Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (17 page)

"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 eager 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.

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!"