Kitabı oxu: «Twin Blessings and Toward Home: Twin Blessings / Toward Home»

Praise for Carolyne Aarsen and her novels

“Twin Blessings is another delightful romance by Carolyne Aarsen sure to bring a smile to your lips.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Ms. Aarsen’s refreshing characters learn to forgive, love and hope in this pleasing tale.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Cowboy’s Bride

“Carolyne Aarsen writes with tender empathy and a true understanding of the struggles her characters endure in A Family-Style Christmas.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“A spunky heroine keeps the story fun while a warm romance brews at just the right temperature. You’ll be glad to read Finally a Family.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Twin Blessings
&
Toward Home
Carolyne Aarsen

CONTENTS

TWIN BLESSINGS

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

Epilogue

TOWARD HOME

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

Epilogue

CAROLYNE AARSEN

and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in Northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children, and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in her office with a large west-facing window through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.

Twin Blessings

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him and the son of man that you care for him?

—Psalms 8:3–4

To Richard and my kids.

Always helpful and supportive.

Always enthusiastic and encouraging.

Chapter One

The sun was directly overhead.

Logan’s vehicle was headed south. Down the highway toward Cypress Hills—oasis on the Alberta prairie and vacation home of Logan Napier’s grandfather and parents.

Logan Napier should have been happy. No, Logan Napier should have been euphoric.

Usually the drive through the wide-open grasslands of the prairies put a smile on his face. The tawny landscape, deceptively smooth, soothed away the jagged edges of city living. The quiet highways never ceased to work their peace on him, erasing the tension of driving in Calgary’s busy traffic.

Usually, Logan Napier drove one-handed, leaning back, letting the warm wind and the open space work its magic as he drove with the top of his convertible down.

Today, however, his hands clenched the steering wheel of a minivan, his eyes glaring through his sunglasses at the road ahead. In his estimation a single man moving up in the world shouldn’t be driving a minivan. Nor should a single man be contemplating seven different punishments for ten-year-old twin nieces. And his mother.

All three were supposed to be neatly ensconced in the cabin in the hills. He was supposed to be coming up for a two-week holiday, spending his time drawing up plans for a house for Mr. Jonserad of Jonserad Holdings. If he was successful, it had the potential to bring more work from Jonserad’s company to his architecture partnership.

Instead his mother had just called. She was leaving for Alaska in a day. Then the tutor called telling him that she was quitting because she wasn’t getting the support she needed from Logan’s mother. Each phone call put another glitch in his well-laid plans.

He hadn’t planned on this, he brooded, squinting against the heat waves that shimmered from the pavement as he rounded a bend. Logan hit the on button of the tape deck and was immediately assaulted by the rhythmic chanting of yet another boy band, which did nothing for his ill humor. Every area of his life had been invaded by his nieces from the first day they came into his home, orphaned when their parents died in a boating accident.

Grimacing, Logan ejected the tape and fiddled with the dials. How was he supposed to work on this very important project with the girls around, unsupervised and running free?

How were they supposed to move on to the next grade if they didn’t have a tutor to work with them? And where was he supposed to find someone on such short notice? It had taken him a number of weeks to find one who was willing to go with the girls to Cypress Hills and to follow the studies their previous teacher had set out.

Glancing down, Logan gave the dial another quick twist. Finally some decent music drifted out of the speakers. He adjusted the tuner then glanced up.

He was heading directly toward a woman standing on the side of the road.

Logan yanked on the steering wheel. The tires squealed on the warm pavement as the van swung around her.

He slammed on the brakes. The van rocked to a halt, and Logan pulled his shaking hands over his face.

He took a slow breath and sent up a heartfelt prayer, thankful that nothing more serious had happened. He got out of the van in time to see the woman bearing down on him, a knapsack flung over one shoulder.

Her long brown hair streamed behind her, her eyes narrowed.

“You could have killed me,” she called, throwing her hands in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said, walking toward her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You missed me.” She stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips, her dark eyes assessing him even as he did her.

She was of medium height. Thick brown hair hung in a heavy swath over one shoulder. Her deep brown eyes were framed by eyebrows that winged ever so slightly, giving her a mischievous look. Her tank top revealed tanned arms, her khaki shorts long, tanned legs. Bare feet in sandals. Attractive in a homegrown way.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

Logan blinked, realizing he was studying her a little too long. Chalk it up to loneliness, he thought. And he must be lonely if he was eyeing hitchhikers. “Just trying to find a radio station,” he said finally.

She shook her head, lifting her hair from the back of her neck. “Checking the latest stock quotations?”

In spite of the fact that he knew he hadn’t been paying attention and had almost missed her, Logan still bristled at her tone. “Why were you on the side of the road?” he returned.

A few vehicles whizzed by, swirling warm air around the two of them.

“Thumbing for a ride.” She let her hair drop, tilted her head and looked past him. “I suppose you’ll have to give me one now, since you’ve almost killed me and then made me miss a few potentials.”

She didn’t look much older than twenty and about as responsible as his nieces. He wasn’t in the mood to have her as a passenger, but he did feel he owed her a ride.

“I didn’t almost kill you,” he said, defending himself. “But I am sorry about the scare.”

“So do I get a ride?”

Logan hesitated. He felt he should, though he never picked up hitchhikers as a rule.

“I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her lips curved into a smirk. “And I won’t take your wife and kids hostage or try to sue you for taking five years off my life.”

“I don’t have a wife and kids.”

“But you have a minivan.”

Logan frowned at her smirk and decided to let the comment pass. He wasn’t in the mood to defend the necessity of his vehicle to a complete stranger, not with the sun’s heat pressing all around. “Look, I’m sorry again about what I did. But I’m running late. If you want a ride, I’m leaving now.”

He didn’t look to see if she had followed him, but she had the passenger door open the same time he had his open.

“Nice and cool in here,” she said, pulling off her knapsack. She dropped it on the floor in front of her and looked around. “So, what’s a guy like you need a minivan for?” she asked, as Logan clicked his seat belt shut.

“What do you mean, a guy like me?” Logan frowned as he slipped on his sunglasses and checked his side mirror.

“Near as I can see, I figure you for an accountant,” she said, glancing around the interior of the van. “Laptop in the seat, briefcase beside it. All nice and orderly. Someone like you should be driving a sedan, not a van.”

“Do you usually analyze the people who pick you up?” Logan asked as he pulled onto the road, regretting his momentary lapse that put him in this predicament. He had things on his mind and didn’t feel like listening to meaningless chatter.

“I need to. I hear too many scary stories about disappearing women.”

“So why take the chance?” He glanced at her, and in spite of his impression of her, he was struck once again by her straightforward good looks.

“Sense of adventure. The lure of the open road.” She shrugged. “That and the free ride.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, I detect a faint note of derision in your voice,” she said with a light laugh. “If you’re an accountant, I would imagine that there isn’t a column in your life for freeloaders.”

Logan didn’t deign to answer that one.

She waited, then with a shrug bent over and pulled a bottle of water out of her knapsack. Twisting off the top, she offered some to him. “Some free water as payment for my free ride?”

He shook his head.

The woman took a sip and backhanded her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her scrutiny.

“To further answer your previous question about taking chances,” she continued. “I have to admit that I don’t see you as a threat.”

Logan only nodded, unwilling to encourage her. He didn’t really want to talk. He preferred to concentrate on his most recent problem.

“You’ve got the briefcase, which could be hiding a murder weapon,” she said, as if unaware of his silence, “but I’m sure if I were to open it, it would be full of paper. Probably the financial section of the newspaper, folded open to the stock market. Let’s see, what else,” she mused aloud, still studying him. “A calculator, some sort of computerized personal organizer, a variety of pens and pencils, a package of chewing gum, a manual of one type or another and business cards, of course. Lots of business cards. Murderers don’t usually carry that kind of thing. But my biggest clue that you’re not a murderer is this.” She held up the tape that had fallen out of the tape deck. “I don’t think boy bands singing ‘oh baby, baby, you are a little baby, you baby’ is what a would-be murderer would listen to.” She stopped finally, turning the tape over in her hands. “Of course, listening to it might drive you to murder.”

In spite of the minor annoyance of her chatter, Logan couldn’t stop the faint grin teasing his mouth at her last statement.

“Ah, Mr. Phlegmatic does have a faint sense of humor,” she said, lifting her bare feet to the seat and clasping her arms around her knees.

“This Mr. Phlegmatic would prefer it if you buckled up,” he said finally.

“And Mr. P. talks,” she said with a saucy grin. But to his surprise she lowered her feet and obediently buckled up. “So what do you do when you’re not running over women on the side of the road?”

Logan shook his head in exasperation. “Look, I already apologized for that,” he said with a measure of asperity. “I don’t make a habit of that anymore than I make a habit of picking up hitchhikers.”

“Well, for that I’m grateful. And of course, very grateful that I don’t have to worry about not reaching my destination.”

“And where, ultimately, is that?” he asked.

“The next stop on this road,” the woman said with a laugh. “The Hills.”

“That’s where I’m headed, too.”

“That’s just excellent.” She beamed at him, and Logan felt a faint stirring of reaction to her infectious enthusiasm.

He pulled himself up short. This woman was definitely not his type, no matter how attractive she might be. He put his reaction down to a melancholy that had been his companion since he and Karen had broken up.

A gentle ache turned through him as he thought of Karen. When Logan was awarded sole guardianship of his nieces, Karen had decided that the responsibility was more than she could handle. So she broke up with Logan. At the time he didn’t know if it was his pride or his feelings that hurt more. He still wasn’t sure.

“So what’s your name?” he asked, relegating that subject to the closed file.

“Sandra Bachman. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. P.”

Logan decided to leave it at that. He wasn’t as comfortable handing out his name. Not to a total stranger.

She smiled at him and looked at the countryside. “Do you come here often?”

Logan glanced sidelong at her, realizing that she wasn’t going to be quiet. Ignoring her didn’t work, so he really had not choice but to respond to her. “Not as often as I’d like,” he admitted. “I work in Calgary.”

“As an accountant?”

“No. Architect.”

“Ooh. All those nice straight lines.”

Logan ignored her slightly sarcastic remark. “So what do you do?”

Sandra lay her head back against the headrest of the car. “Whatever comes to mind. Wherever I happen to be.” She tossed him another mischievous glance. “I’ve been a short-order cook on Vancouver Island, a waitress in California, a receptionist in Minnesota. I’ve worked on a road crew and tried planting trees.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too hard. The only constant in my life has been my stained glass work.”

“As in church windows?”

“Sometimes. Though I don’t often see the finished project.”

“Why not?”

“Been there, done that and bought the T-shirt. Not my style.”

Sandra Bachman sounded exactly like his mother—always moving and resistant to organized religion.

“Do you go to church?” she asked.

“Yes, I do,” he said hoping that his conviction came through the three words. “I attend regularly.”

“Out of need or custom?”

He shook his head as he smiled. “Need is probably uppermost.”

“A good man.” Again the slightly sarcastic tone. In spite of his faint animosity toward her, he couldn’t help but wonder what caused it.

“Going to church doesn’t make anyone good anymore than living in a garage makes someone a mechanic,” he retorted.

She laughed again, a throaty sound full of humor. “Good point, Mr. P.”

She tilted her head to one side, twisting her hair around her hand. “You have a cabin in Elkwater?”

Logan nodded, checking his speed. “It’s my grandfather’s.”

“So you’re on holiday.”

“Not really.”

“Okay, you sound defensive.”

“You sound nosy.”

Sandra laughed. “You’re not the first one to tell me that.” She gave her hair another twist. “So if you’re not on holiday, why are you going to a holiday place?”

“I have to meet my mother.” And try and talk some sense into her, Logan thought. If he could convince his mother to stay, he might win a reprieve.

“So she’s holidaying.”

Logan glanced at Sandra, slightly annoyed at her steady probing. “My mother has her own strange and irresponsible plans,” he said.

His passenger angled him a mischievous glance, unfazed by his abrupt comments. “I sense tension between your mother’s choice of lifestyle and yours.”

“That’s putting it kindly. My mother has a hard time with responsibility.”

“Surely you’re being a little hard on her? After all, she raised you, didn’t she?”

Logan held her dancing eyes, momentarily unable to look away, catching a glimmer of her enthusiasm. She tilted her head again, as if studying him, her smile fading.

Her expression became serious as the contact lengthened.

She really was quite pretty, Logan thought. Possessed an infectious charm.

He caught himself and looked at the road, derailing that particular train of thought. This young woman was as far from what he was looking for as his mother was.

“So why are you so defensive about your mother?”

“Why do you care? I’ll probably never see you again.”

She lifted her shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Just making conversation. We don’t need to talk about your mother,” Sandra continued, biting her lip as if considering a safe topic. “We could talk about life, that one great miracle.”

“Big topic.”

“Depends on how you break it down.” She twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger. “What do you want from life?”

Logan wasn’t going to answer, but he hadn’t spent time with an attractive woman since Karen. He found himself saying, “Normal. I yearn for absolutely normal.” He wasn’t usually this loquacious with a complete stranger and wondered what it was about her that had drawn that admission from him.

“Normal isn’t really normal, you know,” Sandra replied, braiding her hair into a thick, dark braid. Her dark eyes held his a brief moment. “Sometimes normal makes you crazy.”

Logan gave her a quick look. “Now you sound defensive.”

“Nope. Just telling the truth.” She dropped the braid, and it lay like a thick rope over her tanned shoulders. “So what’s your plan to get your normal life?”

“That’s an easy one. I’m picking up my nieces, who are staying with my mother, who wants to scoot off to Alaska for some strange reason. Then I’m taking my nieces back home to Calgary. And that’s as close to normal as I’m going to get.”

The woman’s smile slipped, and she looked straight ahead. “Nieces?” she asked quietly. “As in two?”

“A matched set,” Logan replied. “Twin girls that have been a mixed blessing to me.”

She tossed him a quick glance, then looked away, as if retreating. She folded her hands on her lap, lay her head against the backrest and closed her eyes. The conversation had come to an end.

Logan wondered what caused the sudden change this time. Wondered why it bothered him. Wondered why he should care.

He had enough on his mind. He concentrated on the road, watching the enticing oasis of Cypress Hills grow larger, bringing Logan closer to his destination and decisions.

Finally the road made one final turn and then skirted the lake for which the town of Elkwater was named. Sandra sat up as Logan slowed down by the town limits.

“Just drop me off at the service station,” Sandra said.

He pulled up in front of the confectionary and gas station and before he could get out, Sandra had grabbed her backpack and was out of the van.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. P.,” she said with a quick grin. “I just might see you around.”

Logan nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious at all that he had told her, a complete stranger. He wasn’t usually that forthcoming. “You’re welcome,” he said automatically. She flashed him another bright smile then jogged across the street.

Logan slowly put the car in gear, still watching Sandra as she greeted a group of people standing by the gas pumps, talking. She stopped.

Logan couldn’t hear what she was saying but could tell from her gestures that she was relating her adventures of the day. They laughed, she laughed and for a moment Logan was gripped by the same feeling he had when she had first smiled at him.

He pulled away, shaking his head at his own lapse, putting it down to his frustration and, if he were to be honest, a measure of loneliness. Sandra Bachman was a strange, wild young woman, and he’d probably never see her again.

A few minutes later he pulled in beside a small blue car parked in front of a large A-frame house with a commanding view of Elkwater Lake.

“Oh, Logan, my darling. There you are.” Florence Napier stood on the porch of the house, her arms held out toward her only son.

As he stepped out of the car to greet his mother, Logan forced a smile to his lips at his mother’s effusive welcome. It always struck him as false, considering that when he and his sister were growing up, Florence Napier seldom paid them as much attention as she did her current project.

“Come and give us a kiss,” she cried. Today she wore a long dress made of unbleached cotton, covered with a loosely woven vest. Her long gray hair hung loose, tangling in her feathered earrings.

Her artistic pose, Logan thought as he dutifully made his way up the wooden steps to give her a perfunctory hug.

“I’m so glad you came so quickly, Logan. I was just packing up to leave.” Florence tucked Logan’s arm under hers and led him into the house. “I got an unexpected call from my friend Larissa. You remember her? We took a charcoal class together when we lived in Portland. Anyhow, she’s up in Anchorage and absolutely begged me to join her. She wants to do some painting. Of course I couldn’t miss this opportunity. We’re hoping to check out Whitehorse and possibly Yellowknife, since we’re up there anyway.”

Logan didn’t care to hear about his mother’s itinerary. He knew from his youth how hectic it would be. He had more important things to deal with. “Where are Brittany and Bethany?”

Florence wrinkled her nose. “Upstairs. Pouting. I told them you would be taking them home since that dyspeptic tutor you hired decided to quit.” Florence shrugged, signifying her inability to understand the tutor’s sudden flight.

“Diane has left already?” Logan had to ask, was hoping and praying it wasn’t true.

Florence’s shoulders lifted in an exaggerated sigh. “Yes. Two days ago. I’ve never seen a woman so lugubrious.”

Logan pulled his arm free from his mother, glaring at her, his frustration and anger coming to the fore. “I talked to her when she phoned me. She told me that you never backed her decisions.”

Florence looked at him, her fingertips pressed to her chest. “Logan. That woman’s goal was to turn my granddaughters into clones of herself.”

“Considering that she came very well qualified, that might not have done Bethany and Brittany any harm.”

Logan’s mother tut-tutted. “Logan, be reasonable. They’re young. It’s July. They shouldn’t have to do schoolwork. I moved you and your sister all over the country, and it never did you any harm.”

“Not by your standards,” Logan retorted. For a moment he was clearly reminded of Sandra.

Lord, give me strength, give me patience, he prayed. Right now would be nice. “They were also both earning a 45% average in school,” Logan said, struggling to keep his tone even. “It was only by begging and agreeing to hire a tutor to work with them over the summer that they won’t have to repeat grade five. If they don’t finish the work the teacher sent out and if they don’t pass the tests she’s going to give them at the end of the summer, they will repeat grade five.”

A quick wave of Florence’s hand relegated his heated remarks to oblivion. At least in her estimation. “My goodness, Logan. You put too much emphasis on formal education.” Then she smiled at him. “But don’t worry. I’m fully cognizant of your plans and I’ve already had the good luck and foresight to find a tutor for the girls. Imagine. She lives right here in Elkwater.”

“Really? And what are her qualifications?” Logan was almost afraid to ask.

“She has a Bachelor of Education from a well-respected eastern university. With—” she raised an index finger as if to drive her point home “—a major in history.”

“And what is this paragon’s name?”

“Sandra. Sandra Bachman.”

So now what are you going to do? Sandra thought, dropping her knapsack on her tiny kitchen table. She pushed her hair from her face and blew out her breath in a gusty sigh.

She was pretty sure the man who had just dropped her off was the same Uncle Logan that Bethany and Brittany were always talking about. After all, what were the chances of two men having twin nieces living in Elkwater?

From the way the girls spoke of him she had pictured the mysterious uncle to be a portly gentleman, about sixty years old, with no sense of humor.

The real Uncle Logan was a much different story. Tall, thick dark hair that held a soft wave, eyebrows that could frown anyone into the next dimension, hazel eyes fringed with lashes that put hers to shame. His straight mouth and square jaw offset his feminine features big time.

The real Uncle Logan was a dangerous package, she thought. Dangerously good-looking, if one’s tastes ran to clean-cut corporate citizens like accountants. Architects, she corrected. She knew from the girls that Uncle Logan was an architect. She bet he had a closet full of suits at home.

Sandra shuddered at the thought. Her tastes never ran in that direction. If anything, they went in the complete opposite direction of anyone remotely like her father, the epitome of conventional and normal that Logan wanted so badly.

Suppressing a sigh, Sandra slipped into the tiny bedroom and quickly changed into the clothes she had planned to wear for her third and what could possibly be final day on the job. She was tempted to stay away, knowing that losing her job was inevitable, given the way Logan was talking in the car on the way up here, but she had made a deal with Florence Napier. And Sandra held the faint hope that Florence might come through for her.

The walk to the Napier cabin only took ten minutes, but with each step Sandra wondered at the implications for her future. She needed this job to pay for the shipment of glass that would only be delivered cash on delivery. Trouble was she only had enough cash for a few groceries and not near enough for the glass.

At one time she’d been a praying person, but she didn’t think God could be bothered with something as minor as a desperate need for money to pay bills.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Logan’s van parked beside Florence’s car, and her step faltered as she remembered what the girls had told her about Uncle Logan.

A tough disciplinarian who made them go to church every Sunday whether they wanted to or not. A man who kept them to a strict and rigid schedule.

A shiver of apprehension trailed down Sandra’s neck at the thought of facing Logan again. This time as her potential boss. A boss she had smart mouthed on the way here. Why had she done it? she thought.

Because he was just like her father, she reminded herself. Though Sandra knew she would never dare be as flippant with Josh Bachman as she was with the formidable Logan Napier.

The front door of the cabin opened, and Florence stepped out carrying a garment bag. She lifted her head at the same moment Sandra stepped forward.

“Oh, Sandra. Hello, darling. We’ve been waiting for you.” Florence set the garment bag on the hood of her little car and flowed toward Sandra, enveloping her in a hug. “The girls were wondering if you were even coming today.”

“I’m sorry.” Sandra made a futile gesture in the direction of Medicine Hat. “My car. I brought it in for a routine oil change but they found more trouble with it.”

“Goodness, how did you get here?”

Sandra caught her lip between her teeth as she glanced at Logan’s minivan. “I hitchhiked.”

“That’s my girl,” Florence said approvingly. “Innovative and not scared to accept a challenge.” Florence smiled, but Sandra sensed a measure of hesitation.

“So, where are the girls?” Sandra didn’t know her status, but she figured it was better to simply act as if she still had a job.

Florence laid an arm over Sandra’s shoulders, drawing her a short distance away from the house. “There’s been a small complication, Sandra,” Florence said, lowering her voice. “The girls’ uncle came here. Unexpectedly.” Florence laughed as if dismissing this minor problem.

Sandra gave her a weak smile in return. “And what does that mean?” As if she didn’t know. Staid Uncle Logan would hardly approve of a smart-mouthed hitchhiking tutor, regardless of her reasons.

“I think we’re okay, but you will have to talk to him.”

“Haven’t you talked to him yet? Haven’t you told him that you hired me? We had an agreement.”

Florence tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder, and that insignificant gesture told Sandra precisely how much influence Florence had with Uncle Logan.

None.

Florence looked at Sandra, her hand resting on Sandra’s shoulder. “It would probably be best if you spoke with him. Told him your credentials, that kind of thing.”

Sandra looked at Florence, whose gaze flittered away. “Okay. I will. Where is he?”

“He’s in the house. He’s unpacking, so I think that means he’ll be staying at least tonight.” Florence turned, giving Sandra a light push in the direction of the house. “You go talk to him. You’ll do fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Sandra muttered as she faced the house. She took a deep breath and walked purposefully toward the cabin. Up the stairs, her footsteps echoing on the wood, and then she was standing at the door.

She knocked, hesitant at first, then angry with her indecisiveness, knocking harder the second time.

The door opened almost immediately, making Sandra wonder if he had been watching to see if she would come to the house.

Logan stood framed by the open door. He looked as conservative as he had when he picked her up. Khaki pants, a cotton button-down shirt. All he was missing was a pair of glasses and a pocket protector.

“Hi,” she said with a forced jocularity. “You know who I am. Now you know what I am.”

Logan wasn’t smiling, however. “Come on in, Sandra. We need to talk.”

Sandra knew that though she may have weaseled a smile out of him this afternoon, she probably wouldn’t now.

Chapter Two

As Sandra walked past him, Logan caught his mother’s concerned look. But Florence stayed where she was.

He wasn’t surprised that his mother didn’t come rushing in to support the person she had hired. Confrontation wasn’t Florence’s style.

Logan closed the door quietly and turned to face Sandra. She wore a dress with short sleeves. Demure and much more suited to a teacher than the shorts and tank top she had on this afternoon. She had tied up her hair earlier into some kind of braid, finishing the picture.

“Are the girls around?” Sandra asked, her hands clasped in front of her.

“They’re upstairs, I think. They haven’t dared to come down yet.” Logan rested his hands on his hips as he studied her. She was as pretty as before, but definitely not the type of girl he wanted teaching his flighty nieces. They needed an older, stronger influence.

“Do I pass?” she asked suddenly, her brown eyes narrowed.

Logan held her gaze. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Sandra, but you don’t have a job. The girls and I are heading back to Calgary tomorrow.”

“I thought they were staying here for the summer.”

“They were.” Logan put emphasis on the last word. “But their antics and those of my mother have proved to me that they are better off in Calgary where I can keep a close eye on them.” It wasn’t what he wanted at all, but he certainly wasn’t going to leave them with someone like her.

“Your mother hired me to teach the girls for the rest of the summer. We had an agreement.”

Logan heard the contentious tone in her voice but wasn’t moved by it. “I’m the legal guardian of these girls, and I’m the one who has to make decisions that I think are best for them. Not my mother.”

“And you wouldn’t consider letting the girls stay and having me tutor them?”

Logan shook his head. His nieces had spent enough of their life living around unsuitable people when their parents were alive, carting them around from boat race to boat race. It had taken him a couple of months just to get them into a normal household routine, let alone a schoolwork one. The last thing he wanted was for all his careful and loving work to be undone by someone whose character he knew precious little of. A woman whose first impression was hardly stellar.

“So you’re dismissing me out of hand.” Her voice rose ever so slightly. “Without even considering my credentials as a teacher.”

“What references do you have? Have you ever worked as a teacher since you graduated?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“So what have you done?”

Sandra said nothing, and Logan couldn’t help but remember her casual comments about work as they had driven here.

“I’m sorry, Sandra,” he said. “I have to make a judgment call in this situation.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that I was hitchhiking this afternoon?”

Logan didn’t know what to say. Should he tell an untruth or be bluntly honest?

She laughed shortly. “I can’t believe this. I’m perfectly qualified….” She let the sentence slide off.

Logan’s shoulders lifted in a sigh as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I didn’t interview you, Sandra. I had chosen another eminently qualified tutor…”

“I have a Bachelor of Education degree,” Sandra stated. “With a major in history and a minor in English. Nothing wrong with that, I’m sure.”

Logan bristled at her tone. “I have my nieces’ well-being to consider, besides their education.”

Sandra held his steady gaze, then her eyes drifted away. “I see.” She darted another angry look his way. “Then I’ll be on my way.” She strode past him and out of the house.

Logan watched her go, fighting a moment’s panic. It would solve so many things if he were to let the girls stay with Sandra. He was in the middle of a hugely important project and he needed all the free time he could get.

But common sense made him keep his mouth shut. Common sense and an innate concern for his nieces. They needed stability and a firm hand. Something that had been sorely lacking in their life.

And, when he was younger, his own.

Logan spent his teen years moving from school to school, dragged across the country by parents searching for the elusive perfect job.

Education wasn’t taken seriously in this branch of the Napier family, and as a consequence Logan and his sister Linda’s schooling suffered. Always behind academically, Logan dedicated every spare moment to catching up, to striving to get out of the rut his parents seemed willing to flow along in. Then, when Logan was in high school, his father died and Florence Napier was forced to settle down for a while.

During this time Logan pulled himself out of the endless routine of constant movement. He applied himself to finishing high school and going to college. Six years ago he graduated with his degree and was much happier than he had ever been during his aimless childhood.

However, Linda, the twins’ mother, had been caught up in the same ceaseless wandering, hooking up and marrying a man who raced speedboats for thrills and the occasional cash prize. An aquatic cowboy who didn’t know where his own parents were. Brittany and Bethany were headed in the same direction until a tragic accident claimed Logan’s sister and her husband’s life. To his mother’s surprise Logan had been named not only guardian but also executor of the small estate the girls had inherited.

Bethany and Brittany’s arrival changed everything in Logan’s life, but he was determined to do right by them. To take care of them. To make sure that any influence in their life was positive and stable.

A young woman like Sandra Bachman was not the kind of person he wanted tutoring these impressionable young girls.

With a sigh and another quick prayer, he turned to the next task at hand.

“Okay, girls. You can stop listening in and come down.”

Two heads popped above the blanket draped over the balustrade of the loft. Both blond, both cute, both looking slightly chastened.

Brittany, the bolder of the two, bounced down the stairs as only a young girl could and landed in front of him, her hands tucked in the pockets of her very baggy white pants. Bethany followed a few paces behind, looking a little more subdued than her counterpart.

Brittany lifted her shoulders, looking genuinely puzzled. “So I guess you came here earlier than you figured. Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?”

Logan shook his head slowly, as if for emphasis. “I have a special project I need to work on. You know work? The thing that keeps you in those ridiculous clothes?” He pressed his lips together, frustrated at the anger that had surged to the fore. But today had not been a good day, and right now he was all out of magical patience.

Brittany slowly tilted her head as if searching for some kind of answer.

Logan didn’t wait for her to find it. “You and Bethany had better hustle yourselves back upstairs and start packing. We’re leaving for Calgary tomorrow.”

“What?” The word spilled out of both girls’ mouths at the same time.

“We can’t go now…You promised…You said we’d stay here all summer.” Their sentences tumbled over and through each other.

“We’ve only been here a couple of weeks,” Bethany wailed.

Logan glanced at the more docile of the pair, and he felt the hard edges of his anger blur. “Sorry, hon. You guys had your chance and you blew it. We’re going back.”

“We didn’t know it was a test,” Brittany cried, her blue eyes glistening.

“It wasn’t a test,” Logan growled, trying manfully to face down the tears that spilled down both their cheeks. “I don’t want to stay here, your grandmother has decided to chase some dream, and you chased off your last tutor, so you have to come back with me.”

“But why can’t Sandra teach us?” Bethany sniffed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. She sat down on the lowest step, still sniffling.

Logan sighed, plowing his hand through his hair. He could feel himself wavering and knew he shouldn’t. He could deal with upstart contractors and rude co-workers, but his nieces’ tears always unmanned him.

“Because I don’t think she is capable. That’s why.”

“But we had hoped to stay. We haven’t been here since Mom and Dad…” Brittany’s voice broke, and she sat beside her sister, pressing her hands against her face, unable to finish.

Logan’s heart melted completely. It had been eighteen months since the girls’ parents were killed. This summer was the first time they had come back to this place where they and their parents would often stop by on their way to the next destination. It was one of the few constants in their childhood.

It had been difficult enough for him to lose his sister. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was for them to lose both parents. And now he was going to take them away from the one place they had fond memories of.

He sat on the step between the girls and put his arms awkwardly around their narrow shoulders. “Oh, sweeties,” he said, stroking their arms, wishing he knew exactly what to say. Brittany leaned against him, sniffing loudly.

“Can we stay just for a little while?” Brittany murmured.

Logan considered his options as he drew her close. He had counted on staying here and working for a couple of weeks anyhow. It would take at least a couple of days to find another tutor, even if he did leave tomorrow. Which meant he would be stuck with two cranky girls in a condo in Calgary.

Hold your ground, he reminded himself. Don’t let them think all they have to do is cry and they can get their way.

But while the rational part of his mind argued the point, his shirt was getting damp from his nieces’ tears. Tears that he knew were genuine.

“I suppose we could stay here for a little while.” He relented, ignoring a riffle of panic. He had three weeks to brainstorm an idea for a house, do a drawing and create blueprints, then another week to build a model of the idea.

The biggest hitch in all of this was that he didn’t have an idea.

You don’t have time for this, the sane part of his mind said.

“For a little while? Really?” Bethany lifted her head as a tear slid silently down her cheek.

Logan sighed, bent over and dropped a light kiss on her head. “Yes, really.”

He was rewarded with a feeble smile.

“Thank you, Uncle Logan,” Bethany said, wiping her cheeks as she sat up.

“But I need your help.” He tried to sound stern. “No fooling around. Just do what I ask.”

“So that means no schoolwork?” Brittany asked.

Logan sighed. “No. It means I’ll have to help you with it until we get back to Calgary. I’m going to start looking for a tutor right away.”

Brittany’s face fell. “And what about Sandra?”

“I told you already, she is not teaching you. And I’m not going to talk about it while we’re here.”

He almost missed the glint in Bethany’s eye as she glanced at her sister. But as she looked at him, her blue eyes guileless as ever, he figured he must have imagined it.

“And there’s no way I could get an advance from you?” Sandra bit her lip as she heard what she knew she would. The restaurant would absolutely not give her a dime until she delivered twenty lamps as promised. She knew that, but thought she would give it a try. “Thanks, then. No, there’s no problem. I have other resources,” she lied. She hung up the phone.

“I’m not going to worry, I’m not going to worry,” Sandra muttered as she grabbed her sweater and slipped it over her shoulders. Trouble was, try as she might, she couldn’t stifle the panic that fluttered in her chest.

After months of work and inexpert marketing, she had gotten the first break with her stained glass work. A restaurant in Calgary had ordered twenty lamp-shades. If they liked her work, she had a good chance to make more for some of their other locations.

Trouble was she was desperately short of money. The unexpected move here from Saltspring Island in British Columbia had cut into her meager savings. She had one month’s rent paid on the cabin, and Cora, her friend and roommate, was nowhere to be found.

Working for Florence Napier had been the blessing she had been looking for.

And now that was over, too. Her broken-down car wouldn’t even allow her to work in Medicine Hat.

Sandra took a deep breath, then another, hoping the mad flutters in her heart would settle once she started on her usual evening walk.

Outside, the sun’s penetrating warmth had softened and a faint breeze wafted off the lake.

Sandra paused, letting the evening quiet soothe her.

Except it didn’t.

She buttoned her sweater and started down the street toward the boardwalk that edged the beach and followed the lake. Her steady tread on the boards echoed hollowly, creating a familiar rhythm.

What to do, what to do, what to do.

Phone home?

The thought slipped insidiously through her subconscious. She let it drift a moment, then pushed it ruthlessly aside.

Phone home and hear how useless she was? Phone home and hear, “Why don’t you do anything constructive with that education degree I paid so much money for?”

Sandra shivered, even though it was warm. Conforming was the way things happened in her home. Conform and you get to come along on promised trips. Conform and your education will be paid for. Conform and Father would deign to talk to you. Sandra conformed, trying in vain to live up to the expectations of a father who was never satisfied. She got her degree, and as soon as she could, she fled. All the way to Vancouver Island.

Five years and a hundred experiences later, Sandra’s flight from conformity had washed her up here, in Cypress Hills, a four-hour drive from where she started, flat broke with a roommate who had flittered off again.

The evening breeze picked up a little, riffling the water and teasing her hair. Sandra sucked in another breath and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to give up. Not yet.

She ambled along the boardwalk, her arms wrapped around herself. Life was still good, she thought, raising her face to the unbearable blue of the Alberta sky. She was still alive and still free, and no one could put a price on that.

“Hey, Sandra.”

Sandra lowered her head, wondering who had called her. She looked around and saw Bethany and Brittany sitting on a bench, swinging their legs.

“Hey, yourself.” She walked over, happy to see these two very rambunctious girls. “You out on the town tonight?”

Brittany glanced at Bethany, then at Sandra. “Yup. Uncle Logan is buying us an ice cream.”

“Then I’d better leave you alone.” The last thing Sandra wanted was to come face to face with Logan only half a day after being fired by him.

“Here you are, girls.” Logan’s deep voice sounded behind her, and Sandra whirled.

Logan looked up and halted, his expression unreadable. “Hello, Sandra,” he said, his steady gaze flicking to his nieces and then to her.

“Don’t worry,” she said crisply. “I haven’t had a chance to really corrupt them yet.”

Logan said nothing as he handed the cones to the girls. “Why don’t you take a walk, Bethany? Brittany?”

The girls giggled and scampered down the beach toward the water.

“I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other, Mr. Napier,” Sandra said, wrapping her sweater around her. She forced herself to meet his hazel eyes and not to be moved by his casual good looks. A man who wore khaki pants to the beach, whose hair never looked messy, who drove a minivan was exactly the kind of guy her father would love. A conformist. Stifling.

Logan’s gaze was steady as he slipped his hands into his back pockets. “I’m sorry that you lost the job—”

“You made me lose the job, Mr. Napier.”

“Fair enough. I’m just sorry that it didn’t work out.”

“It didn’t work out because you chose not to let it,” Sandra snapped. “You’ve got your own ideas about who and what I am—”

“I got my ideas from what you told me.”

“And based on that you know who I am?”

“Based on what you told me, I’m making a guess.” Logan rocked slightly on his heels, still watching her with that unnerving gaze. “I don’t think I’m too far off. I have my nieces to think of.”

Sandra tried not to get defensive, but she couldn’t help it. Everything about him seemed to condemn her out of hand. “Implying that I’m not going to contribute to their well-being.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

Sandra wasn’t sure. It was more than needing the job. Maybe it was because Logan personified the very thing she had been running from, and his judgment stung her pride. Maybe it was because even after spending a couple of days with Brittany and Bethany she was getting attached to the two girls who had lost so much.

Or maybe it was panic at the idea that she had tried to live her life on her own and losing even this small job proved to her the magnitude of her failure.

But Logan didn’t need to have one more thing to judge her by. Didn’t need to know precisely how close to the bone she was living right now.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly, turning away. She took a few steps down the boardwalk, then heard Logan call her.

She didn’t want to turn but couldn’t stop herself.

“Yes?” she asked, forcing a casual tone to her voice.

“Nothing,” he said, lifting his hand as if in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Sandra just nodded and walked on.

“So now what are we going to do?” whispered Brittany as she and Bethany huddled beside each other on the floor of their bedroom. Their lights were out. Below them, they could hear the faint tapping of Uncle Logan’s computer keys.

“I thought for sure he would like her,” Bethany said wistfully. “And now we have to leave.”

Brittany flapped her hand. “So, we’ll just have to go ahead with Plan B, I guess.”

“What was Plan B?”

Brittany giggled. “Same as Plan A.”

“But Plan A was to get Mrs. McKee to leave.”

“I was just kidding. But we have to get him and Sandra together again. Just think how cool it would be to have her living with us. I mean Uncle Logan’s nice, but…” Brittany shrugged, lifting her hands as if to say, “You know what I mean.”

And Bethany did. “He’s just not a lot of fun.”

“And I’m not going to give up,” Brittany insisted. “Not this quick.”

Chapter Three

Logan got up from his computer, stretching his arms above his head. It was a nuisance working with this tiny screen when he was used to a much larger monitor at work, but in a pinch it sufficed.

He cocked an ear, listening, but it sounded like the girls had finally drifted off to sleep.

Logan sighed. He had spent most of the day on the phone and still hadn’t found a tutor for the girls. No teacher was willing to work for the summer, and no organization had any tutors available.

He saved his work then rubbed his weary eyes. He hadn’t gotten as much done as he had hoped between phone calls and trying to concentrate over the girls’ chatter. He couldn’t catch the concept he aimed for. The Jonserads’ vague ideas of light and space were difficult to translate onto a computer screen or paper. It was just a house, but the project was significant. Pass this test and other buildings put up by Jonserad Holdings would be his to design.

Condos, office buildings and gated complexes for senior citizens who didn’t want to have to face uninvited children.

A concept Logan could entirely sympathize with.

Logan rubbed the kinks out of his neck and dropped into his recliner. With a sigh he glanced at the clock. Midnight. He knew he should go to bed. Later, he thought. I just want to close my eyes for a few seconds.

A muffled thump jerked him awake. He sat up, confused and disoriented. The clock struck one.

“Must have fallen asleep,” he muttered. Yawning, he got up and stepped into his shoes, not bothering to tie them. He trudged up the stairs to check on his nieces, the tips of the laces ticking on the floor.

Carefully, so as not to wake them, he eased the door open and squinted in the half gloom at the beds.

He frowned at the lumpy outlines of his nieces. They looked odd. A faint breeze riffling through the open window caught his attention. Then he saw the chair. He pulled back the blanket on one of the beds and found rolled-up towels.

Logan stifled an angry sound and spun around. He ran out the door, stepped on a shoelace and promptly hit the hard floor chest first.

Groaning, angry and frustrated, he took the time to tie his laces, then jumped to his feet and took off. His ribs hurt, but his anger fueled him.

Sandra lay back on the prickly grass, pulling the blanket just a little closer around her. The utter quiet was broken by the occasional wail of a coyote in the night, answered in time by another. From horizon to horizon, stars were flung across the velvet black of the sky. Over the crest of the hill behind her lay Elkwater, its few lights faint competition for the glory overhead.

“I see you, Cygna,” Sandra whispered, reaching up to trace the cross of the constellation. From there she moved to the brightest stars. “And you, Deneb and Vega and Altair.” She let her hand drop and smiled as her eyes drifted over the sky, unable to take in its sheer vastness.

“When I consider the heavens, the works of Thy hands, the moon and the stars which Thou has ordained…” Sandra spoke the words of the Psalms aloud and shivered at how easily they came back to her. She had spent the past few years avoiding the God Who had made all this. Austere, judgmental and demanding.

She had last heard that quote from Brittany and Bethany the night they had sat out here looking at the stars. Sandra was working on astronomy with them, and what better way to study than to actually see it. So, with Florence Napier’s blessing, she had taken the girls out late at night to look at the stars.

Bethany and Brittany. Sandra’s satisfaction broke as she thought of the girls and, right on the heels of that, of their uncle. His offhand dismissal of her had touched an old wound. One initially opened by her father. She sighed, wondering what it was going to take to finally rid herself of the constant presence of her father’s disapproval.

“Hey, Sandra.” The sound of young voices drifted to her and she sat up, looking around.

Then she saw the vague outline of two girls running up the hill. They materialized beside her and dropped down to the grass, panting.

“What are you girls doing here?” she asked, looking past them. She expected to see Logan looming out of the dark. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Brittany shrugged her comment off as she caught her breath. “We need to talk to you. Uncle Logan wants us to go to Calgary with him.”

“I know that. He told me. And I don’t suppose Uncle Logan knows you’re here?” Sandra asked.

In the dim light she saw the girls exchange a quick glance.

Bingo.

“Listen, your uncle already has his own opinion of me, and it isn’t what I’d call supportive.” Sandra put an arm around each of them. “So if he finds you here, my feeling is he’s going to be a little underwhelmed by the whole situation.”

The girls giggled.

“Don’t worry about Uncle Logan,” Brittany said airily, waving a hand as if dismissing her six-foot-two-inch relative.

Sandra didn’t think Logan could be gotten rid of that easily. “It’s not a good idea to sneak out at night. What if he checks your beds and you’re gone? He’d worry.”

Brittany and Bethany exchanged another quick glance as if puzzled over this phenomenon. “Our mom and dad never worried when we snuck out at night,” Brittany said.

“We didn’t even need to sneak.”

“Well, I think Uncle Logan is a little different.”

Brittany sighed. “He’s different, all right. He can barely cook.”

“He’s learning,” Bethany replied in her uncle’s defense. “He makes real good pancakes and sausages.”

“Sausages aren’t hard. Even our mom could make them,” Brittany retorted.

“They’re hard. You can burn them real quick if you’re not careful,” Bethany answered, leaning forward to see her sister better. “Uncle Logan doesn’t burn them much.”

Sandra tried to picture Logan standing in front of a stove, cooking. The thought made her smile, as did Bethany’s defense of him.

Brittany turned to Sandra again. “Can’t you help us stay? Could you hide us or something?”

Sandra almost laughed at that. “No. I will not hide you, although I will miss you.”

“Will we see you before we go?”

“When are you leaving?” Sandra asked.

“In a couple of days.”

“I’ll probably be on the beach a few times. But I’ll be moving on once my car is fixed. I can’t stay around here if I don’t have a job.” Sandra felt a clutch of panic at the thought. A prayer hovered on the periphery of her mind. A cry for help and peace. She shook her head as if to dismiss it. God was a father, after all. Distant, reserved and judging.

She got up and pulled the girls to their feet, giving them each a quick hug. “We’ll see each other soon. But now I want you to get back to the house.”

They hugged her, their arms clinging. And again Sandra wondered at their upbringing that they grew so quickly attached to someone they barely knew.

“Go. Now.” Sandra gave them a little push and watched as they walked down the hill, going a different way than they had come.

“Bethany, Brittany.” Logan’s voice, muffled by distance, drifted toward them from another direction.

The girls glanced at Sandra who fluttered an urgent hand at them, then they turned and ran down the shortcut.

“Bethany, Brittany, I know you’re up there,” Logan called, coming closer.

Sandra winced at the tone of his voice, wrapping her blanket around herself. “He does not sound amused,” she whispered, bracing herself as she turned to face him.

Logan’s heavy step faltered when he saw who stood on the hill.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asked, adopting a breezy attitude as Logan made it to the top of the hill.

He stood in front of her. Loomed would be a better word, she thought, looking at him in the vague light.

Don’t step back. Don’t show fear, she reminded herself.

“It’s not going good. Where are my nieces?”

Sandra’s spine automatically stiffened at his autocratic and accusing tone. “And why do you suppose I would know where they are?”

Logan’s hands were planted on his hips, his feet slightly spread, as if he were ready to do battle. Sandra stifled a mixture of fear and admiration at the sight. “Because I’m pretty sure they snuck out to meet you.”

It was his tone more than what he said that sparked her temper. That and the remembrance of how he looked down his nose at her the day she had come to teach the girls. The day he had picked her up on the road. “Oh, really?” she asked, her voice hard. “And I suppose I encouraged that?”

He said nothing, and each beat of silence made Sandra fume even as his scrutiny made her feel uncomfortable. His silence and his pose reminded her of intimidating sessions with her father as she struggled to explain herself to him once again. To explain how once again she had failed the great Professor Bachman.

But she was a big girl now. And men like Logan—men like her father—didn’t bother her as easily as they used to.

“Your nieces aren’t here,” she said and turned away from him. The conversation was over.

“I saw their bedroom window open,” Logan said, his voice quieter. “I saw a chair under the window.”

“Which means what?” she asked, turning to face him. “I’m sure if you were to go down to your house right now you’d find them in bed.”

Logan seemed to consider this. “If I talk to them I’ll get the truth out of them,” he said confidently. “I always do.”

“You might. If you push.” Sandra wasn’t about to either enlighten or lie to him. But some part of her felt sorry for the girls and the confusion of moving from their parents’ home to an uncle they had known only briefly. She tried to choose her words, advocating for two girls who, underneath their flighty natures, felt lost and afraid of the future. “I know that if you push children, you can end up pushing them into a lie.” She shrugged. “Sometimes you have to choose the battles you want to win.”

“You’re not defending my nieces, are you?” Logan asked.

In the darkness Sandra couldn’t tell from his expression if she had imagined the faint note of humor in his voice.

She lifted one shoulder. “Not really. I just know they really like being here in Cypress Hills. The freedom and the memories, I guess.”

“The memories I’ll grant them. But they’ve had enough freedom in their life.”

Sandra sighed at the harsh note. “Their parents loved them. Surely that speaks for something.”

“It was a strange kind of love, as far as I’m concerned.”

Sandra couldn’t help but bristle at his comment, memories from her own upbringing clouding her judgment. “What’s better? Pushing and forcing your will on them? It’s like trying to hold water, Logan. The harder you squeeze, the less control you have.”

“You don’t understand,” he said simply.

“I do, though. I understand far too well.”

Logan’s eyes seemed to glitter in the dark, and Sandra knew she had overstepped her bounds. But she wasn’t going to let him bully her.

“Be careful with them, Logan,” she added quietly, sorrow tinging her voice. “They may be spunky, but they’re also just young girls.”

Logan was quiet a moment. Then without another word he stepped back, turned and strode down the hill before Sandra could say anything more.

She watched him go, frustrated and confused by him all at the same time. He was bossy, and yet his concern for his nieces touched a part of her that she hadn’t paid attention to in a while.

With each step Logan took away from Sandra, his confusion grew. He knew for a fact the girls had been with her. She hadn’t said anything, though, and he suspected she was protecting the girls from his wrath.