A Knights Bridge Christmas by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online Page A

Are you game?”
    Clare nodded. “Sure.”
    “You’re not thinking about what could go wrong in the attic of an old house, are you?”
    “Are you suggesting I catastrophize, Dr. Farrell?”
    “Sorry. I was out of line.”
    “I guess you couldn’t be an ER doctor if you worried too much about other people’s feelings. You have to stay focused on what you’re doing.”
    “It helps, but there’s no excuse for being an inconsiderate idiot.”
    “Maybe, but I’d rather have a doctor with no bedside manner who’s good at medicine than a doctor with great bedside manner who’s not as good at medicine.”
    “You can have both in the same person.”
    “That’s the best-case scenario, of course.” Clare stopped herself before her mind could drift into the past. A Boston emergency department, rushing doctors and nurses and the worst news she could imagine. Aware of Logan’s scrutiny, she pulled open the front door. “I love old attics. Shall we?”
    “After you.”
    * * *
     
    Logan led the way up to the second floor and then up steep, narrow stairs to a full attic under insulated eaves and heavy beams. Clare had expected an overstuffed jumble of dusty furniture and old trunks, but the attic, although jam-packed, was tidy, with cardboard and plastic boxes neatly stacked and labeled, two large trunks, four ladder-back chairs, a mahogany desk and several old bed frames.
    Logan ran his fingers over the back of one of the chairs. “Grandpa was careful about fire hazards, and Gran’s told us for years she’s got the place in a ‘dying condition.’ Her words.”
    “Practical,” Clare said. “She seems very organized.”
    He smiled. “That’s Gran. Most of her books won’t be up here.”
    “Logan, I don’t need her books—”
    “She wants you to have them.” He squeezed between a stack of boxes. “She and my grandfather downsized their Christmas decorating once they hit their late seventies, and she did just the basics after he died. I doubt she’s opened most of the boxes with decorations in ages.”
    Clare left him to search through the stacks of boxes and went to a window overlooking the common. She immediately picked out Owen on the ice, skating tentatively with Brandon Sloan. The rink was filling up, but the irrational surge of worry she’d experienced earlier had dissipated.
    “Found them,” Logan said. He stood in a dark corner, in front of boxes stacked to his shoulders. “Looks like there are four boxes. We won’t need all of them.”
    “But it could be fun to go through them, don’t you think? Maybe something will inspire our decorating.”
    His eyes lit up, maybe more than he would be willing to admit. He handed her the top box—obviously the smallest and lightest—but she insisted he add a second one. She headed downstairs, navigating the steep steps one-by-one, aware of Logan close behind her.
    They set the boxes on the floor in the upstairs hall. He stood straight. “I don’t have the attention span to dig through boxes and do all the decorating at once. What do you say we get this stuff into the kitchen and then take a walk?”
    “Please don’t feel obligated to entertain me. I can stay at this while you take a walk.”
    He grinned. “You don’t mind a little tedium?”
    “Define ‘a little.’”
    “Ha. Breaks are good. They keep you sharp, and we’ve been breathing attic dust. Time for some fresh air.”
    Clare wasn’t accustomed to such a take-charge personality, but she didn’t have to deal with him forever. Logan Farrell would be back in Boston and his life there soon enough. He’d make the occasional visit to his grandmother and do his part to get her house sold as soon as possible. Clare didn’t think her assessment of him was unkind and premature so much as realistic. He was a busy physician used to a faster pace than what Knights Bridge had to offer. An hour into their decorating project, and he was already bored.
    “Just because I don’t get bored easily