," Jessie said, laughing.

"Mel saved me, Dad," Shane said, as Logan climbed in after him. "Like she saved the kittens."

"Tell me you weren't playing in traffic."

Shane giggled. "I was hanging from the swing set," he said, "the way you taught me, remember?"

Shane wanted Melody to ride in the ambulance with them, but that was against regulations. She followed in Logan's car, instead, so they'd have it for the return trip.

Within the hour, Shane had been checked out and released, and Logan had been given smelling salts, twice.

Every window in Melody's apartment sat open, the smoke and fire damage in her kitchen… fixable.

"Don't forget to pack your pj's," Shane said, as Melody went down for an overnight bag.

She and Logan regarded each other, unspoken possibilities filling the taut atmosphere. Pj's. Bed. Logan.

"What can I get you, sport?" Logan asked his son.

"Ice cream and cake."

"The cherry slump fried," Logan said, "and the ice cream melted."

"How about we get Keg-a-Chicken for dinner?" Melody suggested. "Your dad can pick it up and stop for dessert on the way, so we can have cake and ice cream later, okay?"

LOGAN made Shane laugh through dinner by making fun of Melody's favorite takeout, but despite the distraction, Shane had been given pain meds at the hospital, and he fell asleep before the cake and ice cream.

"Bed for you, sport," Logan said as he lifted his son from the chair and took him to his room.

Once they'd rucked him in, Melody stood beside Logan watching Shane sleep.

When Logan gave a ragged sigh, Melody saw that he was trembling again. "C'mon.

The doctor said he'd sleep for hours. Time for Dad to relax." She took his hand and led him to a big comfortable chair in the living room, the one she guessed was his favorite. "Sit," she said, pushing him into it.

He fell back, as if he had no choice, his face ashen.

Melody took off his shoes, because he seemed more comfortable in stocking-feet, then she poured him a glass of scotch, which he accepted and sipped gratefully. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Delayed reaction. He is okay, you know."

"Thank God, but all I can think of is what might have happened, because of me."

"You didn't teach him to hurt himself. You taught him to have fun. That's what good fathers do. He had an accident, that's all. It wasn't your fault. If anybody thought it was, social services would have been asking questions in the emergency room."

Logan sighed again, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, his mouth tight and grim.

Melody watched him, ached for him. She remembered how she'd felt the first time she'd seen him, how she'd wanted to lower his stress by pushing him into an easy chair and draping something warm over him. But his stress that night, her initial need to calm him, had been nothing compared to this.

Melody eased herself onto Logan's lap, aware he might reject her, thinking it likely, when he stiffened for half a beat before relaxing to accommodate her. He sighed when she rested her head on his shoulder, her hand at his fast-beating heart.

"He scared me, too," she said.

When Logan closed his arms around her, Melody knew she'd made the right move. He needed her as much as she needed him.

"Thank you for being there," he said. "For moving fast and forgetting everything but him."

Melody stroked Logan's jaw with her fingertips, playing with the scratchy-soft dichotomy of textures. "All I could think about when I heard him cry was getting to him. Jess was the one who called 911. I didn't even have the presence of mind to grab the phone before I ran out."

"Did Jess bring her phone?"

"No, she ran back to her house to call."

"See?" Logan raised his head and looked at her, for the first time since she'd climbed into his lap. "Your instincts were fine. You were great. The best."

"Then stop imagining the worst," she said. "He's fine, too."

Logan shook his head. "I can't tell you what it did to my heart to drive up and see… I didn't know which of you—"

"Jess tried to call your cell, so that wouldn't happen."

Logan groaned. "I forgot to take it."

Melody raised her head. "Wait a minute. You thought it might be me? And you were worried?"