A Bride For Jackson Powers. Dixie Browning
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baby, which said a lot in his favor.
Edging her way through the cluster of women, she got in line for one of the changing tables. The line inched forward slowly. Hetty bounced a fretful Sunny in her arms, wondering what on earth had possessed her to do such a thing. She had her own problems to deal with without taking on someone else’s burden. She’d been on her way from Oklahoma to Miami, Florida, supposedly changing planes in Cincinnati and again in Atlanta, when her plans had started to fall apart.
A table opened up and she grabbed it, plopping her charge down on her padded backside. “Stop squirming, sugar, your little doohickey’s stuck.” She struggled with the zipper, half-afraid if she took too long the baby’s father would come after her. “Ooh, you’re a real mess, aren’t you?” Rummaging in the stuffed diaper bag, she found a container of predampened tissues. “No wonder you were so fussy, you’re getting a rash.”
Holding two wriggling feet up with one hand, she felt in the bag again with the other and came up with a familiar-looking tube. She’d used the same ointment on Robert whenever he’d been threatened with diaper rash.
“I hope you’ve got a teething ring in here somewhere, else you’re going to wear those knuckles out,” she murmured. There were already several women lined up behind her, waiting for the fold-down changing table. The rest room was crowded. Someone called out that there was no paper. A roll was tossed from one booth to the other.
Mercy, to think she’d harbored the illusion that travel would be one glamorous adventure after another. Her friend at the agency had explained that the cheapest rates involved an illogical route with several changes along the way. Hetty hadn’t been intimidated. Once she’d taken the first step, she hadn’t looked back.
Now she almost wished she had. Still, her very first flight was proving exciting, if a bit tiresome. And in a few hours she’d be embarking on her very first cruise.
“Here’s hoping I don’t have to change ships between islands,” she muttered, disposing of the soiled diaper.
At any other time in her life, Hetty would never have considered doing something so absurdly impractical, never mind expensive. But when an old friend, a woman who knew about her situation and who worked at a travel agency in Oklahoma City, had called to tell her about a last-minute cancellation, Hetty had jumped at the chance. It was too late now for second thoughts.
“There, sweetheart, we’re all done. Let’s see if Papa brought along something for you to eat, shall we?”
“Would you mind? You’re not the only mother with a wet kid.”
Hetty smiled apologetically. “We’re all finished. Sorry you had to wait.” She got a frown for her efforts and scurried out of the way, taking her place in the line waiting for a lavatory.
The familiar scent of baby oil and the feel of the small, sweet bundle in her arms brought back painful memories. Hetty promised herself resolutely that once she got back from her cruise, found a job and a place to live, she would begin mending fences. Family—any sort of family at all—was too precious to be squandered. She was determined to patch things up again.
Conscious of the waiting lines behind her, she spared only a fleeting glance in the mirror, startled all over again by her new haircut and the unfamiliar clothes. If she’d known she was going to wind up in ice-bound Chicago instead of balmy Miami, she would have dressed far differently. Or at least worn something warmer than the silky knit tunic, the overshirt and shawl the clerk assured her were made to be worn with the new longer skirts.
But there’d been no way of knowing that the jet stream would zig when it should have zagged, or that the arctic blast would collide with a stream of Gulf moisture along the mid-Atlantic.
Hundreds of flights were being diverted as, one after another, airports from Atlanta northward were shutting down. Evidently she was among the lucky ones. According to rumor, there were a number of loaded flights trapped on runways, unable to take off, unable to return to the gates because of the planes already stranded there.
From now on, she’d just as soon stick to Greyhound.
With the diaper bag and carrier in one hand, and her big, lightweight purse that was supposed to be just the thing for traveling over her shoulder, she hugged the infant who was chewing on her yellow fringed shawl and said, “Come on, sugar-britches, let’s go before your daddy sends out a search party.”
He was hovering like a dark cloud just outside the ladies’ room door. Hetty wondered if he was even aware of all the women who glanced at him and then turned back for a second look.
Probably used to it. He was that kind of man. George Clooney with a harder edge, a narrower backside and broader shoulders. She’d noticed that much standing in line behind him, before she’d ever seen his face, which seemed to wear a perpetual scowl.
“About time you showed up. I was starting to worry.”
The crowd was thicker than ever, and from the snatches of conversation, growing more impatient by the minute. “Sorry. These things take time. Your little girl’s got a rash, and she’s either hungry or teething or both, but at least she’s dry now.”
Reluctantly she handed the baby to her father, thinking about the baby she’d left behind. As long as she was going to have to find work quickly once she got back home, she might as well try something in the care-giving line. At least she’d had plenty of experience.
She’d hoped the weather might have miraculously cleared while she was inside. It hadn’t. Fortunately she still had plenty of time to reach Miami.
Smiling, she gave the baby a goodbye pat on her padded bottom and said, “This isn’t the way the travel ads described it, else I might not have tried it.”
“Tried what?”
“Flying.” Sunny snuggled into her father’s arms and began to gnaw on his collar. The man was a mess. An expensive-looking suede jacket was slung over one shoulder, his tie was loose, the two top buttons on his shirt unfastened. Hetty thought she’d never seen a more strikingly attractive man in her life, scowl and all.
The scowl moderated. “You mean you’ve never flown before?”
“I never needed to go anywhere farther than Oklahoma City.”
“You picked a lousy time for your maiden voyage.”
“I’m beginning to—” Someone struck her in the back, and she stumbled against the man and baby. His free arm came around her, the carrier and diaper bag slammed into her behind, and she inhaled sharply, absorbing the mingled scent of bergamot and leather.
It occurred to her that with spare time on her hands for the first time in her adult life, she might just weave herself a lovely romantic fantasy from this chance encounter.
The fantasy gripped her arm and growled in her ear. “Let’s get out of this mob.”
Startled, Hetty glanced around. If there was a place out of the flow of traffic, it must be a closely guarded secret. Children played reckless games of tag or whined and tugged at parents’ arms. Babies cried. Tired travelers tried to hang on to baggage, children and patience against a constantly shifting current of humanity. Over all that came the confusing din of weather updates, distorted loudspeaker announcements and the polite beep-beep of motorized carts on some mysterious mission of their own.
Such was the power of a well-directed scowl, that Sunny’s father was able to lead her through the throng to a relatively clear corner behind a deserted service desk. “Hold her while I shift these trash receptacles, will you?”
Hetty watched as he rearranged airport property, commandeering an abandoned wheelchair and using it to block off a six-square-foot fortress. “Can you do that?” she asked dubiously.
The look he shot her said, I did it, didn’t I? Who are you to question my authority?
Hetty sighed. She might look like a seasoned traveler in her brand-new outfit, the discount store’s version of resort