Eclipse of the Heart - By Carly Carson Page 0,84

Logan's writin' a business plan for me."

"Hey, Rosie, that's great." Amanda's tone softened. "I don't blame you for feeling kindly toward him. With your talent and his connections, I know you'll do well."

"I'm gonna need your help, too, after you get this baby popped."

Amanda laughed. "It will be my pleasure."

She disconnected thoughtfully. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that the other women in Logan's life thought so highly of him. He had plenty of charm when he wanted to use it. Maybe she should listen to what they were saying. Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face?

Chapter 29

One month later, Logan's gift was a big box of children's books. Amanda had grown used to getting the packages every Friday, even as she recognized that they were a masterful way of both softening her toward Logan, and also reminding her that he wasn't going to give up the request for some sort of custody.

She squealed with delight as Mrs. MacDonald opened the box. Nothing could have pleased her more. She began lifting out the crisp volumes. Big, colorful picture books. Illustrated children's classics. New stories she'd never heard of. She spread them out over the kitchen table. It was a wonderful collection.

"Now that's what I call excitement," Mrs. M. said with a smile.

"I love books." Although she wouldn't say so, she was thrilled to think that Logan might place the same importance on books for their child that she did. "Do you think I could add these to the library?"

"Sure." Mrs. M. cocked her head as the doorbell rang. "That must be the yard guy. I need to let him into the storage shed at the main house."

The library was a small room with French doors that opened toward the beach. Sunlight poured through the glass in thin streams of gold, and picked out the jeweled tones of books lining the walls. The Oriental carpet on the floor reflected the same rich colors. Comfortable maroon leather chairs with plump ottomans filled the corners, and a sliding rocker invited one to cuddle with a child. Everything gleamed with cleanliness and sunlight, but the space always seemed sad and empty.

It had taken Amanda a few days to figure out why the room seemed lost in the past, until she noticed there were no recently published books on the shelves. The collection had stopped breathing several years ago, and she wondered again what had happened to the family, presumably Logan's, that used to live here. The books stood on their multi-colored spines like sentinels that were never relieved of duty. No one took them down to pore over their treasures. No one escaped through them into another world of imagination and drama.

Today, though, she had a happier errand. Rubbing her aching back, she placed her box of new books on the console table by the doorway. The children's section was opposite her, to the left of the French doors, where natural light would be available to a browsing child. She could almost picture a small boy with Logan's dark hair sitting cross-legged on the floor, his gray eyes bent to a book as he was transported to another life.

Luckily, the shelves weren't completely full, although each shelf had only a small blank space. She would consolidate the existing collection so that she could place her new books all together. That would make it easier to remove them when she left the lighthouse.

She waddled over to the bookcase. Now that she was well into her eighth month, she understood the ungainly gait adopted by pregnant women. Her center of balance had shifted, and not in a good way.

Although she'd browsed in this library on many a long afternoon, she hadn't checked out the kids' books. She leaned over, delighted to see many old friends among the volumes. The best of children's literature. She saw Anne of Green Gables and The Secret Garden for a daughter. Tom Sawyer and Pendragon for a boy.

Classics. Poetry. Humor. Love. All spread out before her.

She had to bend over since the books were lower down on the shelves, where a small person could reach them. It wasn't easy to do with her stomach in the way. But she had a compulsion to get this chore done today.

She eased a book out of its spot.

The Giver, by Lois Lowry. Eerie. Unforgettable.

She grabbed the boxed set next to it. Little House on the Prairie, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. A tale of self-sufficiency. Just what she needed to remind herself