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