by Nancy Radke
The two drove to the airfield in Alison's car, arriving early, and went into the warm terminal. There was no sign of Logan so they sat down in the waiting area. At exactly two-thirty, they were paged on the public address system. "I hope nothing's wrong," Alison said, unaccustomed to being paged. The woman at the counter instructed them to walk out to where the plane was being refueled.
Logan finished paying for the fuel as they walked up. Dressed in suit and tie and having no noticeable bruises, he looked pleased with everything. Alison introduced Chantal to him and he introduced Kenneth Earle, Chantal's date, before he started the engine.
Ken was about two inches taller than Logan, muscular but not heavy, with a broad forehead and large hands. In addition, his nose looked like he had boxed at some time, as it was misshapen—flat and bent. His black hair was close cut to his head, jaw squared. He was clean-shaven and clean looking, but it was his eyes that caught Alison's attention. Brilliant, dark, happy with an inner sparkle. A man completely at peace with himself; his confidence was almost tangible. He set out at once to make Chantal feel at ease—keeping up a running conversation interspersed with questions to draw her out.
He was well dressed and articulate, with a pleasant, almost gentle, personality. Evidently forewarned by Logan about Chantal's shyness, he didn't become discouraged by her initial short answers, but kept talking in his calm, low, melodic voice until he had her laughing at a practical joke he had helped pull on Logan.
"And the poor guy couldn't understand why he hadn't seen the "no parking" sign. It never occurred to him we had thrown a cover over it, then removed it when he went into the restaurant. We waited to tell him until after he got his car back from the towing company."
It sounded like a college prank. "Didn't you at least help him pay the fine?" Alison asked.
Ken looked like that was the last thing to be considered. "Him?" He asked in disbelief. "Oh no."
Puzzled, she looked quizzically at Logan, who shrugged and admitted sheepishly that he didn't dare ask for money. With all the jokes he'd pulled on other people, he figured he was still way ahead.
"What happens if your joke backfires and someone gets hurt?" she inquired.
Ken shrugged, unconcerned. "It happens, of course. But everyone sort of expects it, so you can't let it bother you too much. If you're gonna give, you gotta learn to take."
They flew across Puget Sound's southern tidal flats, past Olympia, and over the dome of the capital building. Eventually they landed at Ocean Shores, a resort city in southwestern Washington located on a flat, six-mile long peninsula extending between Gray's Harbor and the Pacific Ocean.
It was windy and cool, but the sun was shining and the few clouds were thinly scattered. It was but a short taxi trip from the airfield—located next to the bay—to an ocean-front restaurant where Logan had made reservations for dinner. Since they were early, they strolled down an access road to the long unbroken beach.
The breakers, aided by the wind and high tide, slammed greedily at the shoreline, sucking away at the sand, carrying small logs and debris out and then in again as if undecided what to do with its booty after capturing it; pounding out the timeless sound of the ocean, roaring with a regular rhythm. It would have been relaxing except for the wind which brought tears to their eyes so that they were forced to turn away.
The capricious wind was invigorating, crisp and salty with droplets of spray. It whipped Alison's hair about her face and she had to hang on with both hands to keep it down. Chantal, with her dark hair tightly drawn into a long braid down the back, fared better. Neither minded, since both loved the outdoors, especially the ocean.
"Not a very good place for conversation," Logan shouted as he pulled Alison into the shelter of his body. "I love the wind, but didn't think what it'd do to your hair. Sorry."
"That's okay," she shouted back to him. "I don't mind looking rumpled if you don't."
"That's the amazing thing about you," he said, lowering his voice to speak close to her ear. "One of the things that makes you so attractive."
Alison couldn't figure out what he was talking about. Wind blown hair just looked a mess. It wasn't attractive at all. "What?"
"You."
"I don't understand."
She looked up into his eyes, hers watering as she tried to see the expression on his face. He was looking intently down at her, thick brows furrowed, as if what he was saying was important.
"Of course you don't. That's what I mean."
She cocked her head sideways, wondering why she was so dense. "Run that past me again, please; you lost me somewhere."
He chuckled, seemingly pleased by her confusion. "Lose you? No.... What I meant was that you are beautiful all windswept and sandy, or on the trail after running—"
"Covered with sweat?" That was hard to believe.
"Then too. And..." he said, grinning in great delight as he emphasized the last words, “even when spraying me with Mace."
She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of a blush reach her face. Trust a man to remind her of that embarrassing moment.
“Won’t I ever live that down?”
“Of course not. It’s too much fun to tell about.”
“Have it your way. But I still don’t see what you find beautiful in being covered with sweat.”
“No woman's beautiful when all she thinks about is herself. That's what I meant. Earlier. When I said you were so amazing."
She looked her puzzlement, still trying to figure him out.
"Look, sweet. The thing that's most attractive about you is your lack of conceit. Is that clear enough?"
"Oh." She blushed, confused at the compliment. “Thank you.”
"And my having to spell it out just proves it more." He hugged her, the wind giving him a good excuse. "Dunderhead. Your beauty caught my eye at first, that's true; but I'd never have looked at you twice if you were one of those women who thought looks alone made you special."
She chuckled at the term. Dunderhead. It sounded loving, the way he said it. "Well, I can't stand a bragging man, either; and I guess you don't fall into that category. Getting information from you about yourself is nigh on impossible."
"Let another praise you, and not your own mouth," he quoted.
"Proverbs. Right?"
"Right. My mom used to have a ready quote for anything that happened. I used to think she made them up until I sat down one day and read them through."
"A quote for everything?"
"It seemed like it. Some stayed with me. I agree with the writer about women, too. ‘As a ring of gold in a swine's snout, so is a beautiful woman who lacks discretion.’"
It took a minute for the meaning of that one to sink in. "What an awful description!"
"But when you think about it, it sure is true. A ring of gold is beautiful, but in a pig's nose? And I've seen some women who made that picture come to mind so vividly..."
Alison started to giggle, then burst out laughing at the image. "Logan, you didn't say anything, I hope." She wouldn't put it past him.
"No. That's not to say I've not been tempted." He laughed with her, then planted a quick salty kiss on her parted lips. "You should laugh like that more often. You're so serious all the time. So restrained. Every inch a lady."
She sobered immediately. "Is that bad?"
"No. It's kind of nice. You have a private reserve you retreat into. I'd like to be allowed in there, with you, once in a while."
Her eyes shone shyly up at him clear and dazzling. "Maybe...when I know you better...I'll open up more."
"I'll wait," he promised, his soul seeming to link with hers as if a vow was spoken. "Let's walk here where the sand is harder."
They ambled, slowly; he with his arm around her holding her to him so their shadow appeared to be that of a short, four-legged creature. There were three other people walking the beach right now besides Logan and herself and Ken and Chantal, but all were caught up in their own world, undisturbed by the others.
Logan stopped walking to pick up a broken shell, turning it around to clean off the sand before handing it to her. "I like your friend," he stated. "She's nice."
"Thanks. I hope Ken does. She's actually talking to him."
"The men must wear blinders around here; she should have been beating them off with a stick."
"I told you, she closes down."
"Just like you. You're well matched. Although she didn't with Ken."
"He didn't let her."
"He better not have; I told him I'd kick him out over Montana, in the middle of the Crazy Mountains, if he did."
Ken and Chantal had walked on down the beach ahead of them, stopped at a large pile of logs, then turned and came back. Although hungry, all were reluctant to go inside the restaurant, but after shouting a few words back and forth, the four finally acknowledged the wind as winner and sought shelter inside.
They stamped off the sand before they stepped in, their hunger sharpened by the sea air, to be met with the mouth-watering smell of good food. Chantal and Alison hurried off to the restroom to wash. It was their first chance to talk alone and they quickly swapped impressions.
"What do you think?" Alison asked as she tried to sweep the long tangles of hair away from her face.
"They're both super."
"You like Ken?"
"Very much. So far, at least. I was nervous before I met him; but not now...." She paused, her eyes sparkling diamonds of happiness. "He's so easy going. I don't feel like he's waiting for me to say something wrong. And I like Logan. It's hard to see anyone being uncertain of him. They're both so laid back and relaxed that I'm really enjoying myself. Let me help you with that."
Taking the comb, she left the deeper tangles and contented herself with giving Alison's long hair a superficial straightening. "You'll have to wait until you wash it. What a mess!"
"Logan likes it like this."
"All tangled?" She viewed Alison's smug look with amused concern. "He's crazy. You two are both goners."
Dinner was seafood, a large plate of many different varieties, quickly cooked so that it was moist and tasteful. They helped themselves off a central plate, tasting and comparing their reactions. The more common cod, salmon, sturgeon and halibut was interspersed with oysters, clams, calamari, and shrimp. Chantal had never tried scallops before, it was Ken's first try with swordfish and sturgeon, and only Alison had ever tasted octopus.
"I'm glad I didn't know what it was," Chantal said, after tasting the octopus, her classic features showing dismay when told what she was eating. "I don't know if I would've tried it or not."
"Well?" Ken asked. He had manfully tried everything and hadn't let Chantal avoid the unknowns either, egging her on until she reluctantly tried a tiny bite of each.
"It's okay, but I'd still rather have salmon."
Her expression brought a laugh from the other three and dispelled the small remaining tension that had been present.
"Wouldn't everyone?" Ken asked.
"Everyone except Alison. She's nuts about trying different foods."
"What kind of work do you do, Ken?" Alison asked curiously. "Do you weld too?"
"No. But have you seen Logan's work?" At her nod he added, "Isn't it terrific?"
"Yes, he gave me a clock he welded. A mill scene."
"I saw that; he spent hours on it." He went on to tell about the metal sculpture he had bought from Logan. "A bull fighter with his metal cape swirling out toward the bull. The bull has red rubies for eyes, like he's fighting mad. It's really effective."
"Rubies?" Her startled gaze swung to Logan, her voice rising almost accusingly. "Then what did you use in mine? Emeralds? Diamonds? I thought it was colored glass."
"Don't panic," he teased her, catching hold of her left hand under the table. His warm firm grip did nothing to calm her heart rate. "They are diamonds, but industrial grade. And the other stones are flawed so that they're not worth mounting for jewelry."
"Whew." She laid her fork down and breathed out a short sigh of relief. "That's good. I don't want something so expensive I'd have to worry about its safety. I wouldn't dare hang it on my wall." She gave her hand a tug, but it was held fast in his strong one. A determined sparkle in his eye dared her to say anything.
"Well, you're different from most women I've met," Ken complimented her as he put more food on his plate. He and Logan could both put away an amazing amount. Maybe they didn't get fed very well, normally. "They'd run down to the nearest jeweler and get it assessed just like that." He snapped his fingers.
"I might have, too, if I'd realized they were jewels. Although it wouldn't be much good taking out insurance on something irreplaceable."
"I could always make you another," Logan said slowly, drawing his vowels out in the way that never failed to send a thrill through her. His thumb was stroking slowly across the palm of her hand, up her wrist, around and down again. His touch was so light it was almost not there, resulting in making her nerve endings supersensitive as she tried hopelessly to ignore the feeling it aroused inside her.
"Listen to the man," Alison appealed somewhat desperately to the other two. Couldn't they see he was making love to her with one hand... and with his deep-set, glowing eyes? She was still breathing deeply—maybe they attributed it to the shock of discovering her clock was made with real gem stones. "You'd think he could whip those out one-a-night."
"Oh, no," Logan denied. "Not one-a-night. But it's not irreplaceable."
"How long did it take you?" asked Chantal, her voice level with natural curiosity. She hadn't noticed anything. Logan switched his gaze over to her as he answered, giving Alison a chance to relax.
"That depends upon what I'm doing. Some things don't take long at all;" he replied, then switched his gaze pointedly to Alison again before he added, "others, several weeks."
He was talking about his welding, wasn't he?
"And my clock?" asked Alison, not understanding why her voice didn't croak slightly under the strain of carrying on two levels of conversation.
"One month—off and on." He sounded like it had taken two days, no big thing.
Even off and on; one month was a long time to spend making a gift for someone. Especially when that person doused you with Mace the second time she saw you.
Chantal was interested in all types of handicrafts. "Where'd you get your stones?"
"I have several jewelers who gather them for me. I used to go looking for semiprecious stones, but I don't have time for that anymore."
Alison had a thought. "Have you ever used petrified wood?"
His eyes sparked with an alert interest. "No. I don't think I've ever seen any."
"Then look," said Alison, and she reached for her pennant. He had to release her hand so she could undo it and hand it over. "That's wood, and so are these." She took off her bracelet and one earring and placed them into his open palm, fighting down the unreasonable desire to gently stroke her fingers across it.
The creamy wood grain in the stone was streaked with browns of varied tones. "Beautiful. Yes, I could use this."
"It's from the Ginkgo State Park, here in Washington. You can get it polished or rough from the gift shops. They don't let people pick up chunks of petrified wood anymore; the gift shop people get their supply from sources outside park boundaries. It's very inexpensive." She had rattled that off swiftly, attempting to regain control of her unsteady emotions.
"I'll have to get some," he said, handing back her earring. She put it on as Chantal and Ken began to talk about the beauty found in wood, but instead of handing her the other two items, he re-clasped the bracelet around her wrist himself. His expressive blue eyes were smiling meaningfully into hers, as he did the small task. Next he placed the pennant possessively around her neck, his fingers gently lifting aside her long hair and stroking across the exposed nape of her neck as he did so, expertly arousing her emotions as a thrill shot down her spine. He was very subtly wooing her. He knew it and she knew it.
The other two were paying no visible attention to them and as Logan drew his hand away he brushed his fingertips lightly over her parted lips, as if promising a kiss to come. If the other two hadn't been there....
"I've a large bag of petrified wood pieces you can have," she offered as she met and held his gaze, her expressive eyes offering him more than that if he should ask.
"Do you mind giving it to me?" His eyes were asking a deeper question, but she did not know for sure what it was and she took a steadying breath before she answered.
"Not really." She closed her eyes to break contact briefly. It would be best to talk about petrified wood only. The other conversation, that she could feel but might not be interpreting correctly, was beyond her. "I can never resist buying a handful when I'm there. They're not expensive. I just buy them to look at. They're all polished."
"Smooth and perfect. Just like...this sauce. Try some."
She thought he had been about to say, "Just like you." Leaning forward she took a small bite off his offered spoon, a delicious taste, and then caught the look in his eyes. He had compared her loveliness to the polished stones; she was not imagining it.
He took another piece of fish and offered it to her, enjoying feeding her and their eyes met and held again, the bond of understanding growing between them. Soon we'll be able to talk without saying anything, she thought and transmitted the idea across to him with a secret smile. He shrugged and shook his head; either he didn't get the idea or else he didn't agree that it was worth doing very often. Out of necessity they re-entered into conversation with Ken and Chantal. Soon the meal was over and the four headed home.
In the plane coming back, somehow the topic came around to football.
Alison tried to stop it before Chantal got started. "Time out. Don't start that subject."
"Why not?" Ken asked.
"Because," explained Chantal, "I love the game and Alison can't stand it. We have a long standing agreement that whenever we get together, football is off limits."
"Well, Logan and I don't talk about it very much, either," said Ken. "But I'll talk to you about it all you want."