“You, um, you just tell me which of these times works best for you,” he mumbled, flushing with embarrassment yet again.
Smiling slightly, she took the printed flight schedules into her small hands and bent her head over them. The edges of the paper trembled. Realizing that she was very likely in shock, he felt duty-bound to point out that the flights leaving from Tulsa were considerably cheaper than those leaving the regional airport.
She nodded and after several seconds said breathlessly, “Early would be best, wouldn’t it?”
“If we hope to get there and back in the same day, yes, I’d say so. Plus, they’re an hour ahead of us on the East Coast, and we could have lots of legal hurdles to jump before we can bring a minor back across the state lines.”
“Well, then, the 5:58 a.m. flight is probably best.”
Grady nodded, mentally cringing at how early he’d have to get up to have her at the airport in Tulsa before five o’clock in the morning as security rules dictated. Might as well not even go to bed. Except, of course, that he had to be alert enough for a two-hour drive to the airport in Oklahoma.
“Can you be ready to leave by three in the morning?” he asked apologetically.
She nodded with unadulterated enthusiasm, handing over the papers. “Oh, yes. I doubt I’ll sleep at all, frankly.”
“I’ll be here for you at three, then.”
“No, wait,” she muttered thoughtfully, drawing those fine brows together. “You’ll be coming from Fayetteville, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
She smiled, and he caught his breath. She literally glowed with happiness.
“Then I’ll come to you,” she told him. “It’ll save time.”
Grady frowned. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
Her tinkling laughter put him in mind of sleigh bells and crisp winter mornings.
“You forget, Mr. Jones,” she said with mock seriousness, “that you work for me. Shall we meet at your office? Say, three-thirty? That’s cutting it fine, I know, but I can’t imagine we’ll encounter much traffic along the way.”
Her plan would save him over an hour all told, but he just couldn’t handle the thought of her being out on the road alone at that hour.
“I’ll pick you up here,” he insisted.
She blinked, then she smiled. “I guess I’ll see you here at three in the morning.”
Only then did it occur to him that he might have explained his reasoning instead of just growling at her. Confounded, he snapped the papers inside his briefcase once more and got to his feet, muttering that he had to go.
She popped up next to him, asking, “How can I thank you?” Then next thing he knew, she’d thrown her arms around him in a hug.
“N-no need,” he rumbled, his face hot enough to incinerate.
“Please thank your brother for me, too,” she went on, tucking her hands behind her and skittering toward the door.
Grady had heard the term “dancing on air” all his life; this was the first time he’d actually witnessed it.
He ducked his head in a nod and stuffed one arm down a sleeve, groping for his briefcase. Getting a grip on the handle, he headed for the door, still trying to find the other armhole of his coat.
“Mr. Jones,” called a rusty voice behind him.
He froze, looking back warily over one shoulder, his coat trailing on the floor. Matthias Porter stood next to the stove, beaming, his eyes suspiciously moist. Grady lifted his eyebrows in query.
“I’ll see she gets some rest,” the old man promised. “Don’t you worry none about that.”
“Very good,” Grady muttered.
Paige opened the door, and he charged out onto the porch. The dog pushed itself up on to all fours and assaulted his eardrums with howling, multioctave barks, the top end of which ought to have shattered glass.
“Howler, hush up!” Matthias Porter bawled from inside the house, and the fat black thing dropped back down onto its belly as if it had been felled with a hammer.
“Thank you again!” Paige called. “Try to get some rest.”
Grady scrambled for his car in silence, desperate to get away, but once he was behind the wheel and headed back down the rutted drive, he found that the day was not so gray as it had seemed before. He thought of the happy glow that had all but pulsed from Paige Ellis’s serene eyes, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself.
He suspected that he’d never again think of Thanksgiving as merely a turkey dinner and a football game.
Chapter Two
Paige sighed with pure delight and settled comfortably onto the leather seat of the Mercedes. She couldn’t stop smiling. She suspected, in fact, that she’d smiled in her sleep, what little of it she’d managed to get.
Matthias had insisted that she retire to her bed immediately after dinner, and she had done so simply to humor him. Surprisingly, she’d actually slept a few hours. When the alarm had gone off in the dead of night, she’d awakened instantly to dress in a tailored, olive-green knit pantsuit, her excitement quietly but steadily building.
Her parting with Matthias, who had insisted on getting up to see her off, had been predictably unemotional. He, more than anyone else, knew what this meant to her, but his pride didn’t allow for overt displays. Paige understood completely. For a man with nothing and no one, pride was a valuable thing, a last, dear possession.
When they’d heard the vehicle pull up in the yard, Matthias had practically shoved her out the door, rasping that she’d better call if she was going to be returning later than expected. After almost falling over Howler, Paige had climbed into Grady’s sumptuous car, where a welcome warmth blew gently from the air vents.
Excitement percolating in her veins, Paige unbuttoned her yellow-gold wool coat and removed her polyester scarf before securing her seat belt. Grady Jones had been right to insist that she not drive herself to his office. She was much too anxious to manage it safely.
“Coffee?” Grady offered as he got them moving. He nodded toward a tall foam cup in the drink holder nearest her.
His voice and manner were gruff, but she didn’t mind. Even if it had been a decent hour and she hadn’t been on her way—at last!—to her son, Matthias had taught her that gruff was often just a protective mannerism. Besides, it had been thoughtful of Grady to provide the coffee, so even though she rarely drank the stuff, she put on her sweetest smile and thanked him.
“There’s sugar and cream in the bag,” he said, indicating the white paper sack between them.
“Black’s fine,” she assured him, unwilling to risk trying to add anything to a cup of hot coffee in a moving vehicle. Saluting him with the drink, she bade him a happy Thanksgiving.
He inclined his head but said nothing, concentrating on his driving. She noticed that his drink holder contained a metal travel cup emblazoned with the logo of a Texas hockey team. She’d seen the same logo on a framed pennant in Dan Jones’s office. The brothers apparently shared an interest in the game. They seemed to share little else, other than their occupation.
Besides the obvious physical differences, Dan was friendly and chatty with a quick, open smile, while Grady struck her as the strong, silent type. She felt oddly comfortable with him, safe, though she sensed that he did not feel the same ease in her company. Perhaps he was a loner, then, but a capable one judging by the way he handled the car, and a