Carolyne Aarsen - Twin Blessings and Toward Home - Twin Blessings / Toward Home

“She said that you had asked her not to tell me. I’d like to know why you don’t think I need to be consulted about this.”

Sandra let the knapsack drop with a muffled thud and looked directly at him, all traces of good humor vanished. “Is this going to go on until I’m done, Logan Napier?” she asked, her voice chilled. “This constant questioning and mistrusting and wondering if I’m good enough?” She began pulling books out of her backpack, her movements jerky with anger. “I’m taking my job with them very seriously.” She slammed a book on the table. “I’m not some heathen that is determined to turn your nieces astray. They’re learning things and I’m doing a good job.” Another book joined the first with a heavy thump. She threw a fistful of pencils on the table.

Logan watched her sudden spill of anger, heard the indignation in her voice. It seemed out of proportion to what he had asked her, and for a moment he wondered what was behind her anger. He forced his mind to the topic at hand.

“You have to admit, Sandra, I have a right to know what’s happening,” he said quietly, leaning against the door. “All I ask is that you let me know.”

Sandra’s gaze flew to his, her dark eyes snapping with suppressed indignation. She blinked, then looked at the books on the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, straightening them, tidying the pencils. She took a slow breath, pulling her hands over her face as if to erase the anger he had seen etched there a moment ago. “I told Brittany not to say anything so that I could ask you. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. I was going to ask you last night, but I forgot.”

She stood by the table, looking straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry that you thought that of me.”

Logan felt a flicker of guilt mixed with sympathy for her and wondered once again at the mystery that eddied around her. He walked to her side and gently laid his hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin T-shirt she wore. “I’m sorry, too, Sandra,” he said. “I guess I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“You seem to do that often.” She looked at him, her chin up.

“I know.” Logan squeezed her shoulder. He told himself it was his way of apologizing, but he enjoyed the brief contact too much for that. He had to resist the urge to let his hand linger, to toy with the hank of hair that lay inches from his hand.

He stepped back, momentarily shaken by his feelings.

“So when do you plan on doing this?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded normal.

“I thought we could go out tonight.” Sandra angled him a quick look over her shoulder. Their eyes held a moment, and Logan found himself unable to break the brief contact.

“I was going to walk to the hill behind your cabin. There’s a better place farther along, but it’s not within walking distance.” She returned his smile, and Logan felt a faint twist in his midsection.

He nodded, picking up on her vaguely worded hint.

“In other words, you need a vehicle.”

She nodded, then to his surprise said, “But you can come along if you want.”

“That would be nice,” he said, their gazes still locked.

Then she looked away, breaking the insidious connection, leaving Logan to wonder if she was as shaken at the contact as he had been.

“Why did you ask him to come?” Sandra muttered to herself, hunching her shoulders deeper in the light jacket she had thrown on. She strode down the darkened streets to the Napier cabin. “He’s pushy and he’ll only criticize what you do.” But even as she tried to list all the reasons she shouldn’t have asked Logan along, she knew there were deeper reasons. Reasons she didn’t want to delve too far into for fear of making them too real.

She was becoming attracted to Logan Napier.

Sandra stopped, biting her lip as she considered her position. She could cancel. She could turn around and change her mind. It was, after all, one-thirty in the morning. Surely they wouldn’t mind missing out.

But Sandra had promised the girls this event as a reward for all their hard work during the week, and they were looking forward to it with an amazing amount of enthusiasm. She didn’t think girls the age of Bethany and Brittany would be interested in meteor showers. Asking Logan along had been a silly impulse. This morning, when he had put his hand on her shoulder, it was as if every nerve in her body swung like a compass needle toward his touch.

She couldn’t imagine why one simple gesture from a guy like Logan could turn her knees to jelly.

But it had, and afterward, when she could analyze it, she knew that spending time with him was just playing with fire. He wasn’t her type—he’d drive her crazy in a week. And if she fell in love with him…

“Whoa, whoa, now you’re really jumping the gun,” she said. She shook her head as if to dislodge even the faintest mote of the previous idea.

Sandra bit her lip, still hesitating. Then, laughing at her foolishness, she walked on. Logan was here temporarily. Once he was gone, her life could go back to, well, whatever it should be.

She bounded up the steps and knocked on the door of the darkened house. No answer. A quick glance at her watch told her that she was right on time.

Just as she was about to knock again, the door opened, and the light in the cabin was turned on, throwing out rectangles of golden yellow on the lawn.

Framed by the door, backlit by the light in the cabin, stood Logan.

His hair was unkempt, and whiskers stubbled his firm jaw, accenting the slight indentation in its center. His eyes were bleary with sleep. He was dressed, however, in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans. No khaki pants tonight.

“Hi there,” he said, his voice still husky from disuse. Sandra felt a peculiar little thrill at the sound.

“I’m not early, am I?” she said quickly.

Logan yawned, scratching his chin. His fingers rasped over his whiskers. “Nope.” He glanced at Sandra, blinking. “How do you manage to look so perky at this ridiculous time of night?”

Sandra shrugged, warmed at the offhand compliment. “I don’t need much sleep.”

Logan yawned again. “Lucky you. Well, come in. The girls are just getting ready.”

Sandra stepped inside. Logan closed the door behind her and ambled toward the kitchen.

He stumbled, muttered something under his breath and stood for a moment, glaring at the offending table.

Sandra stifled a laugh at the sight and was rewarded with a bleary look from Logan.

“Sorry,” she said, with a quick shrug of her shoulders.

“I somehow doubt that,” he replied. But his grin belied the gruffness of his voice.

“We’re ready to go,” Brittany called, stepping out of the kitchen.

“So am I,” Sandra said. “Now we just have to get your uncle Logan ready.”

She glanced pointedly at Logan’s bare feet. He stared at her as if he didn’t understand, then looked down. “Oops. Sorry.” He yawned again, trudged to his bedroom and came back a few minutes later holding his shoes.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat in the nearest chair, dropped his shoes on the floor and stared into space.

Sandra waited for him to put his shoes on. But he didn’t move.

“Logan?” she asked, taking a step nearer. She glanced at the girls, who merely lifted their shoulders in puzzlement.

“Hey, let’s get going.” She reached out, grasped his shoulder and gave it a little shake.

He blinked, then, looking at her, smiled. It was a smile with no reservation, a smile that held no hint of his usual asperity. “Hi, Sandra,” he said, his voice husky, lowered to an intimate level. Then, to her surprise, he lifted his hand, resting it on hers. His hand was large, engulfing hers, his fingers warm as they lightly caressed her own.