Taken by Storm

by Heather MacAllister

  “Okay.” He tried to avoid appearing overeager.

  “I—” She stopped and exhaled. “Casper won’t get in his crate and I’ve got to go to the restroom. Would you please watch him for me?”

  “Sure.” Cam allowed himself a smile and glanced down at the dog. I owe you, buddy.

  “Oh, thank you!” She shoved the leash at him. “I’ll be just a minute!” And she hurried toward the restrooms.

  Cam watched her go, her hair rippling. She had great hair—straight, long and glossy. He wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to feel it against his bare skin. He wanted to lie back in bed and have it curtain their faces as she leaned down to kiss him.

  He heard a frustrated sound, and at first he thought it had escaped him. But then he realized it had come from the dog, who was staring down its long nose at him, as though he could read Cam’s mind.

  “Hey, Casper,” he said. “How’s it going, buddy?”

  With a tiny whine, Casper sat down.

  “I hear ya.” Cam looked in the direction of the restrooms. As was typical, the women’s had a line and Ryka, or whatever her name was, hadn’t made it around the corner yet.

  “What say we walk over to your crate?” Cam said. The backpack was still lying on the floor next to it.

  He started walking and the dog followed him, which was good because he didn’t want to have to drag the animal across the floor.

  Once they got to the crate, Cam sat on the floor again, and the dog flopped beside him, head on his paws. Another little whine escaped.

  Cam reached out to pat him. “Hey, this thing she’s got you wearing is all wet.”

  She couldn’t want her dog to stay in wet clothes. He took off the blue bonnet. “Oh, buddy. I thought the hat was bad.”

  Casper’s fur was white, as Cam might have guessed from his name. But the hair on his head and ears was gathered in blue elastic holders. Probably to keep it out of the way. Cam scratched Casper all over his head, and if the dog had been a cat, he would have purred.

  Another glance toward the women’s restroom revealed that Ryka had only just made it to the corner beneath the sign.

  “Okay, buddy. Let’s get this off you.” Slowly, Cam reached around the dog’s stomach, seeking the straps. Casper obligingly rolled onto his side. Cam unhooked the clasps and peeled off the wet coat, releasing the aroma of wet dog and something sweet—doggy shampoo?

  Casper panted.

  The rest of his hair was also bunched with blue bands, but Cam could see there was a lot of hair and it was all white. And damp. Unfortunately, the baggage terminal floor wasn’t very clean, with people tracking in the wet sludge from outside. Occasionally, the maintenance crew came by with mops, and earlier they’d placed black rubber mats by the exit, along with yellow tented caution signs.

  Cam draped Casper’s outfit over the crate to dry out and gently petted him, scratching between the ponytail bunches.

  “Does that feel good, boy?”

  Casper licked his mouth and resumed panting.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Cam liked dogs, although he didn’t own one. If he did, he’d never pick this breed. Too much hair.

  Casper twitched and rolled over onto his back, curving himself into an S shape.

  “You want a tummy rub.” Cam used both hands. “This must mean you’ve warmed up to me. Now let’s see if we can get your owner to warm up to me, too.”

  3

  SHE HADN’T EVEN asked his name. Zoey had left Casper, Ryka’s great white hope, with a man she knew nothing about. Except that he had a way of staring at her as though she was an ice cream cone and he wanted to lick her all over. She melted at the idea.

  He sure was a hottie but a little intense. And she trusted him based on that? Desperate times and so on.

  Zoey leaned against the cold tile walls as the restroom line inched forward. The longer the delay in Chicago, the greater the chance for failure.

  Stop thinking that way. She hadn’t veered from Kate’s plan. This was just a pause. But if the “pause” went on for much longer, she’d have to call her sister. And she really didn’t want to do that.

  Finger-combing her hair at the mirrors before leaving the restroom, Zoey noticed a whole lot of dehydrated skin on the faces of the other women. Drink water, she wanted to tell them. Or maybe offer them some of her Skin Garden Rain balm. But she didn’t, not with those grumpy expressions.

  Speaking of water, Zoey swallowed a long drink from the fountain before heading back to the pet area. The line at the restroom had moved slower than she’d anticipated, and she felt uneasy that she’d abandoned Casper for so long. Zoey hadn’t even asked the man if he had time to watch Casper before thrusting the leash at him. Obviously, he didn’t have a flight to catch, but maybe he had some place to be or someone to be with. He certainly wasn’t going anywhere outside the airport. She shuddered at the memory of the snow and the wind that had made her cheeks sting even though she’d slathered them with her lemon-olive moisturizing bar. It was the heaviest of her heavy-duty moisturizers, and it was travel friendly because it was a solid. It was a good thing she was testing her products on this trip because she’d discovered the bar was an awkward size and had melted into the container. That would have to be changed.

  Zoey rounded the corner, eyes searching out man and dog. She found Casper, undressed, splayed bonelessly on the floor, getting a tummy rub.

  Zoey had never seen the neurotic animal so relaxed. The man’s hands moved over the pink belly with long, slow strokes, stopping occasionally to rub some spot with his thumbs. Very thorough. Great attention to detail. Knew to take it slow. Zoey sighed.

  He also had a head of lush, dark hair in great-looking condition. It contrasted with Casper’s snowy coat, especially when the man bent to murmur something to the dog. Like now.

  Wow. Casper trusted him, and Casper didn’t trust anybody without a dog treat or a blue ribbon.

  The man didn’t look up until Zoey was nearly on top of them, and then he smiled and continued petting the dog. Zoey felt a quiver in her own belly and sank to the floor beside them. “I really appreciate you watching Casper. I don’t even know your name.” Please don’t let it begin with a J. “I’m Zoey.” She reached over Casper and offered her hand.

  “Zoey.” He smiled as he said her name. “Cam.”

  She was irrationally relieved that his name didn’t, in fact, begin with a J. Then he grasped her hand and she got a jolt of awareness. Or it could have been static electricity. They both started at the sensation, but he didn’t let go.

  “So that’s what they mean when they say ‘sparks flew between them.’” He gazed deep into her eyes as he smiled and held her hand. Tingles that had nothing to do with static electricity raced up her arm.

  Talk about a connection.

  There was something about him that made Zoey feel as if she could bundle up her mess of a life and toss it at him, and he’d fix it. Not that she wanted him, or any man—or woman, or parent, or sister—fixing her life for her. She needed to do that all by herself. Then when she finally did succeed at something, it would be her success, achieved on her own, and everyone else would know it.

  Casper raised his head and nosed their clasped hands. There was nothing like a cold, wet dog nose to change the mood.

  “Okay, I get the message.” Cam laughed lightly and petted the dog. “He sure likes to have his belly rubbed.”

  “I had no idea.” As long as this guy was giving them, Zoey wouldn’t mind a few belly rubs herself.

  Cam looked up at her, eyebrows raised in a question.

  “Casper is my sister’s dog.”

  He nodded to the crate. “Is she Ryka?”

  “No, that’s the name of my sister and brother-in-law’s kennel. Ryan and Kate. Ryka. They raise and sho
w Afghan hounds.”

  “So that explains the hairstyle and the outfit.”

  “Oh, yes.” Zoey couldn’t prevent a sigh from escaping. “It’s supposed to keep his hair clean and from getting tangled and matted. You ought to see him when he’s all dolled up for a show. Really gorgeous. Though talk about high maintenance.” She examined one of Casper’s paws. “Look. Even with the booties, the slush outside has stained the hair around his feet.”

  “That’s a given with this floor.” Cam stared down at the dog and gave his tummy a final pat. “I hope it was okay to take off his coat. It was wet.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Thank you.” She made a face and dug in her pocket for the wet, dirty booties. “This outfit wasn’t meant to withstand blizzards. I can’t believe there isn’t a designated pet relief area near this terminal. I mean, this is O’Hare.” She gestured around them. “I had to take him across the street. At least there wasn’t any traffic.”

  Cam looped his arms around his knees. “It’s bad out there?”

  “It’s unreal. How do people live in this weather?” Zoey got up and laid the booties on top of the crate where Cam had draped the wet dog coat. Very thoughtful.

  She slid a glance toward him. He still sat by Casper, apparently not in a hurry to go anywhere, and her lingering guilt about thrusting Casper on him evaporated.

  “Doesn’t it snow in Virginia?” he asked as Casper came over to the crate and nosed at the empty water container.

  “Maybe, but I live in Texas near Austin, and snow isn’t something I see a whole lot of.” Zoey wasn’t thrilled about giving Casper water—what went in was going to come out.

  As she opened the spout on Casper’s water dispenser, Cam said, “Hey, I live in San Marcos.”

  Zoey glanced over at him in time to catch a surprisingly wide smile bracketed by a couple of killer dimples she hadn’t noticed before. Not that she was a dimple person. Or hadn’t been in the past. She might be one now. A couple of beats went by, during which Casper’s dish filled with more water than Zoey had intended. She closed the spigot as Casper lapped greedily. “I’m in Round Rock.”

  “Just a few miles up the road.” Still smiling, he shook his head. “What are the chances?”

  Zoey looked around at the people waiting in line and hanging out by the exit watching the snow. “Judging by all the A&M, UT and Texas Tech shirts, the chances are pretty good.”

  “It’s the timing,” he said. “The flights from Texas were some of the last allowed to land before they closed the airport.”

  “My connecting flight originated in Richmond. Not that it’s doing me any favors now.”

  Zoey could feel him watching her. She wanted to be flattered, but under normal circumstances, she had to make a real effort to attract the attention of upper-tier lookers like Cam. Maybe she’d been going about it all wrong. Maybe all she needed to do to turn a man’s head was appear travel-rumpled and fling a dog at him.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “Seattle.”

  “The 1:40 United Flight?”

  “Yes. Well, originally.” She glanced up and their gazes caught and held.

  “Me, too,” he said softly.

  She couldn’t look away, even though she knew she was sending signals she had no business sending. He sat still and unblinking, his eyes never leaving hers. They were cool blue with a hot message.

  As awareness prickled through her, Zoey reminded herself to breathe. She exhaled and forced herself to move her eyes to the dog. Wow. That was intense.

  She had to blink a few times before Casper came into focus. He’d finished slurping the water and now waited expectantly. Food. He wanted food. Zoey didn’t have that much with her. The rest of his special not-available-commercially blend was taking up a lot of space in her suitcase. She gave him a few bits from what she had in her bag. He looked at it and then back up at her. She gave him a little more. “That’s all for now, Casper. I have no idea how long we’re going to be stuck here.”

  “I hear that.” Cam got to his feet and brushed his hands together. “Which reminds me, I should find out where they’re storing the box I checked.” He indicated the door where the airline workers loaded and unloaded animals and perishables. “I thought I’d try the cargo guys before standing in line.”

  “Good plan, and thanks for helping with Casper,” Zoey told him.

  “No problem.” His eyes met hers. There was that intensity again, followed by a hyperawareness of him that caused a hitch in her breathing.

  Impulsively, she asked, “Have we met? I mean, before?” Maybe that would explain it.

  He started to say something and stopped.

  “What?”

  “I was going to say I would have remembered you, but that sounds like a line.”

  “Well, I know I would have remembered you,” Zoey said. Again, impulsively. And embarrassingly. Feeling her face heat, she gestured vaguely. “Your smile. It’s killer.”

  “Yeah?” He smiled his killer smile.

  Oh, yeah.

  “Still, there’s something...” His eyes traced her face and Zoey willed her blush to fade. Maybe he’d think it was windburn. “Did you go to Texas State?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “UT. Maybe we just saw each other in a crowd somewhere. Do you ever go to Dasko’s?”

  “No. I’ve wanted to, but I’m usually working weekends.”

  “Where?”

  “MacNeil’s Brewery.”

  “Right! It’s outside San Marcos. I’ve been there.”

  His face lit up. “One of the Saturday tours?”

  Zoey laughed. “More than one. In fact, I helped my friend Pam throw a birthday party for her husband there.”

  “Yeah?” His dimples deepened. Wow. When had dimples become sexy? “I’m the one who handles the event scheduling.”

  “Maybe we spoke on the phone!” The idea made her absurdly pleased.

  “When was the party?” Cam asked.

  “Oh, it’s been a while. A couple of summers ago. I don’t think the brewery had been open all that long.”

  “Then I definitely would have been manning the taps.”

  “Really?” Zoey could feel herself grinning, but then, so was he. For the first time in a long while—and for the first time in years with a guy who didn’t have a J name—she experienced that glorious, fizzy euphoria of first attraction when you’re sure the other person is experiencing the same thing.

  “Do you remember the date?” Cam asked.

  “No, but it was in July. It was a Harley-themed party because Pam was giving her husband a motorcycle. She wanted it to be a surprise, which meant we had to get it there. Neither of us had ever driven a motorcycle before, so we took turns driving it while the other followed in the car.” Zoey laughed. “You should have seen us!”

  She assumed he’d laugh with her, and he did, but the fizz had gone flat. “Then once we finally got to the brewery, we had to find some place to hide the bike.”

  “And you hid it in the beer cooler.” He was still smiling, but neither his teeth nor his dimples showed. She missed them.

  “Yes! You remember!” Zoey said way too brightly.

  “Hard to forget.”

  Okay, there was definitely an edge to his voice now. What on earth had she said? She’d babbled but not all that much, had she?

  “It was a really hot weekend,” he added, and Zoey knew he was referring to the temperature and not all the girls in their skimpy black-leather biker-chick costumes.

  “Good thing there was a lot of cold beer because let me tell you, black leather in the sun is something else!”

  He smiled—a polite, impersonal smile. It was such a contrast from his earlier expression that Zoey actually felt a pain in her stomach.

&nb
sp; What had gone wrong? Had they drunk too much beer at the party? She tried to remember...no, and anyway, MacNeil’s would have stopped serving them before they got to that point. She and Pam had cleaned up some afterward and had even returned with a couple of friends the next day to finish taking down the decorations and gather any trash.

  Zoey couldn’t figure out what had made Cam stop looking at her with that intense, hot, I-wish-we-could-do-something-about-this gaze and instead withdraw into mere politeness.

  Whatever, it was gone. She should end the conversation. But did she stop talking? Did she say, “Small world” and shake her head, thank him again, and wish him luck with the baggage handlers? Oh, no. She kept talking. She kept talking because only minutes ago, this guy, this top-tier looker, had been gazing at her with serious interest—and it wasn’t last call in a bar, so he wasn’t wearing beer goggles. But now he’d lost that interest, and she wanted a clue as to why. A hint.

  And so she kept talking about the stupid motorcycle. “Speaking of cold, when we rolled the motorcycle out of the cooler, the heat made the bike’s metal fog. It was all slick and wet and the chrome wasn’t shiny, so Pam sent me to find some rags so we could...”

  A hazy memory surfaced.

  “...could, uh,” Zoey gestured with her hand. “Wipe the condensation off.”

  The memory sharpened into a crystal-clear image of a man—one who’d looked just like Cam—mopping up a pool of beer. She remembered watching as a couple of bottles popped their caps and beer fountained into the air. The man she now recognized as Cam had thrown down the mop in frustration before catching sight of her. They had stared at each other from opposite ends of a long, open-ended hall for a few seconds before Zoey had ducked into the ladies’ restroom, where she’d grabbed a handful of paper towels.

  For the first time, she made the connection between the exploding beer and the bottles she and Pam had moved out of the cooler the day before to make room for the bike.

  “We did meet,” she admitted. Might as well get it over with. “You were cleaning up beer.”

  He nodded. “The bottles got too hot. The batch was fresh.”