Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (14 page)

“Last year there was a series of weird accidents to key players.”

“Do you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll make a list.” Jake pulled out his laptop. “Last year Minnesota went 3 and 0 and then Matt Joplin was hit by a car.”

“One quarterback down, one team unable to recover.”

“Washington was 1 and 3 when Pole was mugged.”

“They missed him as a kicker, but he was a super player on a weak team. His personal stats fell, but they were losing even while he played. Same with Tom George of San Francisco. He was having a great year, but they were only a .500 team at that time.”

“We haven’t had any strange accidents. Are we seeing connections that aren’t there?”

“You’d think they’d be happening to us. We’re already 6 and 0. Besides, if someone wanted to help his team, that team wouldn’t have players getting injured. It’s got to be for some other reason than wins or losses.”

Logan called Alison every night from then on, sometimes just to say "Good night," sometimes to talk for an hour. He was slowly learning everything about her and telling her as much as he could about himself. That he liked home cooking—meat and potatoes, classic movie comedians such as Laurel and Hardy, football and baseball,was an early riser and a conservative Christian.

 She loved gourmet cooking , couldn't stand the brutality of football and thought baseball boring. She loved to sleep in. She did like the old movie comedies although that was mainly because of the mime involved in the old silent films. A Christian, but an Independent.

He didn't mind when her likes usually turned out to be the opposite of his, but drew her into conversation about why he liked it and she didn't. He enjoyed getting her to defend her side while he tried to prove his view was better. And she did agree with him that all types of music had merit and promised that she would listen to the country-western tapes he mailed to her...in return for his promise that he would listen to the classical/jazz tapes she would give him next time they met.

When she said she played the flute, he asked her to play a piece to him over the phone, so she did, a short one that she especially liked, its clear pure melody soaring over the miles to him.

Then he was free to come once again. This time he took his leased plane, starting out Tuesday morning and flying with the sun. He’d learned to time it so that he got there a half hour before she got off work. Today was one of those beautiful days made for flying.

The Rocky Mountains rose into view and Logan looked down at their magnificent peaks and rugged valleys as he flew over them. He loved beauty, had ever since he’d been a small boy, fascinated with bugs and butterflies, birds and trees. Things that were alive. Moving beauty like the clock he’d made for her.

Into it he’d poured all the admiration he felt for her, all his skill, spending hour upon hour forming the delicate metal objects. He’d used every available spare minute while convalescing from his leg injury.

His team was facing two tough weeks ahead...he might not be able to get out to see her until after the game against New York. He used to mark time from game to game; now he found himself marking time from when he saw Alison. The importance of the games were slipping into the background, which was strange when he thought about it, because this was the year when they had the talent and drive to go all the way and win the championship.

Football was big news in Green Bay; he and Jake were bringing victories back to a town hungry for football success. The media was all over them, invading their privacy like ants at a picnic. The pictures of Joshua Logan throwing and Jake Earle catching covered the fronts of sports magazines. Plus other pictures of the two of them, some of them very personal and unwelcome.

The reporters were always seeking new blood, although they continually asked the same questions. They would continue to be pests as long as Logan and Jake were leading their team to victory...or until some new fresh phenomena entered the sporting realm and the pack turned on him.

So far he had been able to slip away from Green Bay without being noticed, but he expected that would be short lived. Someone had tried to follow him from his house this morning, but Logan had been looking for a tail and successfully shook it before driving on to the airfield.

If they ever figured out his trips? He shook his head. Then he would have to tell Alison who he was and warn her what might happen. That wouldn't make her at all happy. He knew the intrusiveness of the press. Logan didn't want to subject Alison to that. With her explosive temper, she'd probably stuff the camera down the front of the first photographer who shoved it in her face and started asking personal questions. Maybe she'd even use Mace on him. Actually, there was one rude female photographer Logan couldn't stomach. He'd love to turn Alison loose on her.

He said he might not be able to make it every Tuesday, but only a week passed before he came again. She was forewarned this time by one of the high school teachers asking her about that super hunk of a man standing by her car. Dora could see him from her room, and Alison hurried across the hall and looked out the window. He was leaning against the front fender, wearing blue jeans and a sheepskin jacket. He waved, looking happy to see her, and signed, "Hi. When are you finished?"

"Wow," said Dora, who was standing behind Alison. "Where'd you find him?"

"He found me...on the freeway." She held up her watch arm, pointed to it, and signed fifteen. Fifteen minutes should be all she needed. She was about done.

"Good. See you soon."

Dora, who was still watching him, asked, "What part of the freeway? I'm going to go there from now on. Do you think he can be cloned? Or has a twin?"

"Why, Dora," Alison teased, "what would that super husband of yours say?"

"It might get him out of his chair at the end of the day and into the aerobics class I'm taking. He's turning into a couch potato. But he is super, so I guess I'll leave the hunk to you." She glanced back at Logan. “There are some advantages with ASL. What did he say?”

They had a few more minutes before class was dismissed, so Alison told her, as Dora was trying to learn some ASL to be able to talk to the deaf students. "It doesn't have to be in order; it's not like English. When you use ASL you paint a picture. First you set up the broad outline and then fill in the details.”

Dora nodded.

“It really gets complicated when you talk about several things. You have to visually place each thing in its own certain spot and remember where you placed it so you can refer to it again if you need to. You definitely can't mumble something in your sleep."

"Maybe I better forget trying to learn. I'd probably just confuse the person I was—"

"Oh, no," Alison said, interrupting her. "Don't mind if you blunder through. A deaf person can usually understand, even if you do mess up. They're used to people signing different ways. Sign language has regional differences, just as a spoken language has different accents. And deaf people have their own culture, their own jokes. They know that there's a communication barrier between them and the hearing."

"They won't think I'm intruding?"

"No. They'll help you. They're glad when someone makes the effort to communicate. Have you learned to finger spell yet?" She had given Dora a copy of the alphabet.

"I can do "B" and "C" and "O"...some of the easier ones."

"I can show you how to remember them." She quickly went through the alphabet, showing her how the signs, in many instances, resembled the letters they represented. "You'll gain speed as you use them."

With speedy fingers, Alison finished explaining the homework to her student. She hurried outside to find Logan in her car, the motor running, heater and defrost making things comfortable.

"I thought I'd locked it," she said puzzled, then saw the key in the ignition.

"You did. I had a copy made when we were at Alderwood. It's too cold waiting outside for you. Hop in." He threw open the passenger door for her and she went around and climbed in.

Now she knew what he'd done at the hardware store. And no one had let him into her apartment, either. He'd had her door key.

Instead of alarming her, the knowledge actually made her relieved. After all, if he'd had the key to her apartment for an entire month and hadn't taken advantage of it, she was pretty safe. She tossed her purse in and sat down beside it, realizing how far he had penetrated into her life in the few brief times he had seen her.

She had hung the metal sculptured clock up in her main room, its beauty a constant reminder of him. His name was etched in the metal along with the date. Logan. Her mystery man. He was slowly taking over her life, her thoughts, even her dreams.

She felt an intense pleasure at seeing him and his battered face. He looked like he had been in a war this time. His nose was swollen, his cheek bruised, his forearms bandaged and his hands were scraped raw across the knuckles.

As if mutually drawn, their lips met and lingered, reluctantly drawing apart. She tossed her purse in the back seat and moved over closer, to where his arm could come around her and bring her up against his side.

"Hello," he said, drawing out the word.

"Hello to you."

"How about another one of those?"

"Not now," she stated, indicating the students who were leaving the school. The great majority of them had cleared the parking area, but there were still too many for Alison to be comfortable kissing Logan. The first had been sheer impulse...the thought of an audience never entering her head. But as she moved over she had also looked out the window and immediately felt a wave of embarrassment. Kissing in public wasn't done, at least not by her, and she told him that.

She skipped any comment on his condition. He wouldn't tell her what happened anyway.

He started her car moving, asking as he drove, "What was your friend saying?"

"She wanted to know if there were any more like you around. And I reminded her she already has a fantastic husband."

"She wouldn't want me the way I am today," he groaned.

"Why not?" Alison asked.
She wanted him.

"Three cracked ribs, a loose tooth. Lots of bruises. I'm sore all over. The ribs are taped, but I'm supposed to take it easy. So don't squeeze me very hard, my lovely."

So that was why his movements seemed so stiff. She smiled at him, and then at herself...it was the first time in years she had not been bothered by someone commenting on her looks. "What happened?"

He shrugged, wincing at the movement. "Somebody didn't like what I was doing and tried to stop me." An offhand remark, telling her absolutely nothing...except....

"Are you a police officer?"

"No...I break too many rules to ever be a cop. Stop guessing. I'll tell you, some day. All in good time."

But there was a question she had to ask. Biting her lower lip, she put it to him as nicely as she could. "You don't do anything terribly illegal, do you? I mean like deal drugs...or rob banks?"

"Oh, no." And added quickly as she sighed, "You weren't worried about that, were you?"

"Yes, and don't laugh." For all she knew he could be a hit man. She didn't want to think it of him, but why else the secrecy unless he had something to hide?

He shook his head thoughtfully in agreement. "True. You can't know if I’m lying to you or not. But I promise you this, Alison, I don't do anything you'd be ashamed of." His voice had a sincere ring to it, his eyes focused directly on hers as he made the statement; not evasive, not shifting away. Either he was telling her the truth or he was a very accomplished liar.

"Then why not tell me?" It was worrisome not to know. She could feel her liking for this man growing each time they met or talked. The potential for hurt and disappointment was increasing with each meeting... if he was lying to her and was married after all or if he operated outside the law or if he was involved in drugs or some such thing, it would devastate her. Why couldn't he tell her what he did? And even then, could she trust his explanation?