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Mr. Hall Takes a Bride
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Patience Smith,

my muse, my friend,

with eternal gratitude.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Marie Ferrarella for her contribution to the LOGAN’S LEGACY REVISITED miniseries.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Coming Next Month

Chapter One

“C’mon, Jordan, please? You owe this to me.”

Jordan Hall, high-profile defense attorney and much-sought-after man about town, had been en route to the airport to begin what he felt was a greatly deserved Hawaiian surfing vacation when a frantic call from his younger sister had brought him racing back to Portland and the house that she and her husband, his best friend, Eric Logan, shared with Jenny’s six-year-old adopted son, Cole. On the phone, Jenny had made it sound like a matter of life or death.

Now that he had discovered that there was no death, imminent or otherwise, Jordan had pulled himself together, masked his initial concern and looked down at his six-months-pregnant sister, who’d forced herself into a semi-horizontal position on the sofa. Knowing Jenny, it was a compromise. The doctor had probably had a bed in mind when he’d given her strict orders to rest.

Jordan crossed his arms and did his best to look annoyed, but Jenny was just too damn good to be annoyed at. She had a way of bringing out the best in everyone.

But this time, he was doing his utmost to resist.

“How, pray tell, do I ‘owe’ this to you?” he wanted to know, the “this” in question being temporarily taking her place at Advocate Aid, Inc., and dispensing legal advice with no compensation other than being on the receiving end of a grateful smile. “If we’re going to bandy about the subject of ‘owing,’ it’s you who actually ‘owe’ me, dear sister.” He saw her mouth drop open and felt a surge of triumph. Eric, perched on the arm of the sofa next to her, looked mildly amused by the exchange. “If not for me, you might still be buried hip-deep in charity work, never seeing the light of day or having Eric’s beatific smile bestowed on you on a daily basis.”

“Beatific?” Eric echoed with a wide grin. He fluttered his lashes at him. “Why, Jordan, I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Jordan grimaced. “I don’t, but for some reason, every card-carrying member of the female sex does. Including my sister,” he added needlessly, “your very pregnant wife.” Jordan looked pointedly at Jenny, continuing the stroll down memory lane. “If I hadn’t ‘arranged’ to have your friends bid on Eric in that ridiculous bachelors’ auction—”

“As I recall, you were part of the auction, too,” Eric reminded him.

Jordan shrugged casually. “What can I say? I’m a pushover for charity.”

“And wealthy, good-looking women,” Jenny was quick to interject. It was a well-known fact that people in the circles Jordan traveled felt that her brother had put the play in playboy.

Jordan’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he obligingly acknowledged, “That, too.”

“That foremost,” Jenny countered, shifting on the sofa, feeling very much like a prisoner. She was a mover, a shaker. By definition, that sort of personality and calling necessitated mobility. Imitating a still-life painting like this was making her crazy. When she thought about having to do it for the next three months, it was all she could do to keep from screaming. But that would only frighten Cole, so she struggled to contain her edginess.

Jordan looked at her, shaking his head. “Marriage has made you feisty, little sister.”

Eric laughed. “Feistier,” he corrected his best friend. “Marriage has made her feistier. This woman was never a cupcake.”

“Which is why I’m not going to give up.” Jenny congratulated herself on bringing the conversation back to its rightful place, centered on what she both wanted and needed her older brother to do. She’d come to her conclusion after a night of soul-searching. Also a night of calling everyone else she could think of to ask. Giving them first crack at filling in the very vital space. She’d gotten several tentative promises of “next month,” but no one was available immediately.

Jordan was her last hope.

“It’s only for three weeks,” she pleaded earnestly. “That should give me enough time to arrange for someone else to come in and pick up the slack.”

“Three weeks,” Jordan repeated. The look he gave his sister was fraught with suspicion. “By some odd coincidence, that’s also the exact length of my Hawaiian vacation.”

“Exactly.” Jenny pounced on the lead-in her brother had handed her. “You were slated to go on vacation anyway. This way, you won’t miss any time at Morrison and Treherne.”

Jordan sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing his sister, and took her hand between both of his. “Let me define vacation, in case a workaholic like yourself has forgotten the meaning of the word. Vacation, as in lying on white sandy beaches with crystal-blue water lapping at your toes, a bikinied goddess lying beside you. Vacation, as in taking a long, languid cruise, sitting on the uppermost deck beside a pool, a bikinied goddess in the deck chair beside you. Vacation, as in—”

Jenny pulled her hand away, glancing over to the far side of the room where Cole was playing with his action figures, afraid he might have overheard. But the little boy she’d taken into her heart as her own when her best friend had died looked completely preoccupied with the world he was creating. “We get the picture.”

“Nowhere in that scenario, you might notice,” Jordan went on patiently, “does it call for me to be sitting in a two-by-four termite-riddled box, playing bleeding-heart advocate to thugs and criminals.”

Jenny sat up ramrod-straight, taking offense for the people she had come to care about as much as she might have cared for distant relatives who needed her help and her understanding.

“Just because they’re poor doesn’t mean they’re thugs and criminals, Jordy. You know that.” She looked at him, wondering if he was being serious or if he was just pulling her leg. She decided it had to be the latter. “I refuse to believe that you’re that shallow.”

That lopsided smile she knew and loved told her that her heart was right. He was pulling her leg. She’d won. He was just playing it out a little longer.

“I can bring you a note from my doctor,” Jordan offered.

Two could play this game, Jenny thought. She threw off the blanket that Eric had tucked around her legs. She glanced toward her husband now. “Okay, he leaves me no choice, I have to go in.”

Eric put his hands to her shoulders, holding her in place. “You have to have this baby, nothing else. The doctor said you needed bed rest.”

But she shook her head. “Those people are counting on me.”

“Your baby’s counting on you,” Eric countered.

Jordan frowned. Jenny had already told him that Advocate Aid were down one lawyer. And there was what he felt amounted to a tempest in a teapot. Jenny had prevailed upon him to give legal advice to a nonprofit fertility organization called the Children’s Connection. A birth father, Thad Preston, was trying to get his fifteen minutes of fame by saying that his girlfriend gave up their child for adoption without his consent. He claimed to be suing for custody but what he was suing for was attention. It made for juicy reading when he brought his distorted version of the truth to the Portland Gazette.

Once again, the Children’s Connection, just recovering from a series of unfortunate events, was cast in a bad light.

But all that was temporary and would pass in time. He didn’t see the need to give up his vacation for either organization. “And if Advocate Aid, Inc., has to close its doors for a couple of weeks or three, would that really be such a big deal? Would it make that much of a difference?”

Jenny stared at him. Was he serious? “You know how important time is in a trial. A person’s life can be permanently altered in the space of an hour. In the space of two minutes,” she emphasized with feeling, thinking about cases where the death penalty was involved. It was organizations such as her own that saw to it that justice was not only served, but equally distributed, even to those who couldn’t afford the price of a lawyer.

“Jenny,” Jordan began patiently, “you’re talking about penny-ante cases. The ones I take all involve high stakes—”

“Name me higher stakes than people’s dreams,” she challenged. When he didn’t answer immediately, she came in for the kill. “Jordy, you’re the smartest man I’ve ever known—no offense, honey,” she added, turning to look at Eric.

Broad shoulders rose and fell nonchalantly, accompanied by an amused expression. “None taken.”

“Speaking of whom,” Jordan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Eric and nodded toward his brother-in-law. “Why can’t your illustrious husband get one of his lawyer buddies to take your place until you find someone else?”

Eric looked at him pointedly. “I am.”

“Besides me,” Jordan amended.

“Everyone else I know with a law degree is wrapped up in some trial or other,” Eric told him.

Jordan frowned at him. “How convenient.”

“You’re the only one with time to spare, buddy,” Eric concluded.

“Please, Jordan?” Jenny made another sincere entreaty. “Maybe you won’t wind up on the six o’clock news, but who’s to say these cases aren’t just as important to the people who are involved? Sure, there are cases involving criminal charges, but there are also cases that involve stopping foreclosures. The cases I see also deal with unfair lawsuits that steal everything from the accused, even when they’re innocent. Then there’s—”

Jordan rolled his eyes and looked at his best friend. He could literally feel his vacation slipping away from him. “She really isn’t going to stop until I say yes, is she?”

Eric’s amused expression only deepened. “She’s your little sister, Jordy. You should know that about her by now.”

Yes, he did. He also knew Jenny was a walking heart with legs. He’d never seen anyone who cared so much about her fellow man—and woman—even if they didn’t deserve it.

The last glimmer of his vacation faded off into the sunset. Since he was going first-class and had paid top dollar, he could easily exchange his ticket or get a refund. Nothing was being wasted—except for his time, he thought darkly.

But this meant a lot to Jenny.

Okay, how hard could it be? After all, he’d never lost a case yet and he was willing to bet every last one of his cases were far more complicated than anything he was going to face at Advocate Aid.

“Okay,” he said with resignation. “I’ll do it.”

“Jordy, you’re the best!” Leaning forward on the sofa, Jenny threw her arms around his neck.

“Yes, I am.” Extricating himself, he rose to his feet. There were things he had to take care of first if he was going to do this for her. “And you’d better name this baby after me.”

Cole picked this time to abandon his fighting figures and join them, throwing his arms around his favorite uncle’s waist.

“I’ve got to go, sport,” he told the boy, petting Cole’s silky hair.

“Even if it’s a girl?” Jenny wanted to know, referring to his request.

Jordan nodded, keeping a straight face. “Even if it’s a girl. ‘Jordan’ works both ways these days, remember?”

Jenny smiled for the first time since her brother had arrived at the house. For the first time since the doctor had knocked the air out of her lungs with his newest edict.

“Just as long as you do, that’s all that counts.” She beckoned him to lean down and when he complied, she brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thanks, big brother, I owe you one.”

He straightened, laughing. “You bet you do.”

She knew that tone. Somehow, her big brother meant to collect. Jenny looked at her husband. “I kind of feel as if I’ve just made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Jordan’s taller,” Eric deadpanned.

“Also faster,” Jordan interjected, making his way to the front door, Cole shadowing his every move. After Eric, he worshipped Jordan most. Neither man could do any wrong in his young eyes. “At least fast enough to beat you at racquetball last week.”

Eric bit back a choice colorful word since Cole was in the room. “That was a fluke.”

Jordan looked at him smugly. “Would you care for a rematch?”

“Love one,” Eric countered. “Meet you at the court at one on Friday?” They had a standing reservation at the racquetball courts every Friday at lunchtime.

Jordan looked at his sister. “Brace yourself for a shattered husband.” He pulled opened the front door. “Okay, I’ve gotta fly.”

“Can I watch?” Cole asked eagerly.

“Maybe next time,” Jordan laughed, ruffling his hair. “See you, Jen,” he called back into the room. “Remember—” he winked when she looked up at him “—you name the baby after me.”

As he closed the door behind Jordan, Eric put his arm around Cole and walked back to where Jenny was lying on the sofa. A bemused expression played across his lips. “Don’t you think that was a little over the top, threatening to go in despite the doctor’s orders?”

She thought she’d been particularly passionate in her declaration. And she’d known Jordan wouldn’t allow her to take the risk, no matter how blasé he attempted to be about the matter.

Jenny smiled, satisfied. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Eric sat down on the sofa’s arm again and kissed the top of his wife’s head. “You know, Jordan and I have been friends just about forever and I never knew he was this malleable.”

Cole curled up in the space next to Jenny. She tucked her arm around the boy, so grateful for the way her life had turned out. And Jordan was right, she did owe a great deal of it to him. But that admission was for another time.

“You have to know what buttons to press,” she told Eric. “Beneath that devil-may-care, playboy exterior there really is a good guy.”

Eric laughed under his breath. In his experience, Jordan could stand his ground with the best of them. This was a side he was unaccustomed to. “Lucky for you.”

It wasn’t herself she was thinking of. “No, lucky for Advocate Aid.”

From what Jenny had told Eric about what went on in the small office, it sounded like five times the work for none of the pay. And there were no law clerks to pick up the slack or do any of the research. Something, he knew, Jordan took completely for granted. “Think he can handle it?”

She smiled fondly, thinking of the dynamo who ran the office and oversaw every detail with a keen, discerning eye. “Sarajane will make him handle it.”

Eric was acquainted with the office assistant only by reputation, secondhand information he’d gleaned from what his wife had told him in passing. Still, what he knew was impressive. And might have been intimidating to a man of lesser confidence than Jordan. Maybe even intimidating to Jordan.

“I kind of feel sorry for him.”

Jenny didn’t see it that way. “Jordan survived our mother.” Although loving, there was no denying that Elaine Winthrop Hall was a very opinionated woman who saw life only in her own terms. “After that, he can handle anything,” she replied with certainty.

At least, Jenny added silently, she sincerely hoped so.

When she woke up Monday morning, Sarajane Gerrity knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.

The March sky outside her window was an unusually brilliant shade of blue without a cloud in the sky, but she still sensed that something was off kilter in the universe, or going to go off kilter before the day was over. It was pure instinct, some innate way of being able to tell that all was not right with her world.

Not that, she thought as she slapped down the alarm button and dragged herself out of bed, it ever was a hundred percent right. Not with the poverty and the shattered lives that she witnessed parading through the tiny storefront office of Advocate Aid, Inc., five days a week. But at the end of the day, she liked to think, she made a difference in at least a few lives.

Her title was secretary, but that was an archaic term for what she really was: the person who kept track of everything. The person who, at any given moment, knew where to find Jenny Logan, Harry Reed, Sheldon Myers or any one of the myriad forms that were used in the office on an irregular basis.

In the old days, in one of those old movies she loved so much, Sarajane mused, she might very well have been referred to as a Girl Friday. Except that life had gotten a great deal more hectic since those days and now she could be thought of as a Girl Monday through Friday—and then some. There certainly was enough work to fill eighteen hours of each day.

She didn’t mind. At twenty-five, she had the energy for it, had the dedication for it. And it made her feel as if her life actually counted for something. It kept her going.

Sarajane had a need to help others, because doing so was her atonement to the two people who had mattered most to her and who she’d watched slip away, little by little, one to the world of alcohol and self-loathing, the other to the destructive oblivion of drugs.

The first had been her mother, the second, her older brother. When they’d died, leaving her on her own, she’d felt incredibly abandoned. Alone, she was able to understand how her mother had felt. Hopeless. Afraid. But she was determined not to let those feelings overwhelm her. Determined not to be swept away into a world of apathy or drowned by hopelessness. Hers was not to be the battle of the bottle, but it was an uphill fight, one that eventually would lead to her triumphing over her circumstances and making something of herself.

These people who trooped through Advocate Aid, Inc., looking lost and hopeless, reminded her so much of her mother, her brother. If she could somehow be instrumental in helping these strangers, then the pain of not being able to do anything to prevent the deaths of the two people who comprised the only family she’d ever known lessened. At least for a little while.

But today wasn’t about anything nearly so personal to her. Today, because of the late-evening phone call she’d taken from Jenny, was about battling an awful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had too much to do to play den mother, but that was what it was going to amount to. She was going to have to take a newbie by the hand and lead him onto the right path. Since this newbie was Jordan Hall, she anticipated the job of acclimating the man to office procedures as being more difficult than wrestling alligators on a slick Everglades bank.

She’d never met Jordan Hall, but she’d dealt with him on the phone a couple of times when he’d called looking for his sister. And she’d seen a picture of him on the society page once. Dark-brown hair, deep-brown eyes, wicked smile. Movie-star handsome would best describe him. Movie-star handsome and born with a silver spoon in his mouth. That definitely did not make him a person who could even remotely relate to the kinds of people who came to Advocate Aid seeking help.

Be fair. Jenny comes from exactly the same background.

Yes, but Jenny, Sarajane thought as she hurried through her shower, praying that the hot water would last long enough for her to finish, was a saint. There was no doubt in her mind that Jenny Logan was in a class all by herself. It was too much to hope for that her brother was cast from the same mold.

Sarajane laughed shortly. If he had been, Jordan Hall would have shown up at the office in person a lot sooner, instead of being some disembodied voice on the phone who called once in a blue moon when he was being consulted.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she told her reflection as she quickly passed a blow dryer over her auburn hair. She longed for straight hair as she watched the shoulder-length mass curl in several directions. With Sheldon gone for the next one to two weeks because of some sort of family emergency and now Jenny down for the count—for at least for three months—that left only Harry Reed and her to hold down the fort. She was good and she was quick, but she was not a lawyer. Being sympathetic to a person’s plight only went so far. It didn’t begin to untangle whatever legal web they found themselves in.

A legal web such as the one that had brought her mother down, forcing her to sell the small house that was all she had after her husband, a driver for the transit authority, had been killed in a freak bus accident. She’d been forced to sell because the relatives of the people who had died in that accident had sued not only the transit authority, but the family of the man they felt was responsible for the accident.

She was going to be late, Sarajane thought, annoyed at the minutes that had somehow managed to disappear. Grabbing her purse, she hurried out the door, heading to the parking garage where she kept her car. It seemed ironic to her that, after having grown up hating all lawyers, she found herself voluntarily working for them. Someday, when she had the time, she was going to have her head examined.

Someday. But not today.