Mad Enough to Marry - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,10

reckless as it sounds. Though I got my MBA at Stanford, I have an undergraduate degree in Industrial Arts. I've always wanted to work with my hands."

It had been his brother abnost passing up on love and his parents celebrating forty years of a merger instead of a marriage, to wake Logan up to that fact. He'd opened his eyes to find himself tied to a dreary job in the family company and also tied to an almost-fiance. Both fulfilled other people's expectations—^but didn't do a thing for him.

Elena drank from her beer again. "Your father..."

**Is predicting disaster. Me on my knees begging for my old position back at Chase Electronics."

**You look determined to prove him wrong."

**Yeah." Logan had overcomplicated his life for years by going along with dear old dad, but it was simple now. He'd focus solely on building his business—a business that would satisfy him. ' 'People are interested in restoring the Victorians and California bungalows around town—even more so since last summer's earthquake damaged several of them."

At the mention of the earthquake, she frowned and then quickly drained her beer and carefully set the bottle on the floor. ''Well, Vm sure both of us have better things to do. I came to pick up my painting."

He Ufted an eyebrow. "You mean my painting?"

Her lips compressed in annoyance. "I'm paying you for it," she said, patting the pants pocket of her overalls.

"I never said I'd sell it."

*'Logan. I didn't have time for this yesterday, I had to get to work. But there's no point in arguing. I have the money." Her hand went to her pocket again as

she jumped to her feet. Then she swayed, looking dizzy,

Logan rose in concern as she put an unsteady hand on the back of her chair. **Elena?"

She blinked at him. **rm fine,*' she said quickly. *'I just stood up too fast."

He took a step toward her anyway.

Thank God. It gave him enough time to catch her as she fell.

He figured she was fainting. Or maybe she was passing out from a combination of no food and that one beer. Either way, he expected she'd keep her mouth shut.

But cradled in his arms as he climbed the stairs toward his second-floor apartment, Elena gave him grief.

"Put me down. I'm fine. Just a little tired or something. Put me down. Let go. I stood up too fast. I'm fine. Put me down.'*

He let her drone on, which she did, of course, until he dropped her onto the mattress in his bedroom. Then he told her to shut up.

Unnecessary, though. Because her mouth had snapped closed, mid complaint, when she saw what he'd hung on the wall opposite his bed.

Damn.

Her gaze moved to him accusingly and she struggled to her elbows. **You told me yesterday that you wouldn't hang it! You promised."

He shook his head. "I promised I wouldn't let any-

one see it. But enough about that. You need to lie back and rest."

**I need to get my painting back!**

Double damn.

He sighed. "It*s my painting, darling. And you're not going anywhere until we figure out why you went down for the count. Should I call a doctor?''

"Of course not." She sat up.

His hand on her shoulder, he forced her back to the pillows. '*Did you eat today?"

She looked ready to take a bite out of him. *'I assisted at the cooking school this morning. We made seven-grain waffles with strawberry syrup. I'm sure I took a taste."

A taste. "And then what?" he asked.

"And then I spent a few hours wading through the summer admission appUcations stacking up in my office, if that's any of your business."

Though officially an "administrative assistant," Logan had heard she virtually ran the admissions office at the local community college single-handedly. He shook his head. "Elena, it's Sunday. You worked two jobs today and you went to work yesterday as well. No wonder you're dead on your feet."

She glared at him. "Some of us can't afford to sneer at overtime." One hand slid into her pocket and the other grabbed his. Paper slapped against his palm. "There. Your money."

Instead of green bills, he looked down at a section of the newspaper folded into a small rectangle. "What's this?"

She made a little huff of irritation and fished through her other pocket. *'A mistake." She drew out a wad of cash. '*Here."

He avoided accepting it by unfolding the newspaper to glance at the circled ads. **You're moving?"

"Temporarily. If I can find something we can afford for a month or two."

"Why?" He looked