Read Online Snowbound Heart by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page A

cooped up in that one room had been removed. As soon as the road was clear, Logan would take her into town, where she could call Beverly, and at the same time, a garage to tow her car into town for repairs. If Beverly was able to come and take her back to their cabin, then that would be that. If not, Logan had offered to drive her to Beverly’s cabin himself. Clare would just as soon it did not come to that: the sooner she was able to put this episode behind her, the better it would be.
    She was in the upstairs bedroom putting the last of her things in her suitcase when she heard the grinding of gears and the roar of a straining engine. That would be the snowplow, she thought. She snapped the latches of her suitcase shut and looked around for her coat. Logan would be ready to go almost at once. He had gone outside sometime ago to clear the drive so to could get his car out of the closed garage at the back of the house.
    Finding her coat, Clare slipped it on. Her tote bag lay beside it, and she slung the strap over her shoulder before turning to pick up her suitcase.
    She had reached the stairs and started down before she realized the snowplow, if that was what it was, had stopped in front of the chalet. Quiet fell as the engine was switched off. There came the sound of an automobile door closing, followed by the crunch of footsteps moving toward the front door. Frowning a little, Clare continued down the spiral staircase, coming to a halt at the bottom. A slight sound from the direction of the kitchen drew her attention. Logan stood there, still in his boots and jacket, a water glass in his hand. His expression was withdrawn as he met her eyes across the room. As the front doorbell pealed, he set the glass on the cabinet and moved with deliberation to answer it.
    The man who stood outside on the deck was not large, and yet, with his burly shape, his craggy features and commanding attitude, he gave the impression of being a big man. From his steel-gray hair and the lines in his tanned face, he appeared to be in his early fifties. He wore an overcoat hanging open to reveal a business suit of conservative cut and color.
    “Logan,” he said with a curt inclination of his head. “Mind if I come in?”
    Logan swung the door wider and stepped back. The man gave a perfunctory scrape to his shoes on the doormat, then stepped inside, striding farther into the room as Logan pushed the door closed behind him. “Have a seat,” Logan directed.
    “I’d rather stand,” the man replied, his voice hard. “My business won’t take long. I think you know why I am here.”
    “I don’t believe I do,” Logan answered, a softly dangerous inflection threading his tone, “any more than I know how you found me.”
    “Finding people is not hard, if you know the right person to ask. All I had to do was mention to your agent that I was anxious to talk to you. For some reason he was certain you wouldn’t mind being interrupted; he seemed to think you would be alone, something we both know isn’t true.”
    “That’s right, Marvin. I’m not alone,” Logan answered, ignoring the heavy sarcasm directed at him, and also the edging of menace in the producer’s tone. “There is someone here with me you should meet.”
    “I am well aware,” the man began angrily, swinging to keep Logan in view as he moved toward the spiral staircase. At the sight of Clare, he stopped in mid-sentence. The blank look of surprise on his face was so obvious it came near to being comical.
    “Clare,” Logan said, touching his fingers to her elbow to lead her forward. “This is Marvin Hobbs. Marvin, Clare Thornton.”
    Hobbs recovered quickly. “How do you do?” he said, his eyes moving from Clare to Logan and then to the suitcase behind her. Ignoring her civil greeting, he went on. “Are you leaving, or just arriving?”
    “Leaving,” Clare answered.
    “Then you must have been caught here by the blizzard?”
    Clare flung a quick questioning glance at