by Nancy Radke
“I’d have brought you up sooner if you’d have come.”
“Can you blame me for being cautious?” she defended herself.
“No. I even took heart when you used Mace and not bullets.” That brought a smile to both of them, his reflective, hers one of mischief.
“Oh, I didn’t want to hurt you. I only wanted to scare you away.”
“Then, thank you very much. It would’ve done the trick if I hadn’t been interested in you.”
The plane left the moonscape behind, the windows catching the rays of the setting sun and flashing them off again.
It was a good thing she hadn’t bought a gun instead of the can of Mace. She might have used that on him. But a gun never occurred to her. She had been seeking protection, not destruction.
“I’ve seen metal wall hangings of Mt. Rainier, with ducks and clouds and pine trees,” she said, “similar in difficulty to that beautiful clock you gave me. Have you ever tried doing any like that?”
“Yes. One. I rarely do the same subject more than once. I don’t have any favorites; I look at the metal and scraps I happen to have on hand and a picture forms in my mind. Or I will see something and then “see” what it would look like turned into metal sculpture.”
“Which did you do with the mill?”
“I saw a photo of an old mill still being used...and the idea developed from that. I like motion, real or implied...the swirl of a cape, the fullness of a sail, the movement of a cloud—” His eyes sought hers, a gleam of teasing humor lying within.
—and the movement of a woman’s fingers talking sign. It was what he said had attracted him to her. Were they both thinking it? She supplied another ending. “—and the turning of the mill wheel as the clock moves. That was clever. You should try making mobiles.”
“I do.” He settled back in his seat, carefully checking the sky all around them before asking, “Do you want to fly it for a few minutes?”
“What? The plane?” she squeaked in sudden fear. “Of course not.”
“Why not?” He sounded puzzled.
“I could never—” Even the thought of touching the controls was frightening. What if she caused them to go into a dive?
It didn’t seem to bother him. “Sure you can.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare. Logan, I’ve never even been in a plane like this before.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you do anything dangerous, just try a turn or take it higher.”
“No. Thanks, but I’d better not.”
Being Logan, he didn’t take no for an answer. “Of course you can. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he said, confidently.
“Really?” She scrutinized the formidable array of instruments in front of him.
“Really. Look, I’ll show you what to do. Just make all your movements slow. Don’t jerk.”
She watched intently, afraid of missing something as he showed her how to maneuver the aircraft. He had to insist once more before she tried the controls, amazed at how readily the plane responded. “It’s fun,” she exclaimed, her fears slowly subsiding. Now that she had tried it and found out it wasn’t so frightening after all, she was eager to keep on flying. He let her continue until they got close to Mt. Rainier, with its powerful up and down drafts.
“Landing’s the hard part,” he stated when he finally took over again. “Once the wheels hit the runway, it’s much harder to control.”
This time they flew near the west face of Mt. Rainier. The sun was dropping below the horizon and its long rays turned the clouds into deep pink swirls, the mountain turning pink with deep blue shadows.
It was breathtaking, a sight of such magnificence, such brilliant color—it seemed unreal. Alison felt diminished in importance, yet uplifted in spirit. Logan flew around the volcano, circling nearer and then further away until the color left, leaving a shining white sentinel towering above its darker surroundings.
“I’ve been all over the U.S.,” he commented, “and Rainier has a majesty that just isn’t found in any other mountains, except in Alaska. Up there, there are so many huge mountains the numbers are overwhelming.”
“Surely Mt. McKinley is much more impressive than Rainier.”
“Yes, because its so massive. But Rainier rises directly out of low mountains so it dominates the entire region—much like Ayers Rock in Australia. McKinley has two mountains—Hunter and Foraker—within three miles of it. Both those mountains are higher than Rainier. From a distance it’s hard to pick out which is McKinley.”
“I see.”
“It isn’t until you get to the National Park that you can easily spot McKinley—and even there you aren’t close to the mountain like you are here. At McKinley, climbing parties are flown in and land on the glaciers. If they walked to the mountain to climb it, they’d run out of climbing weather before they got to the bottom.” He talked on, comparing the mountains of Alaska with the Alps and the massive mountains of the Andes and Alison listened, fascinated. He had a knack for description and an easy flow of words.
“Do you travel often?” she asked. It sounded like he never stopped.
“Yes, although it doesn’t have the same appeal it once had. I take commercial flights when I go overseas, but for short trips I use this baby.” He patted the instrument panel in front of him.
“Then...this is your own plane?” she asked, suddenly forced to do a mental reassessment of him. First the clock and now this. Evidently welders made good wages. If he was a welder. The crack of doubt appeared once more.
“In a way. I’ve leased it for the year. That way I’m always flying the same plane.”
If he flew this all over the country no wonder he popped in and out of her life. She felt almost annoyed he hadn’t told her sooner.
“Where do you live, anyway?” she demanded, slightly upset with him, wondering if he’d give her an answer this time. It could be anywhere....
“Wisconsin. Lately.”
“Surely you have a home,” she pressed. What was the big secret, anyway?
“In Tennessee, but only part of the year. I have to move a lot in my job. I’ll tell you someday, but not now. In fact I’ll even take you there, if you’ll go.”
She was very exasperated by now and let it show in her voice. “Do you like being the dark, mysterious stranger?”
A gleam of mischief sprung to his eyes at being so labeled. “Is that how it looks? No, I don’t like it particularly, but....” he shrugged as he trailed off.
“Then tell me more about yourself, please.”
“All in good time. Don’t be so impatient.” It seemed he wasn’t going to be prodded, no matter how she wrangled for information.
“Ha! Impatient he says. I don’t even know if Logan’s your first name or last.”
“And you won’t know...till I tell you,” he said, completely serious now, all humor gone. “You say faces and looks aren’t important; well, I’m saying names aren’t important either. But I’ll take you to meet my parents and brothers some day. I’m not a thief,” he emphasized with much sincerity. “And I’m not married.”
“You’d better not be!” Married men were strictly out.
One corner of his mouth kicked up in its characteristic crooked grin. “I’m not. Scout’s honor.”
She frowned, feeling like she was beating her head vainly against a concrete wall, trying to break into his background. “Were you ever a scout?”
“Actually, yes.”
“It would help if you told me more about your job.”
Logan remained non-committal. “I will, when I think I can.”
“What’s the hold-up?” she pursued, stubbornly refusing to accept the excuse.
“I want you to like me first.”
As a reason, it was weak, unless he was an undercover agent and revealing his identity would place him in peril. Maybe he had gone through the witness protection plan and was hiding out from some mobster. In that case, she could understand his desire to keep his identity a secret until
he felt it was safe to tell her. “That sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t, not really. But I have my reasons. Trust me.”
“If I can.” He didn’t sound like it was a life-threatening situation. What was there that was wrong? Her curiosity was killing her.
“That’s all I ask.”
“If you won’t talk about yourself, what will you talk about?” she demanded, threading her fingers through her hair.
“How old is Chantal?”
Well, at least that was a safe subject. “Twenty-seven.”
She could see the question forming in his mind. “And yourself?”
“Twenty-eight.” She smiled mischievously, amused at how he had steered the conversation. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Yes. You look younger. You had me worried. I’m glad you’re not.”
“How old are you?” she asked bluntly. It would be nice to know a few more things about him.
Surprisingly he answered her question. “Thirty-two. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
It was about what she had guessed the first time she saw him, but today, being so beaten up.... “You look older today.”
“I’m like a car after it’s been driven in a demolition derby. Sometimes I feel like I’m fifty-two.”
“Surely welding isn’t that strenuous?”
“It depends.”
“Do you do underwater welding on the offshore oil rigs?” That was highly dangerous, difficult work that required a lot of travel.
“Stop fishing.”
At least she had tried, she thought, as he spoke to the tower before dropping through the clouds, bringing them to a smooth landing; taxiing over to where he was parked earlier.
They unbuckled and went to the door, but instead of opening it, Logan took her in his arms and kissed her; at first carefully, then deeper as she responded to him.
He wasn’t holding her very tightly and when she hugged him, hard, his swift intake of breath reminded her of his injured ribs.
“Sorry, I forgot.”
“I think you broke another one,” he gasped.
Instantly concerned, she pulled back, her hand over her mouth in shocked dismay. She had forgotten about his cracked ribs “I did? I hope not. Can you tell?”
“I heard it crack. Didn’t you?”
“No.” She wrung her hands together staring at his chest area. “I didn’t squeeze very hard. I wasn’t thinking.” Worriedly she looked up into his laughing blue eyes. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
He chuckled, then grimaced in pain. “No, but that did. Serves me right for joshing you. You didn’t break anything.”
She cast him a reproving look. She was basically a serious person and wasn’t used to being teased. No one in her family ever teased. Her sympathetic nature, so sensitive to the feelings of others, had responded instantly to his claim of injury and it took her a minute to adjust to the fact that he had been joking.
She stared at him, puzzled, then said skeptically, “I don’t know about you. What if I had really cracked a rib?”
He shrugged, his movements in slow motion, careful this time not to hurt himself. “Then I wouldn’t have said anything.”
It held true to her impression of him as a private person. He would joke about the little things, but the things that really mattered, would be left undisclosed. What was there that mattered so much to him that he couldn’t tell her?
He had said he would tell her when he felt the time was right. She guessed she would just have to learn patience and wait until then.
8
As he flew back to Green Bay, Logan pondered his problem. When should he tell Alison who he was?
She was no longer scared to death of him; that hurdle had finally been cleared. She acted like she was even beginning to like him. If that had been the only problem, he could have told her by now who he was and felt comfortable about it if she did fall in love with him. She wasn’t the kind to fake her emotions.
If only she didn’t have such an aversion to football. What if, after he told her who he was, she told him she didn’t want anything to do with a man who threw balls for a living. Playing at a kid’s sport instead of doing something worthwhile like she did?
He admired her work tremendously. He wanted to win her as a soul mate, not just a friend.
She was a stubborn woman. It seemed funny that she hesitated over trying something new. Logan enjoyed the challenge and he would’ve thought she would, too.
Chantal sounded like a challenge. Logan knew just the right person for her...Jake. Jake wouldn’t like it; he’d been off women ever since his divorce. But one thing Jake had a knack for doing, besides catching passes that were beyond his fingertips. He could talk to a person—man, woman or child—and make that person feel comfortable with him.
Jake could have them sitting and chatting as if they’d known him all their life. Logan couldn’t. He could relax with men and boys, but he felt constrained by women, if they meant anything to him at all. Perhaps it was the small town boy coming out. Whatever...if a woman was important to him, he had trouble getting his tongue untwisted at the very start.
He’d never faced that hump with Alison, partially because they had started by signing their conversation. And today the talk had flown freely. He’d been right, she was well worth getting to know better. When she wasn’t suspiciously protecting herself, she had a beautiful character that peeked through at odd moments. She was revealing it more and more as she got to know him.
Flying across the Wisconsin farmland, Logan glanced at his watch. He was making good time. Next trip out he would bring Jake with him.
But that night when he asked Jake, his friend refused. No amount of pleading convinced Jake that he had to fly out to Seattle for a blind date, even though he was curious to meet Alison and find out what kind of woman could throw his buddy into such a headlong spin.
“You know better than to ask me, Josh.”
So Logan didn’t ask. When the time came to go, he made the restaurant reservations, hid some of Jake’s clothes in the plane and offered to fly Jake out to visit his parents in North Dakota. They were crossing the Rockies when Jake suddenly woke up to the fact that he was being shanghaied. Once “in,” he went along with the date, doing his best for his friend’s sake, as Logan had known he would.
Alison had the same problem with Chantal.
“Do you realize,” Chantal asked as she pulled on her heavy wool coat, “that you usually see Logan on Tuesdays? We should’ve expected he’d set up a Tuesday afternoon date.”
Alison nodded. All but her first confrontation with Logan had been on a Tuesday. Maybe he was superstitious. “Do you mind not knowing where we’re going?”
Logan had specified “a restaurant dinner,” and to dress warm and comfortably with low-heeled shoes, but had neglected to say where, so the two had worn sweaters with long wool skirts; Chantal wearing a royal blue top and black skirt, Alison in an outfit with a diagonal stripe of steel gray and maroon.
“Not half as much as not knowing who I’m going with. Logan could at least have told you his name.”
“We’ll find out soon enough, unless he turns out to be a man of mystery also...and calls himself Zorro. Don’t you dare back out now. If you can get Logan’s friend to tell you what Logan does, I’ll buy you dinner for a week.”
It had taken all of Alison’s persuasive powers to get Chantal to agree to a blind date. Chantal was so intrigued by Alison’s “mystery man” that she would do almost anything to get to meet him, but a blind date rated as an extreme sacrifice in Chantal’s view.
“I went on one blind date and he might as well have worn a mask Something to cover that ego.”
“I remember that one. The ex-college football player. Liz set it up, didn’t she?”
Chantal frowned. “Yes,” she said in disgust.
Alison had to chuckle, remembering Chantal’s animated account of the terrible date. Liz was Chantal’s younger sister, happily married and ea
ger for Chantal to be likewise. The date had bombed because the man was only interested in recalling his former brilliance on the field. He talked football incessantly; about his touchdown runs, his spectacular catches, his yardage gained.
Chantal couldn’t stand him. She loved football and the strategy inherent in the game, could recognize the different passing patterns and knew the players’ positions by name. Also she could tell the difference between an “I” formation and a “T” formation and their variations. When someone wasn’t bragging about it, she enjoyed the long run, the spectacular catch, the good tackle.
Her father had been a pro player and later a high school football coach. Of his two daughters only Chantal shared his interest, so he taught her well.
Her favorite team was the New England Wolverines. It was the team her father had played for and Chantal loyally followed them on TV. Since she could not attend the Wolverines’ games, she was also a Seattle fan, holding a season ticket to all their games.
Chantal had told Alison that there was a big difference between watching football and dating a player whose ego was twice the size of the ball.
It was a cool November day and the sky was heavily overcast, looking like it would release its entire weight of rain on one unlucky spot. Logan had arranged to meet them at Boeing Field at two-thirty in the afternoon.
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.