Twin Blessings and Toward Home: Twin Blessings / Toward Home

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.”