Wedding Cake Wishes. Dana Corbit
for the roar of the motorcycle engine to filter away, but instead, the sound stopped. Seconds later, Logan stomped into the entry, carrying his helmet under his arm. Strange how he didn’t look the part of Matthew and Dylan Warren’s little brother as he stood covered in all that leather gear and indignation.
Caroline drew in a breath, not entirely from shock.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, lowering his helmet to the floor. He glanced around at the employees who were pretending not to listen. “Outside,” he added.
Swallowing, she followed him, and when he held the door open for her, she didn’t argue. Under normal circumstances, she would have considered telling him she was uncomfortable with such chivalrous notions, but the tight set of his jaw told her this wasn’t the time.
As soon as the heavy steel door closed behind them, he whirled to face her. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know what you—”
But Logan didn’t let her finish. “You know exactly what I mean. You showed up like the cavalry, planning to save the day, and you did it in front of the whole staff. As if they weren’t already doubting my abilities.”
“It’s just like when were kids and you fell off your skateboard and…” She blew out a breath. “I was just trying to help.”
“No, you were just disappointed that I didn’t fail.”
She shook her head. “That’s not true.”
He paced to his motorcycle, shoving his hands back through his hair. “I knew I was making a mistake. I knew it.”
Though he’d been speaking more to himself, he turned back to her now. “I get it that you agreed to come here because you thought you could do a better job running the shop than I could. If I hadn’t felt sorry—” He stopped himself but not before his message became clear.
Caroline drew in a breath. Just because she’d suspected he’d only accepted her presence out of pity didn’t make it any easier to hear the truth spoken aloud.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.”
He started to deny it, but one side of his mouth lifted and the steel of his posture softened. “Okay, I sort of did.”
“And you’re kind of right about why I came here. I also had quite a bit of free time.” She shrugged and then met his gaze directly. “But you’re wrong about me wanting you to fail. I just wanted to pay you back—”
Logan drew his brows together. “Pay me back?” Realization must have dawned because he started nodding. “Of course. I got the ladies to stop before they started asking a bunch of nosy questions, and you’re trying to return the favor.”
“It’s good that you understand.”
“You mean how crazy it would make a control freak like you to be indebted to anyone? Sure, I understand.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“I knew that some of the employees were listening from behind the door.”
Caroline stared at him. “You knew? I’m sorry that they don’t seem all that supportive of you.”
“It’s always tough when the boss’s kid takes over.”
“Well, that’s unfair of them to discount you before they’ve given you a chance.”
“Is that so?”
At his smile, she felt ashamed. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done? “Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“You didn’t need my help, anyway. You were amazing with that bride.”
He studied her, as if waiting for a punch line. “Thanks,” he said finally. “Look, why don’t we just call it even? We don’t have to keep score for the next few weeks. I’ll even try to listen to your suggestions while you’re here, preferably if you don’t give them in front of the other employees. And you can…”
“I don’t know…trust that you know what you’re doing until you ask for help? And maybe you could avoid mentioning my being…er…unemployed around here.”
“Deal.”
His smile was so warm that Caroline was convinced she could feel the heat on her own skin, but she tried to shake away the thought. This was just the invigorating feeling of having a purpose again. That had to be it. If not, she was in big trouble because her immunity to Logan Warren was in danger of falling faster than a cake after someone slammed the oven door.
Chapter Three
Logan trudged along the tiles of the same hospital corridor he’d paced so many times in the last few days, the antiseptic scent stirring nausea in his belly. Caroline’s footsteps tapping in time with his only unsettled him more.
As if visiting with his mother this way wasn’t heartbreaking enough every time, it was even harder seeing the shock on friends’ faces the first time they visited. None of them saw any hope for Amy’s recovery, no matter how much lip service they paid to it later. He could just imagine how bleak Caroline’s expression would be. She tended to see the world in blacks and whites with little hope for grays.
“Will your motorcycle be okay where we left it?” Caroline asked from behind him.
The uncomfortable look on her face when he glanced back at her probably had more to do with the critical care unit they were about to enter than the fact that she’d insisted on driving when they’d left work, but he nodded anyway. He would have declined her offer of a ride, but then he would have been forced to consider why he’d needed to put space between himself and this particular woman. He didn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole.
“The bakery’s in a pretty safe neighborhood. Even if the door really had been unlocked this morning, the store probably would have been fine.”
The last he’d added to calm her nerves, but she was too busy staring at the sign that said “Critical Care” to notice his effort. He stopped just outside the department’s double doors, with his hand on the button that automatically opened them.
Caroline paused beside him. “Has she been conscious?”
“Most of the time. She’ll be glad you came.”
Caroline’s gaze darted to the door and back, and then she straightened her shoulders. They entered the department and Logan turned at the first hall.
“It’s down this way.” After a week of visiting, he could have found her hospital room with his eyes closed.
Next to him, Caroline was fidgety and nervous, the same way she’d been at the bakery that morning. And then he remembered the likely reason for her disquiet. Caroline had lost her father two years before, and hospitals probably reminded her of that loss.
Well, they shared that discomfort with hospital settings in common. Just as he had during every visit, he felt as if he was coming out of his skin, and they weren’t even inside his mother’s room yet. He paused just outside the door.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, for his benefit as much as hers.
He could tell from Caroline’s sharp intake of breath the exact moment she saw his mother lying asleep in the second bed of the double room. He could barely keep himself from gasping every time he saw his mother this way.
In sleep, his mother’s face was relaxed, but so far at least, her face became no more animated even when she was awake. The silver hair, which was rarely out of place, now stuck out all over her head and appeared to have turned white overnight. Her left arm rested tightly against her torso, her fingers curling back toward her body.
For several seconds, Caroline just stared, and then she took a few steps toward the