One hand on the dark door, she paused. Her shoulders lifted and dropped, as if she had taken a big sigh. When she turned, his gaze met hers and held.
Pretty green eyes blinked once. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. A full minute passed before she replied. “I’m driving the pickup, Scooby. He doesn’t look like a pickup kind of guy.”
Alex knew if he didn’t do something soon, he would be sleeping on the uncomfortable vinyl chairs in the lobby. So he smiled. For a brief second the woman smiled back, before the smile disappeared and her eyes became guarded. Up close, they almost appeared blue. If he didn’t want to spend the night in the airport, the poncho-wearing, blue-or green-eyed woman was his last hope. “I could be a pickup kind of guy.” He smiled in what he hoped was a persuasive manner. “I’ll pay you.”
She pursed her lips as she considered his answer. “Clover Hill Farms, huh?” She caught the eye of the ticket agent. “There’s no one left in the airport. What about the pilots?”
Al stroked his beard. “Gone.”
Her chin dropped to her chest, as if in defeat. When she looked up, her jaw was set. “Show me your driver’s license.”
Alex supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. In this day and age, a person couldn’t be too careful. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrew his New York license and laid it on the counter. She returned to the bar, every step hesitant as if this were the last place she wanted to be. She glanced down at the piece of plastic. “This license is expired.” Despite the rain, or maybe because of it, her dark hair curled around her face.
Alex looked down at the piece of plastic. “What did you say?”
She tapped the plastic with one finger. “Your license is expired.”
Alex looked around the bar at the three men. “Of course not.” Picking up the license, he checked the date. She was right. Somehow he had allowed the license to expire. Considering he didn’t own a car, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He held the license in front of her eyes. “Look at the picture. Doesn’t the picture look like me?”
“Not really. That guy has a beard.”
He held the license out to the three men, and each shrugged. No question whose side they were on.
She eyed him warily. “Suppose you are Alexander Kimmel. So what? Kimmels don’t own Clover Hill Farms.” She tossed the license back onto the counter. “This doesn’t exactly reassure me.” Thrusting her shoulders back, she took a deep breath and stared the man straight in the eyes.
So she wasn’t a trusting sort. He guessed that was a good thing. “I’m Cyrus Carter’s cousin. My mother and his father are brother and sister. Call him. He’s expecting me.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked Alex up and down. “Why didn’t Cy come pick you up?”
This time it was Alex’s turn to shrug. “You got me. He said the new vet’s coming over to look at a sick cow and he has to be there.”
Finally the smile he had been trying for with the pickup response appeared on the woman’s face. “Typical.” A sharp wrinkle appeared between dark brows as she looked up at Alex. “You’re Cy’s cousin? For real?”
Mike slid a thin phone across the top of the bar. “Call him.”
Sera picked up the cell phone and flipped through the screens. Finding what she needed, she held the phone to her ear. “Hello? Mrs. Carter? Hi. This is Serafina Callahan. Could I speak to Cyrus?” She nodded, her fingers toying with the snaps on her yellow poncho. “Yes, ma’am. We’re fine. Listen—” She rolled her eyes and shot an irritated look in Alex’s direction.
He held his hands out to the side. “Good luck getting a word in edgewise.” He smiled as he pictured his aunt pelting Sera with questions like snowballs.
Scooby picked up Sera’s glass, and just as he lifted it to his lips, Mike snatched it out of his hand. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Aww, come on. Just one sip.” Scooby held up one finger.
“No.” Mike emptied the glass in the sink with a smile.
“Mrs...Mrs. Carter, I’m at the airport, and there’s a guy here who says he’s Cy’s cousin...Uh-huh...Uh-huh...He is? Well, what if...Uh-huh...I see...Thank you...Good night.” She returned the phone to Mike, who dropped it in his shirt pocket.
Alex crossed his arms in satisfaction. “What did Aunt Jean say, Sera?” The satisfaction of being right bloomed in his chest. Now, if he could just convince her to give him a ride.
She stared at the bar. Her lips pursed once, twice, before she took a deep breath and looked at him, hard. “She confirmed you are who you say you are.”
Sera’s gaze flicked from the counter to his luggage. “That’s all you brought?”
“I’m just here for the weekend. I have a flight home Monday morning.” His license still lay on the counter. He retrieved it and returned his wallet to his back pocket.
“The New York connection. Out Monday, return Friday.” Her lips pursed, then straightened, and pursed again, before settling into a slight grimace. She’d apparently arrived at a decision, because she sprang up and strode toward the dark door with the colorful glass. The yellow poncho flared around her jean-clad legs like a superhero’s cape. “Come along, then.”
Alex cast a glance first at Scooby, then the ticket agent and then Mike, who reached under the counter and pulled out a Hershey’s bar, which he handed to Alex. “Try sweetening her up with this. She likes chocolate.”
Scooby and Al followed Sera into the main terminal. Switching off the lights in the bar, Mike disappeared into the back.
Grabbing his suitcase, Alex went to find the lady with the pickup. He wished he had never left the city.
AS HE HEADED for the front doors, the big overhead lights dimmed, leaving the terminal lobby in shadows. The young woman in the yellow poncho was his only option. Despite the nagging feeling of uncertainty in his chest, he followed.
That quick, she had disappeared. The sidewalk and road in front of the terminal were empty. His cousin owed him big-time after this. The least he could do when requesting a favor would be to pick him up at the airport. A sign read Taxi Stand, but the space was empty. Not unlike Scooby’s car rental agency.
He was wondering if he should try to call Cy when a truck badly in need of a paint job jerked to a stop in front of him. Smoky exhaust poured out the back, blending with the rain. He looked around for a shiny pickup truck. But the parking area was dead.
The window rolled down. Serafina Callahan propped her elbow in the window. “You aren’t waiting for me to open the door for you, are you? Because that’s not part of the service.”
Alex continued to stare at the monstrosity. Silver duct tape rimmed the front wheel well. The original bed had been replaced with a wooden flatbed. “Is this thing safe?”
“Old Blue works just fine. She gets me where I’m going.” She rolled up her window, her shoulder rising and falling with each rotation of the handle.
Alex took a breath. He walked around the front of the truck and pulled open the passenger door. The floorboards were about three feet off the ground with no running board. He set his carry-on on the seat, grabbed the edge of the dash and jumped in. “I guess that’s all that counts.” The door screeched as he pulled it shut.
The lights over the main terminal door dimmed.