Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (7 page)

“Seattle’s star running back?”

“Yes. He swerved to miss a crate that fell off the back of a truck. Crashed into a tree. I guess if he had missed the tree, he’d have gone over a twenty-foot embankment. A car was following him, saw it happen and called 911. They’re still looking for the truck driver. He probably didn’t even know the crate was missing until he went to unload it.”

Afterward, Alison was glad she’d phoned. During the following days she tried several times unsuccessfully to catch him. When she couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, she tried his home phone number.

She got a message that said she had reached Jake’s Pizza Parlor. She checked the number and redialed. Same voice, same message. She didn’t recognize the voice. She knew it wasn’t Logan’s. She must have written it down wrong.

She tried the cell phone again. This time she got an answering machine, so she mentioned she had tried to call him. But she still wasn’t ready to give him her number, so she said she would try again later.

Labor Day weekend came, the last day for Seattle’s Bumbershoot Film Festival. A glorious day in September, the sun shining hot in hazy blue skies, the air still, but not oppressive; filled with the energetic sounds of lawnmower engines, barking dogs, and children playing in neighborhood yards.

Unwilling to waste the long, cool twilight hours, Alison put on dark green sweats and a cropped cotton top, grabbed her can of Mace and went jogging around the lake.

She had been interpreting for a professional woman off and on all weekend at the film festival, and her mind and fingers were both aching. It had been fun, but her job was finished and there was still light enough to run.

Several other joggers had waited for the cool of the evening before starting and Alison joined the last stragglers on the dirt track, putting her water bottle down on a bench.

The path circled the lake in a wide loop and was marked off by distance so the joggers could tell how many miles they ran. There were exercise stations along the way with instructions for use. It was a popular place and she passed or was passed by several according to speed.

It had been a hot, dry summer, with rainless days following rainless days. The tourist industry jumped for joy and sales rose in the entire area. The only adverse consequence was that water rationing was in effect, something fairly unusual in the Seattle region. The park grass had been left unwatered so large brown patches were prominent over much of the area. The running track was covered with a fine powdered dust that shot up in small puffs each time Alison’s foot went down.

Stride, stride, stride, stride...she loved to run, relaxed and easy, breathing deeply in the warm pine-scented air. Her new job with the high school student meant her afternoons and evenings would be free. She could consider joining one of the women’s soccer teams in the area. Playing soccer at Green Lake would give her plenty of exercise while she was having fun. It was a perfect way to relax after the mental strain of interpreting for several hours. The running required—jogging, sprinting full out, then jogging again—was an excellent conditioner.

Her right leg cramped suddenly and Alison slowed to a limping walk. She should have carried her water bottle. She was now at the far side of the loop, in the part where there was the most foliage, so she moved over onto the shady side of the track.

John, one of the joggers from her building, slowed to ask if she was all right and she nodded, waving him on.

It was going to take awhile to walk back.

Five minutes later she heard other footsteps, very close, and glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.

A man was running toward her and she started to dismiss him until she realized he was wearing tan slacks and a light cream sports shirt, regular street shoes. Dark glasses. No one from around here—and not dressed for running.

Being the type of person who left her seat belt fastened the entire trip in a airplane, Alison believe in planning ahead, so she got her can of Mace positioned correctly in her hand, just in case.

If the man kept on running, fine. If not, she was prepared.

She took a few more steps, stiffening when she heard the runner slow as he came up behind her. She glanced down at the can to make sure she was holding it correctly, her finger on the button.

Startled to hear Logan’s voice, Alison spun around. Her fingers tightened automatically on the can and the arc of the spray hit him directly in the face before she released the button.

“Alison!”

“Logan?”

He pulled off the concealing glasses, wiping his face with his hands. “Ow! Man, wha... what... what did you do that for?”

Her heart was still hammering from the suddenness of his appearance, and she stepped backwards a pace. “How did you find me?” she demanded, not bothering to answer his question.

“You said you lived near Lyon’s Lake.”

“That wasn’t enough—”

He sniffed, tears running down his eyes. “I searched around for your car.”

“It was that easy?”

“No. I was looking for a dented bumper.”

“I had it fixed. I couldn’t get the trunk open, the way it was.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, when I knocked on your door, one of the returning joggers mentioned you were out here.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I guess not.” He was still wiping his eyes, the tears running freely. “Wow, that stings. I don’t usually get that reaction from a woman.”

Probably not
, Alison thought. If his dark glasses hadn’t hidden his identity so well, she would have recognized him at first glance and not readied the Mace.
Maybe
.

She put the can in her pocket. “It was an accident. I had my finger on the button.”

“You want to put your finger next to the button. Like on a gun, alongside the trigger guard.”

“Okay.”

“Next time I’ll make sure I advertise first. From a distance. I’ll stay away until I get an ‘All clear’ sign.”

Next time.
That meant she hadn’t completely botched things by Macing him.
Good.

“I was going to wait for you at the benches, but the last runner in said you had pulled up with a leg cramp. I thought I’d come, see if you needed help.” He held up her water bottle.

“Thanks.” She took the bottle from him. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re limping.”

“I’m trying to walk it off.” She took a drink, paused, drank some more.

He blinked his eyes a few more times, then looked seriously at her. “I had to come. One of my friends put a Pizza message on my answering machine. I assume you heard it.”

“Was that what happened?” So Logan hadn’t been trying to discourage her, after all. The information erased over a week’s worth of frustration, anger, and bewilderment. She felt a sudden rush of joy that he had gone to so much trouble to contact her again.

“He apologized, but it was too late. I could have throttled him.”

“I could, too. That was a very costly prank, because I did throw your number away. This morning. It’s still in the basket.”

“I was afraid you’d never call again. So I flew out.”

“I’m impressed. That’s quite a ways to come, with just the name Lyon’s Lake to go by.”

“I almost gave up. Then I thought to ask about an interpreter, and some children pointed out your apartment.”

Alison smiled, happy at last. She knew which children he referred to. They were always wanting her to teach them more signs.

“I’m glad I mentioned the lake,” she said.

“Me too. Or I’d still be sweating by the phone.”

“You didn’t actually sweat, did you?” she teased.

“Near enough.”

A group of three joggers approached and she and Logan moved to the edge to let them pass more easily.

“You’re still limping,” Logan said, hastily thrusting his dark glasses back on. “Do you want me to fix that?”

“Uh, no. Thanks. It’ll be all right after I walk it some.” The muscle had been getting tighter all the time, and her two quick steps backwards had not helped any.

“It looks uncomfortable. I can put some pressure on it,” he offered. “It’ll just take a moment, and should release the cramp. Make it feel better.”

Another jogger was approaching, then two more behind him. Their presence was reassuring, and Alison said, “Thanks. It might help.”

“No problem. I know what I’m doing. It will hurt for a moment, but the spasm will go away. Sit down over there.”

He pointed towards one of the wooden exercise stations—two log poles buried and cut off a few feet above the ground at two different heights so a person could easily step up and down.

It made a handy chair and she sat on one of the logs as he knelt in front of her, his head a few feet from her knee, pressing strong fingers on the tight calf muscle. He wore a Rolex on his left wrist, Alison noted, and a large gold ring on his right hand that looked like it might be a school ring, or a sports ring of some sort.

She gasped when he first put pressure on the spasmed area, but as the muscle relaxed, the pain lessened.

“There. See it doesn’t take much,” he announced, looking upward with a satisfied smile. He gently kneaded the muscle for a few seconds longer, then asked. “Feel better?”

“Yes. A lot. Are you a doctor as well as a welder?”

He laughed, a short quick laugh as he rose and helped her stand. “No, but I’ve had enough doctors working on me to learn a few tricks.”

His hands were recently scraped in several places and badly bruised. And the bridge of his nose had a dark abrasion that was just starting to heal. Had he done that welding?

“What kind of things do you weld?”

“Depends upon the job. All sorts of things. Is the school nearby, where you work?”

“Sort of. This fall I’ll be at Ballard High School.” He was quick to change the subject, but she decided to try to find out once more what he did. “Do you work at the shipyards, welding ships?” Maybe he’d fallen a few times and needed doctor’s care.

“No. Your leg should be okay now; a slow walk won’t hurt it. Did you ever run track?”

She walked a few steps, finding the cramp all but gone. “In high school. But I mainly played soccer.”

“Oh? That’s great. What position?” He walked beside her, casually relaxed.

“Center half,” she said, “and sometimes left half.”

“Are you left-handed?”

“No, but I kick equally well with either foot, so I play left more often than right.”

He nodded, looking interested. “Im glad you like sports. Many women don’t.”

“I like all sports except wrestling... and football of course. You have to be a nut-case to play football. My brother’s life was completely ruined.”

“You can get injured in any sport.”

Alison couldn’t understand why he sounded so overly defensive. It didn’t affect him. “True...but not so often or so seriously. You take my brother, Chris. The accident left him paralyzed from the neck down.”

“That’s...uh really bad, but—”