Reunited by Her Twin Revelation
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Shelley Rivers
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13
CHAPTER ONE
‘SO YOU ARE really leaving us?’
Dr Logan Fox glanced up from studying the computer screen and smiled at the old man waiting his turn in the busy waiting room. Several small children sat reading books on the tiled floor, and a group of mothers stood beside the small babies’ play area at the far end of the room, whispering and laughing as they waited to be called for their appointments.
With a smile of thanks to the receptionist, Logan wove his way over to the local man who’d become a good friend during his months while working on the island of Malta. The man who had helped him through many a long, lonely night, as they jointly put the world to rights in the crowded surroundings of a local bar.
‘I am indeed, Matthew. In less than two hours I shall be on a plane to England. My taxi is due to arrive within the hour to take me to the airport.’
‘Have we driven you away with all our sunshine and steep, narrow streets?’ the old man joked, shooting Logan a toothy grin. His left hand clutched a brown wooden walking stick—a stick it had taken Logan weeks to convince him to use.
Logan smiled and shook his head. ‘No, it’s time I went home and tied up the last of my father’s estate. Retrieved the few belongings I wish to keep before the house and everything inside it is sold. I’ve put it off long enough, but the solicitors are threatening to send over a team of mercenaries to kidnap me and take me back to England if I don’t return this coming week. Worse still, they insist they’ll charge me for the trouble.’
Matthew chuckled, the deep, strong sound at odds with the man’s small and wizened stature. Logan had learnt while treating his friend after his last health scare that he had great stamina, and his mind was as strong and as sharp as a teenager’s—and just as crafty.
‘Well, just make sure you come back to us,’ Matthew insisted. ‘Old Doc isn’t going to last much longer. I swear the man was ancient when I was a boy, running through the countryside with nothing but merriment and mischief on my mind.’
Logan chuckled. ‘Between you and me, I think the man intends to continue working until the next millennium. Anyway, you’ll be far too busy to miss me as I hear you’re looking for another wife. Though surely five is enough for any man’s lifetime?’
Matthew tutted and removed his cream Havana hat. ‘Any man who is tired of women should be rotting in the grave, my dear friend. Is it my fault that women keep leaving me? Inconvenient, it is. You just get used to one and then she either ruins things by croaking it or she runs off. Besides, I’m still looking for her.’
‘Her?’ Logan repeated curiously.
‘Yes—you know, the special one. The one who is supposed to fill your heart with everything your soul requires. I’ve come close with each of my wives, but never quite got it right. Good, but not perfect.’
‘Then why marry at all?’ Logan quizzed the man, who had a reputation in town for being a long-time rogue and charmer.
Matthew grinned again, and this time a rakish twinkle lit up his ageing eyes. ‘A man has to pass the time somehow while he’s waiting for “the one”, Logan. It can get lonely and boring otherwise. And kissing the wrong women has many, many sweet advantages.’
Logan laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder. ‘I guess you’re right.’
With a final farewell, Logan left the building and stepped out on to the old narrow street. Passing small bars and tiny shops crammed full of goods to buy, he walked the short distance to the traditional Maltese house he shared with a male nurse from the same health practice. With luck he would have the place to himself while he finished packing his suitcase. He and the other members of staff had said their goodbyes the night before, when they’d all shared a meal and several bottles of the local wine at Old Doc’s house. Now he just wanted to slip away without any fuss.
Strolling down a second narrow street, he continued on until he came to a small courtyard concealed from the main busy thoroughfare. Built from the local limestone, three-storey buildings rose around Logan, cocooning him within their rough, golden weathered walls. Passing an open gate, he could smell freshly baked bread, garlic and the local culinary speciality of rabbit stew filling the air. With a glance inside he observed groups of locals and tourists, tucking into mouth-watering plates of food courtesy of the hidden backstreet restaurant.
Moving on, he ignored the tantalising and tempting aromas that called to his empty stomach and teased his appetite, disappointed not to have time to enjoy one last meal before leaving. But he’d made up his mind to travel today and it was too late to change his plans.
In the far corner of the courtyard a small child ran up a flight of stone steps, singing a nursery rhyme. Nearby, his doting grandmother sat on a stool, watching.
Logan waved to the old woman, but headed for the traditional blue arched door in the opposite corner. Purple tube-shaped flowers spilled down from the black wrought-iron balcony just above it, the sprawling lower leaves brushing the top of his head as he unlocked the door. The familiar sensation brought a moment of pleasure to his restless soul.
Letting himself into the building, he climbed the narrow steps to his bedroom, glad to reach it without encountering anyone. He just wanted to pack and leave. Say goodbye to the island the same way he’d arrived. Without fuss or fanfare. Malta had become his refuge after his failed engagement, and leaving it arose mixed feelings he refused to examine or dissect. If not for the solicitor’s insistence that he return to England, he wouldn’t be going home at all.
Entering his bedroom, Logan let his gaze fall immediately on the half-packed suitcase lying open on the double bed. Glancing around, he checked over the rest of the furniture for any remaining belongings, his eyes eventually landing on the folded letter on the dressing table.
It was a letter he’d spent the last few months ignoring, after discarding it there following one single read. He was refusing to deal with the reality of what lay folded inside the envelope and his feelings towards the people it concerned.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the dressing table and picked it up. A thin layer of dust now covered it. Blowing off the worst, he slowly turned it over, staring down at the thick paper, not eager to confront the strange jumble of emotions it triggered inside him.
The words printed within informed him of several facts he would have preferred never to discover. The main one being that Victor Fox, the man Logan had believed was his father, did not, in truth, share one particle of DNA with him.
Which meant that for thirty-five years every single person in Logan’s so-called family had lied to him. Each one guilty of deception by choosing to keep the loathsome truth a secret.
Apparently everyone had known his mother’s dirty little lie—except for him. The person it concerned the most. The individual who’d been fed a dishonest fairy tale, only to discover a sordid tangle of falsehoods.
Nausea rotated in Logan’s stomach, but he ignored it and forced himself to list the uncomfortable truths mentally. His beloved late mother had indulged in a long-term love affair at some time during her twenty-year marriage to Victor. An affair which resulted in a child—him. Facts he’d only discovered after reading this letter from Victor’s solicitor. Precise, impersonal words, disclosing the ugly facts and the information his so-called family had purposely chosen to keep from him. Telling him that Logan could use the Fox name, but that not one drop of genuine Fox blood flowed through his veins, making him null and void as the man’s assumed son and heir.
Making Logan’s presence in the family entirely irrelevant now Victor no longer lived.
The aching tightness in Logan’s chest had nothing to do with the light cold he’d picked up a few days ago. No, the pain spreading out from the area around his heart originated from the callous reality that betrayal and treachery stained his whole existence. That, despite believing differently, Logan actually had no true family other than an estranged half-brother.
Was this destiny’s sick joke? A way to knock him off his complacent perch and show him that trust was nothing but a foolish hope? Something people liked to offer and declare, but rarely executed for the benefit of others?
With each breath, the ache in Logan’s chest increased. The constant thick tension that had begun the day news of Victor’s death had reached him. News only forwarded after the man’s funeral in England had already taken place. Exactly the way Victor had desired it, according to Bellman, his faithful solicitor.
No bedside farewells or last-minute explanations for him. Just these blunt and impersonal words on a piece of paper that shattered and destroyed everything Logan had thought true. An abrupt statement proclaiming his mother’s adultery and Victor’s swift and brutal renouncement of Logan as his true son. No other explanation or justification given.
One night he had gone to sleep a son but awoken the following day as no one.
Logan’s fingers tightened around the letter. Everything he’d been raised to believe in had been harshly ripped away without care or thought for his feelings. Leaving him cast aside like one of Victor’s flawed business deals. Cold-heartedly disconnected from the birthright he’d assumed was his to claim.
Who knew why Victor had chosen to reveal the truth after so many years pretending? The man’s thought process had always at best bordered on complicated, so there was no point in trying to decipher this last action.
Victor’s vast fortune would be distributed through various charities and associations. Gifts to good causes—another out-of-character act from the old man. Logan didn’t need or care about the money, or the ridiculously large house in Salisbury where he’d grown up. None of the material possessions mattered—only the bitter truth that the man he’d always believed cared for him had mercilessly rejected any familial connection linking them once he no longer had use for Logan. Once he no longer required a son.
After years of sharing what Logan had believed was a strong, close father-and-son relationship, Victor had discarded both his affection and his presence in the family with soul-obliterating and ruthless ease.
All Logan’s life Victor had drummed home a mantra of discipline, hard work and family loyalty. He’d pushed Logan to be the best at everything and to reject failure. When Logan had gone to university Victor had chosen which one, and what career Logan would pursue. As he’d had a natural ability for science and excelled in tests, he’d decided on medicine. Not a general doctor, though. No, Victor had expected Logan to become the best in his field. Always the greatest. Because any less would be neither allowed nor contemplated.
Thankfully Logan had also wished to pursue medicine. He’d loved working with patients and finding ways to heal them, so there’d been no hardship in following Victor’s wishes. Not when they had also been his own.
The only time Logan had witnessed the old man’s anger and disappointment had occurred on the day he’d informed Victor that he planned to go to Malta, after calling off his six-month engagement to the daughter of a family friend. Then he’d seen something in Victor’s eyes that had unsettled him. Some emotion that made sense to him now.
Tugging off his black-framed glasses, Logan tucked them into his shirt pocket and headed in the direction of the bed. Throwing the letter inside the suitcase, he reached for the lid, then paused. After a second’s hesitation, he snatched the letter out again. With one final look, he scrunched it into a messy ball and walked over to the wastepaper bin. Dropping it inside, he glared at the crumpled letter for a moment longer before turning away.
He had no need to keep it when the words were already burnt into his memory. Singed into his brain with no chance of his forgetting. Not now he understood how little he’d meant to the man he’d spent years calling Dad. A loving term it turned out he’d had no right to use.
The sudden blast of a car horn interrupted Logan’s heavy and grave thoughts. Strolling over to the French doors, he pushed back the sheer net curtains and turned the key in the lock. Stepping out on to the narrow balcony, he let the warm sunshine and the smells from the restaurant float to him once again, dispelling some of the bleakness of his mood.
Leaning over the lush trailing plants and the railing, he waved to the driver in the taxi below.
Time to return to England and finish with the past for good. To track down the one person who might know the truth concerning the whole deplorable situation surrounding his birth. The older sibling Logan hadn’t seen for years. Maddox, his elusive half-brother.
‘Those babies need a father.’
Thurza Bow rolled her eyes and lifted the four-pack of super-soft toilet rolls out of the cardboard box, fighting the urge to throw the item at her cousin’s head. Sometimes the itch to be wicked took hold when she was in Rachel’s company. A dreadful but unfortunate truth.
Just for once Thurza ached to throw respect, good manners and decency to one side and give her nagging cousin the shock of her life. Besides, the toilet rolls were soft—it said so on the purple wrapping. So they wouldn’t hurt...much.
‘What you really need is to call the twins’ father to account and force him to do his part in parenting. Don’t you think it’s time Daddy took a turn?’
Thurza placed another pack of toilet paper on to the shelf. ‘He’s not interested.’
‘He’s their father. He gets no choice. It’s not right how he gets to walk away and leave you with the consequences of your joint sexual pleasure.’
Thurza glanced at her cousin. ‘It’s my choice to keep him out of our lives.’
‘You’re lying,’ Rachel replied bluntly. ‘You may tell yourself that nonsense, but I know you’re hiding something.’
Thurza frowned, wondering if her cousin had resumed learning witchcraft. Lately, she had an uncanny knack of being right over most things. It was most annoying. ‘I’m not lying. The man is unsuitable father material.’
Rachel scoffed. ‘Didn’t stop you sleeping with him.’
‘At the time I wasn’t considering him as a prospective father. I just sought a night of uncomplicated sex.’
Rachel sighed and shook her head. ‘More lies. You don’t do one-night stands, so the reason the twins’ father tempted you into breaking your normal code of behaviour must be more than you’re admitting to.’
Thurza slammed the final toilet roll pack down on to the shelf and retrieved the empty cardboard box. She hated how her cousin knew her so well.
Making her way towards the rear storeroom, she asked, ‘Do you have everything you need today?’
‘As you don’t sell cousins with sense, I guess so,’ Rachel returned sarcastically.
Thurza threw the box into the back room, hoping Rachel would leave, so she could resume shelf-filling and daydreaming about the one man she wasn’t supposed to dream about. The man they were unfortunately discussing. A man who was truly forbidden and lost to her. Who had turned out to be the worst kind of jerk after their long illicit night together.
Rachel took her time picking up her bag of shopping. ‘At least think about joining one of those dating sites I sent you the links for the other day. I’m sure even with your picky taste you can find someone. You do still have that list I gave you of local men with potential, don’t you?’
‘Somewhere...’ Thurza hedged, not about to admit that she’d deleted both the links and the list from her phone five minutes after her cousin had sent them.
‘You’re a good-looking woman with that Viking female warrior vibe you’re rocking. God, why did I have to take after my mother?’ Rachel complained. ‘Who wants little Miss Mousy Hair?’
‘At least your mother lives close by,’ Thurza pointed out.
Her father had died ten years before and her Swedish mother had left England not long after, to go and live in France with a French film director she’d met on a singles’ mountain-climbing holiday.
Rachel scoffed. ‘At least yours comes with the bonus of a holiday in France whenever you fancy it. Anyway, think about what I said.’
Thurza sighed. ‘The boys and I are fine as we are. I’m twenty-seven years old, Rachel. I can manage my life on my own, thanks.’
‘Yeah, right... You managed to leave this town and what happened? You returned, having left a very good nursing job, four months pregnant with no willing man to help. Let’s not even touch the subject of contraception, Nurse Bow. Something, dear cousin, you apparently forgot the second your knickers hit the floor.’
Warmth flooded Thurza’s cheeks. ‘It was an unexpected encounter and we used contraception. My mistake came from trusting it to work.’
Rachel snorted and headed for the exit. ‘You’re the type of person who will always be in that unlucky two per cent failure rate, I’m afraid.’
The words stung, but Thurza refused to react. She had already accepted her mistake in giving in to the man’s charms, without her cousin rubbing it in because the contraception they’d used had failed.
Letting out a sigh of relief when Rachel finally left the shop and jumped into a small white van with the local chemist’s logo on the side, Thurza reluctantly considered her cousin’s suggestion.
Should she encourage a man into her and the boys’ lives? She closed her eyes and shook her head. No, she didn’t want a man hanging around, getting in the way and disrupting her calm and normality. The encounter with the twins’ father had been nothing but one foolish moment of yielding to basic physical needs and ignoring the sensible inner voice that had warned her of the risk. For one night she’d given in to the irrational urge to be seen by a sexy doctor. A special evening when she’d become as attractive and as sexy as all the other nurses who worked at the hospital, instead of the shy woman people hardly noticed.
That out-of-character night had resulted in her becoming a mother to two beautiful baby boys.
She didn’t regret her sons. Right from the moment she’d found out she was expecting them something had clicked and finally made sense in her life, had given her a true purpose.
She’d tried to let the man know about the pregnancy. Sent letter after letter to his flat during it. Once she’d even turned up on his doorstep, eight months pregnant, to be told by his cleaner that he had gone away for a while and she wasn’t sure when he would be back.
She’d even sent a card after the twins’ first smiles, when an attack of sadness had hit her at all the man was missing. Just like her letters, it had gone unanswered.
Yes, Dr Logan Fox’s interest had vanished almost as quickly as his attraction to her. One night of lovemaking and then all those pretty sweet words he’d whispered in her ear as he’d taken her to a place she’d never dreamt existed between a man and woman had disappeared quicker than a twig dropped into the centre of a scorching hot fire.
She’d not received one answer or acknowledgement from him. Not a phone call, a note—not a single thing except a telling silence.
She could have pursued the legal option, but she refused to force a man into having a relationship with his offspring when he’d made it clear he didn’t want one. She just wished he’d told her to her face, so she could live without the occasional qualm or doubt.
Thurza reached for another large container full of toilet rolls. No, she didn’t need the man or his reluctant help. The twins deserved better than an uninterested father. She’d quite like some spare hours in the day, and a new washing machine that didn’t sound as though it was on the verge of taking off every time she used it. But both were impossible wishes, so Thurza did what every other single parent did and sucked it up with a smile.
Because her boys were her happiness and they fulfilled her life. She just wished her cousin would one day understand that.
Logan pulled into a space in the garage’s parking area, relieved to finally be in Dorset and close to where his half-brother Maddox lived. Soon he would be able to get the answers he’d come here for. The answers that would finally settle everything from the past and allow him to move on from it for good.
Gripping the hire car’s steering wheel, he sighed. After years of no contact, he had to talk to his estranged half-brother. The half-brother who’d walked out of the family home on his twenty-first birthday and never returned. The sibling Logan had always believed he could trust, despite their lack of communication over the years.
Logan wanted to stare into his face and hear the whole and complete story. Not hostile statements parroted through a dead man’s solicitor’s letter. A full explanation from someone Logan suspected knew everything. He wanted to see with his own eyes the moment when his half-brother realised that he knew of their mother’s long-ago infidelity, and then watch him try and squirm out of answering Logan’s questions. Because he had many.
His so-called family—the people who were supposed to support and care for him, to love him, even—had all lied to him. Individuals who’d regularly over the years lectured him on loyalty had shown him none. For them the trait had become unimportant and insignificant when compared to the hope of one day gaining favour and eventually a decent share of Victor’s wealth. A selfish goal that not one of them had actually achieved.
In the Fox family a person accepted and played their role. For him it had required being the perfect son. The one who’d achieved more than the disappointing older sibling. He’d had to do what Victor expected, when it was required. And Logan had done just that for years, without resentment or complaint, because he had cared about the man.
But now he refused to be disregarded or ignored. In the next few hours his dear half-brother was going to spill the truth whether he wanted to or not. He owed Logan. Even if he had to wring it out of Maddox syllable by drawn-out syllable.
Reaching for his phone where it lay on the passenger’s seat, next to an empty takeaway coffee cup, a half-eaten ham sandwich and an unused paper napkin, Logan flicked through the long list of contacts until he found his half-brother’s name and punched the button.
He’d discovered Maddox’s whereabouts after finding a postcard amongst the wad of papers the solicitor had handed him when he’d collected his belongings from the family house in Salisbury. Sent over a year ago, it had Maddox’s address and phone number scribbled on it. Nothing else—no greeting or comment—just his name, address and mobile number.
The solicitor had found it while sorting through Victor’s study. Hidden at the back of a drawer in the old man’s desk, as though he hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw it away, but hadn’t wanted anyone else to see it either.
Drumming his fingertips against the leather steering wheel, Logan waited as unanswered rings purred in his ear.
After at least twenty rings, his half-brother’s voice finally growled down the line. ‘What?’
‘How do I get to your place?’ Logan demanded, too irritated to care about pleasantries or polite greetings. This close to getting his answers, he’d given up any pretence of patience or manners.
Removing his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, and pushed back the weariness that hovered close.
Tense silence answered his demand.
‘I said, brother, how do I get to your home?’ he repeated, biting out the words with icy firmness.
If Maddox imagined he could put him off, then he intended to prove differently. Wherever the man resided in this godforsaken seaside town, Logan would find him and force him to have a long overdue conversation.
‘Logan?’ Maddox barked. ‘What the hell do you want?’
After years of no contact, Logan wasn’t offended by his sibling’s less than friendly greeting. ‘I’m in Dorset, in the town where you live, and I’m not leaving until we talk.’
Silence returned, before a heavy sigh came from his half-brother. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Victor’s dead.’
‘When?’
‘Ten weeks ago.’
Logan forced away the flood of sentimental emotion saying the words pulled from his heart. The man had lied to him his whole life, and only when he knew he wouldn’t face the consequences of that deception had he made certain that his fake son discovered the truth. When he’d no longer needed Logan to ease his old age loneliness Victor had cut him off. Thrown Logan and his love away like redundant, useless objects he no longer wished to possess. The man didn’t deserve his grief or his tears, and he refused to give in to either.
‘The old man told you, didn’t he?’ said Maddox.
Logan’s fingers tightened around the phone. The small pathetic hope that his half-brother might not know the truth withered and died. His instinct had been sadly right once again.
‘In a way. He left instructions with his solicitor to inform me of the truth regarding my parentage after his death.’
Further silence settled between them, before Maddox sighed again. ‘I guess you’d better come to the farm.’
Logan grabbed the napkin from the passenger seat and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. In silence, he wrote down the instructions Maddox gave him.
Finishing the call, Logan decided he might as well get some fuel while he was there, and drove round to the fuel pumps. He glanced out through the windscreen at his surroundings. A large plastic kangaroo tied to the garage’s shop roof bobbed around in the breeze. The sight was an apt reflection of the sensations inside him.
Replacing his glasses, Logan opened the car door. The ache in his chest refused to ease and continued to grow and intensify. Damn emotions. Why couldn’t they just stay stuffed down where he’d shoved them? He didn’t have the time or the inclination to deal with them.
After his conversation with his half-brother, he intended never to think about Victor again. He planned to cut his last remaining ties with England and fly out before the end of the week. Whether he’d return to Malta or head somewhere new he didn’t know.
His eyes shifted to the shop, his gaze drawn towards the large window and the woman who stood inside. A strange, unfamiliar tingling surfaced from the deep recesses of his stomach, slowly prickling and twisting through his whole body.
Staring harder at the woman, he took in her appearance, slowly moving his gaze over the mustard-yellow top she was wearing to rest on her long blonde hair and strong Nordic features. She looked familiar. Like someone he’d once briefly known—in the physical sense, anyway. A woman who’d tempted him to do unfamiliar and sinful things he’d never tried before. Someone whose sweet, gorgeous body he’d explored intimately during one long night.
Someone whose sweet, kissable and frankly too enticing mouth he still dreamt about all these months later.
Logan swallowed hard, unable to pull his gaze away. His heart kicked up its pace until it banged painfully against his chest. The woman didn’t just resemble the woman from that night—he was pretty certain it really was her.
Turning away, he ran a palm over his face while his mind raced. Focusing on the petrol pump, he grabbed the nozzle and filled the car’s tank. Wasting time as he tried to make sense of the situation.
Okay, play it cool, Fox. Go inside, pay and leave. Pretend you don’t recognise her. If she tries to drag you into conversation or tries to get reacquainted, leave fast. You’ve more important things to do than revisiting an ex-lover, even if she did provide the best night of lovemaking you’ve ever known.
She was the only woman he’d ever shared a one-night stand with. The woman he’d taken to bed mere days after calling off his doomed engagement, only to wake up and find her gone the next morning, leaving him with nothing but the scent of her fading perfume on his love-wrinkled bed sheets and a heart full of regrets.
Was some higher figure messing with him as punishment for a crime he didn’t recall? First Victor’s death, his painful rejection, and now an awkward meetup with a past lover. Together with the upcoming meeting with his half-brother, these last few months were rounding off to be a blinder.
Sliding the pump back into its rest, Logan replaced the car’s fuel cap and glanced again at the woman inside the building.
Bite the bullet, Fox, and face her.
With a deep breath, he wiped his damp palms against his trousers and took a step towards the building and his one lapse of sanity. The thudding of his heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears with each step closer to the woman he’d done his best to forget.
Not that he’d succeeded. For eighteen months this woman and their time together had repeatedly taunted him on those nights when the clock had ticked sluggishly through the dark night hours and he’d been alone in a huge bed with only his frustrated thoughts and memories to keep him company.
A goddess in bed, with skin soft and smooth, and a sweet naughty mouth which had taught him some moves he’d never known before. Hair like a Viking queen’s and an accent that had rocked between low Dorset tones and a faint sexy Swedish lilt.
That night he’d recognised her from the corridors in the hospital where they’d both worked. Her wonderful fresh eagerness for the job had yet to be dimmed by long, endless shifts and the never-ending conveyor belt of patients.
What he’d discovered once he’d taken her home was that beneath her clothes was a body made to entrance and seduce a man. In that ultimate, exquisite moment when their bodies had joined, he knew he’d experienced heaven for the first time.
Or maybe he’d just imagined it. Envisaged the memory of her sweet soft moans and angelic gasps to make his dented confidence feel better. So that despite all the turmoil in his life at that time, the woman in his bed had really wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.
His gaze returned to the window, his unease increasing when he noted her expression. Was that horror on her face? Really?
Unexpected disappointment rushed through him at the same time as a loud, high-pitched scream sounded across the forecourt, freezing him to the spot.
Twisting in the direction of the scream, he spotted another vehicle with two squabbling young boys and a woman standing next to it. After a moment, the woman picked up one child and put him into the rear seat of the car.
‘Let me see,’ she instructed the remaining boy, who stood clutching his right eye while screaming at the top of his voice. ‘What did Troy stab you with?’
‘His toy screwdriver!’
With all thoughts of the woman inside the building and her lack of welcome on pause, Logan walked purposefully towards the injured boy. Facing the complications of his past could wait. Right now a child needed his medical expertise, and that took priority over everything.
