3
Sep
Chapter One
Bailey Crawford winced at the screeching voice on the cell phone and mumbled, “Hi, Aunt Sophie.”
“We’re so excited about your visit. You remember Harry Stone, the football player, don’t you, Bailey dear?”
How could Bailey forget Harry? He was legendary in Truboro. “Of course.”
“He was asking about you the other day. When I told him you were coming to visit, he said he really, really wanted to see you.”
Bailey hoped the silly emphasis on how much Harry wanted to see her was Aunt Sophie’s and not Harry’s. Harry didn’t get the nickname Fast Hands Harry simply because of the way he handled a football. She swallowed a groan. Another Thanksgiving holiday fending off horny homeboys looking for a weekend sex romp was more than Bailey could stand. Sighing she asked, “How is good ol’ Harry anyway?”
“He’s fine now, sweetheart. His divorce was final last week.”
Bailey didn’t even know he’d married–again. But, there you go. Another marriage in the dumper. She shook her head and listened to her aunt ramble while she watched the chilly Atlanta rain splash the airport’s tarmac.
Bailey thought when two people loved each other, truly loved each other, they would do everything they could to save their marriage.
Hah. Maybe once upon a time, but it sure didn’t happen anymore. Her own mother, a serial monogamist currently on honeymoon number four, was living proof.
Honesty, that’s what it boiled down to. Men and women just weren’t honest with each other, about their needs, their wants or their expectations. That was the root of the problem as Bailey saw it.
“And his business is thriving. It seems like fresh flowers are all the rage now that everyone is nesting, you know,” Aunt Sophie continued.
“Flowers? What does grid-iron Harry have to do with flowers?”
“He and his wife, ex-wife, started this adorable florist shop. Harry runs it now. Believe it or not, he does all the local weddings.”
“Uh-huh,” Bailey muttered, distracted by the mental image of Harry Stone, the jock of the Truboro Trojans, happily arranging flowers. Talk about an oxymoron. She tossed that thought aside and wondered instead what might have been the problems with Harry’s marriage. She concluded Harry must still be using the same sneaky moves he mastered in high school. Yes, there was always some deception, large or small, which eventually eroded even the best relationship.
That’s why she preferred her single life. Why she didn’t even consider dating anymore. Snapping her book closed, she moved to stand with her back against the foggy floor-to-ceiling windows.
While Sophie continued to ramble about her daughters, with liberal injections about Harry, Bailey’s gaze lit on a tall, muscular hunk sitting all alone in gate fifty-three. His upper body seemed folded into the standard airport seating, and his long, jean-clad legs stretched out into the aisle.
She smoothed her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ear. Well, she might think about a date with that hottie.
He glanced up just then and pushed a handful of his dark gold hair back from his angular face. Maybe it was the blue turtleneck sweater, but she could tell his eyes were blue from across the wide walkway dividing the gates.
She bit her bottom lip. Yeah, she might have a date with him.
One.
Sophie’s voice interrupted her wayward thoughts. “Harry is just dying to get acquainted again. He always had a big crush on you, remember? After all, you’re not getting any younger, dear.” Good old Aunt Sophie cut right to the heart of the matter. Tick tock, says the biological clock.
Frantically, Bailey searched for some defense against her favorite aunt’s good intentions.
“Keep your calendar open, sweetheart. Harry said he has something special planned for Saturday night.” Sophie giggled. “Really, what am I going on about? I should let him tell you, but I’m sure it will include exotic flowers.” Her aunt snickered again.
Bailey shivered. Harry was cooking up a Saturday Night Special for her? With exotic flowers? Her skin prickled as she remembered a childhood case of poison ivy.
Suddenly, the situation was more than annoying. It quickly became desperate.
Grasping for a solution, she stared at the TV monitor hanging from the ceiling, where an athlete dressed in a gold spandex uniform ran a football down the field. What was it they said about football? The best defense is a good offense.
“Listen, Aunt Sophie.” Bailey swallowed.
She never lied. It was one of her cardinal rules.
On the television, the gold-clad receiver hit the dirt and was immediately buried under dozens of brawny linebackers.
In an instant, her mind translated that scene into one of little Bailey tackled and buried under Harry Stone and every other eligible man in Truboro, South Carolina while Aunt Sophie, dressed in old lady cheerleading gear, shook her pom-poms on the sidelines.
Bailey closed her eyes and counted to ten. There was simply no other way. It had to be done.
“I’ve met someone,” she lied.
She slowly let out the breath she’d been holding and opened her eyes.
Easy enough. No lightning. No trembling earth.
No wonder everybody did it.
Maybe a little white lie served a purpose here and there. The way ingesting a few germs every once in a while boosted the immune system.
Aunt Sophie, the sweet meddler, had been stunned into silence for two whole heartbeats. “Really, dear?”
There was no denying the doubt in her voice. After all, Bailey wasn’t known for her dating prowess. Sophie needed convincing. “We’ve been dating for a while now,” Bailey embellished.
“That’s wonderful. Is he coming with you? I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Ah, no.” Bailey rubbed her hand up and down her throat, trying to dislodge the huge lump stuck behind her larynx. She settled for a polite cough, then said, “He couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, well, maybe next time.”
Bailey took a deep breath. That was simple. Maybe too simple.
She squirmed and began to pace back and forth in front of the window. After all of Bailey’s date-free years, Aunt Sophie wasn’t going to let this go so easily, was she? Bailey chewed her fingernail.
Aunt Sophie sighed. “I can’t wait to see his picture.”
Boom. There it was, delivered with a bow.
Proof. Of course, Aunt Sophie wanted proof.
Bailey’d just have to put her aunt off. Come up with some excuse. “Darn. I knew I forgot something. I left them at home.”
Sophie made a tsking sound. “Well, then,” she said, but Bailey heard something else altogether.
In her mind, Bailey heard her aunt murmuring about how this relationship couldn’t possibly be serious if Bailey forgot to bring photos home.
Then wham. Sophie said, “Harry’s looking forward to seeing you. Maybe you can give him a call when you get in. I can’t wait to hear what he has planned for Saturday night.”
“Oh, wait.” Bailey shut her eyes and lifted her face toward the ceiling. She would have fallen to her knees if she thought it would do any good. “I just remembered. I’ve got them in my bag.” She patted her oversized black purse as if she could conjure both the boyfriend and the Kodak moment.
“Good.” Sophie paused again, and Bailey felt the hair on her neck stand at attention.
Oh, God. What now?
“We just want you to be happy.” Sophie’s sigh sounded like a tire going flat.
Enough, Aunt Sophie, enough already. “Uh, listen, I’ve got to run. They’re announcing my flight.” The loudspeakers were silent, but this lie was so teeny it wouldn’t even count, comparatively speaking.
“Bye, lovey.” Aunt Sophie made smoochy sounds and then hung up.
Bailey slowly closed the phone, turned and banged her head softly against the cold glass.
She’d lied.
And she was going to get caught.
Worse still, being caught in a lie about a boyfriend who didn’t exist would prove to the family she was a complete loser. They’d redouble their efforts to get her to move back to Truboro, and marry her off to one of the local catches, like fast-hands Harry.
She shuddered.
Oh God, how was she going to dig herself out of this? Home Depot didn’t make a shovel big enough.
* * *
Spencer James, golden boy of the science fiction mid-list, had taken a sharp right turn and told the world how much his mom and dad loved each other. Written as a gift for his parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, his novel Watching Love Grow, was currently on the best-seller lists. Luckily for him, the public couldn’t get enough.
It seemed everyone really does love a love story.
His recent success had taken everybody by surprise, especially himself. Every day he took one more step toward realizing his dreams. Nothing would stop his star on its upward climb.
Of course, he owed a lot to his parents. He was looking forward to celebrating with them in New York. So, when the announcement of his two-hour flight delay signed off with an ear-piercing ring, he recalled one of his dad’s favorite sayings.
Whether you’re bound for heaven or hell, you can plan on spending some time in the Atlanta airport.
That stupid saying always made him nervous. Not that he was afraid of flying. No, he loved to fly, was even taking pilot lessons. No, something about the whole fate thing bothered him.
He shook off the creepy feeling. This trip didn’t have him facing his destiny just yet, but it would be a long two hours. Riffling the pages of a half-read paperback, he scanned the gate area.
“Do you mind?” grumbled an angry traveler, wrestling his case through the aisle. Spence curled his legs under his chair to let the man pass. Must be a road worn salesman anxious to join the weary horde on their way to the restaurants and bars.
Spence rubbed his palms on his jeans. No thanks. He’d find something better to do for the next couple of hours. Leaning back in his chair, he studied the population at gate fifty-two, directly across the concourse.
The usual holiday scene. Young parents tussled with whining toddlers; college students sorted through their backpacks or napped on each other’s shoulders. Grandmothers patted their shopping bags, making certain the gifts for their grandkids were still there.
Maneuvering its way through the concourse, an electric cart beeped. A lanky custodian pushed his gear along, stopping to chat with anyone who looked in his direction. He did a few magic tricks for the little kids, then began cleaning the area.
Nope, nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for the incredibly sexy woman with raven hair. Dressed in a smooth, chic black sweater and miniskirt, she exuded sophistication. Black rimmed eyeglasses heightened her aura of intelligence. Even her glossy black paperback seemed
planned to color coordinate.
The swoop of deep red color in her hair hinted at some hidden fire. Intentionally, artfully placed to contrast with her pale skin. Altogether striking. Intriguing.
Hell, he wouldn’t mind spending a couple of hours with her.
A cell phone trilled, and several people checked their bags. The raven-haired beauty flipped open a clamshell receiver and turned to face the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the tarmac.
Which reminded him. He should call his mom and let her know about the delay.
“Hi, Mom.” He listened to her rattle on about the early snow and the frosty white beauty they’d enjoy on their traditional Thanksgiving walk. If I ever get there, he thought sourly. “We’re supposed to leave here about seven o’clock. Is Dad still meeting me at baggage claim?”
Finally, his mom finished the latest report on his father’s inventions. This time it was something to keep the squirrels from attacking. If Spence hadn’t been so distracted by the hot babe across the way, he would have asked about attacking squirrels, but decided he’d find out soon enough. With his mom’s air kisses still buzzing in his ear, he put the phone away.
The beautiful woman continued her animated phone conversation. She paced. She chewed her nail. She studied the ceiling. She flung her hands about. It was like watching a dancer.
A syrupy southern female voice came over the loudspeaker and announced that first class boarding would begin at gate fifty-two. Across the walkway, passengers stood and gathered their belongings.
When the hot brunette left, there’d be no reason for him to stay. He’d find a table at a restaurant, set up his laptop and get down to some serious work.
Usually, Spence mapped out his books with military precision, making copious notes, charts, graphs, and timelines. However, he was having a difficult time getting motivated for this newest venture. Maybe he was getting fat and satisfied.
As the babe banged her head against the window, he grinned. Yes, when she boarded her plane the entertainment would definitely end.
Grabbing his leather jacket and briefcase, Spence stood and felt the stretch in his legs. It would be good to walk for a while. He rolled his shoulders and strode into the walkway, looking down, stretching his neck as he walked.
Maybe he just needed some inspiration.
A woman’s husky voice stopped him in his tracks. “Excuse me,” she said in a rough whisper.
He came face to face with the animated babe from gate fifty-two.
Maybe he’d just found it.
The husky-voiced babe glanced nervously at the boarding line gathering behind her then said in a rush, “Listen, could you do me a favor? Will you have your picture taken with me?”
Spence supposed he was going to have to get used to this kind of thing. It did pump up the ego after being invisible for so many years. His agent, Jerry, told him things were about to change.
“Picture? I suppose I could do that.” After all, it was the holidays. He could definitely see himself sharing the joy of the season, or at least a little afternoon delight, with her.
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Thanks.” The word was followed by a sigh. “You really don’t know what this means to me.”
He wished she had time to let him find out. She’d been entertaining to watch. He’d be willing to bet she’d be even more entertaining if he had a chance to get to know her.
She caught the custodian’s attention before he started his next round of magic tricks and asked if he’d do the honors. After handing over her camera, she stood next to Spence. He draped his arm around her shoulder.
She stiffened and, before he could think, he rubbed her shoulder with his fingertips to soothe her. When she relaxed a little, he was surprised at how good it felt to hold her. The knit fabric of her sweater slipped over her skin like expensive lingerie, not travel clothes. Nice.
The custodian, cum cameraman, cleared his throat, drawing Spence’s attention. Posturing like he worked for Cosmo, the man crooned, “Come on, you two. Give us a smile.”
Spence glanced at the woman. Up close, her skin was pale, but not flawless. Tiny freckles danced across her nose. Her mouth quirked in a funny grin. The left side lifted at a lopsided angle, a little dimple showing in the corner.
“Listen, sweetheart,” the photographer chided, “you’ve got to thaw a little, or you’re gonna give us all frostbite.” He shimmied with an exaggerated shiver.
The woman blushed and ducked her head. Spence touched her chin with his finger, turning her face toward him. She blinked big brown eyes at him. Her lips parted in surprise. The camera flashed.
“Better. Come on, give us some more.” Snap. Flash.
She looked a little like Bambi caught in a truck’s headlights, and she swayed back slightly. To steady her Spence put his hand in the center of her back and turned her to face him. She tilted her head.
“All right.” Snap. Flash. Snap. Flash. The impromptu photographer was completely into his task, murmuring encouragement, dancing around them, looking for just the right angle.
Spence glanced over her head to see the line of passengers waiting to board, avidly watching. A white-haired man cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly, “Kiss her, you fool.”
Everyone in line applauded.
The photographer offered his two cents. “Lay a wet one on her, man. Look at those lips.”
Spence glanced at her mouth. The quirky smile faded. Her lips were full, red, luscious. In her eyes he caught a flicker of curiosity, igniting his own.
Yes. Kissing her seemed like a good idea.
Spence leaned in and planted a little smooch on her juicy mouth. Just enough to entertain the troops.
She seemed to loose her balance, so he wrapped both arms around her, and she melted against him. The boarding line erupted in wild applause.
The photographer snapped a shot and whooped. “Work it. Work it,” he murmured, circling them with long strides, clicking the shutter until the air seemed to crackle with flashes.
Spence’s instincts took over as she continued to wobble in his arms. He pulled her closer and felt her breasts, so soft in that silky sweater, press against his chest. Her eyelids fluttered shyly and her tongue darted out to slick over her lips. The babe was a tease.
He could tease, too. With his finger beneath her chin, he brought her face closer. When their lips touched for the second time, he swore her heard her sigh as her mouth opened beneath his. Snap. Flash.
He traced her lower lip, and her tongue darted out to meet his, then retreated.
Snap. Flash. “You got more film?” the photographer asked.
Time to stop. Too bad, but someone had to be in charge. She’d relinquished all control. He ended the kiss with one last nibble at her bottom lip. A taste for the road.
Tipping her upright, Spence held her to steady them both. She looked as dazed as he felt. That was some kiss, even if he did say so himself.
With one arm still wrapped around her waist, he fished in his jeans’ pocket with his free hand for one of his cards and slipped it into her palm.
She blinked, and moved her lips as if she wanted to say something, but remained silent.
By God, he’d left the woman speechless.
Imagine what he could have done if he’d had more time, and no audience.
With a bow to her and little salute to the crowd at gate fifty-two, he picked up his coat and briefcase.
“My pleasure, ma’am. Anytime.”
* * *
The boarding line trailed right past the ladies room, so Bailey ducked inside. She crowded into the bathroom stall with her carryon and leaned against the door. Her tingling, exceptionally well-kissed lips seemed ready to ignite her entire body.
She’d become possessed. That was the only explanation for her behavior.
She never lied. Until today.
She never kissed strangers. Until today.
She never, ever went boneless, completely without self-control. Until today.
My God. What happened to her?
She had to get hold of herself. Why had she let that stranger kiss her like that?
But, faced with the choice of fighting off Harry the Hands, or taking refuge in a fake romance with Tall and Blond Mystery Man, she’d really have to go with Tall and Blond.
She’d watched Harry eat paste in kindergarten, after all.
Drawing in one last deep breath, Bailey repaired her lipstick with a still-shaking hand then wheeled her carryon out of the rest room and ran to the gate to catch her plane.
“Have a wonderful flight, Ms. Crawford.” The flight attendant winked as she handed Bailey her boarding pass and driver’s license.
God, what could be worse than being trapped on an airplane with a group of people who had just witnessed the most embarrassing episode of her entire life? The phrase, Oh what a tangled web we weave echoed in her mind with each step she took on the short walk through the tunnel to the aircraft.
She ducked out of first class, thankful to be past the passengers’ grins and nods, into a burst of spontaneous applause in coach. People lifted their hands above the seat backs; wide smiles brightened their travel-weary faces.
Well, at least she’d given them a few minutes of happiness this holiday season. She waved and smiled, counting the seconds until she reached her seat and could bury herself under a blanket and headphones.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . . . She could feel the threads beginning to tighten already.
* * *
“Down time is money down the drain. For everyone,” his agent reminded him before Spence left on vacation. The combination of loyalty, guilt and boredom sent him to the airline’s First Class Club rather than one of the restaurants. Since he needed to check his e-mail and do some online research, it was time to take advantage of some of the perks, like the internet desks in the club, that his agent had hooked up for him.
Spence settled into a comfortable chair and listened to the sedate music and murmured voices of the private club. The waitress stopped by with a tray of drinks. One was a short whiskey, which happened to be what he wanted. He slid a generous tip onto the tray then leaned back in his chair.
While he waited for the logon, he took a sip of his drink and popped a few peanuts in his mouth. The kick of the liquor and spicy nuts made him think of the woman again. He’d begun to think of her as Raven Red as he walked away from the gate to the fading applause of the waiting passengers. He grinned.
He’d left her speechless. Not bad.
He hoped he hadn’t swaggered too much.
Although he’d slipped his card to her, Raven Red hadn’t given him a hint as to her name, so he’d invented one for her. It suited her, dark, but full of spark, like one of his sexier heroines. On his perfect planet she would wear skin-tight leather all the time. Except when she was naked, of course.
Too bad the whole encounter was just one of those ships-passing-in-the-night things.
His mail icon blinked on, and he ran the cursor down the in-box to see what was important. A message from Jerry was flagged, so he opened it first.
He sat back in the chair and stared at the screen for a good ten seconds before another grin spread across his face. Well, Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas.
He’d been nominated for the prestigious Littlejohn Literary Award for Watching Love Grow . . . ‘the most thoughtful, tender love story in years told by the earnest and poetic young man who describes his parents as two of the world’s greatest lovers.’
That ‘earnest and poetic’ crap had been Jerry’s idea, and it still made Spence want to puke, but hey, the Littlejohn Lit Award. He couldn’t complain about that.
Jerry went on to describe the award ceremony and to say that tickets were reserved for Spence’s whole family and his date du jour, which, Jerry admonished, had better be his date du jour for the duration or his career would dive bomb. Jerry needed to leave the alliteration to the professionals, Spence decided.
He dug his cell phone out of his briefcase and punched the speed dial for Miranda. See, she wasn’t a date du jour if he had her on speed dial. That took some level of commitment. Programming time at least.
Her machine clicked on, and Spence listened to her perky message for the hundredth time, waiting impatiently for the beep. “Baby, it’s Spence. Listen, mark your calendar for January 3. Got something special to ask you. Gotta run.”
* * *
Come clean, Bailey thought as the plane landed and taxied to the terminal.
She’d just come clean. Tell the truth and forget the whole thing.
Of course, that kiss was going to be a little difficult to forget. Come on, a tall handsome stranger sweeps her into a breath-taking back bending full on film noir smoocheroonie swooner that draws applause? That melts every bone in her body? That still sent residual sparks from her lips to Nederland?
No, not so easy to forget.
But she’d toss the feeling and the guilt into file thirteen along with the card that belonged to . . .
She pulled the business card from her purse and looked at it again. Spencer James.
No occupation, only a telephone number and e-mail address. Strange business card. What had she expected it to say? Hunk for Hire?
That was it. He was probably an underwear model. That’s why he was so natural in front of the camera. Oh, God. What if he was in the J.C. Penney catalog or something?
It would be Camp Chiwhenwah all over again.
When she was ten, she’d been caught in her first major lie. Her punishment was to ride with her mom in the family station wagon crammed with Girl Scouts and gear all the way to camp, but then she hadn’t been allowed to stay for the first overnight campout.
Because she’d lied about practicing the piano.
Okay, she’d needed reminding of that just now.
It didn’t matter what Spencer James did for a living. His card and the film would never see the light of day.
She wouldn’t travel the humiliating road to Camp Chiwhenwah ever again.
At baggage claim, Bailey looked around for Uncle Bill or her cousin Daphne, but she didn’t spot any familiar faces. The luggage began tumbling around the carousel, and she alternately scanned the waiting area and the suitcases, wondering what had happened to her ride. She was just about to worry when she heard a deep voice calling her name.
She turned to see a big bear-like man waving as he mowed through the crowd like a linebacker. Not a stranger, she thought, trying to figure out why he looked vaguely familiar. Then she realized.
No.
Oh, no.
God, no.
“Please, tell me I’m dreaming.” She groaned.
“Sweet dreams, baby. It’s Harry.” He beamed.
She put both hands out to fend him off, but he must have thought she meant to welcome him.
Harry Stone swept her into a bear hug and crushed her against his burly chest, which rumbled with deep laughter. “Bailey, you look sweet as a daisy.”
“Harry?” she managed to squeak as he deposited her on the floor.
“Sophie and Bill were in the shop earlier buying a nice big holiday arrangement. They told me they had to get home, and then rush back to get you. So I said, don’t worry, let old Harry pick Bailey up. It’ll be just like old times.” He managed to elbow her in the ribs while balancing suitcases in either hand.
“Yeah, just like old times, Harry.” She rushed to catch up with his giant strides. “Listen, do you think we could stop by the drug store?”
“Sure. But, you don’t need to, uh, worry.” Harry winked at her. “Harry’s always prepared.”
This was just too painful. She felt her face flame, and she decided she wouldn’t be able to endure the torture of a whole weekend fighting off Harry.
Time to nip this nightmare in the bud.
Her friends had told her Camp Chiwhenwah wasn’t all that great anyway.
“Harry, what I really need is a one hour photo developer. Do you know anyplace that can do pictures faster?”
