A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology

by Barbara Devlin

  Grace didn’t take a full breath until she recognized the topography of Belgium. She’d had been sure, by compass headings, that they’d flown over Luxembourg, but there were few distinguishing features between Germany and Luxembourg on the route she flew.

  They were making for an airfield at the RAF base in Kent, at Eastchurch. She could only pray they wouldn’t be shot down on approach.

  The plane had no radio, and little in the way of comfort. It had been a show plane, and a crop duster, and never meant for passengers. If Dix’s message had gotten through, if any of the pigeons he’d told her about had gotten through, the RAF would be watching for them.

  They might not make it to Eastchurch. They might run out of fuel first. She and Dix had discussed it, but both had deemed it worth the risk.

  With a tail wind though, they could make it.

  The sun was setting, and Grace shivered more with fear than cold. She hated flying, and in the dark it was a nightmare. The old plane’s instrument panel was unlit and they were over the channel.

  Hard, gusty winds had hit them broadside as they crossed from the mainland to the sea. It had blown them south, but she had idea how far.

  Grace checked the compass again. If the heading was correct, they wouldn’t miss England, but she wasn’t sure now that they would actually make it to the coast.

  Suddenly she saw it. A light silvered on in the distance. As she dropped lower, she felt the engine give the slightest hiccup. She squinted at the fuel gauge. It sat in the red.

  Another light! Was it a ship in the channel, or land?

  More lights came up as the small coastal town responded to descending night.

  The engine hiccupped again as she frantically searched for any place flat enough for her to land.

  It coughed again, and the engine bucked, then caught, only to hiccup twice more.

  There! A field, flat and empty with the crop taken in. Grace throttled back, dumping altitude and speed as safely as she could. The plane continued to choke as she lined up.

  She’d told Dix they might not make it. Or, if they made it, they might crash into the sea. They might die.

  He’d flashed a smile. She loved that smile.

  “We’ll make it.”

  She prayed he was right. The ground approached with terrifying speed as Grace fought to keep the wings level. The engine coughed its last, and fell silent.

  Now she fought the rudder as the ground rushed toward them.

  The landing was the worst she’d ever made. A tree she hadn’t seen snapped the wing, skewing them sideways. One of the tires blew as the plane shuddered, canting sideways.

  It stopped and she shouted as relief flooded her like a tidal wave. “We did it!”

  “Grace!” She heard Dix calling, and struggled to unfasten the harness with fingers gone numb from gripping the controls. “GRACE?!”

  She rose, aching in every muscle, and climbed down, only to be swept up into Dix’s arms the moment her feet touched the ground.

  Throwing back her head, she laughed. “Put me down, you crazy fool!” she said, loving the feel of his arms around her. Feet on English soil, safe, she held onto him for all she was worth.

  “You did it!” he enthused, covering her face with kisses. In the distance, church bells rang.

  “Dix, the bells.”

  “A church. We can get help there.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  He looked down into her eyes and smiled.

  “Will you marry me there, Grace? In whatever little church, in whatever little town this is?”

  “Yes, oh yes,” she said, kissing him once more. “Right here, where we came home.”

  “I love you Lady Grace Corvedale.”

  “I love you, Lt. Robert Dixon.”

  Together they turned toward the sound of the bells.

  “Merry Christmas, my love,” he said, as they started walking.

  “Welcome Home.”

  The Brit, the Brooch, and the Blizzard

  Caitlenn T. Ainnsley

  Chapter 1

  “Even though I’m a Premier member, the airline won’t let me rebook the tickets without charging an arm, a leg, and an ear, because it’s Christmas.” Travis delivered the statement through the phone line, in his rich baritone, as if he were talking about a business merger instead of her grandmother’s failing health.

  Olivia DuBois paced the sterile, greenish-gray hospital hallway in New York, but she stopped short and stiffened. “So what do you want to do?”

  He ignored her query. “I can’t change the hotel reservations, either, since I prepaid them.”

  In a room at the end of the left wing, her grandmother neared the end of her life, and Olivia’s boyfriend was concerned about a few dollars. OK, so it was a few hundred dollars, maybe even a thousand, but it wasn’t like he was poor. He actually made great money as a consultant.

  Tapping her foot, she repeated her question. “So what do you want to do, Travis?”

  “Go to Hawaii with you, baby.” On normal occasions, his playful side found her clothes in a heap where she’d been standing, and their bodies twisted together in pleasure on the floor. Today, he just pissed her off with his flippant demeanor.

  “Are you there?” He huffed a breath. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. How could he be so insensitive?

  “I miss you.”

  She didn’t respond. However, she missed him, too. She wished he were there with her, to hold and comfort her as she dealt with her beloved grandmother’s condition.

  “I can’t wait to see you. I love you sooooo much,” said Travis, his excitement apparent.

  She pressed her left thumb and index finger to her temples. His declarations of love should have made her feel better, but instead he irked her.

  “Baby, you know how I miss you when we’re apart.” She shifted her weight. He tried harder to lure her into complacency, and it was a game she knew all too well. “Baby.” She couldn’t be too upset about that, since it usually succeeded, but tonight, she had no inclination to give in to him.

  “I know,” she replied as flatly as she could muster.

  “You are the whole reason I didn’t take any new business these last two weeks of the year.” Now Travis really turned on the charm. “I just wanted to be with you.”

  That worked. She knew how much his career meant to him, and he had put her first. “I wish you were here,” she whispered and hoped he’d offer to join her.

  “There’s my girl.” Damn, she’d caved, and he knew it. “I miss you so much I was thinking about your hot body last…”

  “I miss you too.” She cut Travis off, because she could not handle his steamy phone sex right now, but she’d love to lose herself in his embrace, so she took a risk. “Why don’t you fly here, instead, and we’ll have Christmas in New York?”

  Silence.

  “Travis?”

  “Yeah, baby.” More silence. What was he thinking? If he really cared for her, wouldn’t his answer have been an immediate yes? If the tables were turned, she would’ve been on a flight to New York before he had a chance to ask.

  “I miss you. You miss me. I’m here. If we have to pay to change tickets anyway, why don’t you just come here?” That was the obvious best solution, to her.

  “Because this is our special trip. You promised, no work, no distractions, just us.”

  Olivia resumed her pacing, brow furrowed. “What? Neither of us would be working and we’d be together.” He wasn’t making any sense.

  “With your grandmother in the hospital and your Mom there, it’s not like it’ll be a vacation.” Rustling noises crackled through the line, then he added, “Or fun.”

  She set her jaw. Seriously!?! Did he just imply that her grandmother’s illness was a distraction?

  “Plus, you know I hate the cold.”

  Olivia shook her head in disbelief. She no longer wanted him there. He saw her sick grandmother as a distraction and spending
time with her family as no fun. Not to mention, he acted as though supporting her in a time of need was an inconvenience. “Why don’t you go ahead and go to Hawaii, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Well, OK. If you’re sure.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sure.” More than sure. Given his blatant insensitivity, she’d rather get a root canal than see him.

  “But I don’t want to vacation without you.” He must’ve finally sensed her displeasure with his responses because he began to engage his softening techniques again. After a year together she recognized them.

  “I know,” she replied flatly.

  “And I want to be with you soon.” She imagined him as a child begging for a candy bar at the grocery store.

  “I know.” She yawned.

  “And I can’t wait to see you in that new bikini.”

  “Right.” There was the real truth of it.

  “I really want you with me, baby. You’ve had a stressful year, and you need this vacation.” She could hear the yearning in his voice. It touched that place in her that needed to be wanted.

  “I know.” She relaxed a little. Heaven knew she could use some time off, and she did want to spend time with him, but her family came first.

  “The flight is going to be so boring without you.” He knew just what to say to her.

  “True.” She rolled her neck. The tension drained down her back and shoulders, and she remembered they had scheduled a couple’s massage on the beach for two days from now. She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be there in time to enjoy it.

  “I just need to know how long you are going to make me wait?”

  She snapped her head upright and her whole body tensed. “What?”

  Travis rephrased the question. “How long are you going to be?”

  “I heard the question. I just can’t believe you are asking it.” Her heart raced. Was he really asking how long it would take for her grandmother to die, so Olivia could join him?

  “Why? I’m just curious. Do you think it’ll be a day or a couple days?”

  She perched on the edge of snapping. Her grandmother was dying. Even if she passed in the next hour, there would still be the viewing and the funeral. He wasn’t thinking at all. She wanted to scream at him but opted instead to escape the conversation. “You know I have no idea. I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Olivia hung up the phone before he could reply, plopped down on the couch in the hospital waiting area, and winced as the hard cushion nearly bruised her butt. Had he always been that heartless and she hadn’t noticed?

  They had met at a networking event in January, and he’d swept her off her feet with his sexy playfulness, fun outings, and handsome good looks. He brought her flowers, always texted her before he went to sleep, and complimented her frequently when they were together. All her friends were jealous, because he was the perfect boyfriend. Although tonight, he’d been a perfect ass.

  She bit the edge of a hangnail and waited for her mother to return from the cafeteria. A shabby Christmas tree, decorated with six glass ornaments and way too much gold and red garland, sat in the corner. A handmade star perched crookedly on the top. At the moment, she fit right in with the awkward scene. Wearing black yoga pants, with a faded navy Disney sweatshirt and fluorescent pink, striped, beat-up tennis shoes, she had pulled her blonde hair into a lopsided ponytail with a multi-colored scrunchie she’d bought at the airport. What make-up she had on she’d applied two days before, when she’d gotten the call.

  She sighed. That was not the Christmas season she’d planned. Travis had booked tickets for a two and a half week holiday in Maui. Christmas and New Year’s on the beach with the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on sounded divine, especially after the crazy year she’d just survived in her public relations business. Dealing with not one, but two major client scandals nearly wore her out.

  She had been packed and ready to trade the glitzy Hollywood scene for a Mai Tai, a hula, and a tan, but two days ago her mother had called and told Olivia she had to fly to icy New York, because her grandmother was sick—an it’s-the-end kind of sick.

  Her grandmother had been like a second mother to her, so of course, she wasted no time and booked a flight out of LAX that had cost her an arm, a leg, and at least a few fingers, but she hadn’t cared. She had to be there for Nana.

  She glanced at her iPhone. It was 11:35pm. Her mother should’ve been back by now. Too restless to sit, Olivia pushed herself off the plastic couch and headed toward the elevator.

  * * *

  Bloody hell!

  Emerson Gascoigne-Lake studied his reflection in the tiny mirror in the curtained stall of the emergency room. He looked like he’d been in a bar brawl in London, and he had not won the fight.

  Why hadn’t shellfish been listed as an ingredient? His face was swollen and red, rendering his blue eyes a couple of tiny sunken orbs.

  He scowled and winced at the pain lancing through his cheek muscles. His jet black hair jutted in all directions, because he kept spearing his fingers through it, as he waited for the Epipen the nurse had administered to bring an end to the nightmare that had began as a nice dinner with a very important prospect. Hadn’t restaurants in New York understood that a large portion of the world’s population suffered lethal shellfish allergies?

  At last, he reclined on the paper sheet-covered exam table, stretched his slim six foot one frame, and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and tried to drown out the screams of a young child with what he thought might be a broken arm and the moaning of an older woman claiming stomach pain, but he almost choked from the sting and smell of disinfectants. He rolled his neck. The epinephrine gave him a headache, but at least it had started to work.

  Right now, all he wanted was to get out of the hospital, make his way back to his hotel, get a good night’s rest, and hopefully re-establish contact with tonight’s dinner guest—Buccaneer Trading’s future depended on it. He would likely need coffee, or something stiffer, to accomplish all that, and he doubted the nurse served either.

  With great care, he maneuvered from the elevated bench and poked his head between an opening in the drapery panels, just as an orderly led four projectile vomiting teenagers into the ward. Crikey! His stomach flip-flopped.

  That was it. He had to get out of the hospital, but first he required a detour, so he grabbed his anorak and snuck past the mayhem. To avoid drawing attention, he had not asked for assistance, as he exited the ER and wandered down the closest hallway. All the doors were closed and the windows dark, so he retraced his steps.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The squeaky male voice seemed to come from nowhere.

  Emerson spun around to see an exact replica of Paul Blart: Mall Cop standing in front of him. “Yes. I’m in need of the loo.”

  The security guard grabbed for his nightstick and stepped back. “Whoa, man! What happened to you?”

  Emerson sighed. “Allergic reaction. I’m fine. Already been in the ER. I just need the loo.”

  “Oh, OK. You look terrible.” The man eyed him suspiciously, and tilted his head, which seemed small atop his rather rotund body. The action caused him to resemble a Bobblehead. “The what?”

  “The loo,” Emerson repeated and then realized that was not the American term. “Oh, yes. I mean, the gentleman’s room.”

  ‘Paul’ shifted his large frame and adjusted his belt, while chewing on what appeared to be a toothpick. “You want the bathroom?”

  “Yes.” Bloody hell. He just needed to take a piss. When had that become so difficult?

  “They are cleaning the one on this floor right now. Some teenagers blew chunks, tossed their cookies, and totally lost it in there. Mixed alcohol with ruffies. Bad stuff, man.”

  Emerson’s stomach turned again, and he forced his lips into a tight smile. “The bathroom?”

  “Oh, yeah. Take the elevator up to any floor and turn right.” The guard pointed. “It will be halfway down the hall.”

  Wanting to get
as far away from the screams, the moans, the vomit, and the character that passed for a security guard he’d just encountered, Emerson chose the highest option available when he stepped into the elevator.

  He leaned back against the cold steel as the lift ascended. His head pounded and his heart palpitated—common side effects of the epinephrine, and he touched his cheeks. Instead of his angular jawline, his hands met with what could only be described as a skin water balloon. The drug had not yet completed its task.

  The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, and a disheveled girl stepped onto the elevator. She hadn’t seemed to notice him, a fact for which he was grateful. With the pummeling in his head, the last thing he wanted was to engage in idle chitchat with a stranger, albeit a sort of cute one. But for some reason he wondered why she hid what looked to be an amazing figure under a bulky, unflattering sweatshirt.

  The lift signaled he had arrived at his destination, and he pushed himself from the back wall with the intent to depart, but a wave of nausea overtook him, so he grabbed the handrail for stability and sank into the corner.

  The younger woman turned to him. “Are you OK?”

  An older woman entered the confined space, bearing a cardboard tray with two cups and the heavenly smell of coffee. Its delightful aroma permeated the small area and eased his queasiness. She glanced at him but quickly averted her gaze, and an expression of alarm danced across her face.

  “I will be.” They had to have been shocked by his appearance, because even he had cringed when he’d seen his reflection in the mirror. “Allergic reaction. Already got treatment.”

  The disheveled lass smiled sweetly at him, nodded, and then addressed the older woman, “I couldn’t sit and wait.”

  “I understand. I got this for you.” She held up a cup of coffee to the girl, who merely shook her head.

  “You should have something,” the woman said gently.