Jo had baked blueberry pie earlier, and after they’d all had slices, Logan lifted a brow at Kathleen.
“If we’re going to catch that game, we’d better get going.”
“Oh, right.” Guiltily Kathleen looked at the mountain of dirty dishes. “I should…”
Helen, collecting pie plates from the table, saw her expression. “Don’t be silly. Go. You and Jo cooked, the kids and I’ll clean.”
Tyler and Melissa groaned.
Their father cleared his throat and they subsided. Then he grinned. “I didn’t cook, either. Sign me up.”
“See?” Jo said to Kathleen, to everyone else’s puzzlement.
“I did train him right, didn’t I?” Kathleen responded smugly.
Her brother elbowed her on his way by. To Logan, with the first trace of friendliness he’d shown, he said, “Watch it with her. Give her half a chance, and you’ll be mumbling, ‘Yes, ma’am, no, ma’am,’ before you know it.”
“You needed bossing!” she declared tartly, sticking out her tongue.
Laughing, Logan took her arm and steered her toward the front door. “Thanks for dinner,” he said over his shoulder, for probably the third time. “Jo, that was great.”
At the front door, Kathleen pulled a cream-colored, Shaker-stitch cardigan on over her T-shirt and watched while Logan shrugged into his jacket. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach again.
You’re not committed to anything but a baseball game, she told herself sternly. Taking up where they’d left off the other night did not mean she had to go home with him. They hadn’t known each other long. He’d understand if she wasn’t ready.
But when their eyes met, a tingle ran through her. She was ready. So ready. If he suggested skipping the game…
But he didn’t. He was somewhat quiet during the drive to SafeCo Field, but once he’d parked the pickup, he tucked her hand securely into the crook of his arm as they started across the huge parking lot. “I like your family.”
“My family?” His forearm was thick and strong under her fingers. She matched her steps to his and let their hips bump. “Oh. You mean Ryan and the kids.”
“And Jo and Helen and Ginny. They’re family of a kind, aren’t they?”
She remembered thinking in the emergency room how much like family they’d become. “Mmm,” she agreed. “It’s hard to believe sometimes that I didn’t know any of them a year ago.”
“Now Jo will be your sister-in-law, and Helen’s your business partner.”
She made a face. “If the business goes anywhere.”
“Oh ye of little faith…”
Surprised, Kathleen looked up at him. “How funny. My mother said that. Every time I’d doubt my ability to do something, she’d say, ‘Oh ye of little faith.’ It didn’t sound like her, so I asked her one time and she said she guessed her mom had said that when she was growing up.”
“I take it she encouraged you to make something of yourself?”
She felt an odd pang. “Yes. Yes, she did. She wanted me to have better opportunities than she’d had. She never knew how to do anything but waitress. I remember her taking off her shoes one night and showing me how swollen her feet were, and how she was getting varicose veins. ‘Sit behind a desk,’ she said.” Kathleen fell silent, ashamed as she was every time she thought of her mother’s love and support and her own embarrassment at what her mother was.
“How did she die?”
“Heart. She ignored symptoms until she had a massive heart attack. She was only fifty-eight.”
The couples and families pouring toward the stadium converged in a line at the gate. Half the crowd wore Mariner hats or sweatshirts; a few boys and men carried baseball gloves in hopes of snagging a home run or foul ball.
With the rain having let up today, the roof was open to a black sky. High clouds kept even the moon from peeking through. The steep banks of seats and the field below were lit so brightly, Kathleen imagined the space shuttle crew peering down at the burst of white light and speculating on the cause.
The crowd, good-sized with early season optimism, rustled and murmured expectantly, then roared with approval when their team ran onto the field.
The season before, Kathleen had actually listened to enough games on the radio to know who was who and why this pitcher was on the mound and who was probably warming up in the bullpen and why the crowd exploded with pleasure every time the right fielder waved good-naturedly.
In Logan’s company, she settled back to enjoy the game. His occasional commentary and knowledgable answers to her questions made her suspect he was more of a fan than he’d admitted.
“Have you ever played?” she asked, between innings when the teams were trading places on the field.
“In high school. I, uh, play on a slow-pitch team now, just for fun.” He sounded embarrassed admitting it, as if a grown man shouldn’t play games.
“Really?” She should have guessed that he must be active in some way, to keep muscles as impressive as his. “What position?”
“Catcher. That’s what I was in high school, too.” He gazed down at the field, expression reflective. “I was actually drafted by the Angels, but I knew I didn’t have what it takes to make it to the big time. I’m too slow.”
“Catchers usually are solidly built, like you,” she realized aloud.
He gave her a rueful glance. “You mean, built like a fireplug.”
“You’re too big to compare to a fireplug. You’re more like, um, a Mac truck. Or a draft horse.”
“Right. Stocky and slow.”
“Strong and sexy,” she corrected, bringing a glint to his eyes and a quirk to his mouth that showed appreciation and awareness.
“Is it fun? Playing slow-pitch?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “We’re good friends, competitive in an easygoing way.” His hand closed around hers. “You’ll have to come to a game someday.”
She loved the way he took her hand, so naturally, and then held it clasped on his thigh. “I’d like that.”
She imagined herself in the bleachers with a few other girlfriends and wives, cheering on their men. She’d never done anything like that. Ian’s sports were tennis and racquetball, played at his club.
“Our first game is a few weeks away. We just started practice last month.”
At the roar of the crowd, she looked down at the field where a Texas Ranger had popped up a foul ball. The Mariner catcher flung off his mask and backed up, glove in the air. The ball dropped neatly into it.
The Mariners won easily, fueling hopes that this season would be different than last. Joining the exodus, Logan led the way. When they reached the stairs, he reached behind him and put Kathleen’s hand on his belt.
“Don’t lose me,” he ordered, using his big shoulder to wedge his way into the thick clot of humanity climbing the steep concrete steps.
She liked the way he kept glancing back to check on her, and the fact that his arm closed snugly around her the minute they reached the concourse and she could come up beside him.
Ian hadn’t been much for touching. During sex, sure. He was a good lover, intense and focused. He’d held her close on the dance floor, where she’d enjoyed some of her favorite moments with her husband. He was graceful, masterful and occasionally dramatic, dipping her outrageously or suddenly kissing her with deep, demanding passion.
But he’d never taken her hand when they walked side by side. If he laid a hand on the small of her back or put his arm around her at a party, it was because he thought another man was flirting with his wife and he wanted to assert possession. He didn’t like to snuggle on the sofa to watch TV or read, and once they’d made love in their king-size bed, he moved away. In the first flush of marriage, Kathleen had expected to sleep with their limbs entangled, his heartbeat beneath her ear, his breath warm in her hair.
All it had taken was an irritable, “How can I sleep with your elbow in my ribs?” for her to learn to lie quietly on her own side of the huge bed.
Where had that child gone? Kathleen wondered with sudden despair.
And how had she deceived herself for so long that she loved Ian and was loved by him?
Kathleen felt as if she and Logan walked alone in the midst of the crowd, a bubble separating them from the people jostling toward the exits. Within it, they were quiet. Kathleen’s mind had jumped ahead, to what was to come.
If she let it.
She wondered if Logan was thinking the same, or if, manlike, he was mulling over the second-base steal in the eighth inning and harbored no nerves whatsoever about making love for the first time with her.
Maybe he dated frequently and had lots of “first times.”
Her mind skittered. Oh, dear. She hadn’t thought to do anything about protection. He’d have condoms, wouldn’t he?
With terror bumping in her chest, she thought, I can’t do this. I’ll just ask him to take me home.
At the truck, he unlocked her side, closing the door when she was inside and circling the hood.
“That was fun,” she said brightly, the minute he got in.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” His voice was deep and comfortable. As he inserted the key, he asked, “Do you want to stop somewhere for coffee?”
The caffeine coupled with her already jangled nerves would send her through the roof. “I don’t dare have any this late.”
Logan nodded and turned the key. The engine started with a throaty roar. But he made no move to back out and join the stream of vehicles creeping toward exits.
“Is it too soon to ask you to come home with me?” The question was quiet, undemanding.
She appreciated, in a way, that he was asking now rather than after a passionate kiss. He must not want morning-after doubts. But the coward in her wished he’d swept her away, not asked her to make a rational decision.
“I’m a little bit nervous,” she admitted, not looking at him. “Outside of my marriage, I’m not very…experienced.”
“I’m not exactly a playboy myself.” His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I won’t say I’ve been celibate since Brynn died, but there haven’t been many women.” He sounded awkward. “I don’t get close to people that easily.”
Something in her melted at his stiff confession. “I don’t, either.” She looked directly at him for the first time. “I don’t know how I ended up here, with you.”
He turned his head and gave her a crooked smile. “For once in my life, I got pushy, I guess. Maybe lately you’ve been a little easier than usual to push around. Seems that’s what your brother’s afraid of.”
Kathleen laughed. “He did come on strong, didn’t he?”
“If I had a sister, I’d do the same.” He hesitated. “So, shall I take you home tonight? There’s no hurry, you know.”
On an impulse that was foreign to her, she unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “I know there’s no hurry. But I think I’d like to go home with you.” She took a deep breath. “As long as you understand if I chicken out.”
His big hand left the steering wheel to close around hers, strong and comforting. “Like I said, there’s no hurry.”
She managed to work up a case of butterflies again during the drive, but they were almost…pleasant. She felt young and giddy and impulsive and even a tiny bit irresponsible.
“You know,” she said aloud, “I am thirty-eight.”
He turned his head quickly, then burst into laughter. “What provoked that?”
Kathleen laughed, too. “I guess it was a warning. But I think I was reminding myself.” She made her voice stern. “‘You must be adult and responsible.’”
Still chuckling, he asked, “Warning of what?”
“I suppose that I don’t have the body of a twenty-year-old.”
“You know,” he said, “funny coincidence, but I’m thirty-nine. The body—” he patted his belly “—ain’t what it used to be, either.”
“Beer belly?” she teased. His stomach looked rock-hard to her.
“Working on it.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth.
His house was built on a quiet side street. The driveway led between retaining walls into a basement level garage, just big enough for his pickup. The house, which he’d told her was built in the 1940s or 50s, was much smaller than hers.
“My panel truck is out back,” Logan said, turning off the ignition. “I have an alley entrance.
“Can I see my cabinets?” she asked.
“Sure.” He pushed a button and the garage door whirred shut behind them as they both got out.
His workshop took up most of a basement that must be a thousand square feet, Kathleen guessed. It was scrupulously neat and brightly lit. Steel gleamed and even the floor was swept clean, the only sawdust in an open plastic garbage can.
Verging, she knew, on obsessively tidy herself, she appreciated the order he maintained, tools on pegboards in spots sized specifically for them and no other, saw blades oiled and wood satin smooth.
Her cabinets were unfinished but taking shape, the wood pale when she stroked it, but almost silky from sanding, the joints clean and the proportions balanced.
“They’re going to be beautiful,” she said, admiring.
Leaning against a vast table saw—at least, she thought that’s what it was—Logan watched her. “I do my best.”
His voice was a little husky. She met his eyes, which seemed to have darkened. He straightened, and she took a step. Then maybe another, and another, she didn’t know, but they met, his arms closing around her with almost bruising force, his mouth coming down on hers with shocking hunger.
They’d both been waiting for this, she realized hazily. Chatting, cheering on the Mariners, going through the motions, but not really thinking about anything but this moment, when they could come together.
She had never felt so…wanted as she did right now. Ian, for all his skill, couldn’t fake sheer, desperate need. She clung to Logan, arms around his neck, her knees weak and her body melting against the hard wall of his. She kissed him as eagerly, and was a little shocked to hear herself make a small, frantic sound when he lifted his mouth from hers.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he groaned. “We’d better get upstairs while we can.”
Upstairs? Kathleen surfaced to realize she was going to have to walk up a flight of stairs. She didn’t know if her legs would carry her.
“Oh. Okay.”
But he didn’t move. Instead he looked down at her with eyes that smoldered. He made another sound, deep in his throat, a rough, guttural one, and cupped her face in both big hands. “You’re so beautiful.”
Breathless, she whispered, “Not…”
“Don’t argue.” He bent his head again, kissed her, nipped her bottom lip, then, breathing hard, pulled back.
But only long enough to lift her. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said, low and gritty.
His erection was a solid bar that she rode as he went to the narrow staircase and started up. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, and she kissed his neck, astonished in some distant part of her mind at how wanton she could be.
From the way his fingers flexed on her buttocks as he pressed her tighter, she knew he was as aroused as she was, that this trip upstairs was as agonizing and sweet for him as for her.
At the top, he shouldered open the door, then headed toward the back of the house. She had an impression of bare walls and wood floors and no more. The sight of his king-size
bed, filling the small bedroom, sent a shiver running through her, a memory of the vastness of a bed, the loneliness on her side.
But he lowered her to it with an expression on his face that was so different from anything she’d ever seen on Ian’s, Kathleen forgot her marriage bed. No one had ever looked at her like this, with tenderness and wanting and humility.
“You’re sure?” he asked, voice raw.
Suddenly shy, she nodded.
“Good.” He eased her shirt up, made a sound at the sight of her full breasts and lacy bra. “I was hoping like hell you wouldn’t chicken out now.”
“I don’t think I could bear to.” Kathleen gasped as his thumbs circled her nipples.
For all the need etched on his face, tightening the skin across blunt cheekbones, Logan made love to her slowly and carefully. He undressed her, stroking her calves, nuzzling her knees, parting her bra and kissing her breasts as if he had all the time in the world.
She tugged at his shirt until he lifted his arms so she could pull it off, baring a massive chest and shoulders with muscles that went hard at her tentative touches and jerked when she squeezed.
They explored each other with immense curiosity, at least on her part, and need that rose as inexorably as the tide, silent and powerful. Some moments felt awkward, as when he put on the condom, or even strange—when he bent his head to take her breast in his mouth—she tangled her fingers in his hair and was momentarily jolted because Ian’s hadn’t been so long. But she quickly surrendered to the now and to this man whose touch and kisses were so sharply pleasurable that she whimpered and her hips bucked.
Logan’s hand was so large, too, that when it enveloped her breast or her hip she was startled but aroused anew. It couldn’t be the same, she didn’t want it to be the same, she craved a sweetness to lovemaking that she had never felt with Ian.
Somehow she had known all along that Logan would enter her slowly, patiently, although his muscles were rigid with the effort not to plunge, not to take instead of wait until she offered.
“Ah, love,” he said, his cheek scraping hers, his voice unrecognizable. “You feel…so good.”
“Yes,” she whispered against his ear. “Yes. Oh, please.”
The Perfect Mom Page 13
