Forsaking All Others (4 page)

“A log. I need a log for the beach, and I’ve kept putting it off and putting it off because it’s been so cold, and I have to go out in the woods somewhere—if I can find a woods—and haul a log in here.”

He gestured across the room. “You couldn’t haul those bags of sand across the floor, yet you’re going to haul a log out of the woods, into your car—”

“It’s a van.”

“Into your van, up the freight elevator that works whenever it feels like it, down the hall, and in here, all by yourself?”

She shrugged. “I’m going to try.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll slip a disc, and I’ll never get to kiss Vivien Zucchini.”

Without warning she spurted into laughter. “
Zuchinski,” she corrected, “and I’m not too sure it would be such a great loss if you missed the chance.”

“Oh yeah? Let me be the judge of that. I’m helping you do the logging because Miss Zucchini sounds like something mighty delicious. Maybe I like women with nice bods, too, and foxy faces.” But his eyes were filled with mischief. He stood there in those raunchy old boots and that shapeless old jacket, with his hair all messed, for all the world as ordinary as any plumber or grocer or accountant. And dammit! she liked him. Not just because he had a face fit for the silver screen, but because he managed to be persuasive without being pushy, had a swift sense of humor, and was the first man who’d invited Allison out for coffee in over a year—and that included Jason Ederlie, who’d only drunk hers and never even washed his cup!

“Maybe we could pick up a cup of coffee and take it with us in the van,” she suggested, then admitted, “I
am
freezing, and we’re running out of daylight if we expect to come up with a log.”

He smiled—not big, not phony, not even at her—and gestured with a shoulder. “Let’s go.” From the coat tree behind the door she grabbed her jacket, but he plucked it from her hands and helped her put it on. It was something Jason had never done. Thinking back on it, in that passing instant, Allison realized there were actually times when
she’d
held
his
sport coat while he slipped flawless shirtsleeves into it. Often, afterward, she
hugged him from behind, using the jacket for an excuse to touch, to caress.

She’d forgotten how it felt to have a man help her into a coat. It made her more conscious than ever of Rick Lang as they rode down in the clanking old freight elevator together. She stared at the brass expansion gate, then at the ancient floor indicator, ill at ease as she sensed him studying her.

When they reached her van, he surprised her by following her to the driver’s side, taking the keys from her gloved hand, removing his own gloves and unlocking the door. She found herself staring in disbelief. Did men actually do these things anymore?

He smiled, handed her the keys, waited for her to climb in so he could slam the door, then jogged around to the other side. He climbed in, hunched up, and chafed his arms.

“Not many guys do that anymore,” she noted.

“Do what?”

“Help with coats and car doors and things.”

“My mother used to cuff me on the side of the head if I forgot. After about the twenty-ninth cuff, I managed to remember. After that it kind of stuck with me. Guess I still think she’ll manage to get me if I forget.”

She couldn’t help laughing. The story made him seem infinitely more human.

“God, but it’s cold.” He shivered, then pointed out the windshield and peered through the frosty glass as the
engine chugged to life. “Go south and take Highway 12. I’ll show you a place right in the middle of the city limits where we can get you your log.”

“In the middle of the city?”

“Well, almost. Theodore Wirth Park.”

“Theodore Wirth! But it’s public land! It’s against the law. If they catch us, we’ll get fined.”

He grinned, all lopsided and little-boyish. “Guess my mother didn’t cuff me quite enough. Sounds like fun, trying to put one over on the law. Course, it’s up to you . . . I mean, I don’t want to be the one responsible for getting your name on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.”

She laughed again. “You do that, and I’ll personally see to it you never kiss Vivien Zucchini.”

“Zuchinski,” he returned with a smile coming from deep inside his turned-up collar and hunched-up shoulders. “And you’ll have a tough time of it from behind the walls of the state pen.”

They were thoroughly enjoying each other as the van headed toward Theodore Wirth Park. Allison stopped at a sandwich shop and Rick jumped out, returning a few minutes later with cups of hot coffee. The late-afternoon sun lit the clouds around it into crazy zigzags of aqua blue and vibrant pink. But suddenly Allison didn’t mind the frigid temperatures.

Rick handed her a cup of coffee, watching appreciatively while she caught the fingers of her gloves
between her teeth and yanked them off. He grinned broadly at the sight of her in the worst-looking bobcap he’d ever seen, pulled so low that her eyebrows scarcely showed.

“Forgot to ask if you like cream or sugar,” he said.

“Sugar, usually, but I’d drink it any way today.”

“Sorry. I’ll remember next time.” He sipped, looking around. “Nice van.”

“Yup, it is, isn’t it? Only another year and a half and it’ll be paid for. I need it. I’m always hauling junk back and forth from the studio. Buying a van was the smartest move I ever made.”

“I’m not big on vehicles,” he offered. “Don’t really care if I have a tin lizzy or an XKE—as long as it’ll get me there, that’s all that matters.”

It had always been Jason’s dream to have a sleek, silver Porsche, one that would set off his looks with a touch of panache. How refreshing to find a man whose values were so different.

“Would you look at that sky,” Rick Lang said admiringly, almost as if reading her mind.

“Beautiful, huh?” They fell into comfortable silence, driving westward, squinting into the lowering sun against which every object became bold, black, and striking. Even the telephone lines, power poles, and road signs became artistic creations when viewed against the brilliant sky.

How long had it been since she had enjoyed a ride
through an icy, stinging wintry afternoon and not complained about the cold? Allison wondered. Now she found herself noting the silhouettes of oaks standing blackly against their backdrop as she turned the van onto Wirth Parkway and entered the sprawling, woodsy park.

Children were sliding down the enormous hills between sections of wooded land. Skiers were out on the runs in gaily colored clothing. Even a sweatsuited jogger could be seen, his breath labored and hanging frozen in the air.

The road wove into the heart of the public land, past frozen Wirth Lake, the ski chalet, the ski jump, and acres of untouched woodland, which surprised and delighted Allison, situated as it was in the center of the teeming city. The van moved in and out of shadows as the late sun rested lower and lower in the west, behind the trees, making long, skinny shadow fingers across the road.

Rick directed Allison up a steep incline at a sign that read Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden and Bird Sanctuary.

“Anybody who’s looking for wildflowers today is going to be disappointed,” he commented. “I think we can steal our log up there without getting caught.”

At the top was a paved parking lot the plows hadn’t bothered to clear. Tracks left by cross-country skiers showed that only they had disturbed the snow here.

“You gonna be warm enough?” Allison asked as Rick opened his door.

“Yup!” He produced warm leather gloves from his pocket, yanked his collar higher for good measure, and got out.

It was getting dark quickly as they entered the woods, following the foot trails whose wooden identification signs now wore caps of snow. The trails were easy to follow, and when Allison and Rick were scarcely twenty-five feet from the van, they spotted a long, oblique lump beneath a thick coat of snow. Rick brushed it off, revealing a four-foot section of tree trunk.

“How’s this?” he asked, squatting beside it and looking up.

She glanced measuringly from the log to the van. “Close, but too heavy, I think.”

He walked to the end, kicked around in the snow, knelt, and boosted it up from the ground. “Must be half-rotten, just the kind we need so we can run fast when the posse comes.”

“Think I can lift it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Give it a try.”

She shuffled through the snow to the other end of the log, rummaged around to find a handhold, grunted exaggeratedly, and hoisted up her end. “I did it! I did it!” She staggered a little for good measure.

Rick trained his eyes on a spot behind her shoulder and said with grave seriousness, “Oh, officer, it wasn’t
me! I was just coming to turn in this lady for stealing this rotten log. Ninety-nine years should certainly be fair, yes, whatever you say.”

Allison gave a giant shove, and the log rammed Rick Lang in his beautifully muscled belly like a battering ram, then thudded to the earth at his feet as he dramatically clutched his gut. He staggered around as if he’d just had his lights punched out, hugged himself, and grunted, “I . . . I take that back . . . off . . . officer, let her go. I’ll pay for the damn log!”

She affected a wholly superior air and joined his farce. “Officer, all this man’s done all day long is talk about kissing girls. Can you blame a woman for grabbing the first thing in sight to protect herself with?”

Rick raised both gloved hands as if a gun were pointed at his chest. “Oh no . . . oh no, no, no, I’m innocent. Furthermore, after this display, you can put your damn log in your van by yourself! I’m going for a walk!”

He turned and continued along the trail, leaving her standing up to her knees in snow, laughing.

“Hey, no fair, you’ve got high boots and my shoes only go up to my ankles. . . .” She paused to check for sure, lifting one foot. She raised her voice and called after him, “Not even that high!”

“Come on. I’ll make tracks,” he said without pausing, dragging his feet to plow a way for her. It was somewhat better, but certainly left plenty of snow for her to trudge
through. With high, running steps she hurried to catch up with him.

“Hey, wait up, you crazy man!” she hollered.

He paused, only half-turned to watch her over his shoulder. When she was close behind, he headed again along the footpath, with her at his heels.

It had been years and years since Allison had been in the woods at this time of day. The sky turned lavender as the sun sank. Snow blanketed everything, muffling sound, softening edges, warming—in its own way—all that lay around them.

Suddenly Rick stopped short and stood with his back to her, stalk still. Automatically she stopped, too. Sparrows tittered from branches above their heads, the notes crisp in the clear air. Wordlessly, Rick pointed. Allison’s eyes followed. There on the snow beneath a giant tree sat a brilliant red cardinal.

“That’s the kind of stuff I photograph and paint,” he whispered.

The cardinal flitted away at the sound of his voice. Allison watched it flash through the trees. Suddenly she felt curiously refreshed and renewed. She turned in a circle, gazing at the white-rimmed branches overhead. “It’s hard to believe we’re in the heart of the city.”

“Haven’t you ever been here before?” He still faced away from her, and she looked up at blond hair curling over his upturned collar, then scanned the peaceful woods again.

“No. Not up here. I’ve been through the park, but I never bothered to come up here and see what was at the end of the trail.”

He stood in silence, studying the sky, his head tipped sharply back. After a long time he said, “It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Even the birds had stopped twittering. She realized she could actually hear Rick Lang’s breathing. They fell silent again, two people whose busy lives afforded too little of such elemental joys as this. There came a faint popping, as if bark were stretching in its sleep, growing restless for spring.

“This is what I miss about not living where I was born and raised.”

“Are you a country boy?”

“Yup.” Suddenly he seemed to grow aware of how long they’d been standing motionless, knee-deep in snow. “Your feet must be frozen.”

“It’s worth it,” she replied, and found it true.

“Better get you back though, and steal that log if we’re going to.”

“I guess.” Still, she was reluctant to return to the highway, to the sound of cars that was totally absent here, to the road signs instead of boles and branches.

“Can you even feel your feet anymore?”

Grinning, she looked down, then back up at him. His face was almost obscured by oncoming dark. “What feet?”

He laughed. “Just a minute, stay where you are,” he ordered, then jogged off the path, circled around her, hunched over, and said, “Climb on.”

“What!”

“Climb on.” His butt pointed her way. “I got you into this mess, I’ll get you out.”

“Won’t do you a bit of good. They’re gone. The feet are gone. Can’t feel a thing down there,” she said woefully, staring at her hidden calves.

“Get the hell on, you’re making me feel guiltier by the minute.”

“Oh, lord, if I do, you’ll be the one with the slipped disc.”