Sparked by Love

by Peggy Bird

  Then he wanted to use city employees to help him. The maintenance crews always clocked massive overtime getting ready for the Fourth. Adding additional hours would strain the budget even more. Did he not have any idea how much work it took to get the huge event ready for the crowds?

  Oh, and he wanted to hang some of his stuff around the Fort Vancouver Visitors Center, which meant having to deal with the Park Service. Things were quiet between the city and the Park Service right now. The last thing she wanted was to reignite the turf wars between the city, the Park Service and the Trust.

  Leo Wilson was simply maddening. Why a supposedly intelligent adult didn’t understand the need for a few simple rules to protect one of the most important historic treasures in the region, she didn’t understand. Although it was possible he didn’t appreciate the value of the site—Portlanders didn’t pay much attention to what went on in Vancouver.

  More likely, it was because of his sex. She’d had more than her share of difficulties with his flavor of the human species. The latest problem being her boss, of course. The longest running one was her father, who’d left her mother when Shannon was a kid, only to drift in and out of her life at inopportune moments ever since, running hot and cold over whether he wanted to be a father. No matter how hard Shannon tried—and she’d done just about everything she could think of—her father never seemed to stick around for very long. It had been several years since she’d last seen him, leaving a hole in her life she wanted to be filled.

  Then there was Jeremy Vincent, her ex-boyfriend. Out of the blue a year or so ago, he decided he needed “space” and went off hiking the Himalayas. Well, actually the Pacific Crest Trail but same-same. She hadn’t heard from him since. He’d drifted away, too, just like her father had. Sometimes she thought she didn’t care that Jeremy had left. On rare occasions, she almost convinced herself she wanted him back, although the thought didn’t usually last long. Most of the time, she was just pissed off because he left without telling her the real reason.

  Leo Wilson was obviously a pain in the butt like so many of the other men she’d known. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find the kind she heard other women sigh over. So far, she’d come up empty.

  Whatever the reason, Leo Wilson was being so demanding she had to get the damn art installation squared away before she caught any more flack from her boss. It was only three and a half months until July and time was short. As soon as she’d escaped the staff meeting, she called Wilson’s studio in Portland to see if he’d gotten her last message and was told he was out of the studio for the day.

  Typical. His artistic muse probably slept in so he got to play hooky.

  Four hours, a dozen phone calls, and one conference call about an upcoming set of public meetings later, Shannon was about to have a power bar lunch while she cleared her desk of all the paper that had accumulated since she’d arrived. A man clearing his throat behind her interrupted her sorting and recycling.

  “Uh … excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Can you help me?” The deep male voice was smooth and soft.

  Without looking to see who was asking, she said, “What can I do for you?”

  Then she turned and looked up. Thank God she’d replied before she did because if she’d seen him before she tried to speak, she’d have been unable.

  Standing in the entrance to her cubical was a really good-looking man. He was tall, at least six feet, maybe taller. His dark hair, cut short-ish on the back and sides, fell across his forehead calling attention to intensely blue eyes. The beginning of crinkles around those eyes, and slight lines around his mouth, showed he smiled a lot, although not so much at the moment. His prominent jawline was dusted with a day’s worth of dark stubble, a look she didn’t usually like, but for him she might be willing to make an exception. He was that cute.

  When she could tear herself away from his face, she looked over the rest of him—shoulders she was sure would look even more amazing if he took off the black T-shirt he was wearing. A tattoo of interwoven lines around his impressive right bicep peeked out from under the T-shirt sleeve. And his hands. They were large and nicely shaped, the thumbs hooked into the pockets of black jeans caressing a trim waist, slim hips, and long legs ending in heavy work boots.

  Then his smile broadened and a merely good-looking man turned into Adonis in jeans. The guy was seriously hot. If she had been in the market for a new man in her life, he might fill the bill. Okay, with the way he filled those jeans, he would definitely be a candidate. It was possible he could be the one to revive her faith in men. If she was looking for someone to do that. Maybe she should think about it. With a guy this hot, it could be worth a try. If only he was looking for her so she could start a conversation and see if he was as interesting to talk to as he was to look at.

  • • •

  Why wasn’t she the woman he’d been dealing with? She looked as cool and delectable as a dish of ice cream, not at all like the mean, bossy, bitter bureaucrat he was looking for. This woman was young, probably in her mid to late twenties, his age. And she was beautiful. Long hair the color of honey was held back from her face with some sort of clip, with enough tendrils escaping to frame her face with tiny bits of curls. Brown eyes with an intelligent look in them were surrounded by thick lashes, which would probably brush her cheekbones when she closed them. A lush mouth with just the right amount of pink lip stuff on it to attract his attention and make him want to kiss it off. When she’d swiveled in her chair to face him, he saw enough of her body to know the skirt and top she was wearing did little to disguise a curvaceous body and a pair of great legs.

  “I’m looking for Shannon Morgan. I thought the receptionist said she was down here someplace.” He looked around one more time. “But maybe I went the wrong way.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait. You’re looking for Shannon Morgan? That’s me. What can I do for you?” she repeated.

  Holy hell. She was the woman he’d been dealing with. “I’m Leo Wilson, the glass blower. We’ve been communicating about my art installation for the Fourth of July. I thought maybe it would make things work better if we met in person.” He held out his hand to her.

  She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then stood up. If he pulled her close, he figured she’d almost reach his shoulder. And he definitely wanted to pull her close. He could see now the body he’d glimpsed had all the right curves in all the right places. Places he was sure would fit nicely against him.

  She put out her hand. It was small and soft, making him only too aware of the calluses on his and the probability it wasn’t as clean at the moment as hers was. He didn’t let go of her hand immediately, enjoying the contact.

  “Leo Wilson? You’re not what I expected,” she said. “Not what I expected at all.” Her face reddened. “I’m sorry. I mean, I thought maybe you were a lot older. You know, a mid-career … I don’t know … something.” She pulled her hand away from his.

  He didn’t want to let go but reluctantly did. “Yeah, you’re not exactly the bureaucrat I expected either.” He smiled. “So, we agree neither fits the other’s stereotype. Maybe we should start this whole thing over again.”

  “Okay,” she said, “I’ll reintroduce myself. I’m … ”

  “No, I get the part where you’re Shannon Morgan and I’m Leo Wilson. I meant talking about my project.”

  She laughed. “Good idea. Where shall we start?”

  He thought for a moment. “Can you leave your desk for a half hour or so?”

  “I guess. To do what?”

  “Walk with me to the fort and around the parade grounds and let me show you what I have in mind.”

  Chapter Three

  Spending her lunch break with a gorgeous guy on a reasonably decent spring day wasn’t the worst duty Shannon had ever pulled. Besides, the walk from city hall to the Historic Reserve offered her the opportunity to tell him about this special place. She wanted him to understand how important it was to the city and to the region and why she cared
so much. So as they made their way to the fort, along city streets and a freeway overpass, she gave him the whole history of the district, assuming he didn’t know the story.

  She started with the original owners, the Hudson’s Bay Company, who built the fort to keep the English company’s trade goods in rather than to keep hostiles out. The National Park Service had reconstructed the fort and did excavations around the site to learn more about that part of the Reserve’s history.

  After the Americans took over what became the Washington Territory, the army used the site for a century until they consolidated posts, closing this one. That was when the city came into the picture. First the homes on Officers’ Row, some of them built as far back as 1846, were purchased and rehabbed into a restaurant, a meeting facility, office space, and rental homes. Then the city and a group of citizens took over the mostly WWII homes and buildings on the rest of the defunct army post with the idea of also making them community assets.

  Leo, it turned out, wasn’t as unaware as she assumed. In fact, he surprised her with what he added to her travelogue. He knew Ulysses S. Grant, George C. Marshall, and O.O. Howard had been assigned there and had buildings named for them. He asked where the Russian aviators landed who were the first to fly across the North Pacific. And he enthusiastically talked about the hopes the arts community in Vancouver had for a performing arts center or an arts incubator space in some of the WWII buildings. He even knew about the problems that flared up occasionally between the three entities that managed the land.

  The more they talked, the more her opinion of him crept upward. The tipping point was when, as they passed the small gazebo marking one entrance to the Historic Reserve, he said, “As long as we’re here, I might as well bring up something I haven’t asked you about so far. I need some advice. I’d originally planned a small installation inside each of the three entrance gazebos as a way to introduce the project to people. Whet their curiosity. But the more I walk around the grounds, the more I wonder. First, will people really notice them? I mean, you have those beautiful hanging baskets of flowers there and I’m not sure the glass adds anything. Second, are they too far away from the main venue and likely to be targets for vandals? What do you think?”

  “The flower baskets might obstruct the installation but we could move them for the Fourth. I like the idea of having a piece there. Maybe with a sign about what they can look for on the parade ground?”

  “Yeah, I plan on several signs as well as some handout materials.”

  “Safety is the most important concern for me, both for your glass and the people coming and going. On the Fourth itself, I don’t think there’ll be a problem. The streets are blocked to vehicular traffic and there’ll be someone at the gazebos throughout the event. Everyone has to stop there to pay the entrance fee so they’d see your work. The only possible problem is the gazebo to the south. There’s a gate there, too, but it’s more isolated before the road is blocked off than the two on Evergreen are.”

  She frowned. “Installing them in advance could create a target for vandals. Although most people drive past here rather than walk, which might help.”

  “Entrance gates. Good to know. Maybe if I put these pieces up last, like the day before or the morning of … and maybe just on the two along here.” He indicated the road they were walking along. “I’ll have to think about it. Thanks.” He looked down at her and smiled. For the second time, it was a really big, genuine smile. He had these cute dimples, and with the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, it about buckled her knees.

  She gulped and tried to get her mouth, which was suddenly quite dry, to work. “You know, I’ve never seen the proposal you made to the Community Foundation. Do you happen to have an extra copy I could look at?”

  “Are you shit … kidding me? You didn’t get the copy I submitted to the city when I applied for the permits?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “No wonder you haven’t known what I’ve been talking about. I was sure you already knew, so I never went into too much detail. I apologize. You should complain to your boss.”

  Yeah, right. Like complaining would help. He probably kept it from me deliberately. “If you submitted one, I should be able to track it down.”

  “You won’t have to. I have a copy in my truck along with the drawings I use to make the pieces I’ll need. When we go back, I’ll get it for you.”

  By this time, they’d reached the split rail fence surrounding the old parade grounds. Even in the cool spring weather there were dog walkers and parents with small children scattered around the grounds enjoying the urban green space.

  Leo leaned against a post and rested one foot on the bottom rail of the fence. He dug out his smartphone and touched the screen. As he flipped through a file, he gestured to her. “Come take a look at these images. This’ll give you a visual of what I’m proposing.”

  Shannon tried to see the screen without standing too close to him, but it wasn’t possible. To see what he wanted her to see, she had to be almost snuggled up to him, close enough to be warmed by the heat of his body. She could almost feel the rumble of his voice when he spoke. Could smell his aftershave or body wash or whatever it was that smelled spicy and male. Was close enough to see the details of his tattoo. Was close enough to be unnerved.

  She gave herself a mental shake. This was work, not a meet-up from Match.com. She better get her game face on and concentrate on the small screen in his hand, not on how he smelled or looked or sounded.

  Once she saw what he wanted her to look at, however, how he smelled and sounded became secondary to what she was seeing on his phone. She was riveted. What he was showing her was stunning.

  He flicked through image after image of what he said was a recent installation. From long, slender, curved cylinders of glass in shades of yellow and white, Leo had created the impression of a large, chrysanthemum-like flower. The petals started on the outside as large and loosely spaced. Gradually, the layers got smaller and tighter until the center was a completely enclosed round of glass rods. The flower sat on a nest of green glass leaves and appeared to float on the water in a formal garden.

  “My idea for the fireworks is to shape them somewhat like the flower except turn it upside down.”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She looked up at him, probably looking like a grinning fool.

  He grinned back. “Thanks. For the installation here, each piece will hang from a structure or a tree and be lit from below and maybe from above. I’m going to have to experiment to see how it looks. The lights will be controlled by a computer and will be turned off and on in a random sequence so it looks like the glass fireworks are being set off.”

  “The question I’ve had is how you’re going to rig the lights. Won’t there be cords all over the place?”

  “No, I want it to be like the real fireworks. Like it mysteriously happens. I’ll program my laptop to signal the spots wirelessly. No electrical cords for people to trip over or spoil the effect.”

  “Oh, my God, now I get it. It’ll look like magic.”

  “That’s the plan.” He turned the phone off and put his hand at the small of her back. “Let me show you where I think the best places will be for the installations.”

  Focused on the warmth and pressure of his hand on her back, Shannon stumbled when her heel caught in a patch of uneven ground. He grabbed her by the waist to keep her from falling, pulling her close to him. It may have saved her from a hard landing, but it also made the distraction factor multiply by about ten. His arm felt good around her. His body was solid and muscled. He could make you feel secure, safe, protected with merely his arm around you.

  What was she thinking? She reminded herself once again she was working here, a fact getting harder and harder to keep in mind.

  Moving out of his reach, she said, “Where do you want to go first?”

  • • •

  Where did he want to go? Anyplace where he’d have a chance to touc
h her again. Then anywhere he could move on to something more like kissing her.

  Leo looked around the parade grounds hoping the way to the bandstand was over rough ground, giving him another excuse for holding her. He wanted to feel the way she trembled again when he put his arm around her. Wanted to smell her flowery shampoo and see once more the look on her face when she first beheld his work. Wanted to find out for sure if he was right—she wasn’t shivering from the cool spring air. She was as affected by the chemistry between them as he was.

  Frank had been right, although for the wrong reason. This meeting should have taken place weeks ago. Not to get his art installation straightened out but to meet Shannon Morgan as up close and as personal as he could make it. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had turned his crank like she did. And he’d wasted time communicating with her on the phone and through email!

  He must have looked like the idiot he felt like because she was staring at him with a puzzled look on her face. Back to business, then.

  “How ’bout we start with the one you have the biggest problem with … the bandstand?” On an impulse, he held out his hand. “Here, hold on. Your heels might catch again in the grass. Don’t want you to fall.” He was surprised when she readily took it and held on tight.

  Sadly—for him—the ground was level from the fence to the bandstand, so he didn’t have a chance to hold her close again. And as soon as they got to their destination, she dropped his hand and bounded up the steps. He followed.

  “So, you’re concerned about the safety of the glass … ” he began.

  “The safety of your work and the safety of the groups who’ll be performing here,” she finished. “We have small musical groups, the occasional puppet show, singers, jugglers … ”

  “Fire eaters? Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my?”

  She couldn’t suppress her laugh. “Close. How far down will the glass hang?”