Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(11)

Logan reached out with a broad hand to grasp a timber beam and test its sturdiness. “You'd better hook the back flat to a wooden rod and screw it to the floor. I don't want any chance of it falling on anyone. It's a damned heavy piece.”

Robbie nodded in agreement and walked behind the flat, surveying it closely. The double flats had been constructed so that the front piece could be collapsed under its own weight to provide a quick scene change, revealing the second painted flat just behind it. It was a tricky bit of work, requiring the right combination of skill and timing to avoid errors.

Standing back from the set of hinged flats, Logan rugged absently at the front of his hair. “Let's see how the first one collapses,” he said.

“All right, Mr. Scott,” Robbie said doubtfully. “Though I should warn ye, I've yet to test the procedure.”

“Now's as good a time as any.”

Jeff, the shopboy, darted forward to assist the carpenters, lending his slight weight to help hold the double flats in place.

“Let the front down,” Robbie instructed, and his assistants began to collapse the first scene.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw someone enter the shop, a slender girl carrying a broom, a dustpan, and an armload of cleaning rags. The new girl, Logan realized with a pang of irritation. She seemed to be unaware of the demonstration taking place—and she was walking directly into the path of the collapsing flat. “Watch out, damn you!” Logan said sharply. She paused and looked at him with the inquiring eyes of a newborn fawn, while the timber frame toppled toward her.

Automatically Logan rushed forward and seized her, turning to shield her with his own body. The heavy flat landed on his injured shoulder, resulting in an explosion of pain that made him curse and stagger. For a moment he couldn't breathe. Somehow he managed to remain on his feet. He was dimly aware of Robbie and the others scurrying to lift the flat and drag it away, while the girl stepped back from him.

“Mr. Scott?” she asked in confusion. “Are you all right? I'm so terribly sorry.”

Logan shook his head slightly, his face white, his every bit of strength devoted to fighting back a tide of nausea. He would not disgrace himself by losing his breakfast in the middle of the carpentry shop. Always conscious of maintaining his authoritative image, he was never sick, never weak, and never indecisive in front of his employees.

“Oh, your shoulder,” Madeline exclaimed, staring at his shirt, where a few spots of blood from the reopened wound had begun to appear. “What can I do?”

“Stay away from me,” Logan muttered, finally winning his battle against the nausea. He took a deep, reviving breath. “Why in God's name are you here?”

“I was going to sweep up the wood scraps and shavings, and clean the carpenters' tools, and…is there something you would like me to do, sir?”

“Get out!” Logan snapped, a scowl pulling his face into harsh lines. “Before I throttle you.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a subdued tone.

Any other girl in her position would probably have burst into tears. Grudgingly he gave her credit for keeping her composure. Everyone else at the Capital was terrified of his temper. Even Julia took care to give him a wide berth when he was in a foul mood.

Madeline glanced apologetically at Robbie. “I'm sorry, Mr. Cleary. I'll come back later to sweep the floor.”

“That's all right, lass.” The head carpenter waited until Madeline had left before turning to Logan. “Mr. Scott,” he said chidingly, “surely there was no need for ye to speak to the lass that way. She was trying to help.”

“She's a walking disaster.”

“But Mr. Scott,” Jeff, the shopboy, said, “Maddy only seems to have accidents when you're around. The rest of the time, she's just fine.”

“I don't care.” Logan held a hand to his shoulder, which burned like fire. His head throbbed and ached. “I want her out of here,” he muttered, and left the shop with determined strides.

He went to Julia's office, intending to vent his annoyance. It was her fault for insisting on hiring the girl—therefore it would be her responsibility to dismiss her. He found Julia at her desk, her face wreathed in a frown of concentration as she revised the weekly schedule. She glanced up at him, and her face turned blank with surprise.

“Logan, what happened? You look as though you'd just been trampled beneath a team of six.”

“Worse. I just had another encounter with your little protégée.”

“Madeline?” Julia frowned in concern. “What happened?”

Grimly he told her about the scene in the carpentry shop. Instead of reacting with the concern and dismay he expected, Julia seemed to find the story vastly entertaining.

“Poor Logan,” she said, laughing. “No wonder you're in an ill temper. Well, you can't blame Maddy.”

“Can't I?” he asked sourly.

“It's only her first day. It will take some time for her to find her footing around here.”

“Her first day,” Logan said, “and her last. I want her gone, Julia. I mean it.”

“I simply don't understand why you find Madeline Ridley so objectionable.” Julia settled back in her chair with a speculative expression that infuriated Logan.