Sisters of Spirit, Pure Romance Set

by Nancy Radke

  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. “I’m 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—”

  “Because of that, his fiancée dropped him. He quit college and moved back home. He’s vegetated there ever since. He’s now as negative about things as my mom.”

  It sounded to Logan as if the young man had compounded his injury with self-pity. If that was all Alison had against football, he felt sure he could overcome her dislike once she knew him better. He certainly didn’t want her to think of him as a nut-case.

  He debated telling Alison that her brother—like himself—was fortunate to get rid of a fiancée who couldn’t take the bad with the good. He decided against it and switched the subject.

  “I was afraid you were off visiting your parents or something, since today is Labor Day,” he said as they started to walk slowly along the track.

  “No. I had a job. I saw Mom and Chris last week.”

  “Do they live close by?”

  “Not too far. They have a place near Granite Falls. Do you know where that is?”

  “No. Never heard of it. What does your father do?”

  “My step-father, actually.” She said the word with distaste. “Edward Grey. He’s mom’s fourth, a carpenter. He works out of Everett.”

  “Fourth? That’s getting up there. Any other kids, besides your brother?”

  As they walked the track, she told him some of what he wanted to know. About her younger step-sister, Leslie, and the family cat, Squibbs. Her horse, Jinx, an Arab, which she didn’t get to ride much anymore. The two high schools she’d attended. “I studied sign language and became an interpreter.”

  “What got you started?”

  “I used to play with a neighbor girl; she was deaf and so were her parents. I’d take her places and interpret for her. She was three years younger than me but we spent a lot of time together until mother remarried and we moved to Granite Falls.”

  “Is your father still alive?”

  “Sure....somewhere.” She didn’t sound like she had a very high opinion of him either.

  “What happened...if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Other women. He was a high school jock and Mom was a cheerleader when they got married. He just never stopped sleeping around, although he hid his affairs pretty well. Actually, I was the one who found out.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Nine. I came home early from school and found him in bed with Mom’s best friend. I can still see the looks on their faces. Dad threatened me, what would happen if I told, but I told Mom anyway. I felt as betrayed as she.”

  “And husband number two?”

  She shrugged. “That was Leslie’s father. He was the one who pushed Chris into football. He was a former all-college pro. Never let anyone forget it.”

  “What happened to him?” Logan asked, amazed. “Other women too?”

  “Sort of.” She looked away, as if wanting to avoid the subject.

  “What do you mean? Alison?”

  “Oh...just that...he wouldn’t leave me alone. I was eleven. I set up a video camera and played it back for Mom, to get her to believe me. Thankfully she kicked him out before anything happened.”

  Logan felt the disgust rise in him. No wonder she hadn’t liked her stepfathers.

  They reached the end of the track and Alison took one more drink from her water bottle. He watched as she drank deeply, head tipped back, the lovely line of her neck appealing to the artist in him.

  She seemed the kind of person who didn’t go halfway with anything. A person who could enjoy life to the fullest, able to receive the pleasures life offered to her, unstinting in the giving of herself.

  Or was that wishful thinking on his part? Did her dislike of her stepfathers carry over to all men?

  “Your mother hasn’t had much luck with husbands,” he said, following her back onto the track, walking beside her as she started another loop.

  “That’s because she’s been marrying the wrong kind. She uses her beauty to catch them, then wonders why they are so shallow. Husband three was a wealthy businessman. He traveled a lot. Mom found out he had a continuing affair with his secretary when she flew out to surprise him at one of his conferences. Leslie and I are always expecting number four to go belly up.”

  “Don’t they get along?”

  “Oh, sure, fine...as far as I can tell. But there wasn’t much warning with the other three. One day they were there and the next they were gone.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “The funny thing is that Mom still has hope. She married Edward when I was twenty-two. He’s neither a jock nor very well off, so maybe this one will work out. I’ve not met him very often, but Leslie thinks he genuine. I sure hope so.”

  So much for Jake’s advice, saying I should tell her who I am, Logan told himself. At first it had been a challenge to see if he could interest her without her knowing he was a wealthy football star. Now it seemed imperative she not find out. At least not for a while.

  “Have you lived long in Wisconsin?” she asked.

  “Uh, not really. I live most of the year in east Tennessee. That’s where my folks are. My younger brother is at Oregon.” Playing football. “My dad’s an auto mechanic. He owns his own garage.” With me as silent partner. “It’s where I learned to weld. My mom works part time at a small bookstore. She doesn’t need the money, just loves books.”

  “What else do you do, besides weld?”

  Play football. “Welding takes up a surprising amount of time, but I’m part of a program designed to keep at-risk juveniles out of jail.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “It is. It’s highly rewarding, much like I assume your work with deaf students might be.”

  “How do you find the kids you work with?”

  “I meet with a juvenile court judge late Tuesday nights. We have several men now working the program, and Judge Walters and I look over the cases and discuss the progress being made and decide which boy should be paired with which man.”

  “What’s the name of your juvenile?”

  “Marty. The chip is gone from his shoulder and he’s now fun to be around.”

  “So it’s really good for the boys?”

  “It isn’t a one-way street. The program benefits the men as well as the youths, especially if we’re careful when we put the combinations together. It doesn’t work too well if we put an athlete with a computer enthusiast. It broadens their interests, but they have a hard struggle at first and are more inclined to drop the program.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I’ll probably be starting with a new boy soon. Marty is really coming along. He doesn’t need me as much. I’ll stay in contact, of course, but he’ll be eighteen soon. I have kids I worked with a couple of years ago. I expect to go to their college graduations.”

  “How is Marty’s schoolwork?”

  “Good, I hope. We’ll see how his grades are. He attended summer school this year.”

  “Did he want to?”

  “Judges orders. This is sort of a work-play program. To stay out of jail, they have to get b
ack in school and bring up their grades. They’re assigned to one of our fellows, who do some sports and things with them, check on them and make sure they stay off the streets.” Alison was nodding and smiling and didn’t appear nervous anymore. It looked like Jake was right, for once.

  “I don’t know if I’d want that responsibility,” she said.

  “Oh, we have a case-worker too, who works with both of us. The main thing is showing an interest. A lot of these kids have not had adults with the time to show them the interest. Including their parents. You’d be surprised at how far a little attention goes. Adult attention. One on one. Not just in a group with other kids.”

  They had reached the shady area, passing where he had caught up with her. She was nodding, smiling. Thanks Jake. “We work hard to keep them out of gangs and away from drugs. To give them good advice, not the kind the other kids are giving them.”

  “Do they take it?”

  “The smart ones do. We give them hope.” Which included a college scholarship paid for by himself and other players willing to give back to the Green Bay community. And not just football players. He and the judge had actively recruited community leaders with deep pockets to fund scholarships, and successful young athletes to act as role models and guides.

  “Are you a supporter of midnight basketball?”

  “Not really. I’m a supporter of tax relief for families so the mother doesn’t have to work and parents can spend more time at home with their kids. A mother and father at home is always the best program for keeping kids out of trouble.”

  He and Jake had helped build a sports complex in their Tennessee hometown, with a basketball area, soccer/football fields, and a baseball diamond. Logan’s older brother was managing it.

  But he wasn’t ready to tell Alison all the things he did. Not until he was ready to tell her his job. Otherwise, with her imagination and the amount of money he had, she would think he was a drug runner. Or a hit man.

  At the end of the second circuit, Alison stopped and took her time undoing the lid of her water bottle, wondering what to do next. She wasn’t going to invite Logan into her apartment and her calf muscle didn’t feel like it would stand another circuit.

  The water was warm, but she didn’t care, she actually preferred it that way when she was hot.

  He glanced at his watch. “I spent most of the day trying to find you, and now when I do I have to leave.” He looked disappointed. She felt relieved.

  “So soon?” She tried to act like she didn’t want him to go, but she was ready to send him away.

  “I caught the only late flight that had a seat empty. Not many left, because of Labor Day.” She started to walk back to the apartments and he followed her. “Will you phone me again? I’ll keep Jake away from the machine.”

  “Of course. You didn’t cancel your Tuesday meeting, I hope. With Judge Walters?”

  “We took Labor Day off.” He stopped walking and pulled off his dark glasses, looking intently at her. “Do you think...could I have your phone number?” His gaze remained steady as he asked, giving her assurance.

  “Sure. But you need to promise not to call more than once a week.”

  “I promise.”

  “I should have told you the first time I called. Then you wouldn’t have had to make the trip out here.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  She thrust her hands in her pockets, feeling only the Mace can and her apartment key. “I don’t have anything on me to write it down.”

  “Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

  “Don’t expect me to do the same,” she declared. “I immediately forget any number I don’t write down.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You have other talents.”

  If he meant her body! Her mouth tightened in sudden anger and he blinked, looking puzzled.

  “Hey, wait, wait.” He threw up his hands and stepped away quickly. “I was talking about your skill as an interpreter. Nothing else.”

  “It didn’t sound like it.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. It wasn’t meant that way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely. Man are you ever fast to take offense.”

  “The last bozo who said that to me was not referring to anything having to do with interpreting,” she informed him, still testy at his remark.

  “What happened to him?”

  “How do you know anything happened?”

  He just looked at her.

  “I didn’t do much,” she defended herself.

  “Just?”

  “Just slammed the door in his face when he tried to follow me through. He had been bumping and touching me whenever he could, so when I went through and he started to follow, I hit him with it.”

  “I will definitely keep my hands to myself.” He clasped them behind him.

  “You’re doing okay, so far,” she said, smiling at his exaggerated look of relief.

  “I have to ask. Why do you run with a can of Mace in your hand?”

  “A girl was murdered in this park last week. I thought I was the next victim.” She still had lingering doubts about him. “You weren’t wearing running clothes. And I couldn’t tell who it was, with the dark glasses.”

  “Ah,” he groaned, shaking his head in chagrin. “Now I know why you reacted so. My bad.”

  “If you insist on wearing those glasses....”

  “I get it. I’ll try to remember to take them off around you.”

  “Are they prescription? I didn’t think—”

  “No. I’m just used to wearing them.” He glanced at his watch again. Shook his head. “I’ve got to leave. I didn’t have much choice of plane seats.”

  Logan’s cell phone rang and he glanced quickly at the number. Alison!

  “Hello!”

  “Hi there.”

  “Good to hear from you again.” Her second call this week. This time she had only waited two days before calling.

  “Where are you today?” she asked.

  “Pittsburgh.” In the locker room. Trying to talk to you and at the same time suit up for the game.

  “It sounds like you’re in a crowd.”

  “A bunch of friends are with me.” And coaches and trainers and a trio of rookies getting their first taste of NFL schedules.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Not much.” A knock-down drag-out football game with one of the toughest teams we’re going to face. Although the other team was missing their strong safety, who had been knocked down a stairwell yesterday while in a crowded shopping area.

  “Welding?”

  “It’s the steel capital, you know.” He had to get the subject changed. “How are you doing?”

  “I just went out to see my brother. I always come away so depressed. I decided a call to you might lift my spirits.”

  He waved away Jake, who was motioning him to hurry up. Jake started to walk away, then reversed directions, grabbed some of Logan’s clothes and started laying them along the bench. Inside out.

  “Can I call you back in a few hours? This is just not the right time. Or else you call me back. I won’t have my phone on me for awhile, so might not answer right away.”

  Jake was doing all sorts of animated faces.

  “Jake is here and thinks he’s a clown and is making it hard to talk.” Logan finally nodded “yes” to get Jake to leave. Which thankfully he did.

  Her laugh was delightful. “Why don’t you call me then?”

  “Yes. Thank you. In a few hours.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.” He hung up and dressed in record time, slowing down when he put on his socks. They were wet. Jake had dropped them in some ice water, so he had to fish through his bag and get a dry pair he carried, just in case.

  Delighted to have heard from her, he went out and played his best game of the season. He’d have to get her to call early on game days more often.

  5

  Her interpreting work finished for the day, Alison came out in
to a particularly heavy September shower. A true Seattle dweller, she didn’t bother with a rain hat or an umbrella. They were a nuisance to carry around, and if the rain did come down hard, a person just waited a few minutes until it lightened up or quit and then went on about one’s business. Or else made a mad dash from building to car like Alison was doing right now, head down, hunched body protecting the book she was carrying, feet splashing through the shallow puddles.

  It had been nice and warm and lovely out that morning—clear blue skies—so she hadn’t even bothered wearing a coat. But her white cotton blouse and flared apple-green skirt wouldn’t be hurt by a little water. And neither would she.

  Unlocking her car door and flinging it open, she dove in headfirst, reached out to pull the door shut, and found Logan there, water pouring off him as he held the door open and looked inside.

  She jumped. “Oh!”

  “Sorry. Didn’t want you to drive away without knowing I was here. Anyplace we can go to talk?”

  He was drenched. He must have waited for her in the parking lot, standing in the rain. His dark hair, plastered down, was dripping wet; raindrops still clinging to his face and hands. No coat or hat, and his clinging wet polo shirt revealed the depth of muscle tone she had only guessed at before.

  It had been two weeks since she had seen him, two days since they had last spoken on the phone. He hadn’t mentioned coming to Seattle.

  “The teacher’s lounge.” She thought about walking with him through the halls, still full of students, past some of the boys she saw every day, and decided against it. “No. Let’s go to another restaurant. A fast food place.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “I sent my cab away. Didn’t know how long it would take.” He pulled out his cell phone. “You’ll have to wait.”

  “Shut the door and get in,” she said. “We can talk in here.”

  He nodded, closed her door and sprinted around to the other side. He was getting wetter, if possible, by the second.

  Her door was still locked on that side and it took a second for her to realize that and click the switch, another second to toss her book onto the back seat and pull her purse over on her lap. Her purse with the Mace in it.