Page 65 of What Matters Most

“Not really.”

“I just got in…I mean…” She faltered as her thoughts tripped over one another. “Thought you might be in bed, so I didn’t call,” she finished lamely. He was obviously phoning to find out what time she got home.

Deftly Logan changed the subject to a matter of no importance, confirming Abby’s suspicions. “No,” he said, “I was just calling to see what time you wanted me to pick you up for class on Tuesday.”

Of all the feeble excuses! “Next time I go somewhere without you, do you want me to phone in so you’ll know the precise minute I get home?” she asked crisply, fighting her temper as her hand tightened around the receiver.

His soft chuckle surprised her. “I guess I wasn’t very original, was I?”

“No. This isn’t like you, Logan. I’ve never thought of you as the jealous type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he answered on a wry note.

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

“Do you want me to pick you up for class this week, or have you…made other arrangements?”

“Of course I want you to pick me up! I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Abby meant that. She liked Logan. The problem was she liked Tate, too.

Logan hesitated and the silence stretched between them. Abby was sure he could hear her racing heart over the phone. But she hoped he couldn’t read the confusion in her mind.

—

After work on Monday afternoon, rather than heading back to her apartment and Dano, Abby stopped off at her parents’ house.

“Hi, Mom.” She sauntered into the kitchen and kissed her mother on the cheek. “What’s there to eat?” Opening the refrigerator door, Abby surveyed the contents with interest.

“Abby,” her mother admonished, “what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Abby feigned ignorance.

“Abby, I’m your mother. I know you. The only time you show up at the beginning of the week is if something’s bothering you.”

“Honestly, aren’t I allowed an unexpected visit without parental analysis?”

“Did you and Logan have a fight?” her mother persisted.

Glenna Carpenter’s chestnut hair was as dark as Abby’s but streaked with gray, creating an unusual color a hairdresser couldn’t reproduce. Glenna was a young sixty, vivacious, outgoing, and—like Abby—a doer.

“What makes you say that? Logan and I never fight.” Abby chewed on a stalk of celery and closed the refrigerator. Taking the salt from the cupboard beside the stove, she sprinkled some on it.

“Salt’s bad for your blood pressure.” Glenna took the shaker out of Abby’s hand and replaced it in the cupboard. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” She spoke in a warning tone that Abby knew better than to disregard.

“Honest, Mom, there’s nothing.”

“Abby.” Sapphire-blue eyes snapped with displeasure.

Abby couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. Her mother had a way of saying more with one glare than some women did with a tantrum.

Holding the celery between her teeth, Abby placed both hands on the counter and pulled herself up, sitting beside the sink.

“Abby,” her mother said a second time.

“It’s Logan.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “He’s become so possessive lately.”

“Well, thank goodness. I’d have thought you’d be happy.” Glenna’s smiling eyes revealed her approval. “I was wondering how long it would take him.”

“Mother!” Abby wanted to cry. Deep in her heart, she’d known her mother would react like this. “It’s too late—I’ve met someone else.”

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