[Reviews - 46]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story |
Printer Chapter or Story |
ePub eBook Chapter or Story |

Has been viewed 3077 times

- Text Size +




Late that night:

Logan sat outside on the store’s front steps, letting the cooling breeze ruffle already disheveled hair. He chewed on his second cigar of the day, reminding himself that he needed to order another shipment on Tuesday. The night hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. After Jubilee hugged and kissed him goodnight, Logan flipped through the channels, trying to settle on anything that would distract him for another hour, or even bore him into some semblance of sleep. ESPN. ESPN2. Univision. Everybody Loves Raymond. Tragedy movie of the week on Lifetime. CSI reruns. Golden Girl reruns…naaaahhh. Oooh, Steven Seagall movie. That’ll work.

Of course it didn’t work…Logan nodded off and woke up to an informercial for Proactiv, wondering why the hell any celebrity would wanna admit out loud that they suffered from anything as mundane and taboo as acne. His nap on the couch left him with a crick in his neck and too alert to go back to bed. So here he was, with a smoke smuggled from his kitchen stash. Alone with his memories.

The faint skidding of tires kicking up gravel roused him from twisting the silver chain around his neck in knots around his fingers. “Hnh.” Betsy lowered her window and waved as she pulled into the private parking in back. He craned his neck around and watched her step out, arming her alarm with a brief beep as the doors clicked shut. Logan eyed her appreciatively. The street lights shone down on her hair, making the flamboyantly colored waves glow. The faint winds picked up, lifting tendrils of it to whip across her lips. Her smile was relaxed but not bleary as she glided up to the steps.

“Good evening.”

“Evenin,’ Bets. Have a good time?”

“Eh. Not for lack of trying. You were as good as your word, Mac doesn’t water down the drinks. One Long Island iced tea was just enough.”

“Don’t know why I figured you for an apple martini kinda girl.”

“You did, huh?” Betsy nodded toward the space next to him on the step. He silently spread his arm toward it, welcoming her to sit. He fought the urge not to stare at her thighs as the casual little denim skirt with mock cargo pockets rode higher as she made herself at home. Logan mulled the scent of her perfume, agreeing with Yukio that she smelled expensive. “What else did you figure about me?”

“Nuthin’, ‘cept maybe wondering what brought you out this far. Pleasure trip?”

“It could be.” The hairs on Logan’s arm stood on end as Betsy reached out and plucked a piece of lint from the shoulder strap of his white cotton tank. The backs of her fingertips left a sizzling path in their wake as she skimmed them along his shoulder, down to his elbow. Slowly Logan ground out the stub of his cigar in the gravel and swiveled around to face her. The wind lifted her hair again, this time tickling him faintly; she was close enough for him to smell the Long Island iced tea on her breath. “I missed you tonight. I was hoping you would have taken me up on my invitation.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “You still could.”

“I could, huh?” She smiled, enjoying the rumble of his voice and appreciating the glint of masculine interest in his eyes. They were nice eyes, she thought. She inclined her head toward him that last fraction of an inch and steamed his lower lip with her breath. Logan wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and kissed her, sampling her softness. Her nightcap and the cigar he’d just finished mingled as the kiss deepened.

Logan sighed into her mouth as he made a snap decision, one that he decided not to regret in the morning, despite the tightening of his Levi’s around his vitals. He broke away, licking the taste of her from his lips. His fingers were steady as he tucked a stray tendril of Betsy’s hair behind her ear.

“G’night.” Her expression was more incredulous than hurt as he rose from the steps and strode back toward his apartment.

“I can’t tuck you in?” Her voice was slightly hopeful.

“I can manage.”


Early the next morning:

“Weird sky. Smells like rain.”

“Does rain even have a smell?” Jubilee asked, polishing off the last bite of a short stack and reaching for her glass of milk.

“Yup,” Yukio confirmed. “Can’t describe it, but once you smell it, you never forget it.”

“You can even taste it,” Logan agreed. He took another gulp of orange juice and watched Betsy’s black car peeling down the dirt road from the window of Mac’s café. They still had a little while before they had to get back to the pumps and open up shop. Jubes didn’t have to start knocking on doors until ten o’clock checkout, and Betsy’s bungalow had been the only empty that she could take care of sooner. Logan contemplated how it had felt to wake up to cold sheets on the other side of his bed. Lonely? Sure. Regretful? Nope.

Yukio played with the ice cubes in her water glass, swizzling them around with her finger. “I almost wish I could be out in it. I’m sick of being cooped up indoors. I feel like swatting some bugs with my face.”

“Ain’t safe ta ride the bike on slick roads, babe.” Logan dragged his last bite of scrambled egg through the puddle of ketchup on his plate. “Besides, ya ain’t wreckin’ my baby if someone runs ya off the road.”

“Spoil sport. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Ask Progressive. They ran off with it when I had her insured.” Logan got up to settle the bill.

Back at the store, Logan unloaded another case of Power Ade and began stocking the ice box. He heard giggling from the doorway and peered into the round security mirror over the sliding refrigerator door to glance at the new customers. He grunted low in his throat at the brief denim Daisy Dukes they both wore, with college T-shirts stretched snugly across their chests. They looked young; Logan guesstimated early to mid-twenties despite being dressed in clothes that Jubilee would describe as “da bomb.”

“Excuse me,” a pleasantly deep contralto prodded him as he set down the labeling gun, “do you carry diet Sobe here?”

“Sure do,” Logan replied, nodding to the icebox next to the one he wasn’t finished with yet. Woulda helped if they were actually looking back there instead of the front of the store, he guessed. The one in the teal green top smiled and headed back to grab the drinks while her companion perused the magazine rack, thumbing through a copy of Cosmopolitan. Logan returned her smile, enjoying the view. She was pretty in a fresh-faced way, with emerald green eyes and titian red hair that didn’t look like it came from a bottle. Her complexion was creamy and untanned despite the thin cloud cover and high elevation. Logan scanned her arms and legs for freckles and found none, but it was an excuse to keep looking at her.

“…beef jerky?”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you have any beef jerky?”

“Yup. Front counter, next to the Slim Jims.”

“Ooh. A Slim Jim sounds good, too,” her companion piped up. Logan strolled up to the counter to begin ringing up their order. “Twenty-five on pump six,” she added. Logan eyed her, noticing that she wasn’t any less striking than Red, but inwardly groaned at her chartreuse green hair. Where Betsy had admitted to tampering with Mother Nature, this girl’s hair and eyebrows matched perfectly, and Logan couldn’t see any dark roots.

“Slim Jims are full of grease,” Red grimaced, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah, but they’re some good eatin,’ an’ I shore do got a hankerin’ fer one, ge-hyuk!!” Yukio came out from the back rolling a stack of milk crates out on a dolly cart and chuckled at the green-haired customer’s horrible yokel impression.

Logan rang everything up, putting the magazines into a separate bag from the drinks. Red uncapped hers and took a grateful gulp, sucking a droplet of Sobe from her lip. Logan regarded the unconscious action quietly, enjoying the hint of rosy color and plumpness it imparted to her mouth. “You two headed back home somewhere, or coming out ta stay?”

“Headed home before we start traveling again. She’s headed back to see her dad for a while before she begins a sabbatical,” clarified Lorna, the green-haired one clarified for him as she put away her debit card and ID. “I’m hopping on a plane in a week for an archeological dig in the Amazon. I’m a geology major, with a minor in multicultural history.”

“Hm. Neat.” Logan was impressed, and was almost disgusted with himself for letting the green hair throw him off. At least he was until she announced “Oooh. Gotta pee. Where’s the little girls’ room?”

“Back through those doors,” he smiled, turning away to turn on the small satellite radio-equipped boom box up on the shelf behind him. Wouldn’t hurt to check the weather…

Logan keyed in the weather station and turned the volume up slightly while Lorna went out to pump the gas. Red stepped out onto the porch and whipped out a cell phone. “Yeah, it’s me, Jean. We’re up here at a rest stop. The weather’s nice enough, the clouds look kinda weird, though. Pretty uneventful drive so far…” Logan continued to watch Jean pace across the porch for the sake of being able to peek at her assets, revealed to perfection by those tiny shorts. The radio announcer diverted his attention from the one-sided conversation he was eavesdropping on: “Area firefighters are working to contain a fire that broke out earlier this morning at a cabin situated in a local campsite…officials believe the blaze was started by an unattended barbecue grill on the deck…area fire department is optimistic that the pending rain showers will make the blaze easier to contain and put out. More details as they become available…”

“How far away was that?” Yukio called from the ice box after loading up the rest of the fresh milk and clearing out the ones that expired.

“Far enough away that we ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it yet,” he reassured her. From outside, Jean turned to peer back into the store, caught Logan’s eye, and smiled. Her posture and demeanor screamed “I’m available.” Logan thought better of it, applying the same logic to pursuing something with her to his decision regarding Betsy last night.

“Damned tourists,” Yukio grumbled.

“S’been a dry summer. Hope the surrounding brush doesn’t light up,” Logan reminded her. “Jubes’ll hafta finish those rooms a little quicker than she thought. I’m betting news of that fire’ll drive folks further down the mountain. We might end up with a full house tonight.”


In the neighboring town, at the campsite:

Ororo’s face was covered in a layer of soot and sweat as she guided her end of the hose, weaving the spray back and forth over the deck.

“Alex! What’s the status?” she barked out, nodding to the strapping blond as he adjusted his yellow protective coat and picked up the CB in the engine cab. He paused in reporting back to the firehouse a moment before replying “Already did a perimeter check. No pets. Car’s gone. The camp’s been evacuated already, and Scott already checked with the rental office to see who it was who booked this cabin, and he’s already filing an incident report for the insurance company. Whoever set the fire didn’t stick around to make sure the gas was turned off.”

“Good.” She turned her attention back to the blaze, hating the acrid stench of burning pine but glad to be outside dealing with the flames instead of chopping her way through drywall. At least the cabin wasn’t that big. “Damn tourists,” she muttered.


One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.
****

Back at the rest stop, several hours later:

Logan watched the gathering clouds over the horizon, mingled with the haze of smoke working its way down the hill. That odor of scorched sap would settle over everything and take a couple of days to clear. He made a mental note to himself to change the air filter on the A/C in the apartment before turning in.

In the meantime, he had the full house that he’d predicted, after all. Every bungalow was rented with last-minute arrivals wanting to get more distance between themselves and the campsite, in case the rain didn’t dampen everything enough to prevent a second fire. At least it was out; Logan listened to the report as he changed out the old stock and chatted with Margaret Power that afternoon. She surprised him with a gift.

“Logan? Oh, good, there you are.” She breezed into the shop, peasant skirt swaying in the building breeze as she crossed the threshold. “It’s getting damp out there, just smell that ozone! I LOVE it, I hope it storms tonight!” She approached the counter, wearing her usual sunny smile, and surprised him with a flat package wrapped in brown postal paper. It was stamped with little rainbow-colored handprints in tempera paint, the kind used in classrooms. “I wanted to thank you for cutting that firewood for us last winter while Jim’s back was out, Logan, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

“What’s this?” Logan straightened up from leaning against the wall and took the package from her. It wasn’t too heavy, even though it was fairly big, rectangular, and smelled…oily? Maybe a hint of turpentine? The wrapping had a few water spots on it from the shower building outside.

“Katie wanted so much to help me put it together, Logan, you know she adores you and worships the ground that you walk on. All day long it’s ‘when are we gonna see Mistew Wogan, Mommy?’ So she decorated it! How about that, huh?” There it was, that sappy motherly glow. Logan returned her smile, though, thinking of Katie and how much he’d wished he could have had a daughter like her, had things been different. She was a cute little crumb snatcher, he admitted to himself as he sliced open the ribbon tying the package together with a box cutter. He peeled aside the wrapping and stared in awe at the oil painting.

“I was in the mood to paint flowers this week. I hope you don’t mind, Logan…Mariko, well, she used to love to come visit and walk around with me in the garden. She loved my chrysanthemums every spring.”

“I know,” he rumbled, his thoughts drifting as he traced the gracefully rendered flower petals with one callused fingertip. “This is beautiful, Margaret. It’ll look nice in the living room, where folks can see it.” He reached out and warmly clasped her hands. Margaret didn’t miss the emotions welling up in his intense eyes and the faint tightness in his jaw. Sometimes, she was pretty nice for being a granola-nibbling tree hugger.

“Glad you like it, Logan. We were truly blessed when you came to this side of the mountain. Don’t you forget it, mister!” She patted his hand again and headed to the grocery racks. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, too, this syrup is fabulous! Normally I only buy organic foods, but the kids love it!”

“It’s local; it’s about as close to organic as you can get, darlin’. Ya might wanna try that blackberry jam, too. Comes from the same vendor.” Logan watched the rain from the front door. It was really beginning to come down.

“Great!” She added a jar of preserves to her order along with two jugs of the syrup. “You can imagine how four kids can eat!”

“Yeah,” he mused, “I can.”

‘Bye, Logan!” She swept outside, only to do an about-face a moment later. “Look, Logan, there’s one of the fire trucks pulling in! Now I wish I’d brought Jack and Katie with me, they would have loved this.”

“Better luck next time.”

“I’d better go move my car. Anyway, ‘bye!” She dashed off, peasant skirt flying as she made her way to her station wagon. Logan stepped out from behind the counter to watch the engine pull into the lot, taking up the fire lane and attracting onlookers from the bungalows to drift outside. Yukio came up behind him and leaned her elbow on his shoulder, no difficult feat since she towered over him. They watched them disembark from the cab and rails, jumping down to the pavement and shucking their safety helmets.

“Damn. I think I’m in love,” Yukio whistled. Logan nodded to the two tall, lean firemen crossing the lot, still clad in navy blue T-shirts and their yellow slacks and suspenders. Both were toned and broad-shouldered. One of them was a wholesome, cornfed blond; the other had chestnut brown hair and wore a pair of sunglasses with deep red lenses. Logan guessed they were protective goggles of some kind. “What, those two? Eh.” He shrugged. Jubilee would no doubt approve.

“Nope. They’re okay. I meant that tall drink of water behind ‘em.” Logan stepped aside as the two men came up the porch. The firefighter Yukio was staring intently at hadn’t swum into his line of vision yet.

It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But, good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess.

“Evenin’; need help findin’ anything?” The blond shook his head.

“Nope, we’re good.” He called back to the woman bringing up the rear. “’Roro, they’ve got those frappaccinos you like so much!”

“Sweet,” she answered, reaching out to loosen her braid and dust pine needles out of her hair as she made her way up the steps. Her husky lilt caught Logan’s attention; he whipped his head around to see where that sexy, inviting voice came from.

“Holy…” he muttered as she reached the porch. Yukio elbowed him sharply as she moved toward the icebox holding the frappaccinos, scrambling ahead to get a better look at the statuesque vision in yellow gear and heavy boots.

“We’ve got regular coffee, too, I just made a fresh batch,” Yukio offered.

“Something cold sounds good right about now, I need something to wash the smoke from my mouth,” the vision before her groaned. “Some tourist family didn’t turn off their gas grill before they took off from the campsite. Whole patio was torched, along with one side of the kitchen and surrounding wall.”

“Anyone hurt?” Yukio inquired, helpfully holding open the ice box door. She nodded her thanks and reached for a frappaccino.

“Not this time,” she grimaced, shaking her head. She massaged the back of her neck with her free hand, wincing at a crick in her neck. Logan watched the whole exchange with interest, admiring the view from the back. She was easily one of the tallest women that he’d seen come through this neck of the woods, and definitely one of the best built. Logan guessed that she stood about six feet tall, or close to it, since she was eye-level with the guy in the red goggles, and they were wearing the same boots. “Wasn’t for lack of trying on their part, though. It’s been weeks since we’ve had any rain up here.” Her yellow gear was baggy, but it couldn’t disguise how curvy and ripe her backside was, or the long, tapering legs underneath.

“No kidding,” Yukio agreed. Boldly she reached out and plucked a pine needle from her braid. It only just struck Logan what else was so intriguing about this woman. Her hair, what he could see of it in the long plait that she’d loosened from her now-untidy bun, was a startling, pure white. Loose tendrils drifted down around her oval-shaped face, which she occasionally blew out of her eyes. As Yukio led her to the counter, Logan noticed that those were worth a second look, too. As they settled on him for the first time since she stepped into the store, Logan felt his stomach clench before dropping into his shoes. He was at a complete loss for when he could remember the last time he’d been affected that way. Her eyes were large, slanted, deep-set and spaced slightly far apart. The irises were a clear, cerulean blue. In contrast to her lush hair and skin, which was a relatively fair, mocha brown, her eyelashes were long and dark. She raised her snowy, arched brows in greeting. “Hi.”

“Hey, darlin’. That gonna be all?” Logan swallowed around a weird tightness in his throat. Up close, he could see that all three of them were soaked from the rain outside, which Logan assumed followed them down the hill. But it was hard to ignore the dark patches of dampness making her shirt cling to her curves. She set the frappaccino on the counter and grabbed a pack of wintergreen gum and packet of crackers.

“Rest room?” she asked.

“In the back,” he answered. She reached for her wallet. He shook his head. “On the house.” His hand stalled her from unsnapping the billfold, lightly covering her cool, slender fingers. Aside from a bit of grit leftover from her safety gloves, her hands were smooth and satiny, with short and surprisingly clean nails. “Ya already put out the blaze that wouldn’t have made us all hafta clear outta here if ya hadn’t finished sooner, and that gave us a full house on the rentals out back. Figure I owe ya some thanks.” Logan waved Scott and Alex over with their items, too.” Their eyes met over their hands, and a tingle ran up her arm as she looked him over.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she demurred, before dropping her eyes to his hand. It felt strong and warm. He cleared his throat and released her, reluctantly. Ororo bristled at the sudden flush of heat in her cheeks. Goddess, how old am I, 12?

‘Thanks, man,” Alex grinned, reaching out to shake his hand.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“What’d you guys say your names were again?” Yukio pried, conveniently ignoring that they hadn’t. Logan decided he was grateful that she saved him the trouble of fishing himself, particularly when she directed the question at the beauty tucking her wallet back into her pocket.

“Ororo. Ororo Munroe. This is Scott Summers, and his kid brother, Alex.”

“Call me Yukio,” she offered, shaking her hand. “Hoo. Nice grip,” she grinned, doing the honors for all three. Alex was staring at Yukio thoughtfully, drinking in her delicate features, spiky gamine haircut, and slender figure poured into a pair of faded jeans and snug black tank top, but she casually ignored him.

“I go by Logan.”

“Good to know,” Ororo nodded. She hadn’t stopped smiling yet. Scott unwrapped his Slim Jim and bit gratefully into it with a sigh.

“Geez, I’m starved. I could eat anything that’s not nailed down.”

“Then ya wanna head over to Mac’s down the road. Tell ‘im Logan sent ya. Can’t beat his ribeye.”

“Sounds good,” Alex confirmed, sipping his bottle of Power Ade.

“We’ve gotta get the rig back to the station house,” Scott reminded him. “You own this place, Logan?”

Logan nodded. “Yup. The whole spread, including the units out back. I close up this store earlier than most of the other stations in the area to discourage robbers from trying to get at the cash box in the wee hours.”

“That’s probably smart,” Alex agreed over his shoulder. “We gotta roll. Maybe we’ll stop back by later tonight? Mac’s?”

“Sounds like a plan. ‘Roro? Got any other plans?”

“Uh-uh. None. A boys’ night out actually sounds pretty fun,” she chuckled. Logan winked at her, smirking at the irony of her referring to herself as one of the “boys.” Underneath the durable, dirty protective gear, she was more feminine than anyone he’d ever met.

Ororo reached back to smooth her hair beneath Logan’s steady gaze, then wondered why. There was just something about him that made her look for something to do with her hand, and that made her keenly, painfully aware of how disheveled she looked. She’d forgotten her earlier plan to wash up in the rest room, then realized it was a lost cause. She needed a shower. Badly. Scott followed Alex out into the lot.

“Um, ‘bye.” She waved casually as she walked outside, nodding to Yukio, then letting her eyes linger on Logan, trying to memorize his face and compact, wiry form.

“Damn,” Yukio murmured.

“Yeah,” Logan concurred. What a woman.

“I liked her. A lot.”

“Couldn’t tell, you weren’t obvious or anything.” He reached out to ruffle her hair. Yukio rolled up the dishtowel that she was using to swab down the counter and let it snap, whipping him in the backside. He retaliated by lunging over and tickling her in the ribs. She hated that.

“HEY! Bastard!” she grinned. “C’mon, she was hot. And nice.”

“Don’t hafta convince me.”

“So why didn’t you ask for her number?”

“I don’t just ask any woman that comes into my store for her number, chickadee.” Guiltily, Logan remembered the scent of Betsy’s perfume overwhelming his senses during their brief kiss. Don’t keep ya from kissin’ ‘em goodnight, though, does it, bub? “She might think I’m some psychotic nut job, living out here in the sticks like in those cheesy slasher movies.”

“Or, God forbid, she might actually like you. I didn’t see her pulling away when you were refusing her money. Could have sworn she blushed.”

“Nah.” Logan reached into his cigar box. Had she blushed? Huh.

“You had that goofy look on your face, too. The male equivalent of the ‘cat that got the cream’ look.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause I’ve only seen that look on your face once the whole time I’ve known you. Right before you told me M’iko said ‘yes.’” Logan’s hand tightened on his lighter. Yukio saw the tension in the lines of his neck and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Sorry.”

“Eh.” Logan stepped out from behind the counter and walked outside. The rig was still there, but Logan heard the engine rumble to life, as well as a stray exchange of chatter. Sounded like the Summers boys ran into someone in the parking lot. Logan lit his cigar and craned his neck around the stoop. He felt nosy, like a flamin’ teenager. The tinkling laughter that he recognized earlier that morning as Jean’s drifted over to him as she flirted with Scott while he leaned out the window of the rig, beaming with interest. Lorna wasn’t exactly being shy around Alex, either, which suited him just fine. Logan turned back to his smoke, breathing in the scent of fresh rain and enjoying the pattering sound against the gravel. A minute or two later, the engine glided smoothly out of the lot. From the passenger side door, to his delight, Ororo leaned out the window and grinned at him, hoisting her coffee drink in a salute.” Logan’s answering smile nearly split his face. Yukio sidled up to him.

“Oh, yeah. You don’t like her, or anything.”

“Shut up,” he warned, still grinning.





You must login () to review.