96 Hours

by Georgia Beers

  “Hey, these are nice.” Abby grabbed a three-pack of Hanes bikini briefs off the wall hanger. One pair of pink, one white, one light blue.

  Erica snorted when she looked at the size. “I suppose I should be flattered you think my ass is that small.” A woman next to her chuckled. Erica pulled a similar pack down, but in a larger size and containing panties all with brightly colored stripes. She walked away quickly without looking at Abby.

  “Okay,” Abby muttered under her breath, finding herself frighteningly turned on. “Stripes it is. Certainly nothing wrong with stripes. I’m good with stripes.” She wet her lips and trailed after Erica.

  If the underwear section was busy, the ladies’ clothing section was mobbed.

  Jesus, how long do these people plan on being here? Erica wondered as a woman hurried past her loaded down with what looked to be a week’s worth of clothing. She stood there staring, not sure where to start or how, flashing back to her teenage years in a big, bad way.

  Abby caught her deer-in-headlights expression and rolled her eyes. “Man, you’re such a clothes snob.”

  “I am not,” Erica protested, trying to sound indignant but achieving only whiny.

  “Yeah. You are. Okay, look. You don’t have to buy anything fancy and nobody at home has to know. Just get yourself something comfortable. Over here.” She headed off to the right and Erica reluctantly followed her, stopping when they got to the athletic attire. “Here. It’s nice out and all you want is to be comfortable for the next day or two or however long we’re going to be stuck here.” She handed over a pair of black Capri-length workout pants. “What about something like this? And a T-shirt or something? You’ve got the flip-flops or we could find some sneakers. Simple. Comfy. That’s all we’re talking about here, you know? It’s up to you. Whatever you want to do.”

  Abby picked a couple of things off the rack for herself, her back to Erica in an almost dismissive manner; and for the first time in a very long time, Erica was embarrassed by her own behavior. Mentally taking a step back and analyzing the past ten minutes caused her to close her eyes and shake her head, to pull herself together. Moving closer to the clothing, she scanned the sizes and colors.

  By the time they were seated again on the bus, they each had a good-sized bag filled with clothes that should get them through the next two or three days, if necessary. Both women hoped it wouldn’t be that long, but of course, nobody knew for sure. The ride back to the Lions Club was quiet, Abby at the window this time, gazing out at the passing landscape. Erica tried to think of a conversation starter, but failed and opted for silence.

  The Lions Club was abuzz upon their return, people excited for the next shuttle. Erica had to consciously keep from rolling her eyes over how easily entertained they’d all become after twenty-four hours stuck in one place. A bus ride to Walmart was going to be the highlight of the day for the majority.

  Corinne was off to the side, talking with two men Abby vaguely recognized from the airport, though she had no idea where they’d been on the plane. When she glanced their way, Corinne smiled and gestured for Abby to join them. “Put your stuff down and come see me,” she instructed. “Bring Erica too.” Abby glanced at Erica and shrugged.

  Corinne introduced the two men as Brian Caldwell and Michael Carr. Brian was around thirty with sandy hair and sad green eyes. He wore a Green Bay Packers baseball hat, jeans, and green sweatshirt. Light stubble decorated most of his face. Michael was in his fifties and dressed in a business suit, albeit a wrinkled one. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly disheveled and he had dark circles under his brown eyes. His handshake was firm and his British accent charming as he shook hands with each woman.

  “Okay,” Corinne said in a somewhat hushed tone, which made Erica furrow her brow and Abby look around in confusion. “My husband Tim and I live alone in a rather roomy house. I don’t know how long you poor people are going to be stuck, but we talked last night and we have room for four of you, if you’d like to get out of here.”

  The four of them blinked at her, not quite registering the offer.

  “We’ve got two empty bedrooms upstairs,” she went on, “and a sort of bedroom rec room in the basement with its own bath.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Abby asked, a wary tone in her voice.

  “Showers and beds. I’m offering showers and beds.”

  “For us,” Brian clarified.

  “I only have room for four and I’ve spoken to the four of you the most.” She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “But I need you to keep it kind of hush-hush because I really can’t take everybody, though I wish I could.” She looked genuinely saddened by this fact.

  “You are the kindest woman I have ever met,” Abby said with a grin, and meant it.

  “Oh, I’m sure others are offering the same thing.” She waved them off to get their belongings, telling them she’d let them know when Tim arrived to take them home.

  “A real bed,” Abby said quietly. “Maybe I’ll actually get to sleep tonight.”

  “I was hoping we’d be out of here today. I want to go home.”

  Abby made a face. “We all do. But I think it’s going to be another day or two. Have you checked out the TV reports at all? Things at home are a mess.” They glanced over at the three dozen or more people who’d crowded around the televisions watching the coverage. “I still can’t believe it. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be nearby and actually see it happening. The TV coverage is horrific enough, but to actually be there? To witness up close the towers coming down? The people jumping out the windows? My god. I can’t believe somebody did this.” She swallowed hard.

  “I can,” Erica said almost matter-of-factly as she sorted through her stuff. “I’m not surprised.”

  Abby stopped in midaction and stared at her in disbelief. “You’re not surprised?”

  Erica shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

  Abby studied her for several seconds before she issued a dismissive scoff and continued getting her things together. “Well, I am. Are you saying we deserved this? As Americans?”

  “Of course not. That’s not what I said. Nobody deserves this. I said I’m not surprised it happened, that’s all.”

  “Seriously, Erica, it must suck to have so little faith in humanity. Wow.” She noticed Corinne’s subtle little wave and was relieved to have a reason to end the conversation. “Tim must be here.” She shouldered her backpack, scooped up her Walmart bag, and headed toward the lobby without waiting.

  “Damn,” Erica muttered. Speaking her mind didn’t often win her friends and admirers, but she’d learned to live with it. She told herself that Abby’s dismissal meant nothing to her, that it didn’t sting at all. Of course, she knew she was lying—and that bugged her even more.

  Chapter 6

  Brian Caldwell thought that maybe it was time to stop being a decent guy. After all, what had that gotten him? A cheating wife and a one-bedroom apartment, that’s what. He’d been married to Carly for almost five years and she’d been unfaithful for at least three of them. He’d spent many, many months torturing himself by trying to figure out if there’d been more than the four affairs he knew about until finally his buddy Rafe smacked him upside the head. Literally.

  “Bri. Enough, dude. Seriously. Let the bitch go. She took five years of your life, man, don’t give her any more. Pull yourself together. Take a trip or something. Be a playboy for a few weeks. Find some tail and fuck your brains out. It’s the best way to get through this kind of thing.”

  Rafe would know; he was on wife number three and only thirty-five. Brian loved the guy, but the last thing in the world he wanted to be was Rafe. Still, there was something to be said about sex with no commitments. He wasn’t really that kind of guy; he liked having just one woman and being that one woman’s one man, but he had needed to cut loose, at least for a while. Get his mojo back, restore his confidence, which Carly had shaken in a bad way. So he’d taken Rafe’s adv
ice and planned himself a three-week tour of Europe and it had been worth it. Anna Maria waitressed in a restaurant in Rome and Isabelle ran a bookstore outside of Paris. Each of them found his American accent enchanting, each of them rocked his world, and neither of them wanted any strings. It was the perfect scenario. Twice. He had no idea how he’d gotten so lucky, but he was about to return home a new man—or that had been the plan anyway. He’d wanted to be able to tell Carly to kiss his ass, but with all that had happened, a big part of him just wanted to be with her, to stand next to her and to hold her hand and to be outraged together, to mourn their fellow Americans. The rest of him thought, “Screw her.”

  Now he wondered if he’d ever get back into America.

  He still couldn’t believe it had happened. Fucking Middle Easterners. He never understood why the United States tried to bring peace to that part of the world. They obviously didn’t want it. Leave them alone and let them wipe each other off the face of the planet, that would be the best solution. But now they’d struck on American soil, the bastards. Who did they think they were? Well, that was the worst move they could have made, killing thousands of Americans. They were going to be sorry. You don’t go poking a bull unless you want to get gored by the horns, buddy. Simple fact of life.

  Pulling his thoughts away from the mess back home, Brian focused on the present, specifically on those in the car with him. Michael seemed like a good guy. He was from somewhere outside of London and was traveling for business—on his way to Texas for a meeting, believe it or not. He was quiet and rather polite, though when you least expected it he’d toss in a zinger that left you blinking, wondering if he’d actually said what you thought he had. Abby was awesome already and he’d known the girl for only half an hour. She was charming, funny, and very friendly—not to mention hot. All that dark hair, the dark lashes, the dark brows and then those blue eyes. How could you not fall into those? Combined with the tall, lean body and killer smile, Abby made one hell of a package. Unfortunately, he wasn’t her type; she’d made that pretty clear when she told him about her last breakup—with a girl—hoping to make him feel better. But hell, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. He liked her. She was energetic and fun to talk to. Erica was much harder to read. She wasn’t just quiet, she seemed to be inside her own head, not paying a lot of attention to those around her. The way her eyebrows dipped and formed a V just above the bridge of her nose told him she was always thinking. The suit told him she was on some kind of business trip. The way she sat in the car all tucked into herself against the door told him she didn’t feel like having a conversation. She was just as hot as Abby (he had to admit the first time he’d noticed her had been in the airport the day before and that was because of her killer ass), but in a much cooler, much more unreachable kind of way. He suspected that she’d present a very large challenge to anybody who set his sights on her and wondered if he was up for it. Something to think about anyway.

  “So, Tim,” he asked. “What do you do when you’re not carting around stranded airline passengers?”

  “And bringing them to your house,” Abby added with a grin.

  Tim MacDougal chuckled from behind the wheel. He was a robust-looking man of average height and solidly built. Red-gold hair was losing the fight to silver and his ruddy complexion was tinted a light pink as if he was continuously blushing. Like his wife, kindness radiated off him in waves.

  “I’m a high school English teacher,” he said proudly.

  “Did you take the day off?” Brian asked.

  “Oh, no. School’s closed for the time being. They’ve got more of you folks housed in the gymnasium and the cafeteria.”

  Brian shook his head. “I forget that there were other planes.”

  A couple moments later, two tractor trailers rumbled by them, heading into town.

  “Looks like food,” Abby observed, following the trucks as they passed, watching them out the back window.

  “They’re using the hockey rink as a giant refrigerator,” Tim told them.

  “Brilliant,” Abby whispered in awe. She turned back around, her thigh pressed tightly against Erica’s, whose gaze hadn’t left the window since they began the ride. Again, Abby wondered what was going on in that beautiful head, but knew better than to ask. Erica obviously wasn’t the kind of woman who thought about effect before saying what was on her mind, so Abby had decided to think twice before asking. Damn if the girl wasn’t a lot of freaking work.

  Not long after that, they pulled into the driveway of a modest, white, two-story house on a quiet street. The landscaping was simple and neat, pots of red geraniums adding splashes of color along the front walk and at the side door. The five of them poured out of the car and Tim popped the trunk so they could retrieve their belongings. One by one, they followed him into the house.

  The MacDougals weren’t rich, but they were happy and they took pride in their home. That much was obvious as soon the four guests set foot in the cheerful red, white, and yellow kitchen. Everything about it was bright, sunny, and inviting. Abby glanced at Brian and read the homesickness that was written all over his face, the sense of longing for his old life. Her heart ached for him and she patted him absently on the arm, hoping to offer comfort.

  The vividness of the kitchen gave way to more relaxed and warm muted greens and gentle ivories as they followed Tim, single file, through the house and up the stairs.

  “We’ve got two spare bedrooms up here and a guest bathroom,” he told them. “You two guys can fight over who gets which room.” Either one was a far better option than a cot at the Lions Club. Brian gave a nod of his head and a gesture toward Michael, respectfully allowing him to choose, then dropped his duffel on the twin bed in the second room and smiled at Abby. Tim gave them a quick tour of the bathroom and the location of clean towels, then said, “Ladies, follow me.”

  Back down the steps and through the kitchen they went, where Tim opened the door to the basement.

  “When our daughter, Kate, turned sixteen, she told us she felt like she needed more independence.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly to show what he’d thought of that. “So, we converted the basement for her. Corinne and I called it the Inner Sanctum.” With the chuckle that Abby was beginning to think of as his trademark, he hit the light switch and led the way down.

  The MacDougal’s basement was like a studio apartment minus the kitchen. Spacious and surprisingly bright, it boasted a wall of books, a treadmill off to one side, and its own full bath. A small sitting area with a loveseat, a chair, and a television was tucked into a corner. Kate MacDougal had been one lucky teenage girl—one who apparently liked the color peach. The walls looked creamy smooth and sweet, like sorbet, and Abby was tempted to lick one, like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. A thick, rich cream carpet blanketed the floor and begged for bare feet, for wiggling toes. Cream and peach striped the shower curtain that was partially visible through the bathroom doorway and exactly matched the pillowy down comforter that covered the one queen-sized bed in the room.

  “Yoo hoo!” Corinne’s voice was sing-songy and cheerful, like everything else about the woman. She came down the stairs and stood next to her husband, a hopeful grin on her round face. “Everything look all right?”

  “This is awesome,” Abby said.

  “Well, I didn’t think the guys would appreciate sharing a bed, but you two are . . . friends, so I hope this is okay.”

  “We’re not friends,” Erica said.

  “Oh,” Corinne said. “I just assumed.” Her ever-present smile faltered.

  “It’s fine. It’s great,” Abby said, willing her thanks to show on her face. “Please. Thank you so much for your generosity. You and Tim have been so amazing.” She turned to Erica. “Haven’t they?”

  Erica blinked. “Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.”

  Corinne looked uncertain, but said, “I’m going to make an early dinner. I imagine you can all use a decent meal at this point. Three o’clock in the dining room. Everybo
dy okay with pork chops? You two aren’t vegetarians, are you?”

  “I’m not,” Abby replied, looking toward Erica.

  “No.” Erica shook her head. “Pork is fine.”

  “Terrific. I’ll go tell the boys, then.”

  A couple quick gestures toward the linens and then Corinne and Tim took their leave, waving off Abby’s continued thanks.

  When they were out of earshot, Abby turned to Erica. “Are you always such a bitch?”

  Surprise registered on Erica’s face. “Excuse me?”

  “They’re being so nice. They’re giving us a place to stay. You could try to at least pretend to be grateful. Jesus.” She dropped her backpack and Walmart bag on the floor and looked around. It wasn’t long before Erica’s silence made her feel bad and she felt the need to fill it. “Sure beats the hell out of the Lions Club, huh?”

  “Yeah. I suppose it does.” Erica’s eyes seemed drawn to the bed.

  “What’s the matter now?”

  “Nothing. There’s just, there’s only one bed.”

  “Yep. But it’s pretty big.” Abby scratched under the rubber band in her hair, studied Erica, and barely kept from rolling her eyes. Okay, time to mess with the Little Princess. “Are you worried that I might attack you in the middle of the night? Try to have my way with you?” She waggled her eyebrows lasciviously.

  Erica’s head snapped around. “What? No. No, of course not.”

  “Ah. I see. You’re worried that you might attack me.”

  “What?” Erica narrowed her blue eyes and a little anger twinkled around the edges. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Hey, I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “No, I don’t know a lot about you, but I’d bet my last dime you don’t have a boyfriend or a husband at home. Maybe a girlfriend or a wife, but not a boyfriend or a husband. No.”