Tennessee Touch, Sisters of Spirit #6 (2 page)

"Yes." She spoke the word out loud, suddenly realizing he could hear as well as she. "I thought you couldn't hear."

"Ditto."

The ridiculousness of their continued conversation in ASL hit Logan as funny. He’d been so surprised when she returned his words on the freeway. That had never happened to him before. Now this. He laughed aloud. Once started, he couldn't stop.

"Oh, boy!” He slapped his leg, shaking his head at himself. "Do I feel stupid! I wonder—would we have found out eventually at the market?"

His laughter must have been contagious, for Alison began to giggle, then broke out laughing with him. "I've heard of this happening, but it's the first time for me."

He gasped for control, glad she could see the funny side of it. "Me, too. Although I'm sure we would’ve said something to the waiter. That would’ve given us away." He laughed harder at the image of them continuing to sign all through a meal. It had been done before.

"How do you know ASL?" she asked, catching her breath.

He shook himself, throwing off the last remnant of laughter. "My mother became hearing impaired. I learned it so I could talk to her. How about you?"

"I'm an interpreter."

"That explains why you're so good. You had me fooled." Alison was a beautiful woman, lovely enough to be a model or an actress. He would never have pegged her as an interpreter.

"There's certainly no accent to give me away," she agreed.

Her laughter ended, but the sparkle in her gray-green eyes remained, still dancing, enhancing her beauty. Her direct way of meeting him made Logan want to know her better. "Shall we proceed?"

"Certainly."

He walked over to the Jetta and got in.
Life was funny
, he thought, shaking his head as he turned the key. Here he was meeting up with this really neat woman and she didn’t like football. That would have been fine if his job was anything other than quarterback for the Green Bay Skippers. Professional football, where the other team really would like to cream him permanently.

It didn’t matter too much. If people didn’t recognize him, he often avoided telling them what he did for a living. As soon as they found out, they treated him differently. Like he’d hit a switch.

Both women and men. The men would get this starry-eyed glaze over their eyes and either fall all over themselves to please him or try to show how tough they were. The wrong kind of women would go into what his buddy Jake called ‘gold-digging mode,’ and the right kind of women would shy away from what they perceived as a wealthy, unreachable athlete.

His job had prevented him from getting to know a woman—truly know her. It had become enough of a problem in his life that he now told people he was a welder. It wasn’t a lie, he did weld, but just as a hobby.

It was a good thing the car rental agency didn’t have the BMW he had used last year. The Jetta fit the image he wanted.

He hadn’t been going to stop and eat until they pulled off the freeway and he realized where he was. It was a spur of the moment decision, the kind he made often. He had eaten at this place one other time he was in Seattle for a game.

He drove the few blocks to the restaurant-market, making sure she was able to follow him easily. He was supposed to be meeting Jake and the three other players at the hotel, but they would load his gear, figuring he’d catch up.

She probably had a boy friend. Not engaged though, or married. No rings.

She parked beside him and proceeded into the small building—not much larger than a garage—and looked around.

"You really meant a fish market," Alison remarked, glancing at the large display cases. There were only three tables in this "restaurant," and two were occupied. Colorful fish had been painted on a blue ceiling ocean and among seaweed on the blue walls. Otherwise, they could be in any small market.

"Yes. I figured everyone knew about this place. A teammate— a... a buddy of mine told me where to come. We were lucky we didn't have to wait." He'd have to watch his words more carefully. He smiled at her over the table, pleased with what he saw. Her shoulder length, dark auburn hair framed an oval face; her cheekbones and jaw slightly wider than perfect.

The waiter—who looked also to be the owner/cook and fish expert—brought them some water and a very limited menu—any kind of fish plus a salad. He left them to serve a customer coming in to buy fresh fish.

"The fish should be fresh,” she said. “What do you recommend?"

"Umm...cod is always good. No, wait. Crab. Crab and salad, if you don't mind how messy it is to eat."

She laughed. "You go ahead and tackle the crab. I'll take cod."

He could have crab any day. "Two cods," he told the waiter, who rejoined them at that moment. "Deep fried?" he asked Alison.

"Yes."

He nodded to the waiter, then turned back to Alison. “I still can’t get over those drivers not honking at us to move out of the way. They could see there was nothing in front of us slowing us down.”

“Seattle drivers are polite. Some of them. I think they were being entertained.”

He laughed. “More polite than the drivers I’m used to.”
Oh, oh. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Where are you from?” She asked the question so innocently.

“Wisconsin.” It sounded better than Green Bay. “Benderville.” He had rented a house there that he shared with his wide receiver, Jake. The location was secluded, yet close enough to drive in for practice and games.

“The land of a thousand lakes?”

“Actually there are over eight thousand, five hundred.”

“That’s a lot. There’s a small lake next to my apartment that has a running track around it. I jog there at least three times a week.”

"How long is the track? A mile? Quarter mile?"

"Just a little over a half mile. I was surprised they even named the lake. Lyons Lake. Sounds impressive, doesn't it?"

"Right."

"Well, it's slightly bigger than a water reservoir. Ducks use it mainly."

As they continued to talk, Logan felt himself becoming more and more interested in her. She intrigued him. Challenged him. There was a fine reserve that said, "Stay back, keep your distance, don't touch."

It showed in the way she held her body, used her hands. The way her eyes summed him up.

She was not about to throw herself at anyone. She was...a lady. A lady with a full and generous mouth, sweet, sensitive lips—giving her face character as well as beauty. It was important that he stay and talk to her. More important even than making the plane.

He had been instantly drawn to her and wondered how she felt about him. He was falling all over himself to make a good impression. Was he succeeding? Or would she never want to see him again after this?

The meal was placed before them and they stopped talking to eat.

Something doesn’t add up
, Alison told herself, noticing that one of his eyes was slightly swollen. She couldn’t see a man his age playing a pick-up game of football and getting hurt doing it. Had he been in a fight? Today was Saturday, he could have been in some tavern brawl last night. She was used to detecting lies. Her mother’s first three husbands had given her lots of practice.

He said he was from Wisconsin. Was that the truth? He had hesitated before naming a town and he had a distinct southern drawl. He could have moved there, of course, but she felt uneasy.

“Who do you work for?” he asked, stopping to take a drink of water.

“Myself. I’m free-lance. Almost all interpreters are, you know. We book customers two to three weeks in advance, sometimes longer than that. Right now I’m interpreting for a high school student taking a summer class.”

“Can you read lips?”

“Yes. That’s something I picked up while trying to understand how difficult it is. It’s hard to do. If a person can read lips, it still helps to give them some special signs to clear up some words.”

“I can read lips, but I get lazy because I can hear,” he said with a crooked grin. “Once I get around my mom, my skills sharpen up again.”

“That would be natural. This is excellent fish. I bet the owner could keep a few more tables filled, if he had room.”

“Or if the city would allow it. They can regulate a business right out of business.”

“True.”

“But you’re right. He does have a hot little establishment going here.”

“By the looks of that swollen eye, you weren’t doing so hot, though, yourself.”

“Ha. Somebody hit me when I wasn’t looking.” He looked uncomfortable as he made the admission.

“I suppose you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” If he had been looking, the other person would have been sent flying, that was for sure. It sounded like a brawl with several people.

He shrugged good-naturedly. “Something like that. It comes with my job.”

“What do you do?” she asked, wondering what kind of job called for fist fights and swollen eyes. Could he be a bouncer?

He glanced away, then back again. “Oh. I’m a...welder.”

“How do you get hurt welding?”

“Some of the items are unwieldy. Hard to control.”

“I see.” She didn’t know if she did or not. “Who for?”

“I’m freelance. Like you.”

There was definitely something about Logan that didn’t ring true. She’d heard enough lies to be cautious. She seldom took a man’s word at face value and because she could read lips, she could see what they said about her when they were out of hearing range. A man’s uncensored words were sometimes not pleasant to see. Being able to lip-read had given her more than one rude awakening as to a man’s true motives.

Did he have a wife and family hidden somewhere?

“And your boyfriend?” he asked

“I don’t have one at the present.” She had had plenty, but no one at the moment. They seldom lasted past a few months and Alison was usually the one who ended the relationship. So far it had been impossible to find a man who was sincerely interested in her as a person and wasn’t just looking for a glamorous date to show off.

“Are the men all blind around here?” Logan blurted out, looking astonished.

“No, that’s the problem.” Sometimes Alison felt it would be easier if they were blind. Maybe then they would see her and not her body. She sometimes wished she were smaller or a little bit chunky.

For some reason a beautiful woman was intimidating to the type of man she wanted to attract and a challenge to the type she didn’t want. She considered her beauty to be a hindrance, not an asset.

Her mother was a woman of remarkable beauty, whose first three marriages had appeared happy, but each of which had ended with sudden and devastating betrayal. Alison hadn’t seen enough of the fourth man to know if it would last or not.

“Do you ever sign for TV?” Logan asked. “The program directors would jump at a chance to have you on.”

Alison stiffened. She was glad she had finished eating.

She had felt interested in Logan when she first met him, but his remark flattened her emotions. Couldn't men see beyond a woman's looks, ever?

She was used to men looking her over, and looking again. In high school the boys had marked her passage with low cat calls and kissing sounds. She’d steeled herself to ignore them; to dismiss them from her mind.