To Marry McKenzie

Logan realised disgustedly. Well, if Darcy wasn't going to ask her, he was!

He looked at his mother with narrowed eyes. 'What about you?' he pressed.

Margaret Fraser took her time answering, crossing one slender leg over the

other, before looking up at him with unemotional blue eyes. 'Logan, I— Ah,

tea.' She smiled up at the waiter as he began to place tea things on the table

in front of them.

The young waiter—predictably!—couldn't take his eyes off Margaret as he

went about his duties, obviously wondering if this really could be the

beautiful actress Margaret Fraser, but he was too polite to actually ask.

Logan viewed the young man's reaction with a totally jaundiced eye. He

had been seeing this reaction to his mother's looks all his life, had found it to

be the height of embarrassment when introducing her to schoolfriends,

followed by university friends—the fact that she was old enough to be their

mother making no difference! Old or young, men were always bowled over

by the way his mother looked.

Darcy, he could see, looked slightly green as she also noted the young man's

response to Margaret Fraser.

'Shall I pour the tea?' his mother offered lightly once they were alone again.

She could damn well answer his question, was what she could do!

'Go ahead,' he told his mother dryly. 'And while you're at it, tell us whether

or not you've heard from Daniel.'

Was it his imagination, or did his mother's grasp of the teapot tremble

slightly as he repeated the question...?

If it did, she quickly brought it back under control, graciously leaning

forward to hand Darcy her cup of tea. But Logan wasn't fooled for a minute;

his mother might be a wonderful actress, but he had known her too long to

be taken in!

'Well?' he pressed again once she had given him his own cup of tea.

His mother gave Darcy a small smile. 'He was like this as a child, you

know,' she remarked. 'Dogged!' She shook her head. 'He had learnt to walk

by the time he was nine months old, could talk by the time—'

'Mother!' Logan interrupted her, heated colour on the hardness of his

cheeks. 'I'm sure Darcy has absolutely no interest in hearing when I walked,

talked, or, indeed, any of those other normal childhood achievements!'

His mother raised dark brows. 'Is it my imagination or are you a trifle tetchy

today, Logan?'

A trifle—! One day he really was going to wring her neck for her! 'No, it

isn't your imagination, Mother,' he bit out through gritted teeth. 'As I have

already explained to you, I do not appreciate being dragged into this mess!'

'Then, my dear Logan,' his mother returned calmly, putting one slender

hand on his arm, 'why don't you just leave Darcy and I to it? I'm sure we

both appreciate the fact that you're a busy man. I can easily get a taxi back

later. I'm sure we can manage without you—can't we, my dear?' She turned

to Darcy.

Logan also turned to Darcy. He was only here because of her, and he didn't

appreciate being dismissed by his mother as if he were some errand boy

who had completed his job! If Darcy now did the same thing—!

Darcy pulled a face. 'I'm sorry, Logan, I really didn't think... Of course you

must go. I'm sure you have other things you need to do.'

'Fine.' He slammed his teacup down on the table before standing up. 'I'll

leave, then.' Without waiting for further comment from either of them he

turned and strode out of the hotel.

To blazes with the pair of them! He had done as Darcy had asked him, his

mother had accepted him accompanying her to the hotel, and now he had

been dismissed by both of them!

He was so angry he almost forgot he had driven here, that his car was still

parked in the basement of the hotel. Which only served to increase his

anger; between the two of them, his mother and Darcy were making a

complete mess of his ordered life—and him!

* * *

Darcy watched Logan leave with a certain amount of dismay, concerned

that he had left in a temper, and not exactly relishing the idea of being alone

with his mother, either. But, by the same token, she didn't think the two of

them would talk frankly with Logan present, which was something they

needed to do.

'I shouldn't worry too much about Logan,' his mother cut gently into her

thoughts. 'He has a hot temper—which he hates. Logan likes to be in

control, you see,' she explained affectionately. 'But a temper is often

something beyond our control. However, as I said, don't worry, his temper is

hot, but it quickly goes cold again.'

It seemed quite strange to be sitting here discussing Logan with someone

who knew him so intimately; not only did Margaret know when he had

walked and talked, she had also been the one to care for his every need as a

baby. It was hard to envisage a totally helpless Logan...!