Dates And Other Nuts Read online

  Rolling onto his back, he jammed his fingers through his hair and clasped his hands to his head as he stared at the ceiling. His nerves were screaming, his need insistent. Damn, but he wanted her.

  What now?

  He studied her sleeping face, cataloging every shadow, every angle. Would she ever realize...

  Lately, he’d begun to hope she’d noticed things changing between them, but if she had, she’d hidden it well. Until tonight. She’d been as on edge as he, and he knew why. The problem was, what to do about it.

  Temple turned over again. The too-large pajama top gaped open, exposing the first curve of a luscious breast. He couldn’t resist the temptation to let his fingertips drift across that curve. Her lips parted invitingly. It was too much.

  Easing onto his side, he pulled her beneath him. His arms resting on either side of her tousled head, his mouth brushed across hers, again lingering, tasting. When she responded, moving beneath him, reaching for him, he knew she might still be half-asleep, but she knew exactly what she was doing.

  She responded wickedly, whispering his name, “Craig... Craig,” as her fingers released the snap on his pajamas. The groan her touch evoked was smothered by more lingering kisses.

  She had to be awake.

  Pajamas tops and bottom hit the floor, caught in a tangle of blankets and sheets in a flurry of need. Impatient murmurs punctuated low assent as hands and mouths searched bare skin. Everything he’d been denying for months flooded through him. She fit against his body perfectly. She responded to him like half of himself, anticipating, initiating. Driving him crazy. It was too late to think. Far too late to turn back.

  Tomorrow he’d worry about friendship.

  Passion seized him, and all rational thought fled.

  10

  IT WAS EAST FIVE when Craig stirred. Sitting up, he squinted at the illuminated dial on the clock. When he saw the time, he reached for the phone. The tower advised him the fog wouldn’t be lifting until late morning.

  Rolling over, he drew Temple to him before falling back to sleep. This was good. Very good.

  It was late when they woke again.

  “What time is it?”

  “Um, nine,” he said.

  She stretched lazily, feeling warm and good. “Let’s not get up yet.”

  “Roger.”

  They lay there together, half-asleep, talking softly. It felt right, comfortable.

  Craig liked having her beside him in bed. She looked like a little girl in the morning—eyes drowsy, hair tousled, lips pink and inviting. Too damn inviting.

  Temple gave no indication that she remembered last night. Though he wanted to share with her how good it had felt to hold her, to make love with her, it seemed she wasn’t ready to do that. It had to be the pilot thing. She’d always been so adamant about not having romantic relationships with pilots.

  Well, he’d let her think about how last night changed things and see what developed. If their relationship changed from friendship to something more, it was up to her—at least for now. But he’d only wait so long.

  Around ten, they went downstairs to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Over pancakes and sausages, the conversation was so normal Craig began to wonder if he had dreamed the encounter, but each time their gazes met and hers skipped away, the tightening in his groin told him he hadn’t imagined anything. Take it easy, he reminded himself. Go slow and see what happens.

  “So, what’s on your docket when we get back?” he said lightly as he finished his pancakes and speared his last sausage.

  “I’m off for a few days. I think I’ll go visit Grams.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Maybe never.” She sighed. “But most likely Friday.” She ate the last of her pancakes, grinning. “I know. You’ll miss me unbearably, and live for the moment I return. You’re envious of Neal and Maryann and you want a marriage just like theirs.”

  Not one word about the night before. Nothing.

  He lifted his coffee cup in a mock salute, careful not to let his frustration show. “Hurry back.”

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Temple made the three-hour drive to Summersville, arriving late in the afternoon. It was Wednesday and, knowing Grams would be at the church, she decided to go there first.

  The choir was practicing as Temple slipped into a back pew. The stained glass lining the windows filled her with a sense of peace, though she felt anything but peaceful.

  The twelve choir members were intent on their music, their voices following the rise and fall of Eleanor Liddy’s hands. Elevated on a small platform, Grams sang along with the choir, her strong alto blending harmoniously with the others.

  As the organ music faded, Eleanor turned and spotted her granddaughter. Her face lit up. “Tootie!”

  Hands extended, Grams made her way down the aisle, a radiant smile creasing her weathered face. “What a wonderful surprise.”

  “Hello, Grams.” Tears of love stung Temple’s eyes as she hugged her grandmother.

  “Alta, Bertha, Virginia, come meet my granddaughter,” Eleanor called to her friends in the choir loft.

  The small group disbanded and three elderly ladies about Grams’s age, each with the same shade of gray-purple hair, made their way out toward her.

  “We’ve heard so much about you, dear,” one greeted.

  “My, yes. Eleanor says you lead such an exciting life!” the other chirped. “You’re a flight attendant?”

  “I am.” Temple smiled warmly, grasping frail, believing hands in both of hers.

  “Oh, my, how exciting,” they said enthusiastically. “Handsome, exciting men all around you!’

  “Oh, my, yes!” Temple exclaimed, then thought, if you only knew.

  On the drive to Grams’s cottage, Temple reacquainted herself with the sights. Summersville, with its two-story homes with large wraparound porches and blooming flower boxes reminded Temple of Mayberry, USA. What had to be the last dime store in the nation, Fenney’s Five-and-Dime, was still open for business on the corner of the square. A bird-covered statue of some forgotten general stood in the center of town. Sixty-year-old elms and maples lined narrow streets that had once carried Model T cars—some roads still had cobbled surfaces. Nine churches, three city parks with pavilions where the city celebrated a variety of July the Fourth celebrations. Middle America. The heartbeat of a nation. Her own heartbeat.

  Each time she came home, it felt good. Peaceful. Or was it simply that Grams living here made it feel that way? The big, two-story house where Temple had been raised had been torn down and a public parking lot erected. Several years earlier, Grams had decided the house was too big for one person, so she’d sold it and bought a small, ivy-covered cottage closer to church.

  Temple sat at the familiar round claw-footed table in her grandmother’s kitchen and ate chocolate chip cookies—the same recipe Temple had been making for Craig for ten years.

  Craig.

  Suddenly losing her appetite, she laid the cookie aside, and reached for the glass of milk Grams had set in front of her.

  “Now then,” Grams said as she settled herself. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing’s bothering me. I just wanted to see you.”

  “I’m always delighted to see you,” the older woman said. “It’s always much too long between visits. Now, stop stalling and tell me what brings you all the way down here without the excuse of a holiday?”

  Grams had always been able to see right through her.

  Sighing, Temple broke off a piece of cookie. “You know me too well.”

  “I love you.” She patted Temple’s hand. “You always find peace here, don’t you, Tootie?”

  “Sometimes I wish things were like they were fifty years ago. Plain. Fundamental,” Temple said.

  Grams laughed. “Life wasn’t easier when I was young, just different. The judge and I had our problems. Men, women, sex. When to do it, when not to do it. The proper time, the right man. No less weighti
er issues now than they were then.”

  “I—” Temple didn’t know what to say.

  “Tootie, darling, your grandfather was my first love, my only love. But it didn’t mean we had no problems,” Grams said gently. “Your parents had their own set of troubles—your mother especially, after your father... didn’t come back. Women have had problems with relationships with men from the beginning of time. And I’d say, by that worried look in your eyes, you’re knee-deep in man trouble. Now, tell me what’s brought you all the way to Summersville in the middle of the week.”

  “Oh, Grams, I think I made a big mistake,” Temple said sadly.

  “Well, mistakes can be corrected.”

  “I don’t know if this one can be.”

  “Well, tell me about this mistake you made, and we’ll see how monumental it is.”

  “A man, a pilot—we’ve been friends for years—”

  “Craig Stevens.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You talk about him in every letter. Go on for several pages at a time, if I recall.” Leaning back, Eleanor smiled. “I haven’t seen him in years, but as I recall, he was a knockout, even in his youth.”

  “Grams!”

  “What? I may be old, but I can still dream, can’t I?”

  “Craig and I are the best of friends. He’s like...part of me.” It was difficult to admit, but it was true. “Our best times are when we’re together. We always have something to talk about. We share the same interests. It’s just...a very comfortable friendship.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the worst thing that could happen to a woman.”

  Temple toyed with her glass, trying to form the proper words. After a few moments, she said, “A couple of nights ago, we got fogged in during one of our flights.”

  Grams nodded, her eyes bright with comprehension.

  Recognizing her assumption, Temple groaned. “I haven’t finished.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “I’m in love with him, Grams,” she admitted miserably. Saying it aloud let the words sink into her heart, a place she’d carefully protected—until two nights ago.

  “Oh,” Grams reached for another cookie. “And this is the monumental problem?”

  Temple buried her fingers in her hair, massaging her temples with the heels of her hands. “I don’t want to be in love with him. I want things to stay the way they arewere,” she amended.

  Grams’s eyes softened with understanding. “Why, Tootie, when you love him?”

  “I don’t want to risk our friendship by muddying the waters with...other things.” Sex, she might have said but didn’t. Wonderful, glorious, uninhibited, hot sex. “He’s too important to me.”

  “How does Craig feel about the matter?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it.”

  Grams lowered her cup. “You haven’t discussed it?”

  “It just happened, Grams...and I was a coward. The next morning, I avoided the subject. Pretended I didn’t... remember.”

  Grams’s eyebrows arched. “Did wonders for his ego, I’m sure.” She smiled reassuringly. “It does appear you have a dilemma.”

  Temple sighed. “What am I going to do? Craig’s not only my best friend, he was once engaged to one of my closest friends. The relationship didn’t work, but Nancy’s still carrying a torch for him.”

  “If Craig’s relationship with Nancy didn’t work out, why should Nancy’s feelings be of immediate concern to you?”

  “You know me, Grams,” Temple said. “I feel guilty petting somebody else’s dog. How can I face Nancy knowing that I’m in love with Craig and she is too.”

  “My,” Grams said. “The plot thickens.”

  “Does it ever. Like glue.”

  They talked straight through dinner, and then long into the evening. It wasn’t that Temple had so much to say but that suddenly she had so much to learn from her grandmother. She’d always thought of Grams and cookies and hot tea. Now, all of a sudden, she discovered that Eleanor had a wealth of insights about relationships.

  Later that evening, Temple lay in bed in her old room under the eaves, but she didn’t sleep well that night. Nor the next. Dreams laced with erotic memories of Craig kept her awake. Friday morning found her hollow-headed and fuzzy.

  “Didn’t sleep well again?”

  Grams, dressed in her nubby robe, her hair in curlers, bustled around the kitchen making French toast.

  “Not really—Grams, it’s so early. You didn’t have to get up and see me off.” It wasn’t yet 4:00 a.m.

  “Nonsense. I wanted to. Feeling better about Craig?”

  “Worse,” Temple admitted. He was right. Sometimes things didn’t fit—right man, wrong time.

  “Well, at least you’re starting to be honest with yourself,” Grams said as she turned the bacon. “In the Dark Ages, when I was a young woman trying to decide what I wanted from life, I made a few mistakes. Nothing very life-changing, but nevertheless things that made me stop and think. Maybe that’s why you were fogged in with Craig the other night—to make you both think.” She glanced up, smiling. “Two or three pieces of bacon, dear?”

  After breakfast, Temple started back to Dallas for her eight o’clock flight. Nothing had been resolved, but she felt a little better. And she felt closer to Grams than ever before.

  Arriving at the terminal a few minutes early, Temple parked the truck in her best lane-shark manner. Craig was nowhere in sight this morning.

  Good. One less problem to start the day off.

  Entering the building, she headed straight for the lunch counter, where Flo was just getting ready to sit down.

  “Wow.” Flo looked her over with a knowing eye. “Bad week?”

  “Bad life. Slept badly. Headache,” she lied, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Coffee emergency.”

  Ginny poured two cups as Flo sat down, lighting a cigarette. “Heard you were fogged in with Stevens the other night. Anything interesting happen?”

  Temple eyed Flo over the rim of her mug. “What makes you think there would be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that he doesn’t look any better than you?”

  Temple froze, realizing Flo was looking into the mirror hanging behind the lunch counter.

  Half turning, Temple caught sight of Craig from the corner of her eye. “He’s wearing sunglasses. How can you tell what he looks like?”

  “He’s been moping around like a neutered cat all week,” Flo said. “What happened between you two the other night?”

  “Nothing. We had dinner with friends.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  Ginny leaned across the counter. “Come on, spill your guts.”

  Temple concentrated on her coffee cup. “There’s nothing to spill. We had dinner with some friends of his, went back to the hotel and went to bed.”

  “Yessss!” Flo crowed, her fist punching the air.

  “And went to sleep. Nothing happened. Satisfied?”

  “If you were.”

  Temple didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking, but she couldn’t think of a way to divert it without drawing more attention to the subject. And that was the last thing she needed, more questions.

  “Craig isn’t interested in me—he—he—” she said the first thing that popped into her mind “—likes my cookies.”

  Flo grinned. “Does he ever.”

  “Cookies, my foot,” Ginny said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you and cookies are the last thing on that man’s mind.”

  “You ought to get this ‘friend’ thing out of your head,” Flo added. “What’s wrong with being lovers?”

  “Excuse me,” Temple said suddenly. “I have to run. I’m late for my flight.” Sliding off the stool, Temple reached for her flight bag.

  “Coward,” Ginny accused.

  “Cookies,” Flo scoffed. “I’ll bet.”

  Once Temple was on board, she checked the galley, started coffee, then walked through the
cabin. Craig and Bruce Dumont were in the cockpit finishing the preflight checks when she stepped inside. “Coffee?”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Bruce said, taking a cup while keeping his attention on his clipboard and gauges.

  “Brakes.”

  “Applied and set,” Craig said, also taking a cup.

  “Mixture.”

  “Full rich.”

  Craig sipped his coffee. “Have a good time at Grams’s?”

  “Wonderful, thank you. I know I’ve gained ten pounds on all the French toast, mashed potatoes, pot roast and gravy I ate.”

  Craig’s eyes skimmed her trim figure. “I don’t think so.”

  “Flaps.”

  “Check.”

  There wasn’t the usual banter this morning, but Temple told herself it was because they were running behind schedule. Taking her cue, she exited the cockpit and returned to the galley.

  The day went without incident, and they landed back in Dallas around six-thirty.

  She wasn’t hiding from Craig. Why should she? Nevertheless, she went straight home from work.

  Thumbing through her mail as she rode the elevator to her apartment, Temple stopped when she saw the familiar scrawl on a yellow envelope.

  “Nancy,” she told the empty car.

  Thumbing open the envelope, she scanned the short letter.

  “Oh, brother,” she breathed.

  Talk about bad timing. Nancy was coming to Dallas for a couple of days to see friends and wanted to have dinner with her one evening. Nancy would have a million questions about Craig—who he was seeing being the principal one.

  She wished... What did she wish? That Craig wasn’t a pilot? That Nancy wasn’t a friend? That she felt more secure about pilots? That she wished Nancy would forget about Craig? Fat chance. That she could forget she and Craig had made love and it had been nothing short of fantastic? Impossible.

  She entered her apartment and threw Nancy’s letter onto the desk, unwilling to deal with the visit and the questions tonight. Tonight she’d think about something, anything but Craig Stevens.

  When the evening dragged on, she decided to do laundry. She’d finished two loads and had the first in a dryer, when a male tenant shouldered his way into the laundry room.