Dates And Other Nuts (12 page)

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Dates And Other Nuts
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“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 granola 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.
“Somehow, I can't picture you as the type to wear pajamas,” she said suddenly, imagining him stretched out in the nude.
“I don't.” The soft baritone of his voice reached deep inside her.
Temple tried not to read anything into the sexy innuendo.
“You take the top,” he said. “I'll take the bottoms.”
Not trusting her voice, she shrugged. He fished the pajamas out of his flight bag and tossed it to her. “I don't know about you, but I'm ready for bed.”
If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he'd smiled, but he turned away before she could be sure.
“I think I'll watch a little of the basketball playoffs,” he told her a moment later.
Temple went into the bathroom and closed the door. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
He sleeps in the buff. She knew what his well-toned body looked like. They'd swum together in enough hotel pools over the years. His daily workouts at the gym kept him in top condition and the trunks he wore left little to the imagination. She'd noticed the appreciative, lingering glances tossed his way from other women. But this was different. Very different.
Dear sweet heaven, help me make it through the night.
Shoving away from the door, she turned on the water and then studied her reflection in the mirror. Why was she suddenly dissecting Craig's every sentence, every look? Why was she imagining him in the nude? What had changed? Over the years, they'd shared many intimate details of their lives: attractions, relationships, broken hearts. She'd nursed him through the flu, and he'd babied her through the chicken pox two years ago. But she'd also been careful to keep a certain distance between them. It was her choice. Why then did it bother her so much that there were things he hadn't told her?
Because of Nancy? What else could it be?
Well, whether she liked it or not, something seemed to be changing in her. Suddenly, she wanted more than just friendship with Craig. But that scared her. What would happen if they were to take that next dangerous step, and things didn't work out? What would she do without him?
Hold on there, Burney. You're getting ahead of yourself. Be calm. Every time you react without thinking things through, you get in trouble. Just stop and think.
“Hey.” Craig rapped on the bathroom door. “You going to stay in there all night?”
“Sorry. I'll hurry.”
She took the pins out of her hair, then brushed it and pinned it up again. Stripping quickly, she slipped into the tub and sank into the steaming water until it reached her chin. After a moment, she sat up and creamed her face with lotion. Fortunately, the hotel had provided them with a small courtesy kit containing toothbrush, shaving cream and razor. Like all flight attendants, she carried her own personal essentials in a large purse for this sort of occasion. Drawing a deep breath, she sank deeper into the hot water.
“Craig?”
“Yeah?” His voice came from the other side of the door.
“Have you thought about getting married since? I mean...really.”
“Yeah. I've thought about it.”
“Well, why haven't you...done it.”
For a moment, she knew he wasn't going to answer. She was pushing him on the subject, and you didn't push him. On anything.
“Right time, wrong woman. Right woman, wrong time.”
The idea of Craig married, the father of two-point-two children was more than she cared to think about. And yet...
“Who was the right woman?”
He didn't respond right away and she wished she hadn't asked the question.
“Are you going to stay in there all night?”
Temple released a long breath of relief. She really didn't want to know who he might have loved enough to marry.
“Ten more minutes, max.”
When she finally emerged, wearing Craig's pajama top, he was stretched out on the bed, fingers laced behind his head, watching TV. He looked comfortable, and very domesticated. Relaxed. It was obvious he wasn't disturbed about their spending the night together.
Craig glanced up as she came out. His gaze lightly traveled her shapely length. “Hello? Who is this goddess? Please introduce yourself.”
“Ms. Burney, to you.”
Keep it light, Temple. Light and friendly.
“You weren't kidding, were you?” she said.
“About what?”
“About not wearing pajamas. This top still had the price tag on it.” She sat on the edge of the bed and began brushing her hair.
“I never kid. Your favorite movie is on.”
“Which one?”
“The one with Doris Day and David Niven.”
She frowned at the screen. “Which one?”
“The one where they have all these kids and he's a New York critic. They keep the youngest one in a cage with a lock on it-”
“
Please Don't Eat the Daisies
. And they don't keep the baby in a cage,” she said. “Their family's expanded, and now the apartment is too small, so Doris Day keeps the child in a playpen, turned upside down.”
He handed her the remote, and slid off the bed. “Tissues are over there for the sad parts. I'm taking a shower.”
As the bathroom door closed, Temple curled up on the bed. Reaching for a pillow to cradle, she picked at the scratchy tag in the back of the pajama collar, but wasn't able to tear it loose. Finally giving up, she held the pillow close, immersing herself in the movie.
The sound of the running shower lulled her. In the background, she could hear David Niven talking to Doris Day. They were in a small, romantic Italian restaurant, hoping to recapture their flagging relationship. Why couldn't she find a guy with David Niven's sense of humor, his suave manner, his self-confidence. Someone like...Craig...
Her eyes drifted closed. Niven's voice became Craig's, Day's voice hers.
“Anyone ever tell you how sexy you look in pajama tops?” Gentle hands touched her hair and she stirred.
“Mmm, darling, give up the apartment and move to the country with me. The house is coming along beautifully—I have a part in the local play—we could use your guidance —I love you...our children need you—”
Lips gently brushed her forehead. “You're a squirrel. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm—you smell good enough to eat—”
Something warm touched her forehead, and she snuggled closer to the delicious scent. “You're welcome to be my guest anytime you like.”
Footsteps moved away from the bed as a commercial came on. The volume immediately increased five decibels.
Startled, her eyes shot open and she blinked, momentarily disoriented.
“Did you say something?” Craig called from the bathroom.
She sat up, trying to sort reality from dream. Craig was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, drying his hair with a towel, his raised arms redefining his muscular chest. The pajama bottoms hung low on his hips. Her eyes focused on the thick mat of dark hair covering his chest. A confusion of emotions flooded her as pieces of her dream stubbornly clung to her consciousness. She had been dreaming, hadn't she?
Leaning around the corner, Craig asked, “Something wrong?”
“No. Well, uh, there's a tag on the collar of these pajamas —”
“Want me to get it out?”
“If you can. I can't reach it—”
As he approached, she caught the scent of soap and Old Spice.
“Nice legs, Burney.”
Temple quickly drew the sheet up.
“Modest?” He grinned, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.
Craig Stevens was absolutely devastating. How could there ever be a wrong time or place—
“Turn around.”
“Wh—what?”
“If you want me to get that tag out—”
“Oh.”
Feeling like an idiot, she turned around, hoping her face wasn't as flushed as it felt.
His fingertips brushed her skin as he swept her hair aside then turned the collar to reach the tag. For a scant moment, her breathing grew shallow and she wished she hadn't asked him to help.
“Why are you so edgy tonight?”
“Just get the tag, Stevens.”
His hands were warm against the nape of her neck and for one crazy moment she wished he would... Go away.
“There,” he said. “A ragged job, but it's out.” His fingertip sensuously smoothed her skin. “It's rubbed a raw spot.”
His fingertips lingered longer than she thought healthy for her peace of mind, before he finally settled the collar back into place.
“Want me to put some cream on that?”
She made herself roll away from him.
“It'll be all right. Thanks.” She shoved the covers back on her bed and settled deeper into the sheets. They were stiff and scratchy. The pillows were flat as pancakes, and the bed as cold as Siberia.
“Leave the light on in the bathroom, okay?” she said.
“Sure.”
As he returned to the bathroom, Temple closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.
You're a fool! It can't be anything more. Stop looking at him that way. He isn't blind. He can tell you're ogling him. It's embarrassing.

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