Dates And Other Nuts

by Lori Copeland

  It was a dating wasteland out there.

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  It was a dating wasteland out there.

  Temple Burney had dated them all:

  • Mr. Wandering Hands

  • Mr. Put the Salt Shaker in your Purse

  • Mr. Aren’t I Wonderful

  What Temple wanted:

  • A man who was reliable, successful and fun to be with

  • Gorgeous and sexy didn’t hurt

  • Wasn’t that her best friend Craig?

  Who said she couldn’t fall in love with her best friend? It seemed to be working for “Friends’” Ross and Rachel. But Temple wasn’t so sure. So far her love life was more like a horror flick than a popular sitcom.

  Dear Reader.

  Love and laughter—what a perfect marriage! And Harlequin owes you the readers thanks for our new, funfilled, unfailingly romantic series. When we asked you what new stories you most wanted to read about, the answer came back loud and clear—romantic comedies!

  What better way to end one of those days—the car wouldn’t start, the boss wanted a huge report finished yesterday, the heel on your best pair of shoes broke on the way home—than with a good romantic comedy?

  From classic movie couples like Hepburn and Tracy to the contemporary pairings of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, or Sandra Bullock and whomever (who doesn’t look good next to Sandra?), we have always adored romantic comedies and the heroes and heroines in them.

  So here it is. The lighter side of love. The first two Love & Laughter books. In I Do, I Do...For Now fabulous JoAnn Ross gives us a nineties twist on the marriage of convenience (Mitch is a guy who just can’t say no). In Dates and Other Nuts Lori Copeland, well renowned for her humorous love stories, tackles the subject of dates from hell (sound a little too familiar?).

  Settle back and enjoy. And remember, after you’ve smiled your way through these stories, there’ll be more! Two brand-new books every month. Don’t miss the love and laughter Kasey Michaels and Jennifer Crusie have in store for us in September. (Sneak preview: Fred, part basset, part beagle, part manic-depressive will play a starring role.) So please settle back and enjoy the beginning of a wonderful pairing—romantic comedies and you!

  Humorously yours,

  Malle Vallik

  Associate Senior Editor

  DATES AND OTHER NUTS

  Lori Copeland

  TORONTO • NEW • YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

  MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Bestselling author Lori Copeland, a native of Springfield, Missouri, has had over forty novels published in the past thirteen years. Her humor and quick wit have made her books the recipient of numerous awards, including Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice and Career Achievement awards, as well as the Affaire de Coeur Gold and Silver Certificate awards.

  Lori enjoys writing. No matter who the characters, or what the situation, she can’t help but look at the funny side. When asked why she believes Love & Laughter is a natural pairing, she said, “There’s a rare allment that’s about to break out across the land: giggleitis. It’s a condition known to a rare breed of romance readers with a sensitive funny bone. A word of warning: consult your doctor before reading the Love & Laughter line. Giggleitis is highly contagious. The only antidote proven effective is the consumption of six ounces of chocolate between each chapter.” Enjoy!

  To Malle Vallik

  for all her encouragement and support

  1

  “I DIDN’T TAKE the job, Grams.” Having said the words, Temple Burney felt a burst of pride, savoring the elation of knowing she had made the right decision. Knew without a doubt!

  At first when the home office had offered her an international-flight route, she’d been excited by the prospect of long-distance flights and more money. But her excitement had waned after she’d given the offer more thought. Admittedly, working for Sparrow Airlines as a commuter flight attendant lacked glamour, but she’d realized that more travel wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  In fact, she wanted less. She’d felt restless lately, unsettled. At times she wondered if it wasn’t the loud ticking of her biological clock bugging her. There was that strange gnawing in the pit of her stomach when she saw couples walking hand in hand, looking content, obviously in love. She was determined to get the same thing for herself before it was too late.

  As far as the money went, she had enough to get by. She was a good manager, and her nest egg was growing. Her assessing gaze swept over the small living room of the efficiency apartment she rented in Dallas. Her quarters were economical and cozy. Certainly adequate accommodation at this juncture of her life. Over the years, she’d even developed a deep affection for the owner of the building, Roberta King.

  Roberta reminded her of Grams. The grandmotherly figure spoiled her almost as much as Grams did with all her home-baked pies, evening chats and fresh-cut roses from her garden. The woman’s kitchen always smelled like home.

  Temple knew that all of that was part of what was missing from her own life. It had hit her like a bolt of lightning on the way home from the interview yesterday. Suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted. Thirty-one, and she’d finally figured it out. She wanted to stay in Dallas, where she’d lived for the past five years, find Mr. Right and settle down. Career be hanged. Maybe it was no longer fashionable, but she wanted a husband, home and family.

  “Didn’t take the job!” Grams exclaimed. “Why not? I thought you were excited about the promotion.”

  Temple gripped the receiver. “I was—at first, but once I thought it over I decided against it. I like working for Sparrow and flying the commuters. It gives me time for a life. If I were flying international flights, I’d be gone all the time.”

  Her life was full, she reflected. She traveled whenever and wherever she wanted. Last summer, she and two other flight attendants, Thia Lambert and Sue Lisbon, had spent three weeks exploring Ireland. This spring, the three had visited Paris, then Brussels and Madrid. Switzerland was next. Then Australia the following year. New York during the Christmas season, New Orleans for Mardi Gras and Washington, D.C., during cherry-blossom time.

  Between work, fitness workouts, monthly meetings with a group of colleagues who had formed an investment club, her volunteer work at a nearby nursing home and an active social life, she was always busy. The last thing she needed was added job pressure.

  “Well, Tootie, I suppose you’re old enough to know your own mind,” Grams conceded. “My, you’re like your mother in so many ways:”

  “Thanks, Grams,” she said warmly. “That’s a compliment.”

  “Yes, you’re exactly like my Mary. Young, pretty, so solid for her age. She would have been very proud of you.”

  When Mary Burney died of a brain aneurysm a few years back, Grams had stepped in to fill the void. Temple smiled as she recalled hearing about how her grandmother had always been there to pick up the pieces. Including the dark days when Mary’s young husband, Temple’s father, was reported MIA in Vietnam. A navy pilot, Jack Burney had been shot down during the Tet offensive. Mary was alone and scared, with a new baby on the way. Eleanor Liddy had stepped in and m
ade a home for Mary and Temple. A good, solid home.

  Jack was still listed as MIA, but Temple had given up hoping that her father would ever come home. For years she had searched the newspapers for word of MIAs, and written her congressman. She’d even sent a letter to President Reagan, pleading for any information on her father the State Department could supply. The replies were compassionate, but led nowhere.

  As with all MIA families, there was no body, no physical remains to grieve. The loss, the inability to achieve closure, had eaten away at her mother. Grams had filled any gaps in Temple’s life with unconditional love.

  Several years ago Temple realized she felt closest to her father’s spirit when she was in a plane. Maybe because he loved them so. Twenty thousand feet aboveground, there were times she looked out the window and could see her father’s face, a face she knew only from the picture she kept on her bedside table.

  Like father, like daughter. She kinda liked that thought.

  “So, that’s my news, Grams,” she said. “How are things in Summersville?”

  “Oh, things in Summersville never change,” Eleanor said with a chuckle. Temple knew the small town, located a hundred and fifty miles north of Dallas, was seldom disturbed by anything momentous. For her, that was part of its charm. “When are you coming to see me?” her grandmother asked.

  “Soon, I hope. I’ll have a few days off at the end of the month. Gee, I can hardly wait to tell Craig about my decision.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Helen and Frank Stevens’s boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is Craig?”

  “Fine.”

  Actually, Craig was more than fine. He was FINE. Craig Stevens was her best friend. Grams wouldn’t understand the special bond she and Craig shared—she’d make something romantic of it when it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, Temple had a hard time defining the relationship herself. They had known each other nearly all their lives. They had grown up in the same small town, had gone to high school together. She’d lost track of him for a brief while. He’d gone away to the navy then gone to flight school; she’d gone on to college.

  Five years ago she’d taken a job with Sparrow Airlines, whose main hub was in Dallas, and they’d bumped into each other again. An older, more experienced Craig, but nevertheless, Craig, her soul mate. He was a pilot for Sparrow, flying commuters because he preferred the more personal feel of the smaller plane and wanted less away-from-home time. Temple was surprised when he’d said he was still single. She wondered how, since he was about the best-looking guy she’d ever seen. In her opinion, Craig’s dark, all-American looks made other men look like Quasimodo. When she’d blurted out that thought once, he’d laughed, saying he didn’t have any trouble keeping women from lining up at his doorstep.

  Temple found that hard to believe.

  Their friendship had picked up where it had left off—as friends and confidants. Over the years they’d both seen their share of bad relationships, and they’d been there for each other.

  Craig had nursed her through a bad time when she thought she’d found Mr. Right and the creep had turned out to be Mr. Rat instead. She’d cried inconsolably for days. Craig had stayed with her, wrapping her in her favorite afghan, combing her hair, making her chicken soup, holding her on his lap by the fire as she cried and asked why, why her? Why couldn’t she find the man of her dreams?

  When his turn came, she’d been by his side. He’d had a brief relationship with one of her close friends, Nancy Johnson. For a while it had looked like wedding bells were imminent for the two, but the next thing Temple knew they’d split up.

  Craig refused to say what had happened. And the only thing Nancy would say was that she was heartbroken about the split, and hoped they could mend the rift someday.

  During the trying ordeal, Temple had treated Craig like the lost puppy she’d cared for one summer. She’d baked his favorite cookies, and sat through hours of “The Three Stooges,” until she thought she’d lose her mind. Only for Craig would she have endured Curly, Larry and Moe.

  Craig and Nancy hadn’t reconciled, but Temple and Nancy had kept in touch and it was clear the torch was still burning.

  Why she and Craig had failed to click romantically, Temple couldn’t say. It certainly wasn’t Craig’s lack of appeal quotient. He was about the best pilot in the cockpit, as well as in the looks department. If she’d ever thought she was less than objective about that, all she had to do was watch female heads turn as he strode through the terminal.

  Craig was an important element in her life. Without him, she’d never balance a checkbook, have a properly filed tax return or that much-needed broad shoulder to cry on. They were good, trusting friends. Not many people enjoyed that kind of blessing.

  “Are you and Craig dating?” Eleanor asked.

  “No, Grams. We’re just friends.”

  Here it comes, Temple thought, mouthing the words simultaneously with Grams.

  “Well, are you dating anyone?”

  “Uh-huh, a few, now and then.” Actually, she’d been dating her brains out trying to find the perfect mate. Books on the subject all said the perfect man was out there, but so far she hadn’t run into him. Just a lot of losers she wouldn’t spend an afternoon with, let alone a lifetime.

  “Oh? Anyone interesting?”

  “Nope. I’m shooting for the biggest bores I can find.”

  Though what she’d said was meant to be a joke, Temple winced when she realized how close she’d come to the truth. She didn’t intentionally pick out jerks. They just seemed to be attracted to her, as if there were a sign on her forehead that said, Bore Me, Irritate Me, I Love a Wasted Evening.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you settled down, Tootie, and starting your own family,” Eleanor gently urged her.

  “I know, Grams.” How could she not know? Grams was eager to see her grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, that is, and reminded Temple every chance she got.

  Glancing at her watch, Temple realized she had only a few minutes before her date picked her up. “Oh, by the way, I got my hair cut.”

  “Oh, Temple!” Impatience tinged Gram’s voice. “Why ever would you cut that glorious mane of auburn hair?”

  “I was tired of the hassle, Grams,” she explained patiently. “It took hours to dry.”

  “I know, but it was so beautiful—why, you haven’t cut it since you were a little girl. You’ll ruin your looks.”

  “My looks, such as they are, are intact, Grams. It’s not that short, just a nice sporty wedge.”

  “A wedge! Oh dear. Like that ice skater’s?”

  “Dorothy Hammill was fifteen years ago. It’s a little more modern, Grams.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “It looks good, Grams. Make’s me look older, more sophisticated.”

  “I hope not too old.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang.

  “Got to go, Grams.”

  “Oh? Do you have a date?”

  “Yes, I have a date.” Friday night and she had a date. The first step in her serious finding-a-man game plan. She was adamant about this, although she wasn’t telling Grams until she had Mr. Fabulous in the chute with the gate shut.

  “With whom?”

  “Darrell somebody.”

  “Does he come from a nice family?”

  “I’ll ask, Grams. Talk to you Sunday.”

  She hung up, and hurriedly checked her appearance in the hall mirror. Fussing with her hair, she groaned. Why did she get it cut! She looked peeled. Geez, what would Darrell—Darrell—what was his last name? She couldn’t remember. They’d met only briefly at a party last week.

  Darrell, er—something—er—other. This was agony! Why do I put myself through this? I have a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling. It’s going to be another date from hell, I can feel it.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she checked her lipstick. Wrong color. It made her look washed-out and sick.

  The doorbell rang again. Too l
ate.

  Turning, she inspected her ensemble. I should have worn something else—I look fat. Maybe it’s not too late to change.

  Darrell, Darrell? Shoot! What was his last name? She drew a complete blank. She’d have to fake her way through the situation until she could figure it out.

  He works for a law firm—no, a construction company.

  Pivoting, she studied her reflection, and grimaced. The blue outfit would have been more comfortable. This was cooler, but the blue fit her better. No, if she was going to sweat, she was going to be comfortable.

  We’re going to Mammal World this afternoon. That I know.

  Temple winced at the thought. Dallas, August, Mammal World. Hot, hot, hot. Dinner in an air-conditioned restaurant would have been her preference. Maybe hers and Craig’s favorite haunt, the Bird’s Nest, where the prime rib melts in your mouth? Definitely preferable.

  Past experience prompted her to drop a bottle of aspirin in her purse. She gave her appearance a final once-over as the doorbell rang a third time. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to meet her fate.

  Good luck, she thought.

  Instinct told her she was going to need it.

  2

  “YOU AND STEPHANIE have plans for the weekend?” Craig asked.

  “We’re putting in new shrubs.”

  Jim Scott, known affectionately as Scotty, had dropped by to return a movie. He channel-surfed while he waited for Craig to finish dressing.

  Over the years the two men had flown together often, Jim as first officer for Sparrow Airlines and Craig as pilot. They’d developed a close friendship.

  Scotty was married. So happily married he thought everyone else should be. Consequently, he was a pain about the subject to his single friends, especially Craig Stevens.