Logan was immeasurably relieved to have the matter out in the open.
"No, she lives north of Bemidji, actually."
"That's a fair distance away. What profession is she in?"
"She's a log scaler."
A perplexed frown creased Bernice's smooth forehead. "A what?"
"Log scaler. She estimates the board feet in logs before they go to the mills."
"I see." Bernice gave him a long, measuring look. "So she works out in the woods?"
"Yes, she does."
Bernice frowned at him for a second, then glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist and rose gracefully to her feet.
"I have to run. But Logan—" her gaze was direct "—opposites may attract, but once the novelty wears off— well, if this doesn't work out for you, we can go on exactly as before, you realize that."
Discomfort was beginning to turn to anger. What the hell was he supposed to say to a statement like that? Thanks, great; it's nice to have a backup system operating?
In the end he said nothing, and finally, with a tiny flutter of her fingers, Bernice left.
Logan pondered her parting words. It was obvious she'd meant when this doesn't work.
And how the hell was it going to have a chance to work if he couldn't get to see Karena? Well, he could drive up this weekend; he was finally free enough to do that. But he needed to be with her for longer than just a weekend.
He'd already had his vacation for this year, too. Urgency and a sense of determination welled up in him.
It was going to work for him and Karena, and that was all there was to it. Somehow or other, he'd find a way.
Logan went to see Jack Jameson that afternoon, taking him two western adventure novels.
"Is there anything I can do for you at the college, Jack? Can I bring any papers over here?" Logan had inquired politely after Jack had given him a long winded and detailed playback of his fall.
Jack's weather beaten features settled into a frown. "No paperwork, Logan, it's supposed to be summer break. No, what concerns me is the summer field session I was supposed to direct up at Itasca. The one to Cloquet is taken care of, Robertson's taking my people along with his, but it looks like the one to Itasca's going to have to be canceled. Nobody else is free to do it. Too bad, too, because as you know, these trips are better than any classes at teaching students to understand the forest and to learn field skills."
Itasca. Less than an hour's drive from Karena.
"When are you supposed to be there?" A wild conjecture was growing in Logan. In a few days—less, if he worked day and night—the particleboard study would be at a standstill. The company in Illinois had to take over from here, and Logan would be more or less free of heavy commitment for the rest of the summer.
"Next Monday." Jack groaned morosely.
Without one second's hesitation, Logan heard himself saying confidently, "Look, Jack, that's no problem at all. I'll be happy to do the field trip for you. I'll talk to the dean about it in the morning, but I'm sure he won't have any objections."
When he got over his stupefaction at Logan's fit of mental illness, that was. Field sessions were viewed as punishment by many of the faculty.
"I can take most of my current research stuff along and work on it up there. As a matter of fact," he went on enthusiastically, "it'll be an ideal opportunity to start working on a project I've had in mind for some time."
A project he'd been plotting day and night, to be exact.
A study of log scalers in the northern Minnesota bush.
Amazement and surprise mixed with gratitude in Jack's voice.
"You'd really do that for me? Say, that's big of you, really big, Logan. I never thought you research boys—I mean to say, these students are pretty high-spirited at times, and—well, six weeks up there can be challenging, the kids can wear you down. But just keep 'em busy, I always say. Well, I'm damned grateful to you, Baxter, damned grateful indeed."
Just for a millisecond there, Logan had a tiny twinge of doubt. Shepherding twenty two freshmen with diabolical imaginations and few outdoor skills through six weeks in the wilderness would have sounded like purgatory to him just a short week before.
Now, it seemed the opportunity of a lifetime. It wouldn't be easy: he hated teaching, and conditions at Itasca could be a tad primitive, if he remembered correctly.
But it seemed a minuscule price to pay for being within a few miles of Karena.
"Darn you, Mort, now get in your pen and think about what a bad boy you are," Karena grunted angrily at the moose calf as she tugged desperately on his soft fur in an effort to move him away from the rows of carrots he'd just devastated in her garden.
"Push harder, can't you, Danny?" she snapped at her son. He was strategically shoving Mort's hind end, but the stubborn little calf braced his four long legs firmly and refused to budge.
He was growing incredibly quickly. It seemed only a short time before that Karena had been able to pick him up in her arms, a slippery bundle that felt all legs and head.
It would take a much larger person than she to pick Mort up now. The end of one green carrot top protruded impudently from the corner of his wide, thick lips, and he turned his head longingly to peer at what few tops remained in the garden, his huge, liquid gaze shining with what Karena interpreted as unbridled lust.
"I'm telling you, it's no use trying to do it this way, Mom," Danny said, puffing. "He get's set on something and he just won't move his legs. Let me get him some bread from the house, and he'll come along easy. You gotta use brains on him instead of brawn."
Danny raced over to the cabin, and Karena held on to the loose skin on Mort's neck, frowning down at the impossible baby.
"You're a major problem to me, you know that, brat?" she demanded of the complacently chewing animal. "It would have been cheaper to buy a cow than pay for all the milk you drink, and now you've destroyed my garden."
He gave her a benign stare out of his huge, protruding brown eyes and went right on munching, saliva dripping freely down onto Karena's bare arm.
With a frustrated exclamation, she removed one restraining hand to wipe the wetness off on her jeans, and Mort took the opportunity to rub his turned down snout lovingly up and down her arm, snorting affectionately and blowing bits of masticated carrot ail over her shirt.
"Mort, you're getting me covered in that slime. What on earth am I ever going to do with you, rascal?" She felt caught between utter exasperation and the amused, tender affection he always managed to stir in her. He moved his head up and down, begging for a scratch behind his ears, and she complied. It was hilarious and touching to watch him half close his bulging eyes and lower his grotesquely huge head to make it easier for her to get at the special place just behind his immense, floppy ears.
Danny's voice cajoled from behind her, "Hey, Mortie, look at this, oh boy, yum—"
He held out a slab of the chocolate cake Karena had served for dessert an hour before. Mort stretched his nose out, sniffed and greedily moved his lips, reaching for the treat.
"Danny, not cake, you shouldn't be giving him cake, sugar can't be good for him. Besides, I wanted enough left for coffee in case your grampa comes by tomorrow. You know how he likes chocolate cake."
But Danny wasn't listening. Giggling uncontrollably, he was running clumsily backward and keeping the treat just out of reach as the determined calf eagerly pursued him. Within a yard of Mort's pen, Danny suddenly tripped and fell flat on his back, and with a grunt of satisfaction, Mort dropped his front legs to the ground, bottom stuck saucily up in the air, and snuffled the large piece of chocolate cake into his mouth, spraying crumbs all over Danny who was now weak from laughter and unable to get up.
Karena gave the moose's haunches a slap, and Mort finally lurched to his feet and then into the pen they'd devised for him out of an old snow fence. Karena tugged the door shut and leaned against it, heaving a sigh of relief and giggling herself at the sight of her son, holding his stomach and rolling around on the ground.
The sound of an approaching motor sobered them both.
"Mom, if that's Grampa, don't tell him that Mort was in the garden."
Danny's anxious plea died away as the vehicle appeared in the lane. It was a green forestry Jeep. Karena took an involuntary step forward as it pulled to a halt in the yard, the dust settled and she recognized the driver. Her hand went to her disheveled hair, her heart gave a heavy thump and then began hammering at double time.
Logan had come. After nearly three weeks of silence, here he was.
She heard Danny say excitedly, "Wow, Mom, it's Logan. Hey, he's come to visit us just like he said he would."
The boy went charging madly across the yard, hollering an exuberant greeting to the man now climbing out of the opensided Jeep.
Karena slowly followed her eager son, wondering if her legs would carry her. She felt shaky and horribly shy, yet unable to take her eyes off Logan's tall figure.
He was wearing clean khaki pants and a shirt to match, and his dark hair curled over his collar in that untamed way she remembered so well. Confused thoughts and tangled emotions ran through her mind as she watched him extend a hand in manly fashion to Danny and shake the filthy paw the boy offered.
Karena stopped a few yards away and then Logan took two swift steps toward her and it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms. His expression told her far more than any words could how glad he was to see her again, and admiration was etched so openly on his features, she felt herself blush hotly with joy.
"Karena," he breathed, and the way he said her name was like a caress. He hesitated, and she knew he'd been about to embrace her, but mindful of the grinning boy at his side, he simply took her hand in both of his instead, and gave it such a squeeze it was all she could do to keep from wincing.
Had he been this tall before, his shoulders this broad? He seemed to tower over her, and she tilted her head back to meet the gentle brown eyes devouring her from behind the dusty glasses.
"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he heard himself say, and she grinned impishly up at him all of a sudden, unaware of the streaks of dirt across her straight nose and down the side of her neck.
The dimple high in her cheek flashed, and something tilted inside of him when she said huskily, with a catch in her voice, "Me, too, Logan."
Then they just stood and grinned at each other like idiots until Danny, embarrassed at his mother's lack of manners, finally took on the social amenities.
"Hey, Logan, how come you're up here? Can you stay for the weekend? This is just great, having you here. Hey, come on over and meet Mort, okay?"
The spell was broken, and Karena, glancing down at her dirty jeans and spattered T-shirt, became agonizingly aware of how she must look after the recent tussle with Mort.
"I'll just—I'll go put some coffee on," she babbled inanely, racing for the house.
Logan dreamily watched her lithe figure hastily disappear before following the impatient boy down to the makeshift moose pen.
Danny rashly threw open the gate Karena had just closed with such difficulty. The moose needed no encouragement. He galloped out, wildly excited.
"Mort, calm down. This is Mr. Logan Baxter," Danny said seriously to the calf, and Logan put out a tentative hand and rested it on the little animal's neck. He'd seen adult moose before, but always in the wild state and from a safe distance. Being this close to a baby one was a novel experience.
"How do you do, Mort," he acknowledged formally. It was all Logan could do not to laugh out loud at the strange spectacle the little animal presented.
The calf's immense head came about chest level on Logan, and he studied the short body, the coltishly long, awkward legs, huge ears, bulging curious eyes and large, downturned nose intently.
Mort seemed to be just as interested in Logan, sniffing at him and making a mewing sound in his throat. Then, reaching some conclusion, the baby moose came closer. He rubbed his head up and down Logan's pant leg entreatingly.
"He wants you to scratch behind his ears, it's his favorite thing besides food," Danny explained. "He likes you. He wants to be friends. You're lucky, cause he doesn't like just everybody, y'know. He doesn't like Grampa much."
Logan scratched the bristly head vigorously, and the moose calf braced his legs and snuffled in ecstasy, drooling on Logan's shoes.
"He just ate almost all the carrots in Mom's garden, and then a big piece of chocolate cake," Danny informed an amused, thoroughly confused Logan, "and he's grounded to his pen for the rest of the evening, Mom said, so could you sort of lead him over that way while you're scratching? He might not notice where you're going."
Logan did as Danny suggested, feeling rather like a traitor, and with a triumphant final shove, the boy locked the calf securely in once more. Mort stuck a doleful nose out between two slats and grunted appealingly, but Danny was adamant.
"You gotta learn to behave yourself, Mort. You were a bad boy, and now you're grounded for the whole night, so just make the best of it, okay?" With a final sympathetic pat for his pet, Danny led the way importantly up to the cabin, on the way pointing out to Logan the lake shining behind the evergreens and a quaint small cedar building he labeled the "washhouse."