Her mother smiled. “We’ll see.”
Before she knew it, Genevieve had finished her grits. She hurried into the bathroom to brush her teeth and put on her lipstick. As she was carrying her pink suitcase into the living room, she heard Nick beeping the horn out by the curb. Her stomach started to churn again, and for one crazy minute she wondered if this was a good idea.
Then she peeked out the living room window, saw his zippy little black car idling there, and knew she’d be a fool not to go to Maui with him. She hoped Jackson Farley had overslept and wouldn’t be waiting at the airfield when they got there. She really didn’t want to face Jackson’s bad hair and bad clothes this morning. Or his silent judgment of the situation.
Picking up her suitcase by its pink leather strap, she turned to her mother, who was standing expectantly in the living room. “Well, Mama, come on and meet Nick.”
“Okay.” Annabelle took a deep breath and followed Genevieve out the front door of their rented bungalow.
From the looks of the car, she had an idea what to expect from the man. He would be Genevieve’s daddy and Lincoln’s daddy all over again.
It seemed her daughter had inherited the family weakness for good-looking men, a weakness passed down from Granny Neville to Annabelle’s mama, then to Annabelle, and now to Genevieve. At least Genevieve was twenty-six instead of fifteen or sixteen, the average age the other women in the family had been fooled by a pretty face. And Genevieve carried condoms. Annabelle had checked.
The first thing Annabelle noticed about this Cary Grant look-alike was that he didn’t bother to get out of the car.
He popped the trunk and let Genevieve put her pink suitcase in the bitty space alongside his sleek leather one. Annabelle reminded herself that in this day and age women didn’t want a man waiting on them hand and foot. What used to be good manners was now called patronizing.
Patronizing or not, she thought a man who was fixing to take a woman to bed for the first time might be moved to lift a suitcase for her. Maybe that was old-fashioned thinking, too. Nick Brogan did have a nice dimple in his chin and a good head of brown hair on him. She couldn’t see his eyes on account of his sunglasses. He wore a lightweight suit jacket and no tie, which made him look like one of the Kennedys on his way to Hyannisport. Annabelle had seen a passel of pictures like that in People magazine.
Genevieve had her suitcase in and the trunk closed in no time. Then she scurried over to the passenger door. “Nick, I’d like you to meet my ma—my mom, Annabelle Terrence,” she said.
Nick showed off his pearly whites.
Oh, yes. I can see what this is all about. She’d been on the receiving end of that kind of smile before, and it always meant trouble. “Nice to meet you, Nick,” she lied. Damned if she’d call this Romeo Mister Brogan.
“Same here, Annabelle. Hard to believe you’re Genevieve’s mom. You look more like her sister.”
Annabelle ignored the compliment. “Take good care of her.” She knew her daughter would hate her saying that, but she couldn’t help it. She also knew it would have about as much effect on this slick character as the No Smoking sign Maizie had tacked up in her cabin had on Rufus.
“Absolutely,” Nick said. “Well, Genevieve, we’d better get rolling if we’re going to lift off at eight.”
“Right. See you tomorrow night, Ma—Mom.” She hopped in the little car, waved, and was off.
Annabelle stood on the sidewalk looking down the street until the car turned the corner. If Genevieve stayed around this man very long, she’d break herself of saying mama. Maybe that wasn’t much to fret about, but it left a heaviness on Annabelle’s heart.
She didn’t like Nick Brogan. If he’d had a bad childhood, she was sorry for that, but it had turned him into the sort of man who only cared about himself, and Genevieve wouldn’t be able to fix him. Although Annabelle wasn’t the type to wish a broken heart on anyone, let alone her only daughter, in this case she hoped Nick broke Genevieve’s heart quickly and then went away.
Genevieve would get over it. She was tough, tougher than most people gave her credit for. But then they hadn’t known her when she was a scrappy little kid in the hills of Tennessee. You didn’t grow up in the Hollow without learning to survive.
Chapter Three
Jackson set two alarms and slept through both of them. Then Mrs. Applegate next door backed her Volvo out of the drive and hit Mr. Applegate’s Dodge Ram coming in. If the impact hadn’t been loud enough to cause Jackson to leap out of bed, the full-throttle yelling and cursing from both Applegates would have done the trick.
One glance at the clock and Jackson knew he could make it to the airfield if he skipped breakfast—no hardship—and used his portable electric shaver on the way. He grabbed the quickest shower in history and threw on what he hoped was a blue plaid shirt and blue pants. Wallet, keys, glasses, and he was out the door and into his Corolla.
The gas tank needle rode right above the E as he dodged through traffic and prayed he had enough to make it. Halfway there he realized he’d forgotten the shaver. Oh, well. He could pick up a razor and shaving cream on Maui and make himself reasonably presentable before he went to see the Aloha Pineapple folks. Or he could explain to everyone that he was growing a beard. As fast as his grew, they’d think he’d been working on it for several days instead of one night.
His major regret about oversleeping was that he’d set the alarms extra early to allow time for better grooming in honor of Genevieve. He’d planned to shampoo his hair and put styling gel on it. Then he’d hoped to get over to Mrs. Applegate’s before she left for work and ask her if his pants and shirt went together. She’d told him he could do that anytime.
He spared a minute of sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Applegate. Mr. Applegate worked the night shift at a pineapple canning factory and came home about the time Mrs. Applegate left for her daytime job in the same factory’s front office. Both of them drove like bats out of hell, and Jackson had been expecting this collision for months. For him, the timing of the wreck couldn’t have been better, but he was sorry for the Applegates, who loved their vehicles with a passion.
Parking his car right next to Brogan’s Z3, he made a mad dash through the executive terminal and out onto the tarmac. Squinting into the bright light, he spotted Genevieve standing next to the company’s twin-engine King Air, a purse over her shoulder and a lightweight briefcase tucked under her arm. As usual, she wore something wonderful, a flowered dress with a snappy little short-sleeved jacket over it. A breeze molded the skirt to her legs and he caught his breath in appreciation. At that moment he hated Nick Brogan, and he’d never hated any human being in his life.
Then the object of his hatred emerged from the far side of the plane, where he’d obviously been stowing luggage. Jackson took note of the designer clothes, the salon haircut, and the healthy tan. On the surface Brogan was everything Jackson was not, everything that a woman like Genevieve would find attractive.
He couldn’t blame her for not paying any attention to a disheveled computer programmer when a guy like Brogan showed up and invited her to fly with him to Maui. He couldn’t blame her for missing the flaws in Brogan’s character, either. For all he knew Genevieve had flaws in her character, flaws he was too smitten with lust to notice.
“Hey, I’m here!” he called out, waving a hand over his head.
They both looked in his direction, and if he’d been closer, he’d probably have been able to watch them roll their eyes. He really needed to get louder alarm clocks. Of course, more time to get ready wouldn’t have turned him into a page out of GQ, but at least he would have been shaved and his hair would have been combed.
Genevieve gave him a tentative smile when he drew near. “Hello, Jackson.” She adjusted her trendy little sunglasses on her nose.
His stomach pitched when he realized that she wasn’t really glad to see him. Damn, that sucked. Maybe next week he’d find out if anybody offered makeover classes for guys. Brogan would drop her
sooner or later. His kind always did. And then Jackson wanted to be ready.
Brogan was more obvious in his disdain. His lip curled as he looked Jackson over. “Been awake long?”
“No, not long,” Jackson said with a cheerful grin. “I’m hoping they serve coffee and a light snack on this leg.”
“Sorry.” Brogan sounded delighted to be telling him that. Then he glanced around the area where Jackson was standing. “What did you do with your suitcase?”
Suitcase. He knew he was forgetting something when he tore out of the house. He shrugged. “I believe in traveling light.”
“All right, then. Let’s go. Farley, you take the copilot’s seat. Genevieve can sit behind us. She tells me she’s not used to flying.”
“Okay.” Jackson wasn’t about to turn down a chance to be in front where the action was. He’d love to take a crack at flying the thing, but he’d be damned if he’d ask Brogan.
Brogan would have to offer, which probably wouldn’t happen.
Genevieve looked a little pale as she climbed the small ramp and walked into the plane. She must really want this overnight experience with Studly if she was afraid to fly.
Jackson followed and gave her an encouraging smile before heading to the copilot’s seat. He considered offering to sit in back with her and calm her fears, but then he remembered why she was coming on this trip and thought better of it.
Brogan didn’t seem particularly concerned about Genevieve’s fears. He pretty much ignored her as he made his way to the cockpit and got himself situated. He seemed too damned eager to begin this little trip, in Jackson’s opinion. Not only that, but he wasn’t even bothering to treat Genevieve with any consideration.
Jackson tried not to think poorly of her for taking that kind of crap, but he couldn’t help being a little disillusioned.
Oh, well, he needed to squeeze whatever enjoyment he could from this trip. He’d never flown in the King Air. Brogan had talked Matt into buying it a year ago, trading in the single-engine Cessna the company used to own. Jackson thought it was a huge extravagance, a toy primarily for Brogan, but Matt had gone along with the idea.
Jackson thought Matt went along with too many of Nick’s ideas, but apparently Matt needed to keep the guy happy. Matt had confided to Jackson that Nick was restless and wanted to sell the company. Matt couldn’t afford to buy him out, so there was a stalemate. The bigger plane might have been a bargaining chip for Matt.
As the plane taxied down the runway, Genevieve’s voice rose above the roar of the engines. “Is this a parachute back here?”
Jackson turned around to look, and sure enough, there was a parachute on the seat next to Genevieve. He’d been so engrossed in her that he’d missed it. “What’s the chute for?” he asked Brogan.
“Oh, just in case,” Brogan said. Then he picked up the mike and started talking to the tower.
Jackson thought it was kind of weird to have the chute sitting there like that, and it was having a very bad effect on Genevieve. She’d taken off her sunglasses and her eyes were wide with fear. He hoped she wouldn’t throw up or anything.
He turned toward her as much as his seat belt would allow. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she didn’t look okay. She looked scared to death.
“Have you ever flown in a small plane?”
She shook her head.
“We’ll be fine. Brogan’s a good pilot.” The words tasted like garbage in his mouth, but he made himself say them, so she wouldn’t be so scared. Besides, Brogan was a good pilot from everything Jackson had heard. The guy might be a lousy human being, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be competent in certain areas.
Genevieve didn’t look comforted. As the plane barreled down the runway, she squeezed her eyes shut, dug her perfectly polished fingernails into the arms of the seat, and held her breath.
Jackson couldn’t stand it. Long arms had their advantages. He reached out to her. “Here. Hold my hand.”
Her eyes popped open and she stared at his outstretched hand. Then she leaned forward and grabbed on to it for dear life. Her hands were clammy and her nails jabbed his palm.
He didn’t care. He’d put up with the pain if it helped her. She needed him right now, and maybe she’d need him later, after all of this was over. He would have liked to look into her eyes to reassure her, but she’d squeezed them shut again.
Brogan seemed oblivious to her distress as he launched the plane into the air.
“See?” Jackson spoke to her even though she still had her eyes closed. “Piece of cake.”
She let out a shaky sigh and seemed to relax a little in the seat, but she didn’t let go of his hand.
“We’ll be at the Maui airport before you know it.” Jackson loved holding her hand, and her skin was beginning to warm. She had such soft skin, and such smooth, perfect nails. He didn’t mind a bit that he’d have welts when she let go.
She sighed again, softer this time, opened her eyes and drew her hand away. “Thanks, Jackson. I’ll be okay now.”
“Sure you will.” Damn, he wished she hadn’t let go of him. She still looked stiff and scared sitting back there.
But of course she didn’t really want to take comfort from him. She wanted to hold Brogan’s hand, not his. He leaned back and tried to be philosophical about it all. He failed. Damn it, why did he have to be attracted to her in the first place? She would never have anything to do with him, not even if he had a million makeovers. She liked the Nick Brogan type.
Speaking of the devil, Brogan hung his headset around his neck and glanced over at Jackson. “Ever flown one of these babies, Farley?”
Jackson figured it was a deliberate effort to make him look nerdy and Brogan look cool. “No,” he said.
“So I take it you don’t have a pilot’s license?” Brogan sounded like every cool guy just naturally had one.
“Nope.” He probably could qualify for one without a lot of trouble, considering all the simulation software he’d played with over the years. But what was he going to say, that he’d flown a computer? Now, that would impress the hell out of Genevieve. Oh, sure, she’d think he was quite the dude if he mentioned that.
“You should try it some time,” Brogan said.
It wasn’t an invitation to try it now, Jackson noticed. Brogan wasn’t about to suggest he take the controls, because then Jackson might accidentally steal his thunder. “It doesn’t interest me,” he said.
Not much. Ha. He’d had a great time with the simulations and had told himself that someday he should try the real thing, just like someday he wanted to drive a racecar, too. But no matter how many resolutions he made to get out there in the world and experience things firsthand, soon another fascinating project would draw him back to his computer and he’d lose track of time. When that happened, he barely remembered to eat, let alone schedule a flying lesson.
Computer-simulated thrills were there whenever he wanted them, at three in the morning if that’s when he needed to take a break. He was hopeless at keeping a schedule of any kind. That’s why he’d bought a home gym instead of joining a club. Plus he’d discovered that he got cool ideas for new projects while he lifted weights.
But once again, he lifted weights solo. It was a wonder he had any friends left with all the times he’d stood them up when they’d asked him to do stuff. Fortunately he’d found a couple of good buddies at work who’d learned to put up with him.
Both of his girlfriends had left after failing to change his forgetful ways. In one case he’d spaced a birthday, and in the other he’d promised to rendezvous at a glitzy hotel for a night of wonderful sex. He’d become involved in a project and left her waiting in that big fancy bed. No wonder she’d given up on him.
He’d thought a lot about how he’d remedy that if he ever got lucky enough to date Genevieve. He’d decided if that blissful day ever came, he’d break down and buy a cell phone. Then he’d figure out a program that would automatically call him and remind him of hi
s social life. He’d have to remember to take the cell phone, though. Maybe he could have it surgically implanted somewhere. Like in his foggy brain.
But the way things were going, he wasn’t likely to need that pager to keep track of his dates with Genevieve. She didn’t even want him holding her hand more than a few seconds, even though she was still rigid with fear of flying in a small plane. Most people took their comfort when they could in situations like that. She must really not like him.
Genevieve was grateful to Jackson for getting her through the takeoff, but she sure hoped Nick hadn’t noticed her holding Jackson’s hand. He probably hadn’t. He seemed to be pretty much ignoring her.
That would change once he realized he was dealing with the love of his life. At the moment he was behaving like the wounded man she knew him to be, keeping her at arm’s length emotionally. Obviously the other women he’d whisked over to Maui had let him get away with that, but she wouldn’t. She’d find a way to break through that gruff shell of his.
She was actually relieved not to be riding in the copilot’s seat, which is where she’d be if Jackson hadn’t come along. Staring at all those little dials would have made her even more nervous.
She hadn’t expected to be so terrified of flying in the King Air. Privately she thought her mama’s fear of planes was silly. Besides, the flight to Hawaii eleven years ago had been a blast. But she’d been only fifteen then, afraid of nothing, eager for the adventure of their new life.
The two experiences were totally different, she realized now. The plane that had brought them to Hawaii had been humongous, like a movie theater only better, because the food was free. Well, not free, exactly, considering how much those tickets had cost. Still, she could remember being fascinated with the idea that she could have all the Dr. Pepper she wanted without ever putting money in a machine.
Yes, totally different experiences. Flying in this bitty plane reminded her of the creaky carnival rides that would squat for a few days in the Wal-Mart parking lot back in Tennessee. She’d squirrel away money in anticipation of those rides and become totally hyper with excitement when the trucks pulled in and started unloading.
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