Training. One more thing to remind him of the man he used to be. It hadn’t been hard, turning deliberately back into the not-so-tidy guy he’d been before enlisting….
Padding barefoot across uncarpeted hardwood, he picked up the telephone receiver. Tucking it between ear and shoulder, Alex punched in the number printed on his palm. Two rings, three, then a melodious “Hello?”
Nope, doesn’t sound a bit like an old belle, he thought again, grinning.
“Hello?” she repeated.
There was something about that melodic voice. Something rich, something vibrant. Where had he heard it before? Clearing his throat, Alex said, “Miss Griffith?”
There was a considerable pause before a soft “Yes?” sighed into his ear.
“This is Alex Van Buren.” She hadn’t corrected his “Miss” to “Mrs.,” and for a reason he couldn’t explain, Alex was relieved. “I, ah, I understand you have my suitcase?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Mr. Van Buren. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. I don’t know what possessed me to grab your bag without checking first to make sure it was mine. If you’ll just tell me where you’d like it delivered, I’ll be happy to—”
He had a feeling she was ending every sentence by accenting the last word out of nervousness, or worse, fear. “Hey,” Alex interrupted, giving in to a need to soothe her, “there’s no way of knowing which of us got to baggage claim first. Maybe it was me who picked up the wrong bag.”
He listened to the silence that prefaced her quiet sigh.
“Oh, thank goodness! You do have my bag. I was beginning to worry I’d have a long uphill battle with the officials at the airline….”
“It’s here,” he assured her, “safe and sound.” Then, remembering that he’d promised to drive his mom to a church brunch the next day, he said, “Tell you what. I’ll be in your neck of the woods tomorrow.” He knew exactly where her street was, and could easily stop by her place on the way to his mother’s. “How ’bout we make the switch then?”
He remembered the delicate perfume that had wafted from her clothing, the soft fabrics, the feminine colors. He very much wanted to meet the woman with feet half the size of his, who packed with such precision, who had the voice of an angel…and the strength to haul his big, heavy suitcase home.
The instant he realized he’d been daydreaming, Alex coughed. Twice. “Well. Now, then. So tell me, Miss Griffith, are you an early riser?”
“An early riser? Well, I—I, um…”
Easy, he warned himself, because if the rest of her was as small as her shoe, she was probably just a little bit of a thing, and easily frightened.
“Do you need directions?” she asked.
Chuckling, he said, “Nah. Ellicott City is my hometown. I used to drive a delivery truck during my college years. I bet if I put my mind to it, I could draw a map of the place.”
Alex shook his head, more confused by his odd behavior than he’d been by anything in quite some time. It wasn’t like him to make small talk, particularly of the humorous kind. At least, he hoped she’d heard the nonsense he’d been spouting as humorous….
“Well, all right,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll see you around ten, then?”
“Right-o. Ten, then.”
Right-o? Where had that come from? Was it her voice or her attitude—or both—that had rattled him so? Alex wouldn’t have been able to explain why if his life had depended on it, but he didn’t want to say goodbye.
“Thank you, Mr. Van Buren, for going to so much trouble.”
“No thanks necessary, Miss Griffith. Like I said, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”
When she hung up, Alex felt disconnected from more than her lovely voice. Smiling, he climbed back into bed and snapped off the light. Fingers clasped under his head, he stared at the darkened ceiling. “If she looks even half as good as she sounds,” he said to himself, “you’re in for a real sweet treat, Alex, m’boy.”
But that was the flyboy in him talking, and he knew it. A test pilot was expected to behave like Romeo and Casanova and Valentino rolled into one. Alex had spent his share of compliments on the opposite sex, but unlike his contemporaries, for whom flirtation seemed second nature, he’d had to work hard at it. If flattery didn’t get him a date with a beautiful woman, the flight suit was sure to have a positive effect. If he’d been in civilian clothes, talking plain talk, would the ladies have paid him a moment’s attention?
Alex didn’t think so. And the dishonesty of it all had always bothered him.
Talking with Taylor Griffith hadn’t been like that. Instead, the conversation had been smooth and easy. Maybe for no other reason than the honesty that had prompted her phone call, and his.
He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, remembering that sweet, lyrical voice.
It didn’t surprise him when he had no desire to conjure up the image of his pretty Irish lass.
The minute she was dressed and ready, Taylor called her uncle. “Ready for the ladies’ auxiliary brunch?” she teased.
“Don’t rub it in,” he complained. “If it wasn’t for the fact that the money they’ll raise is for a good cause—”
“Oh, Unc, you know you enjoy these functions.”
He chuckled. “Says you.”
“Says anybody who sees you.” She giggled. “You certainly look like you’re enjoying yourself, surrounded by ladies all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I’d have a lot better time if they didn’t all have blue hair,” he added, laughing.
“Well, at least you can always depend on great food.”
Taylor heard him smack his lips. “That’s true,” he agreed.
“I’ll be there by noon. That’ll give us plenty of time to get a good seat.”
“Okay. See you then, kid—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting his farewell. “Who’s that so early on a Sunday morning?” he demanded.
“It’s five of ten,” she pointed out. “Hardly early.”
“Well, don’t open that door till you’ve checked first to see who it is. Through the peephole, mind you. We’re not living in the world I grew up in,” he warned.
“I’ll be careful,” she said as the bell rang a second time. “See you at noon.”
After hanging up, she half ran to the foyer, and stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole.
A man, hands in his pockets, stood on the porch, staring across the street. Taylor opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow and spoke through the crack. “Yes?”
When he turned, the sight of his wide, friendly smile made her wonder if it was possible for a human heart to burst through its rib cage.
Because it was him, the man she’d nearly mowed over in the aisle of the plane.
“Hi,” he said, removing his sunglasses. “Alex Van Buren.” He used the glasses to point at the porch floor. “I’ve got your suitcase?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She closed the door to unlatch the chain, then opened it again, wider this time. “Won’t you come in?”
It was fairly obvious that he hadn’t gotten a clear view of her while the chain lock had been in place. But now, eyes wide and brows high on his forehead, he said, “No way.”