by Sandra Brown
She didn't find him in the least amusing and showed it by sweeping past him when he pushed open the restroom door. When he switched on the light, she drew up short, her back coming into contact with his chest.
"Good Lord." It was a disgusting facility that hadn't been tended to in ages.
"Everything you need," Harlan said, laughter underlying his words.
Sage, tamping down her revulsion, marched into the room and slammed the door in his face. She did only what was necessary, being careful not to touch anything. After washing her hands in the rusty sink, she shook them dry.
Emerging from the corrugated tin building, she found Harlan waiting for her on the tarmac. "Where are my suitcases?"
"Already stowed, ma'am. May I see your boarding pass, please?"
She shot him a drop-dead look. "Can we please get on with it?"
"Don Juan shot your sense of humor straight to hell, you know that?"
Taking her elbow, he ushered her toward a single engine plane. The closer she got to it, the more dismayed she became. It was a wreck, a relic of years gone by. The skin of the fuselage had been patched and repainted so many times, it looked like a quilt. The propeller was whirling, but the engine knocked, whined, and rattled. She pulled her arm free of his grasp and turned to confront him.
"Did you build this heap yourself?"
"It's not mine. I only borrowed it."
"You don't really expect me to fly in it, do you?"
"Unless you've sprouted wings."
"Well, forget it. I've heard ancient sewing machines that ran smoother than that motor. Did my brothers know what you were flying in?"
"They trust my judgment."
"Then I mistrust theirs."
"It's perfectly safe." Taking her arm again, he all but dragged her across the cracked runway. When they reached the passenger side of the aircraft, he palmed her fanny and gave her a boost up to the step on the wing. "Up you go."
She clambered into the tiny cockpit. When he was seated in his pilot's chair, he reached across her chest and made sure the door on her side was fastened securely. His arm slid over her breast. It could have been an accident, but she didn't risk looking at him to find out. She stared stonily through the windshield and pretended that she wasn't tingling all over.
"Seat belt fastened?"
"Hmm."
"Comfy?"
"Fine."
"You might want to take off your jacket," he said, nodding at the short, fitted jacket that matched her pants. The outfit had been her Christmas present to herself. It had been in layaway since August. So far, Harlan Boyd was the only one besides herself who had liked it. That didn't say much for her taste.
"Will you please hurry and take off so I can stop dreading it?" she said crossly.
For the next several minutes, Harlan was busy clearing his takeoff with the "tower," a room on the second story of the large building. He taxied to the end of the runway, waited for clearance, then rolled forward. Sage was tempted to pedal her feet in an attempt to help out.
Long before it seemed to her they had sufficient ground speed, the small craft lifted into the air. Harlan put it into a steep climb that had her reclining in her seat like it was a dental chair.
Gripping the edge of her seat cushion, she risked looking out the window. "I can't see the ground anymore!"
"'Course not. We're in the clouds."
"What are we doing in the clouds?"
"Will you relax? I flew choppers out to oil rigs in the Gulf for a year or two. This is duck soup."
"This is pea soup. You can't see a thing. How do you know you won't run into something?"
"I know, okay? Once we get above this low ceiling, it'll be smooth flying straight into Milton Point."
"Are you sure you'll know where to find it?"
"I hit the right spot every time. I've got a fail-safe instrument." He glanced at her and grinned.
"Cute," she said shortly. "If you value your job, you'd better cut that out."
"What?"
"The sexual innuendoes."
"Why? Are you going to tattle to Chase and Lucky?"
"They won't think you're near as clever as you obviously consider yourself to be."
He eased back in his seat and stretched his long legs as far as they would go in the tight confines of the cockpit. "Bet you don't tell them a damn thing about tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because I know a better story. The one about you and Hot Lips." His eyes caught the reflection of the instrument-panel lights. "I don't think you're going to give them that story straight, are you?"
"Whatever happened between Travis and me is my personal business," she said indignantly. "How I deal with it, what I tell my family about it, is private. Certainly no concern of yours, Mr. Boyd."
He chuckled. "Nope, you're not going to tell it to them straight. You're not going to tell them that he dumped you. That's okay, Miss Sage." He winked at her. "It'll be our little secret."
She muttered something wholly unladylike and turned her head to gaze out the window. All she could see below the plane was a ghostly, gray blanket of clouds. Looking down made her nervous, so she rested her head on the top of her seat and closed her eyes.
"How long will it take?"
"An hour. There 'bouts. Depending on the turbulence."
Her head sprang up. "Turbulence?"
"Just kidding, to see if you were really asleep. Want some coffee?" He reached between his knees to the floor and came up with a shiny chrome thermos. He passed it to Sage. "Sandwich?" He let go of the wheel in order to open a brown paper sack and peer inside.
At the mention of food, her stomach growled indelicately, reminding her that she'd missed Mrs. Belcher's Rock Cornish game hens. "You concentrate on flying. I'll unwrap the sandwiches."
He handed her the sack. She placed the thermos between her thighs. "Bologna and cheese with mustard," she said, investigating the contents of the first sandwich. She unwrapped the second and lifted the top slice of bread. "Two bologna and cheese with mustard."
She handed him one and bit into the other. Around vigorous chewing, she said, "Mother is usually more creative when she packs a lunch."
"Laurie?" he mumbled around his first bite. "She didn't fix these."
"Where'd you get them?"
"Catering by Moe."
"Who's Moe?"
Harlan swallowed and pulled off another big bite. "Moe. I took his car to the Belchers' house. Guess you didn't meet him. That's right, when he came downstairs, you were in the john. Moe runs the landing strip back there. I asked him to throw together whatever he had handy."
Sage spat the bite of food into her palm. "You're kidding, aren't you?"
"Nope. Say, if you don't want the rest of your sandwich, I'll take it."
She practically threw the remainder of her sandwich at him. It landed in his lap, directly over the faded fly of his jeans. "You don't like Moe's cooking?"
"No! You knew I wouldn't eat anything that came out of that rat motel."
Her fury amused him. "You would if you got hungry enough. Pour me some coffee into the lid of that thermos, will you?"
"Pour your own coffee."
"Fine. But I'll have to let go of the wheel. And I'll have to reach for the thermos."
The thermos was still held securely between her thighs. Harlan smiled at her guilelessly, one of his eyebrows raised into an eloquent question mark.
Sage poured his coffee.
* * *
Chapter 3
Ten minutes after Sage's arrival at the hospital, Marcie delivered her baby. Sage had barely had time to hug everybody when Chase barged through the double swinging doors.
"It's a boy!" His face was drawn and haggard, his hair was standing on end, and he looked silly wearing the blue scrubs, but he was beaming a thousand-watt smile.
He had suffered tremendously after the death of his first wife, Tanya. His unborn child had died with her in an auto accident, which had also involved Mar
cie Johns. Last year, to everyone's surprise, he'd married Marcie.
The details of their courtship and sudden decision to marry remained a mystery to Sage. It wasn't until several months after the civil ceremony that she became convinced they were in love and that the marriage was going to work.
By all appearances it was working exceptionally well. Chase had never look so tired, or so happy. "The baby's perfect," he proudly told them. "Nine pounds seven ounces. Marcie's fine. Real tired though."
"Nine pounds plus? Hmm? Pretty big for a preemie," Lucky said, digging his elbow into his brother's ribs.
"James Lawrence, behave," his mother remonstrated.
"Before y'all go counting it up, I'll admit that Marcie got pregnant on our wedding night."
"You didn't waste any time, big brother."
"I sure as hell didn't," Chase said to Lucky, winking. "By the way, my son's named after you. We decided on James Chase."
"Damn," Lucky said, swallowing hard. "I don't know what to say."
"That's a switch." Chase slapped his brother on the shoulder; both looked embarrassingly close to tears. To prevent that from happening, Chase quickly looked elsewhere and spotted Sage. "Hey, brat, glad you made it in time."
Chase was ten years older than Sage. He and Lucky were barely two years apart. Her two rowdy brothers had been her tormentors when she was growing up, but she had always adored them. She wanted to believe her affection was reciprocated.
She derived a lot of comfort from Chase's strong hug. "Yes, I made it. Barely," she added, shooting Harlan a dirty look.
"Congratulations, Chase," he said, stepping forward and extending his hand.
"Thanks." After they shook hands, Chase said, "Y'all excuse me now. I want to get back to Marcie."
"Do you want to stay at the house with us tonight?" Laurie offered.
"No thanks. I'll be here as late as they'll let me stay, then I'll go on home."
He began backing toward the swinging doors. Even though he had been eager to share the news of his son's birth with them, Sage could tell he would rather be at his wife's side. She felt a pang of envy at their happiness. No one else was as important to them as they were to each other.
Sage doubted she would ever be so essential to another person, so much the center of someone's universe, a source of light and love. Travis's rejection had reinforced her doubt.
Within a few minutes, a nurse carried James Chase Tyler to the nursery window and held him up for their inspection. "He's dark like Chase," Laurie said, her eyes misting. "He looks like Chase did when he was born. Remember, Pat?"
Pat Bush, the county sheriff, was a lifelong friend of the family. Sage didn't remember a time when Pat wasn't around to lend support if the Tylers needed him. When her father had died several years earlier, he'd been indispensable to them. In Bud Tyler's absence, he'd been a staunch ally, protector, guardian, and friend.
He nodded down at Laurie now. "Sure do. Young Jamie here looks the spittin' image of his daddy."
"Jamie!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I like that. Pat, I think you've just nicknamed my first grandson."
Shortly the nurse withdrew with the squalling newborn. "Guess that's our signal to go home," Lucky said. "Besides, Lauren needs her own bed."
His seven-month-old daughter was asleep in her mother's arms, but the excitement had partially awakened her. She was beginning to fret. "I need my own bed, too," Devon said with a weak smile. "I've been wrestling her for hours."
"Let me hold her." Sage reached for her niece, whom she didn't get to see often enough. It was just as well. Devon had said that if Sage had her way, Lauren would be spoiled rotten. "You take a break," she said to her sister-in-law. "I'll hold her on the way home—that is, if you don't mind giving me a ride."
She refused to travel another step with Harlan Boyd, especially since the pickup truck waiting for them at Milton Point's small landing strip had been in no better condition than the airplane they'd flown in from Houston.
It wasn't that she was snobbish about the make and model of vehicles she rode in. Her brothers drove company trucks that looked like they'd come through a war. Travis teased her about her car because it rattled. She was driving the same one she'd taken to Austin her freshman year at U.T. She did, however, expect a few small frills, like windows and ignition keys. Harlan had started his pickup by touching two bare wires together. For all Sage knew, it could have been stolen. The passenger-side window was gone. The opening had been plugged up with a square piece of cardboard, which hadn't kept out the cold, damp wind.
Harlan didn't appear to be offended because she chose not to ride with him again. "See y'all," he said, and moved toward the elevators.
Sage was annoyed to notice that as he passed the nurses' station, several pairs of female eyes were distracted from business. They watched his loose-jointed swagger all the way down the corridor. Sage conceded that his hair was an attractive mix of brown, blond, and platinum shades, and that his eyes were spectacular, and that ordinary Levi's did extraordinary things for his rear end, but she hated herself for thinking so.
"I'll take Laurie home," Pat offered.
"We've got plenty of room in our car, Pat," Lucky said. "Save yourself the trip."
"No problem."
They left the hospital en masse. As Lucky pulled out of the parking lot, Sage glanced through the rear window of his car to see Harlan climbing into the cab of his pickup.
"I hope he remembers to deliver my suitcases to the house," she remarked. At the landing strip he'd placed them in the bed of the truck and slung a tarpaulin over them. It was still raining. Hopefully the covering hadn't blown off.
"Who? Harlan? You can count on him."
"Apparently you do."
Lucky glanced up at her through the rearview mirror. "Do I detect a note of snideness?"
He'd given her a golden opportunity to express her opinion of his new employee, and she was going to give it to him. "Either you have an inexplicably high regard for him, or no regard at all for your little sister."
"I hold Harlan in high regard. And you're okay," he said, deliberately trying to get a rise out of her.
In the rearview mirror, she could see the mischief twinkling in his eyes—which she had always thought were the bluest in the world until she met Harlan. Lucky's charm failed him this time, though. Sage had had all the ribbing she could take for one evening.
"Who is this person, Lucky?" she demanded. "He appears out of nowhere, I've never heard of him, you give him a job in the company business, and entrust him with your only sister's life. What's the matter with you?"
"In the first place," Lucky began, curbing his famously short temper, "he didn't appear out of nowhere. Chase met him last year in Houston."
"Oh, well, why didn't you say so?" she asked sarcastically. She shot him a fulminating glare in the mirror. "Houston's crawling with criminals and cutthroats. Don't you read the newspapers? Having met him in Houston hardly makes him instantly trustworthy."
"Chase trusted him."
"Based on what?"
"Gut instinct."
"Then I'm beginning to doubt Chase's judgment. Did Harlan just show up here one day unannounced?"
"About six weeks ago."
Because she'd been studying so hard, she hadn't come home at Thanksgiving. Otherwise she would have met him then. In recent weeks there had been little time to spare on anything except writing her thesis. Her phone calls home had been brief and to the point. During those short conversations, no one, had mentioned the new hired hand, by name or otherwise.
"He wanted to sponge off Chase, I suppose," she said.
"Not sponge. He was looking for work. His last job had run out."
"I'll bet. He looks like a vagrant. A sly, shifty no-account who'll probably abscond with the company's profits."
"There aren't any profits," Lucky said dismally. Devon, who had wisely stayed out of the quarrel, now placed a reassuring hand on her husband's shoulder. "They're hoping some of Harl
an's ideas will save the business, Sage."
Sage divided her gaping stare between them. "What? Are you kidding me? Him? His ideas? Did I miss something? Did he drop out of the sky? Hatch from a golden egg?"
"Enough, Sage," Lucky said tetchily. "We get your drift. Apparently Harlan didn't make a very good first impression on you."
"That's putting it mildly."
"What did he do that was so terrible, track mud into the Belchers' marble foyer?"
"Much worse than that. He—"
He had eavesdropped on a conversation she didn't want her brothers to know had taken place.
He had said things to her she didn't want to repeat to her brothers because there might be bloodshed.
He had kissed her with a carnality that had stolen her breath. She wanted to pretend that both the kiss and her surprising reaction had never happened.
"Well?" Lucky prompted from the front seat. "He what?"
Quashing every word she had been about to say, she substituted, "He's rude and obnoxious."
"Harlan?" Devon asked, sounding surprised. "He's usually very polite."
Having hoped that at least Devon would share her impressions of him, Sage now felt abandoned. Curtly she said, "I don't like him."
"Well, just steer clear of him, then," Lucky said. "You've got nothing to do with the business, so what do you care who works for it? Soon you'll be married and outta here anyway. Speaking of which, how's the future zit doctor?"
The insult to Travis went unnoticed. Sage's attention had snagged on Lucky's reference to her disassociation from the family business. His offhand, but painfully correct, remark cut deeper than he or anyone else would ever guess.
Naturally she had nothing to do with Tyler Drilling. She was the baby girl of the family. An afterthought. Probably an accident. A hanger-on. Hadn't she come along eight years after her parents' second strong, healthy, overachieving son? The boys were a team, a pair. Whenever anyone in town mentioned the Tyler boys, there was no doubt who they were talking about. She was the Tyler boys' little sister.
Her brothers hadn't been too crazy about the idea of having a baby sister. For as far back as she could remember, they had teased her unmercifully. Oh, she knew they loved her. They would protect her from any and all harm and give her anything she asked of them.