A Bride For Jackson Powers

“About half-awake.”

“Looks like nothing’s changed.”

“I don’t see people rushing toward our gate. Maybe if we went around to the south side of the terminal, things would be different.”

“This is the south side,” Jax said wryly.

“Oh.”

“You want to take a bathroom break first?”

“If you don’t mind.” She’d give her last five dollars for a toothbrush. Why hadn’t her friendly travel agent warned her about things like this? She’d have stuck one in her purse.

“Toothpaste and shaving soap in my briefcase. You’re welcome to anything you want.”

Hetty sat up, raked her fingers through her hair and said, “Bless you! I’d have brought my own supplies in my purse if I’d thought about it.”

He handed her a small tube of shaving soap, the old-fashioned kind that required a brush, and one of toothpaste. Hetty thought it was sweet. The only two men she’d known well enough to know their shaving habits used the stuff in an aerosol can.

“When you get back, I’ll go and then reconnoiter for supplies. Coffee and anything else I can find, right?”

They disentangled assorted limbs, straps, coats and shawls, and in the process Hetty was reminded all over again of just what an attractive man Jackson Powers was. Even rumpled, unshaven, his thick hair looking as if it had just been combed with a thresher.

And to think she’d slept with him.

Mercy!

Ten o’clock came and went. Hetty popped a cold, limp French fry into her mouth and wondered whether to call it breakfast, lunch or an early dinner. At this point she was no longer even sure what day it was. “I’ve been thinking—what if this thing we call an airport is really a small planet circling in outer space? What if we’re all alone in the universe?”

“Read a lot of science fiction, do you?”

“If the library has it, I’ve read it. Some of it’s boring, but it’s still another point of view. That’s always—well, almost always—enlightening.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“I think so, too. That’s why I’ve plowed through so many boring books.” She checked the snap on her purse, then laid it aside. “I tried the travel agency’s 800 number again on the way from the rest room. It was still busy.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jax said. He snagged the last French fry, wondering how long it was going to have to last. He’d had to search two different concourses before he’d found food this morning. Instead of coffee and pancakes, or anything else faintly resembling a breakfast, he’d had to settle for saltines, French fries and Bloody Mary mix. For ten bucks he’d managed to get a pint of whole milk for Sunny. He only hoped it didn’t make her sick. Evidently formula had more ingredients than plain milk.

Hetty’s shoulders were drooping. He told her to brace up, that things could be worse. Judging from the way her chin trembled, she wasn’t far from tears.

God, he hoped she didn’t start crying. When it came to dealing with feminine tears, he was at a dead loss, regardless of the age of the female.

She blew a wisp of hair off her forehead. “You reck’n?”

“I reck’n,” he said, amused by the colloquialism.

“You’re right. We could’ve been diverted to Alaska and had to make connections by dog sled.”

“Or we could be in the air in all this mess. Or one of those poor devils trapped out on the runway. Given a choice, where would you rather be?”

He was trying to cheer her up, and Hetty appreciated it, she really did, only there was nothing cheerful in knowing that the one time in your life you did something truly frivolous, it turned out to be a monumental flop.

“You’re a nice man, Jackson Powers.” She managed a smile, despite the fact that she was probably going to miss her cruise. In spite of the fact that she was practically broke, with no job and no home to return to until she patched things up with Jeannie.

Which meant dealing with Nicky. Jeannie’s new husband recognized a good thing when it fell into his lap and wasn’t about to let his stepmother-in-law horn in on it.

“How many cans of formula do we have left?” Jax asked briskly, as if knowing she could use a distraction.

“We’re out. It’ll have to be the milk next time. It might give her diarrhea, which could be a problem unless we can locate a source of diapers.”

Hetty welcomed the chance to take on someone else’s problems. Jax and Sunny weren’t family, only passing strangers, but anything was better than being all alone in the wilderness of an overcrowded, shutdown airport with roughly a zillion frustrated holiday travelers.

You’d think she’d know more about airports, having been married to a pilot, but after years of selling hardware, Gus had barely gotten started on his crop-dusting career before he’d been killed.

“Want to go check out the weather report again?” Jax asked. He had the most remarkable eyes. Hetty couldn’t decide whether they were charcoal-gray or navy-blue. Mostly he kept his feelings hidden, but she’d caught glimpses of humor and concern. Once or twice she’d seen something that looked almost like admiration.

Which had to be wishful thinking on her part.

“Can we afford to leave our space unguarded?” Miracle of miracles, no one had tried to push past their fragile barrier. Jax had moved a sign advertising a Bermuda Cruise so that it hid the area where they’d slept.

“There’s a lot of coughing and sneezing going on. I don’t mind taking my chances, but I hate to expose Sunny any more than I have to.”

It was decided that they would take turns scouting out food and information, and baby-sitting. He said, “I’ll make a run and see if I can round up some diapers and baby food.”

“I think I saw a drugstore down that way about half a mile,” Hetty offered.

There had to be something in an airport this size. It was almost a small city in itself. “I’ll give it a shot,” he said as he eased past the wheelchair.

She smiled, and without realizing it, Jax smiled back and went on smiling for the next few minutes until he caught himself at it.

He wasn’t a smiler. It wasn’t his nature. Something—either the ice storm or the woman—was royally screwing him up.

The day passed in slow motion, as if the hands of all the clocks had gone on strike. From sheer boredom, they lapsed into a desultory conversation. It started when Hetty caught him looking at her hands. She had polished her nails for the first time in years, but no amount of polish could disguise years of housework, minus all but the most basic appliances.

“I told you I’d been married. I don’t wear my wedding ring because it makes my fingers break out,” she confided diffidently.

“You’re divorced?” He knew several divorced women who had shifted their rings to the other hand. It was a personal choice, he supposed.

“My husband died.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He told her his secretary was allergic to anything that contained fragrance, but not to metal.

“My mother-in-law was allergic to animals. She used to live on a farm, too.”

Jax murmured a polite response, and Hetty went on to describe the house and the barn that had been turned into a hangar, where Gus had kept his green-and-yellow Cessna.

She told him about the potholders her mother-in-law had made. “She must have crocheted five hundred of the things before her last stroke. She couldn’t get out of bed, but she had the use of her hands right up until the last few months. I think it helped, having something to do.”

“Your husband was a pilot?”

“A crop duster. That is, he was a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War. For a while he didn’t want to fly at all, but then this plane went up for sale and he got interested again, and one thing led to another.”

Jax studied her for a long moment, making her aware all over again of how awful she must look. Something, probably the dry air, was making her hair frizz up all over her head. Not even the best haircut could change that, although even Jeannie, who’d barely been speaking to her by then, had agreed the cut was an improvement.

“A ’Nam vet, hmm? He must’ve been a few years older than you.”

“Age is irrelevant. Gus was the dearest man in the world. I’ve never known him to raise his voice, much less his hand, to anyone, no matter what the provocation.”

Gradually Jax drew forth her story. He wasn’t a trial lawyer, but he did know how to elicit information. He also knew how to read between the lines. Either she was a damned good liar or he was going to have to realign his thinking when it came to women. Hetty Reynolds didn’t fit any recognizable pattern.

Under the circumstances he couldn’t very well walk off and leave her to fend for herself, but he hoped to hell the weather broke before he got in any deeper.

Three

Stress. His doctor had told him four years ago, when he’d gone in for his last annual physical, that stress was a silent killer. Since then Jax had concentrated on relaxing whenever he could find time. It worked pretty well as long as nothing happened to blow his orderly routine, which could accommodate any number of international maritime disputes, ship disasters, oil spills and the like.

It was what happened outside his professional life that tended to screw up the works. A couple of impulsive acts and his whole life had suddenly lost steerage. Impulse one had been buying an old relic of a schooner last fall. For nearly a century the Lizzie-Linda had worked the waterways from Maryland to North Carolina, first as an oyster boat, then as a freighter. There wasn’t a lick of paint left on her anywhere. Five inches of her eight-inch log bottom were rotten, yet something about her graceful lines and proud bearing had struck an unsuspected lode of romanticism buried deep inside him. For the cost of hauling and back storage he’d bought her and eventually found a place where he could keep her. Since then he’d spent most of his spare time and a considerable portion of his funds trying to patch her up.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.