Page 50 of The Search

“It’s not only—I promised you I’d deal with Madden for you.”

“Yes, you did, and I’m holding you to it, but you didn’t have to get out of a sickbed. And you didn’t need to come here. Madden’s not been here since the day I threw him out.”

“Like you want to throw me out.”

“Right.”

“Safer. I’m—responsible.”

“You’re mumbling. I can’t understand you.”

“I don’t mumble.” Logan opened his eyes as Monty put his head against his hand. “Hello, boy. I’m glad someone is rolling out the welcome mat.”

“Don’t be flattered. Five minutes ago he wanted to roll out the same mat for a wolf.”

“Wolf? I heard him when I was in the car. Beautiful . . .”

“Not you too?” She turned away and reached for the telephone. “What’s Margaret’s cell phone number? I’ll call and tell her to turn around and come back for you.”

He shook his head. “I told her not to pay any attention. You’re . . . stuck . . . with me.”

“The hell I am. I’ll call an ambulance and have them— Dammit, listen to me.”

“Sorry.” His eyes had closed again. “Tired . . .”

He was asleep.

“Logan!”

No answer. He was probably so heavily drugged, it was a wonder he had been able to stir himself to come here. No, not really a wonder. She knew how determined Logan could be.

But why had he been so determined to come here? Well, it would do no good to fret about reasons, when his presence was an accomplished fact. It would serve him right if she shipped him back to Phoenix in an ambulance.

Monty mournfully looked at her.

“Okay, okay, we’ll let him stay until he wakes up. Maybe it will take your mind off that blasted wolf.”

Monty settled down beside the chair.

She sighed in exasperation as she brought Logan’s bag inside, then she lay down on the couch. She had thought she was done with him. Yet here he was again, only hours later, and she was sleeping on this lumpy couch instead of in her comfortable bed to make sure the idiot didn’t thrash around and hurt himself.

“Wake up.”

Logan was dimly aware that Sarah was shaking him.

“Dammit, wake up.”

He fought his way through the fog of sleep and opened his eyes. The cabin. She wanted him to go. . . . “I’m staying.”

“And I’m leaving. So call Margaret and tell her to come get you.”

“What?” He sat up in the chair as he realized she was shrugging on her jacket. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Taiwan. They’ve had torrential rains for the past two weeks. A mudslide just buried a village. They think the fatalities are going to mount to over five hundred.” She crossed to the kitchen counter and poured steaming coffee into a thermos. “God, I hate mudslides. The chances of pulling anyone out alive are so slim, they may as well be nonexistent. They’re death searches, not life searches.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Hundreds of people are buried underneath that damn sludge. Maybe Monty and I can cut that number down by a few.”