Dates And Other Nuts Page 10

  “Hold on.” He held the receiver to his shoulder. “They’ve got one room. It’s a dump, but it’s better than sleeping in the lounge. Do you want it?”

  “Only one room?”

  “You better grab it.”

  “That would mean you’re stuck on the couch here. I’d feel guilty.”

  “We need to decide. Wait, I’ll flip you for it.” He dug into his pocket for a coin and came up with a quarter. “Heads or tails.”

  “Heads.”

  He flipped the coin, catching it deftly. “Heads. You win.” He put the receiver to his ear. She could have sworn the coin had landed tails up in his hand.

  “Wait,” she said.

  Craig let the receiver slide, arching his eyebrows inquiringly.

  She shrugged. “We can share. I hate to think of you sleeping on one of these couches.”

  Craig eyed the narrow sofa. A vinyl and chrome torture rack.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Hey, I trust you,” she said. They were friends. He could take the sofa at the hotel.

  Craig hesitated a moment, then spoke into the phone, his gaze locked with hers.

  “I’ll take it. Craig Stevens. Yes. It might take us thirty minutes or so to get there.” He gave them his credit card number and dropped the receiver back into the cradle.

  “Okay. We’ve got a room.”

  “Uh-huh,” she picked up her purse, feeling suddenly awkward. She wished she wasn’t quite so conscious of him. “We’d better claim it before they double the rate and give it to someone else.”

  The fog was as thick as pea soup. They waited for more than thirty minutes before a cab edged to the curb in front of the terminal. The driver rolled down the window and leaned out. “Can’t see your hand in front of your face, but if you’re not going far I’ll give it a try.”

  “Just a couple of miles.” Craig gave him the name of the hotel, and opened the back door for Temple.

  “Luggage?” the cabbie asked.

  “No luggage.”

  The driver grinned as they crawled into the back seat.

  “What about pajamas?” Temple asked.

  His eyes locked lazily with hers. “What about them?”

  Temple’s pulse leaped at the innuendo in his voice.

  Yeah. Silly. What about them?

  When they got to the hotel after what felt like an endless cab ride through the fog, Craig registered while she bought a magazine in a shop just off the foyer.

  “We’re in 410,” he said, punching the elevator button.

  They were both quiet during the ride up to the fourth floor. Temple was so aware of him standing next to her that she could hear him breathing. Never had she been so conscious of him. Her skin felt prickly. This was definitely not a brother-sister kind of feeling.

  Craig unlocked the door of the room and flicked on the light. The room was plain but clean. Temple was relieved to see it had two beds.

  “Double beds,” Craig said, then began to empty his pockets. Change and keys rattled onto the nightstand.

  Moving to the window, she pushed back the drapes and looked out. “I can hardly see the street now. It’s like we’re inside a ball of cotton.”

  “I think I’ll call Neal.”

  “Who?”

  “Neal. An old navy buddy who lives here. We get together at least once a month.”

  “If you’re going to use the phone, I’m going to freshen up a little.”

  “Be my guest.”

  He reached for the phone as she closed the bathroom door.

  When she emerged from the bathroom later, he was lying on the bed, sock-footed, watching “Another World.”

  “Soap operas?” she chided.

  “Three channels, max. This isn’t the Hilton.”

  Sitting down on her bed, Temple looked around the room. The Hilton it wasn’t. Two double beds, a nightstand, a long vanity, TV and a straight-back chair.

  “We’ve been invited to dinner.”

  She glanced up. “By whom?”

  “Neal and his wife.”

  “Ummm.” She leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “You go. I’ll be fine here.”

  “Three channels,” he reminded. “It could be a long night.”

  She yawned. “What’s on?”

  Craig picked up the channel guide. “Let’s see. A religious crusade, a telethon and...oh, this looks good. Reruns of the NBA playoffs—”

  Rolling off the bed, Temple resignedly slipped her shoes back on.

  “Don’t look so glum,” he said. “Neal’s a great guy, and you’ll like Maryann.”

  “Maryann?”

  “Neal’s Mrs. Right.”

  “I suppose they have one of those perfect marriages.” That’s all she needed. Å night with a happily married couple in a cozy home to remind her of how good life could be with Mr. Right. The Mr. Right she couldn’t seem to find.

  “I suppose they do,” Craig said absently, flipping through the three channels again.

  What was it with men? she wondered. Did they think the programs were going to change just because they kept running through the channels?

  NEAL WAS the same height as Craig, but blond to his dark hair, brown-eyed instead of blue-eyed. Maryann was a petite brunette who looked little more than sixteen years old, her age, she was quick to point out, when she’d met Neal.

  The two men greeted each other heartily.

  “Well, Flyboy, sorry about the fog, but it gave us a chance to get together. And who might this be?” he said, turning to Temple.

  “Temple Burney.” Craig made the introductions. “Neal and Maryann.”

  “I’m glad you could come,” Maryann said, drawing Temple into the kitchen with her. “Now I’ll have somebody to talk to while they swap war stories.”

  Temple liked Maryann immediately. It was impossible not to. Within five minutes, she was making a salad while Maryann fished steaks out of the marinade.

  The kitchen was a charming country style, with gingham curtains at the window that overlooked a patio filled with flowering plants. Perfect house. Perfect couple.

  This is what I’m searching for. Just have to find the right man and, this too, can be mine, Temple told herself.

  “Neal, the grill’s ready,” Maryann sang out.

  The two men passed through the kitchen, both talking at the same time.

  “They’re a pair.” Maryann said fondly. “You’d think they were brothers. Neal, the grill is ready,” she repeated sharply.

  “I heard you, Maryann.”

  Temple glanced up at the censure in Neal’s tone, but Maryann seemed unfazed.

  “When those two were in the Persian Gulf, I don’t know which I worried about more,” Maryann said. “How long have you known Craig?”

  “Since we were kids. We even went to summer camp together. We lost touch while he was in the service, but we both joined Sparrow Airlines five years ago and...the rest is history.”

  “He’s never mentioned me or Neal?”

  Temple thought about that a moment. “No.” That seemed odd, too. Nancy was a closed subject, and now there was Neal and Maryann. It made her wonder what else Craig hadn’t shared with her.

  “Really? Neal, the grill is ready!” The veins in Maryann’s neck stood out with the force of the reminder.

  The door flew open, and Neal appeared. Shooting his wife an impatient glance, Neal snatched up the plate of steaks and left the room.

  “Craig’s talked about you,” Maryann continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air as Neal slammed out the back door.

  Temple stopped washing carrots and looked out the window. Neal was putting the steaks on the grill while Craig bounced a basketball on the concrete patio.

  “He has?”

  “Uh-huh. He has dinner with us at least once a month. And we know about you two helping each other to find the perfect mate.”

  A cold knot of apprehension formed in Temple’s stomach. “He told you about tha
t?” What was the deal here?

  “Uh-huh. He told us about Gabrielle and the cats episode.” Suddenly, Maryann glanced up at her, desperation blazing in her eyes. “Don’t do it.”

  “Pardon?”

  Leaning closer, Maryann whispered quickly. “Take my advice and stay single. You’ve got it made and don’t realize it.”

  Temple was confused. She’d only known Neal and Maryann an hour but they seemed to have all the ingredients for a perfect marriage, certain tensions aside.

  “But...you and Neal seem so perfect—”

  “Looks are deceiving sometimes.”

  The back door opened and Neal stuck his head in. “Where’s the long fork?”

  “Right here, darling.” Maryann handed it to him with a tense smile.

  He slammed the door, making the curtain flop.

  Maryann began chopping celery with wicked vigor. The room was uncomfortably silent. Temple didn’t know what to say so she kept quiet until Neal’s testy voice shattered the silence.

  “Steaks are ready!”

  “If you like them still mooing,” Maryann muttered. “Turn mine over again,” she shouted out the window.

  Craig wandered in through the back door. Catching Temple’s puzzled look, he shrugged.

  They sat down to eat ten minutes later.

  “Dig in,” Neal invited. “Steak sauce, Maryann.”

  “You’re closer to the refrigerator, dear.”

  The couple’s gaze locked in a tense duel.

  “I’ll get it,” Temple offered.

  “Sit down,” Maryann ordered. “You’re company.”

  Shoving back from the table, Maryann got the sauce out of the fridge.

  The meal got under way. The men conversed easily but Maryann was silent, looking morosely at her plate. The tension in the room was so thick Temple would have felt more comfortable in a roomful of rattlesnakes.

  Apparently, Neal and Maryann’s marriage wasn’t the icon of bliss she’d thought. Her gaze met Craig’s across the table, but he was either oblivious to the tension, or simply ignoring it.

  “Monday went about the same,” Craig was saying. “Take off, climb through thirty thousand feet, lost cabin control, head back. But this time, we picked up two mechanics who specialize in this cargo-door setup and spent a serious amount of time and fuel loitering around several states at FL310 trying to isolate this obvious loss of air from the cabin.

  “You want thrills? Wait until you’re at thirty-one thousand feet and some Marine mechanic starts pounding on your cargo door with a hammer and a block of wood.”

  Temple concentrated on her food as Craig and Neal continued with their war stories, listening to Craig’s soft baritone that was so familiar. The idea that he kept things from her bothered Temple more than it should. Why hadn’t he ever mentioned Neal and Maryann?

  Neal reached for another roll. “I heard you got grounded the next week.”

  Craig laughed. “Well, that’s the breaks. It seems that a captain had been trying to figure out what was wrong with this plane for a month and couldn’t pinpoint it. When he found out what happened, he managed to get our orders changed and we were grounded for two weeks. The moral being, never show up your superior, even if you’re right.”

  “Number-one rule.” Neal chuckled.

  Maryann stood up and abruptly began to clear the table, her lips compressed into a tight line. “Coffee?”

  “Thank you,” Temple accepted. “Can I help?”

  “You better make it if you want to drink it,” Neal said.

  Maryann’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a crack about my coffee?”

  The couple’s gaze locked again. The room pulsated with tension. Temple’s gaze found Craig’s. She could wring his neck for inviting her to witness this.

  “No, it’s a fact.”

  Temple cringed inwardly.

  Maryann turned to Temple. “I’m very sorry, but I’ve suddenly developed a splitting headache. Will you excuse me?”

  Craig stood up as she left the table.

  Sitting back down, he glanced at Temple, who signaled him with her eyes it was time to leave.

  A moment later, the water glasses on the table rattled as the bedroom door slammed shut.

  Craig and Temple called a cab from the living room and waited on the front porch. When the cab deposited them back at the hotel, they stood watching the car’s taillights disappear into the swirling fog, then looked at each other. Suddenly they both burst out laughing.

  “That was interesting,” Temple finally said when she could catch her breath.

  “You think so?”

  “Not really.”

  They stood in the square of light coming from the hotel doors, watching the fog eddy around them, reliving the uncomfortable episode.

  “Steak sauce, Maryann!”

  “You’re closer, dear!”

  Temple hooked her arm through Craig’s as they finally went inside the hotel. After the fiasco they’d witnessed this evening, she had a new appreciation for his even temper. Never in her wildest imagination could she see him reacting as Neal had tonight, no matter how upset.

  “Craig—”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why haven’t you ever mentioned Maryann and Neal?”

  “Just never thought about it,” he said, pacing a step or two away in the lobby.

  Temple digested that for a few moments.

  “You knew they were having trouble, didn’t you?”

  “Would I subject you to an evening like this if I knew?”

  She paused, studying him. “Yes, I think you would.” It was suddenly clear what he’d done. “You were trying to make a point, weren’t you?”

  “The point being?”

  Her gaze met his as she said, “That marriage is great if it’s with the right person. Hell if it isn’t.”

  Should I ask why it was important for him to make that point? Was he thinking about him and Nancy? Or me...and anybody I meet in haste?

  “Well, it is a thought, don’t you agree?”

  As they waited for the elevator, Temple tried to sort out what he meant. Love wasn’t something that could be rushed. As Grams said, it could happen at the most unexpected moment, and sometimes, with the most improbable candidate.

  She was still thinking about that when the elevator arrived and they got in. This evening was an example of why Craig had broken his engagement to Nancy. He’d known it wasn’t right. The problem was, Nancy didn’t see it that way.

  “You were right,” she said at last. “I did like Maryann. She and Neal could have handled things a little better, though.” She watched the numbers flash as the elevator moved upward. “Maybe we should ease up on finding Mr. or Ms. Right,” she mused aloud. After tonight’s debacle, single life looked pretty good to her.

  Not saying a word, he drew her lightly into his arms. Taking advantage. She snuggled closer to his broad shoulder, feeling so content she suddenly laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Me. Want to know what I thought when I met Neal and Maryann?”

  “What?”

  She buried her face in his shoulder, partly to smother another laugh, partly just because she wanted to. “Just think, Temple, you have only to find Mr. Right and this, too, could be yours.’”

  9

  A COLD RAIN had started falling, adding to the fog. It was so dreary outside that the dismal hotel room looked almost cheery.

  “You think the fog will lift early?” she asked.

  “It’s hard to say.”

  Craig slipped the security lock on the hotel-room door and tossed the key onto the lamp table.

  “Let’s sleep in tomorrow morning,” she suggested. Sleeping in was a luxury when they didn’t have to be at the airport at five-thirty.

  “I’ll call the tower around five,” he told her. “See how things stand.” He shrugged out of his uniform jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. “I’m hungry.”

  “I think I have a grano
la bar in my purse.”

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  Stepping out of her pumps, Temple flexed her toes and sat down on the only chair in the room. “Maryann said that you’d mentioned me. How come?”

  “Did I?”

  “Maryann said you did.”

  “I might have mentioned you. Which bed do you want?”

  “Right.”

  Stripping off his tie, he tossed it on the nightstand. He moved to the window and looked out, hands resting on his hips. The standard blue shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, tapering to his waist. He slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, and the room suddenly closed in on Temple.

  Nancy, you’re right. That is one gorgeous man.

  The problem was, Nancy had never been able to forget Craig. Is that what would happen to her if she and Craig stopped being “best buddies”?

  He was still framed by the window, his face all planes and angles in the dim light from outside. How was it that after a long day, and a frustrating evening, he still looked so damned attractive?

  Temple tossed her shoes into the small closet. “I was thinking on the way home,” she said. “I’ve known you for such a long time, and yet there are areas of your life that are a mystery.”

  He smiled and her heart double-timed. “What do you want to know?” he said. “The years I was in the navy? When I got out? What size shoe I wear? How I like my eggs?”

  “Early to mid-eighties, called back up during the Gulf War, size eleven, scrambled,” Temple said. “Why did you break up with Nancy?” The words were out before she realized it.

  He looked up, his expression warning her he wasn’t going to answer.

  “I know it isn’t any of my business, but she’s never said—I just sort of wondered—” Was another woman involved? Another man?

  “Do you two still have a close friendship?” he asked.

  “We talk, occasionally.”

  He removed his shirt, walked to the closet and hung it on a hanger. “Nancy’s one subject I don’t want to discuss. The relationship is over, and we’ve both moved on.”

  He turned, his gaze holding hers momentarily.

  “I have pajamas in my flight bag,” he said in answer to the question she’d asked several hours earlier.

  She wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved that he’d changed the subject. Disappointed. She wanted to know. Relieved. She didn’t want to know.