A Rainbow in Paradise (6 page)

Miles away in Many Farms, Logan sat looking
at another telephone receiver.
I can't believe I just did
that,
he thought, aghast. Had he really just called the most
attractive woman he'd seen in years to tell her he couldn't see her
again, blurted out that he couldn't see her anymore without so much
as an attempt at explanation, and then made a date to see her
tomorrow?
Yep, Logan, that's exactly what you did
. He
wondered if he was losing his mental faculties. He wondered if the
People's doctors had a ceremony for the sickness that ailed him. He
wondered how many ways he knew to say "idiot" in Navajo.

It wasn't fair to Eden, either. What must she
think of him, hurting her when she'd done nothing to hurt him, and
then setting them both up for a repeat performance? He walked back
toward Philbert, counting all the Navajo expressions he knew for a
person of limited capacity and applying each to himself.

Philbert
. As if he needed more guilt!
With a jolt, he recalled he had promised Phil the chance to drive
into Chinle tomorrow to pick up the very list of items he'd just
used as an excuse to see Eden. Well, at least he could make good on
that one. He'd give Phil the list and let him make the trip to
Chinle early, and then he'd drive into Holbrook anyhow. There were
a few items in the hardware store he'd been thinking of picking up
someday, whenever he could get around to it. His dad's old trailer
would soon disintegrate under his feet if he didn't do some basic
repairs. Maybe his foolishness over the pretty
belagaana
could serve a useful purpose after all.

Taking little comfort in the thought, he
returned to give Phil the list and explain his plans to be away
tomorrow.

* * * * *

Eden rubbed an itchy spot on her face with
the back of her hand, fearful of smearing herself with paint or
grime if she used her fingers. She cast a quick glance at her
wrist- watch; almost noon. The morning had disappeared in washing
and spreading and masking. With half the day gone, she was finally
ready to begin the serious work. A bead of sweat trickled down her
face and dripped from her nose onto the lid of the paint bucket. It
was going to be a long afternoon.

She sighed and took a break, sitting on the
newspapers spread on her living-room floor and leaning back against
the dry, fresh-scrubbed wall. The room was nearly empty now, most
of the old furniture hauled away by the local thrift store, most of
the accumulated trash loaded into the twenty-cubic-yard Dumpster
which she had filled to overflowing, and then paid a half-dozen
neighborhood boys to stomp down so she could fill it up again. She
planned to paint the ceiling first, then the walls, and finally the
woodwork. When all the paint had dried, she could clean the carpets
and count one room done. Even the idea exhausted her.

She touched the rag on her head, making sure
it fully covered her hair, hair she had washed sparkling clean that
morning in preparation for Logan's arrival. Eden wondered: If she
were a betting woman, would her money be on Logan showing up? Or on
him wimping out?

She smiled then, laughing at herself. Of all
the words she had ever applied to Logan Redhorse—and she'd thought
of all kinds in recent weeks—"wimp" had never been one of them.
Face it, girl
, she told herself,
you hardly know the man,
though heaven only knows how much you'd like to.
Some echo in
her conscience assured her that, whatever she didn't know, she
wouldn't mind learning.

But dreaming of Logan Redhorse wasn't getting
the room painted. Eden sighed and struggled stiffly to her feet. It
was going to be a long day, and sitting here would only make it
longer. Still, even as she turned her thoughts back to her
appointed task, some longing in her heart reached out to him,
begging him to keep his promise, to come to see her this one last
time. She knew now that some unspoken "commitment" was making him
reluctant to see her and that apparently there was nothing she
could do about it. That didn't keep her from wanting to see Logan
again, even if all she got from the experience was another memory
to add to a small and rather exclusive collection. "Come to me,
Logan," she whispered aloud, willing him to feel her longing and
match it with his own.

* * * * *

For the fourth time in the last ten minutes,
Logan walked down the tool aisle in the hardware store, sure he
must be looking for something.
Courage
, he told himself,
only I don't think they sell that here. Charm, maybe
? He'd
definitely need something to make him welcome when he arrived at
Eden's house.

What was he going to say to her, anyway?
Could he possibly tell her the truth?
I can't marry you, Eden,
but I can't resist being around you, so I thought I'd drop in for a
little while just to bask in your presence and smell your hair, and
maybe talk you into kissing me again before I ride off into the
sunset. How's that sound
? It didn't sound so good to him. He
couldn't imagine that it would to her, either, especially not on a
day like the one she had planned.

Painting.
Hey Redhorse, the lady is
painting
! Why hadn't he thought of that before? Passing up the
plumber's helpers, he hurried to the paint aisle and picked up a
couple of paint pads, a roller, a stir stick, two paper hats, and a
package of brushes in assorted sizes. In his limited experience, he
couldn't recall a single paint project where a pair of extra hands
wasn't welcome. Pleased with his inspiration, he checked his watch,
noticed it was almost one, and then made plans for another stop
along the way. He would make himself welcome. Maybe he could even
earn a kiss, and not end up feeling like a heel for taking it. He
smiled. Perhaps he wasn't such a
tl"id
after all.

* * * * *

When she heard the car door close outside,
Eden stifled the impulse to run to the window. She'd been running
to the window all morning and all it had gotten her so far was
further behind in her work. Then she heard footsteps on the front
walk and realized
this
car door was closing at her house.
Hurrying into the front hallway, she slipped the rag from her hair
and used the front mirror and the brush she'd left near it to tidy
up. Noticing the dirty blotch on her right cheek, she licked a
finger and rubbed at the spot. The doorbell rang and she gave
herself a quick inspection. What she saw wasn't great, but it would
have to do. She opened the door.

"Hi," Logan said, holding up a brown bag from
a Holbrook drive-through. "I brought lunch."

She hadn't thought of lunch, but now that the
thought occurred to her mind, her stomach concurred. "That sounds
great. Anybody who brings food is welcome here." She held the door
for him, then noticed as he slipped past her that, good as he had
looked in formal dress at the wedding or in dress slacks and a
western shirt on their dinner date, he looked even better in snug
blue jeans and a burgundy polo shirt, the heels of his boots
clicking on the floor tiles of her front hallway. Eden swallowed a
sigh and closed the door. "I've sent most of the old furniture
away, but I still have the little table in the breakfast nook and a
couple of chairs, and I made some lemonade this morning."

"Sounds good," Logan said. "This weather
produces a mighty thirst."

"That's for sure." She led him into the
kitchen where it took them only a few minutes to set up the lunch.
Though he'd bought a burger and fries for himself, he offered her a
breast-of-chicken sandwich and a side salad. "How'd you know?" she
asked, then answered her own question. "You must have talked to
Sarah."

"She told me you're a chicken fan," he
admitted. "I wouldn't have known what to bring."

"Well, you couldn't have done better." The
conversation lagged as they ate and Eden wondered what to say.

There was that "commitment" Logan had come
here to talk about, but she wasn't in any hurry to bring up that
subject. What else was there? She was just about to resort to the
goats again when Logan finally spoke.

"I brought something else," he said, "besides
the food, I mean." He held up the bag from the hardware store.

Eden shrugged. "What is it? I'm not good at
guessing games. You may have to just show me." He opened the bag
and poured out its contents. She gaped. "Paintbrushes?"

"I hope you don't mind if I stay awhile," he
said.

She stared at the brushes, then answered
simply, "Stay as long as you like." Maybe this afternoon wasn't
destined to be so bad after all!

* * * * *

Logan stretched, reaching his brush full of
dusty rose paint toward the ceiling. They'd finished the ceiling
first. Then, for the past couple of hours, he had taken the high
road, cutting along the edge of the white ceiling, then painting
all the higher parts of the walls while Eden took the lower half.
His height gave him the advantage there, and it was easier for her
not to stretch so hard, or risk balancing on a chair.

He glanced toward her, hoping he hadn't
offended her by taking off his shirt. He'd asked first, of course,
and though she'd said it was all right, he noticed that she had
colored a little and averted her eyes. Clearly she was as
uncomfortable as he was.
I should have thought of a shirt,
he told himself as he finished the back wall.

Conversation hadn't exactly been sparkling.
Perhaps they were both intimidated by the subject they knew they'd
have to address sooner or later, or maybe, as he'd suspected from
the beginning, they really had little in common—besides that
electric rush that seemed to send sparks flying whenever they got
within three feet, or spoke on the phone, or...

Logan stifled a sigh. He'd never experienced
anything like the magnetic power of their mutual attraction. Now,
if they could just learn to speak. So far their talk had been
pretty much limited to "Pass the paint" and "There's a spot,"
though she had thanked him several times for coming.

He smiled to himself. He was glad he had
come. He was glad to spend some time near Eden, even if he wasn't
going to be able to stay. Every once in a while he even got close
enough to catch that fresh, clean scent that reminded him of a
desert evening, and sometimes she flashed him a look of electric
blue that hit him like a lightning bolt and sent tremors running
all through him. Yes, it was worth a little hard labor to share a
few more of those looks, a little more time just basking in her
presence.

He set his jaw. The painful subject they
couldn't avoid would come up sooner or later. For now, it was worth
whatever it took just to smile and enjoy a few moments in
paradise.

* * * * *

Eden sneaked another surreptitious glance at
the attractive man working beside her. It always embarrassed her
when he looked her way and found her studying him and she never
turned away without coloring.

To make matters worse, she could think of
nothing to say to the man beyond "Thanks for helping" and "Please
pass the paint." She wondered why she was always so tongue-tied in
his presence. Maybe she was just trying to avoid asking him what he
had wanted to talk to her about, or maybe, as she'd suspected since
the wedding, they really didn't have much more in common than the
adrenaline rush that darted like lightning whenever they stood in
the same room.

She shook her head.
It doesn't matter
,
she told herself, coming to the realization she'd been working on
for the last couple of hours. I
t doesn't matter why he's here or
what he has to say. For now, it's enough that he's here, working
beside you, letting you watch him. Stop fussing about the future,
Eden. Just relax and enjoy him.
It was such good advice, she
decided to take it.

* * * * *

"I think that's it," Logan said. He put down
his paint pad and stretched his stiff muscles, not noticing the
breathless reaction he drew from the woman beside him.

Eden's mouth went dry and she swallowed hard
before she spoke. "I think you're right," she answered huskily.
With Logan's help, they'd finished the whole job, including the
woodwork, in record time. "I can't thank you enough for
coming."

"My pleasure," he answered, surprised to
realize it was. "Let me help you clean up in here and put the paint
away," he offered, "then maybe we can talk over dinner."

"Sure, that'll be fine."

They started by putting the paint away,
carefully capping each can, and then Logan went to a backyard
faucet to wash clean all the pads, rollers, and brushes so they'd
be ready to use again when Eden needed them. Meanwhile she gathered
up paint-covered newspapers, stuffing them into trash bags. Before
long they stood in a clean, freshly painted living room, admiring
their handiwork.

"It looks great, Logan. Thanks again for all
your help."

"You're welcome again," he answered easily,
standing near enough to catch her scent. Even mixed with the odor
of paint, she still smelled delicious.

"Listen," she said, "about dinner. I don't
have much in the house, but if you don't mind taking potluck, I
think I can throw together a simple pasta dish and a green
salad."

"I don't want you to feel you have to cook
for me," he began. "You've worked hard all day. Let me take you out
for something."

"That would hardly be fair, since lunch was
your treat. Let me whip up something here. I insist."

He hadn't come here to argue with the lady.
"In that case, pasta sounds great," he answered, "but I'm pretty
dirty to sit down to a dinner. Do you have a place where I can
clean up?"

She thought of the clogged bathroom drain.
"I'm having some plumbing work done on the main bath," she
answered. "If you don't mind using the shower off the bedroom?"