Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (18 page)

"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."

"Her favorite team is the Wolverines," explained Alison; adding teasingly, "If you think their players are great, then you've got it made with her."

"Well, they're pretty good...." Ken paused, considering.

"Oh, oh. Watch out!" Alison put up her hands in mock horror.

"But I'd rather watch a good hockey game."

"That's a bloodthirsty sport, too," she complained.

"Poor Alison," Chantal teased. "She misses all the excitement."

"No, she doesn't," claimed Logan. "There are other exciting things to do than watching football or hockey." Like kissing him, Alison added to herself and knew he was thinking the same.

"Do you see many games?" Chantal asked Ken.

"Lots," he answered, smiling at her eagerness. "Whenever I get the chance."

"TV football every Sunday? And Monday night?" Alison looked pained.

"No, no," Logan was quick to dissimulate. "If we can't actually go to a game, we usually don't bother watching it."

"If you ever come out on a Sunday, we could go see Seattle play," Chantal suggested shyly.

"Not me," Alison declared.

"Me neither," Logan said. "You and Ken go see them. I've better things to do with Alison."

"Like what?" challenged Chantal teasingly.

"Like showing her Mt. Rainier," Logan chuckled. He had been traveling eastward since leaving Ocean Shores and he swung the plane to fly around the massive glaciered peak, effectively ending the conversation as they all looked out at its beauty. Like other north westerners, Chantal and Alison never tired of looking at "their" mountain. Its beauty could uplift even the lowest spirits.

The wind had increased by the time they landed at the airport, and Ken helped Chantal out; then escorted her quickly to the terminal. Logan was still in the pilot's seat so Alison waited for him at the door.

He joined her, but instead of stepping out, pulled the door closed again, shutting them inside together. "I don't know if bringing Ja...Ken along was such a good idea."

Ever alert to new information, she caught the slip. "You called him Jay? Isn't Ken his real name?"

"Yes. In his case James Kenneth Earle. But his dad's name is Jim, so he's always been called Ken."

"Chantal seems to like him," she said, "and so do I. It was a good idea to bring him. Although you didn’t mention he was black.”

"Neither did you.”

She smiled. She and Chantal had been friends since Kindergarten. Skin color had disappeared long ago. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“It isn’t. But I can't do this when they're here," he complained, and pulled her to him and kissed her, hungrily, demonstrating the frustration he had felt during the day. She knew how he felt, for she too had been waiting for this moment and her response was unrestrained and joyous.

"Honey, I've missed you," he groaned, his voice vibrant with emotion. "So much. It gets harder to leave you each time."

"Do you always have to rush away?" she questioned plaintively; also experiencing the bitter-sweet aspect of the moment.

"For now, yes; but in a couple of months I'll have my life to myself again. Then you won't be able to get rid of me, sweetheart." As if she wanted to, now. And to think she had tried so hard to send him away at first. It was a good thing he didn't discourage easily. And what did he mean—have his life to himself?