Tossing the Caber (The Toss Trilogy) (8 page)

chapter nine

Tyler read from a colorful brochure as he bounced along in the back seat of Sally’s van, carefully sounding out some of the bigger words. “The Celtic Classic is an annual festival celebrating the cultural traditions of Celtic people. It is held in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania on the last weekend of September. Popular competitive events include tossing the caber, a haggis eating contest—Mom, what’s haggis?”

“Haggis is… Well, they make it by butchering a sheep and taking the stomach out. Then they chop up the heart, liver and lungs, mix them with some other things like seasonings, then stuff it all into the stomach and boil it.”

“Yech! That would make me barf!” Tyler looked delighted. “I want to see the haggis eating contest.”

Watching over her shoulder from the passenger seat, Diana laughed. “We’ll make sure to put it on the agenda.”

They were driving together to the festival. Diana had talked Jim Donovan into agreeing to hang around the shelter to supervise the volunteers. She, Sally and Tyler had the whole day to enjoy the festivities. She inhaled deeply. The breeze coming through the open windows was warm with the smell of autumn and harvest-time. When the seasons changed, Diana always felt renewed, like nature was moving on and so could she. A perfect time of year, and a perfect day, complete with puffy white clouds scattered on blue sky.

“Mom, how much longer till we get there?

“Half an hour. Just relax, Tyler. If you don’t settle down you’ll be worn out before we arrive. Take a nap or something.” Sally turned to Diana. “This was a great idea. It’s been ages since I had a full day away from the shelter.”

“That’s what Jim said when I asked him to fill in for you. I didn’t even have to twist his arm. I’m looking forward to it too. I enjoy the music the most, I think—but today we’ll hit as many games as we can, so Tyler can watch the men compete.”

“Suits me. I have no problem watching muscular men in skirts,” Sally looked over at Diana and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Skirts! The men wear skirts?” The voice coming from the back seat sounded horrified.

“They’re called kilts, not skirts.” Diana thought a moment before trying to explain. “It’s traditional. In the olden days, Tyler, each family—they’re called clans—had their own special tartan—that’s the pattern in the material the kilts are made from. You’ve seen bagpipe players wearing kilts?”

“Oh, yeah, but I just thought it was their uniforms.”

“Well, it is, sometimes. But other times it’s just what the men wear. And men competing in the strength events today always wear them, too. I’ll bet you’ll see lots of people in kilts today.”

Heading trouble off at the pass, Sally spoke up. “And, Tyler, I was o
nly teasing when I called them skirts. It would be very rude to call them skirts while we’re there.”

“Got it, Mom.” Tyler went back to reading the brochure. “…
the largest festival of it’s kind in North America. Enjoy Celtic dance and traditional Celtic music in the open air…”

Nursing a beer, with the wheeze of bagpipes in the background, L
ogan was having a great time talking and joking with his cousin Tammy. They sat beneath a canopied pavilion near a large dance platform. The petite blonde was a fiddler with one of the step dancing groups at the Classic.

When it was time for her to go back to work, he wandered over to catch part of the caber tossing competition. Blending into the milling spectators, he watched the tall timbers thrown end over end, and b
ecame aware of a voice his ears had separated from the din. He scanned the crowd for its source. Spotting Diana, he began to move toward her through the crowd.

“Look, Tyler. See how they balance the caber before they toss it?” asked Diana.

“Yeah, it must be really heavy. They have big muscles.”

“Big muscles, yes. But also great balance and perfect timing,” added Sally.

Eyes wide, Tyler looked back at his mom. “You know what the best part is? The best part…”

A deep voice spoke into Diana’s ear. “The best part is that once you toss it, you’re no longer pinned in place by the weight of it.” She caught a drift of warm, male scent. “You’re free.”

Startled, she turned and came nearly nose to mouth with Logan Carmichael. She stared at him, eyes wide with surprise.

She watched those caramel eyes, mere inches above her
own, darken as the pupils dilated to better take her in. Her own eyes must have telegraphed the need that gripped her, for his narrowed and took on a dangerous glint.

He was dressed in black, Diana saw… no, his shirt was black, open at the neck with the cuffs turned back to reveal muscular for
earms. His socks were black also. They came to the knee and above them he wore a tartan kilt—surely it was the Carmichael tartan—with green and blue underchecks crossed by lines of red, yellow, and black. Looking at him, she realized his build was out of the same mold as the men on the field.

“You’ve done this yourself, haven’t you?”

He smiled, but the look of a hunter didn’t leave his eyes. “I have, a time or two, in my younger days. But I was never world-class like these men are.”

Heat crept up the back of her jaw, and she shifted her gaze away from those eyes.

His voice dropped to a deeper register. “It’s hot here in the sun, would you join me for a beer and maybe some lunch?”

“I…” Diana turned to Sally for support, but saw her leading Tyler away, behind Logan, toward an ice cream stand. She gave Diana a wave and a thumbs-up,
then disappeared into the crowd. “I’d like that, thank you.”

Logan steered her toward a large canopy next to one of the many performance stages scattered about. By the time they sat at a small table in the shade, with a beer apiece, Diana’s mental equilibrium was fully restored and she was enjoying the way his nearness made the blood hum through her veins. This was the kind of opportunity she’d been hoping for.

“How do you happen to be here, Diana?” Logan asked after a healthy swallow of beer.

“I came with my friend Sally and her son Tyler. How about you?”

“My Philadelphia cousin fiddles for one of the step dance groups. She invited me to come hear her play.”

“You surely are dressed for the occasion.” Diana glanced down as if she could see his strong legs through the tabletop. “You must have planned well in advance to get the kilt.”

“Not really. I’ve had it since high school.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I wore it to my senior homecoming dance.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “You were a gutsy kid.”

“Maybe. It was a present from my father. I’ve always been glad that I risked wearing it. It made him happy. It wasn’t long after that he lost his fight with cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.” He relaxed in his chair and looked her over from the waist up, then leaned to the side. His calm perusal of her legs, exposed by the shorts she had worn, sent a sizzle through her gut.

He straightened in his chair. “No tartan for you?”

“I don’t know that there even is a Lennox tartan.”

“Of course there is. Come on.” He rose and grabbed her hand. “We have to get you some tartan.” He pulled her into a nearby booth filled with an overwhelming array of clan paraphernalia. There was indeed a Lennox tartan. It featured bright red with deep forest green in the
underchecks, overlaid with narrow strips of white and black. Diana chose a lightweight scarf.

Logan handed payment to the clerk and declined a bag. “She wants to wear it. Don’t you, Diana?” Shoving the receipt into a pocket in his kilt, he stepped close. As always, she felt dwarfed by his size. But today, she found she liked feeling tiny and fragile. Looking in her eyes, he slid the scarf around her neck. Diana looked down and watched as he knotted the thin material and arranged the ends of the scarf over her white knit shirt. His fingers were still for a moment, then with careful deliberation, glided across the swell of her breast. She caught her breath and looked up into his eyes.

They were dark and intent on hers. He touched the side of her face, then slid his hand onto her neck beneath her hair. She arched her head back a bit and stepped towards him, unable to resist temptation.

His kiss was gentle and brief, but it still sent her senses leaping in r
esponse. He lifted his head. The heat in his gaze seemed to burn her very soul.

“Diana, let me take you home.”

Unable to look away from the demand in his eyes, she surrendered to the inevitable and placed her hand in his. “Yes.”

Holding her hand, he strode through the crowd toward the parking lot and his SUV. Diana kept up easily, despite the fact that her senses were spinning with desire and also with some unease. Things were moving fast. But she wanted to be alone with him, to touch him, to feel him touch her.

The Jeep sat in full sun. When Logan pulled the door open, the interior radiated waves of scorching heat. And it still wasn’t as hot as Diana felt. Logan reached in the back and pulled out a beach towel. “Let me spread this on the seat so you don’t burn your legs. The AC is still out, but it’ll cool off fast when we drive.”

As he started the engine and powered down the windows, Diana reached into her shoulder bag for an elastic band and pulled back her hair, but she doubted anything would lower her temperature. She glanced toward Logan, as he backed the SUV out and swung it towards the exit. His eyes swept over her and every part of her came to life as if his gaze had been a physical caress. Then his eyes locked with hers. The jeep slowed to a crawl. Her breathing became rapid and shallow—she realized she was nearly panting—and she tore her gaze away from his, trying to regain some modicum of control. They blasted out of the par
king lot and roared down the road.

Logan drove in silence, trying to step back from the brink. He had been close to stopping the Jeep and taking her in the parking lot—how could she push him so far with just a glance? Thank God she’d looked away when she did. He’d been eye candy
to more than a few women and didn’t mind a bit—what man would? There had been some who’d made their desire for him more than apparent. But never had a woman looked at him with the total lack of artifice Diana had just shown. She had offered him all that she was. He knew it, and something inside him was roaring in triumph and pushing him to take her now.

Bit by bit, he fought his way back to control, to sanity. When he knew she was safe with him once again, he glanced over—without mee
ting her eyes—and spoke in a voice that was almost normal.

“Diana, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t get you out of my mind. Tell me who you are.
A workaholic CEO? A woman who gets tears in her eyes when I kiss her? You keep changing…like smoke.”

Her voice was steady, though it seemed to ruffle at the edges. “I’m just who you see, Logan. Not the workaholic CEO. That was a gift to my father. Not the nervous girl you kissed that first night. That night my emotions were on overdrive. I didn’t think you’d seen the tears, but they weren’t your fault in any way. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

He wondered what had happened to make her so nervous and emotional that night at the Inn, still not sure it hadn’t been something he’d done. But since she didn’t hold it against him, he couldn’t very well ask further. “And today?”

“Today and from now on, I’m just Dianna Lennox, the woman you’re with right now.”

“Is this the same Diana Lennox who nearly broke my instep? Cause if it is, I’m gonna have to be extra careful.” He sent a grin her way, finally enough in control of himself to relax.

“Not unless you make me angry.” She smiled. “Talk to me, Logan. Tell me how you came to be an engineer.”

They drove and talked steadily for an hour. As his brain cooled, Logan’s conscience began to prick. He’d invited the woman to lunch. Was he civilized or not? He thought of the look she’d given him and his blood boiled. Perhaps a compromise… Logan exited the highway at a country road. Pulling into the shade of a broad-leafed maple tree, he parked the Cherokee and smiled at Diana. “There’s a nice spot to get a meal about a half mile up this road. If you’re hungry, we can stop.”

She gave him a look. “We’re stopped now.”

“I know.” He got out and came around to the passenger door, opening it, although the better part of his brain told him not to. He reached into the SUV, unclipped her seat belt, and drew her to him. “I hope you’re not hungry, because I am.” Wrapping her in his arms, he kissed her.

Diana had regained her self-control during the drive, but when his lips met hers it felt like her whole body was immersed in liquid fire. She felt the warm afternoon breeze and heard the rustle of the maple leaves, but it only increased her awareness of their isolation and intensified her desire. As Logan’s mouth moved demandingly over hers, his hands roamed up and down her back…stroking, caressing. He shifted her slightly and his right hand skimmed over the smooth skin of her midriff and around the side of her waist.

Diana’s brain became lost in a haze of desire. Nothing existed for her but the feel of his mouth on hers and his hand on her flesh. She stirred restlessly, wanting him to touch her breasts. Just as she was about to say so, he drew back. She must have swayed, because he took her by the arm, and gently guided her back into the Jeep. He rested his forearms on the roof, and leaned his head close to hers.