A moment came, full of thunderous sound, yet silent, white hot, endless. She had no idea she was calling his name over and over. He heard it; but it faded into a litany that blended with his own explosive rapture.
"Beloved," he whispered when he could speak again, holding her safe as she floated back to the shadowy room and the reality of his arms. "My beloved, beautiful Karena."
She gave him a hazy smile.
"You are my love, Logan," she said with certainty, and then between one indrawn sigh and the next she fell asleep in his arms.
He held her close, exultation filling his heart and soul.
You are my love, she'd said.
This, then, was what he'd been waiting for all the adult years of his life.
Sunday morning dawned clear
and full of the promise of a midsummer day. They woke early, tumbled like puppies beneath Karena's patchwork quilt.
"I want to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life," Logan murmured, hugging her still closer, and they lay in somnolent languour, thoughts of the night before and the magic they'd found casting a spell over them. It wasn't long before the powerful desire they'd awakened between them ignited all over again.
When their loving reached its summit, they were there together.
A short time later, however, the delights of lovemaking beneath a warm down quilt gave way to the uncomfortable reality, for Logan, of living without conveniences such as hot water and central heating, or indoor plumbing.
Karena was accustomed to the trip to the outhouse, the slow process of lighting fires in the kitchen range and the wash-house stove, the long wait for enough hot water with which to bathe.
They shared the tasks, bantering as they went, but when at last they sat down to coffee, eggs and toast, Logan had the feeling half the day had elapsed doing chores that would have been unnecessary with the simple addition of electricity.
"Have you given any thought to having the power brought in here, Karena?" he asked as casually as possible, spreading bright red wild strawberry jam on a golden slab of toasted bread.
"Sure." She chewed a mouthful of toast and egg and added, "I wanted to have the house wired for electricity when we were building it, but I couldn't afford it. That's the penalty of living this far in the country, you have to pay for poles to be laid all the way from the main line. Besides, then there'd be the wiring itself, and all the temptations after that of new stoves, washing machines—" she held up the bread they'd just toasted on a rack on the top of the stove "—even toasters. To say nothing of the television Danny already thinks we can't live without."
"Are you short of money, Karena?" he asked bluntly. His own expenses had been minimal for years, and he'd placed some of his savings in an investment Betsy had recommended which had paid off handsomely. Already, his mind was devising ways and means of helping her, but the stiff pride and trace of hurt on her face and in her voice made him realize it wouldn't be easy.
"No, I'm not short of money, and I happen to like the way I live," she snapped. If the lack of modern conveniences bothered him, well, that was his problem. Did he think she was some sort of charity case? Why was he suddenly eager to change things?
"I make very good money when I'm working," she attempted to explain, "but you know there's always layoffs, times when loggers are on strike, the bush is closed for forest fires or really bad weather, and then weeks can go by without a paycheck, so I have to keep a large emergency fund in the bank. Besides, I'm putting savings in a college fund for Danny."
"He's a fine boy, Karena."
The defensiveness in her voice faded, and she gave him the wide, sunny smile that always made him catch his breath.
"Thanks. You've no idea how nice it is to hear that for a change." She shook her head in wonder, rueful pride softening her expression. "It's hard for me to understand a kid that actually likes school and wants to go on to college, but Danny does. And I guess because I'm raising him alone, all I usually get are complaints and warnings. Pop thinks Danny's too headstrong, that I let him get away with too much. And of course he thinks keeping Mort is crazy—" She suddenly got to her feet and headed for the door. "Mort! My gosh, I gave him his milk and then forgot all about him this morning. Usually he's at the door making a pest of himself by this time." The screen door slammed behind her, and Logan heard her give her piercing whistle.
"Mort, come on, Mortimer, where are you hiding?"
Logan finished his last bite of egg and got to his feet to follow her.
But when he opened the screen door Karena was already hurrying back to the house, an anxious, annoyed frown on her face.
"Darn that moose. He always comes when I call him. This past week Danny's been taking him for walks along the road. I wonder if that's where he's gone now."
It didn't take long for them to find Mort's distinctive heart shaped tracks leading straight down the lane, toward the highway. Karena groaned as they hurried back and got her truck and a strong rope.
"This scares me, Logan. I'm afraid if he starts wandering on the road, he'll get hit by a car, or some nut will take a shot at him. He thinks everybody's his friend."
Those were the exact concerns going through Logan's mind as they drove along slowly. There was still no sign of the little moose as the secondary road branched into the highway. Although there was very little traffic, there was no way to tell which direction the calf had taken.
They located him finally, in a farmyard several miles away.
"Oh, no," Karena groaned. "Ole Svenson is the biggest grump in the whole area, and look at Mort."
Mort was staggering around like a drunken lunatic, frantically shaking his head in an effort to dislodge a huge pail firmly stuck on his snout, and Ole Svenson was swearing shrilly at him in Swedish and making ineffectual efforts to remove the pail.
It wasn't difficult to guess what had happened, knowing Mort and his insatiable curiosity. He'd probably spotted the work horses in the barnyard, stuck his curious nose into a bucket of feed and now had the bucket firmly stuck on his snout. There were dogs, fortunately locked in a shed nearby, and it sounded as if they'd gleefully rip Mort and his rescuers to shreds if they managed to get out.
Svenson knew about Mort. Everyone in the area knew about him. But Svenson was of the same mind as Otis, who believed wild animals had no place around people, and that it was stupid of Karena to harbor the calf.
"I was at church when he came, just walked in here like he owned the place, and he ate all the flowers along the drive there." Svenson gestured angrily, panting a little and standing to one side as Logan and Karena worked at getting the bucket off the skittish Mort.
"Besides that, Missus, he was in my garage and broke open a bag of dog food. Why anybody would want a thing like him around, I can't figure."
The bucket suddenly popped off Mort's snout, and he shook his head dazedly and grunted, crowding close to Karena for sympathy. She felt like strangling him as she tried to soothe Ole Svenson.
"I apologize. I'll pay you for the dog food he ruined, and I'll bring my son by to plant a new flower border," she offered.
"Don't bother, Missus. You just see you keep that animal by you from now on. I never heard such nonsense, a moose for a pet. What do the fish and game people say about you having such a pest, huh? Seems to me there's laws about such things."
"They say that Mort is being well cared for. Karena is offering to make up to you for any damage he's done today, so I don't see any need to browbeat her," Logan interceded smoothly, but there was a definite dangerous undercurrent to his voice.
Ole Svenson blustered a bit, and then prudently subsided. He stared at Logan a moment, and then demanded, "What did you say your name was, Mr? Who are you, anyhow?"
"I didn't say," Logan remarked blandly. "But it's Baxter, Logan Baxter, Mr?"
"Svenson."
Karena had an uncontrollable urge to giggle when Logan answered innocently, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Svenson. We'll do our best to keep Mort home from now on. Let's go, Karena."
Logan tied the rope firmly around Mort's neck and then to the bumper of the truck, and they set off down the narrow drive with Svenson staring after them and Mort wandering as far as the rope allowed, sniffing at everything.
At a snail's pace, they made their way back to the house. On the way, Mort decided he liked the smell of exhaust, and insisted on trotting along, taking huge gulps as the truck crept down the highway. Karena was sure he'd get sick, and Logan remarked that he figured Mort richly deserved a hangover, after all the mischief he'd caused.
They started to laugh, remembering Mort and the bucket, but Karena felt drained and acutely embarrassed at having Logan involved in such a humiliating scene.
"Cantankerous old guy, that Svenson, isn't he?" Logan remarked later. They were standing at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes.
Karena agreed fervently. "I've never had much to do with them, but his wife is noted for being a terrible gossip. After Ole tells her about us being together, she'll have me pregnant with quadruplets by next Friday."
Logan suddenly looped the dish towel around her neck and pulled her around to face him.
"Any chance of that being a probability?" he asked softly. "I didn't exactly come prepared for last night." He loved the bright flags of color that stained her cheeks, but she met his eyes unhesitatingly.
"Wrong phase of the moon," she said matter of factly, and gave him a teasing smile. "So relax. No babies this month."
"That's too bad," he responded, and she had the strangest feeling he was only half joking as he gave her a quick kiss and released her. "I'd love it if we had to get married. I'm an expert at diapers now, after babysitting Nicole. Well, the kind that's prefabbed, with sticky tapes, anyhow," he modified.
"Do you want children, Logan?" she asked lightly, scrubbing vigorously at a black cast-iron frying pan and ignoring the overwhelming subject of marriage.
"Only a couple to start with, at least until I get the hang of it," he mused. "How about you?"
"A couple, until I get the hang of it," she mimicked, and then she sobered, staring at the wall above the sink unseeingly.
"It's been hard, raising Danny alone. It would be so much better to have a baby with a partner, and share the fun and the responsibility. And the decisions."
She cast a sidelong glance at him. "For instance, although I'm avoiding it, something's going to have to be done about Mort, and I don't know quite what. He's growing faster than I ever imagined he would. He's as tall as I am now and soon he'll tower over me. The game people I talked to when we got him said that he'd have to be released back into the wilds sooner or later, but there'd be little chance of him surviving before he's a year old. That means keeping him all winter, and I don't think it's good for Mort. He needs to be around other moose. Besides, if he starts wandering the way he did this morning—“
She shook her head. “The problem isn't just Mort, it's Danny. I told him in the beginning that keeping Mort was only temporary, but he's absolutely in love with that calf. Whatever course I take is going to be hard on Danny."
Logan nodded soberly. This morning had graphically illustrated the problems the moose would present. The difficulties would undoubtedly intensify as he grew, and Karena was right. Mort needed to be around other moose while he was still young enough to learn from them.
Tentatively, he suggested, "I can get in touch with the wildlife people and see where they'd suggest taking him, find out how to go about it. But you're right, Danny will take it hard, and I don't know what to do about that, except to be honest with him and tell him exactly what's happening and why. He's an exceptionally mature kid in many ways."
And in others, namely where Mort was concerned, he wasn't mature at all. He was a little boy with a pet he adored.
Logan's heart ached for the boy. "In the meantime," he offered, "how would it be if we built a bigger, stronger pen next weekend? That snow fence won't hold him anymore."
Her face fell. "I promised Danny I'd take him into Bemidji next Saturday. His school is having a basketball game with one from Bemidji, and he's a spare on the team."
Timidly, she said, "I don't suppose you'd like to meet us there on Saturday?" and then let out a squeal as he scooped her up in his arms and whirled her madly around the kitchen.
"I'd love it! I thought you were never going to ask. I'll take you both out to lunch, and we can all build the pen on Sunday."
"Put me down, you big oaf, my hands are all soapsuds." But her eyes were shining and she couldn't stop grinning. "You've got a weird idea of what constitutes a good time, you know that, Logan Baxter? We're talking of twelve year olds playing basketball, and a kid who won't shut up when he's excited, and who's undoubtedly going to bore us out of our skulls by giving a replay of every single move."
He held her captive and kissed her soundly.
"This happens to be the first time you've asked me for a date, woman, and a guy takes whatever he can get. I'm flattered."
She stared up at him. "Do many women ask you for dates?" she asked curiously.