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,