Crazy for You (2 page)

Glancing up, she watched the set the bag of
tomatoes on the counter, then stroll toward the sweet corn. Tasha
stretched her arms out in front of her. She rolled the diamond and
sapphire ring she wore on her right hand back upright. It caught
just a glimmer of sunlight shining through the window and Tasha
smiled. Her one indulgence: jewelry. And expensive jewelry at that.
Her mother chastised her for it daily.

Cupping her chin in her hands while perching
her elbows on the counter, she glanced around the cozy shop filled
with fresh organically grown fruits, vegetables and herbs, and
natural vitamins and home remedies. This was her life. She knew it
now. Even though it had taken her several years to realize
that.

She still hadn’t totally embraced the hippie
lifestyle of her parents, but there was no doubt she had a lot of
it in her. So, after fighting it, and them, for several years,
she’d finally given in and decided that she was what she was—the
offspring of hippie baby-boomers who’d risked making love, not war,
without the benefit of contraceptives, and raised a flower child,
without the benefits of matrimony—a woman who grew up confused
about living with minimalist parents inside a material world of
which she’d never quite felt a part. And once she’d figured all
that out, she realized that she was really pretty special, and
semi-normal after all.

Unique. One of a kind.

So she’d gone with it. And was perfectly
happy with that lifestyle.

Until recently. Recently she’d felt
so...unsettled. So...scattered….

Sighing, she savored the relative silence of
the room. Only the soft whir of the old paddle fan in the center of
the ceiling offered any break in the quiet. She liked it that way.
She didn’t necessarily bring in much money, but she was successful
enough and she liked the calm. No way would she be caught in the
traditional nine-to-five stress trap. No way. Vegetables were safe
and soothing. They couldn’t make sexist remarks. Or talk back. And
boy was she ever glad. She’d talked to a zillion of them.

“Moontasha Begonia!” Violet’s head peeked out
at her from between the curtains covering the opening to the back
room. She turned to her mother. “Don’t you ever do anything but
daydream, girl? How you run this business I’ll never know. Delivery
truck out back!”

Tasha stood upright, slipped her feet into
her clogs, and bent to scratch at her ankle—the one with the small
rose tattoo right above it. “Oh, okay. Can you get this
customer?”

Her mother nodded and stepped up behind the
counter. Tasha exited out the back door.

Three

Hayward & Pendleton Corporate Office

Seattle, Washington

Andrew Jacob Powell III hadn’t taken a
vacation in over ten years—and he didn’t want to take one now. No
matter what anyone said.

Unless, of course, that anyone was his
boss.

He glanced about the room at his associates.
A light haze of smoke from Doug Johnston’s cigar hung over the
conference table. Really, he thought, the whole world was going
smokeless. Why hadn’t Hayward & Pendleton caught on yet? Then
he peered across the table to his immediate supervisor, Martin
Mayes, whose eyes were trained on him.

Andrew swallowed, then repeated his
conviction. “Really, sir. The incentive program has merit,
especially for new sales associates, however, as a veteran of the
firm, I feel it would be wrong of me to accept—”

Mayes rose. “Nonsense!” Andrew straightened
his posture in the padded leather seat and again glanced around the
conference room. All eyes were on him. Mayes continued, “Doug and
Brett worked for a month or more on this incentive program and with
outstanding results. Sales are up and we have you to thank.”

Mayes stepped slowly and determinedly around
the room toward Andrew. Andrew’s palms grew damp. Involuntarily,
his hand went to his neck and he loosened his tie. How he hated
these meetings. Mayes stepped behind him and put his hands on
Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew tried hard not to tense his shoulder
muscles.

“You did a fantastic job this quarter,
Powell.”

“Actually my figures were down a bit sir,”
Andrew interjected.

Mayes patted his shoulder and continued, “But
still well and above any of the other associates, Andrew. Well
above. And of course, consistency is important, and you are always
that—consistent. Always on the money. No, actually I think it most
appropriate that our first incentive award be presented to
you.”

Then quickly, his hands left Andrew’s
shoulders and he stepped away. “Get with Doug, Andrew. He’s worked
out all the details. And remember, it’s a paid vacation, in
addition to your regular accumulated days. May do you some good.
Work the kinks out at that resort. Your shoulders are tied up in
knots.”

Andrew’s gaze fell to the polished table.

“Yes, Andrew,” Doug Johnson chuckled. “You
must go.”

Warily, Andrew slid his gaze from Doug to
Mayes as the latter sat again in his seat and picked up a piece of
paper, dismissing the previous conversation in total. “Now, what’s
next on the agenda?”

Andrew swallowed and glanced across the table
to Doug again, knowing full well that there was more here than met
the eye. The competition around this table was tremendous. Why
would Doug be so insistent about this trip? He’d been trying to
beat Andrew’s figures for three years now. Why would he want Andrew
to get this piece of incentive?

Narrowing his gaze, Andrew deepened his
thought on that subject while he eyeballed his co-worker. Was Doug
that
desperate for top sales that he’s push to get Andrew
away from the office for a week?

Four

Denver International Airport

Tasha checked her watch once more, flipped
her backpack more securely over her shoulder, and picked up speed
as she ran through the crowded airport. Flight 224J was set to take
off in five minutes for Dallas and she was halfway across the
Denver airport, running to beat the band, before the last call to
board.

Just as the flight attendant prepared to
close the door she leapt forward, boarding pass in hand. She shoved
them at the woman.

“This is my flight,” she gasped, mentally
chastising herself for that second cup of chamomile tea this
morning. The one that made her so warm and cozy that she’d fallen
asleep on the couch until her mother had called.

“Okay,” the attendant responded. She tore the
stub off the ticket and handed the rest back. “Hurry.”

Tasha did, loping down the ramp toward the
737’s open door, her backpack heavy on her right shoulder and
another small carry-on in her left hand. Good thing she’d decided
to travel light and not check her luggage. Her hiking boots weighed
heavy on her feet though, and she felt as if she were lumbering.
But she made it, bursting through the door and startling the flight
attendant, who then glanced quickly at her ticket and pointed down
the aisle.

“We’re nearly ready for take-off. A few
people have changed seats. Just sit wherever you want. There’s a
nice window seat in first class. It’s yours if you want it.”

Since Tasha’s ticket was clearly marked
“coach” she thought she’d for once take advantage of what was
handed to her and accept the business class seat. “Cool,” she
responded as she made her way down the aisle.

She spotted the lone seat immediately,
puzzled as to why anyone would leave the window open and choose the
aisle. She always wanted the window. Not that she was a world
traveler or anything, it was just that when she flew, she’d always
loved to look out over the postage-stamp view below.

As she neared the seat, she spotted the man
on the aisle and the word stuffy immediately came to mind. He was
dressed in a tie, starched white shirt and suit pants, with
wire-rimmed glasses perched low across his nose. His darkish hair
was conservatively cut. Definitely a nine-to-fiver, she decided.
Maybe a nine-to-niner, or worse. A shame. He was probably not that
much older than herself. She’d always likened a business man with
the ugly duckling. A free-spirit trapped inside a suit, secretly
dying to get out. To her, the concept of suit-and-tie seemed
so...unnatural.

A laptop was open on top of his briefcase;
his fingers flew across the keyboard. She had to wonder about a man
who couldn’t stop thinking about business long enough to stop
working during a brief layover. To her way of thinking, something
was definitely wrong with that scenario. Oh, well, none of her
business. Perhaps he’ll get off in Dallas, she thought, then
realized that even at that, it was a three hour flight.

Tasha stopped beside his seat, glanced
overhead, then dropped her carry-on bag to the floor. She grazed
her fingers under the compartment above his head to find the latch
so she could stow her backpack inside. At that point, the flight
attendant came over the speaker to remind everyone to buckle up.
Tasha glanced at the attendant and caught her stern gaze as her
hand tripped the switch. Mr. Laptop was oblivious to everything as
the compartment door swung vigorously upward. Then quite suddenly,
a blanket, a small make-up bag, and two pillows rained down on the
man in the seat.

Tasha cried out. The flight attendant stopped
talking. Mr. Laptop stared straight ahead, his fingers frozen over
the keyboard. A woman three seats back shouted, “That’s my
bag!”

Finally, Tasha moved. “Oh, I’m so sorry.
Here, let me get that.”

Dropping her backpack to the floor with her
carry-on, Tasha grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it back up
above. She heard the flight attendant drone on again in the
background and nervously glanced around at the other passengers.
They weren’t paying a bit of attention to her or the flight
attendant. She still hadn’t looked Mr. Laptop in the face yet.
Grabbing another pillow, she tossed it upward as well.

By now the owner of the makeup bag had come
forward. The man in the aisle seat was removing the blanket from
his lap and handing it to her, still not looking up. But when Tasha
reached for the handle of the makeup bag and lifted it, the latch
sprung open, and the entire contents spilled into his lap. Tasha
gasped; the man exhaled in disgust. Mr. Laptop looked up then—dead
on—and stared quite sternly into her face.

“Are you finished?” he finally asked.

Tasha grinned nervously. “Uh...well, I think
so.” It was then that she looked down and saw the sticky mass of
dark brown liquid makeup oozing into the cracks around the keys of
the laptop. “Ohmigosh!”

Stuffing the blanket into the compartment,
she then picked up the make-up bottle, capped it and thrust it at
the woman behind her. Then, she snatched eyeliner and lipstick and
brushes and make-up remover from his lap and the computer and
tossed them into the bag, wondering all the while why any woman
would slather this stuff all over her face. When a tube of mascara
slid between his legs, she started to reach for it, too, then
jerked her hand back. Her wide-eyed gaze went to his face and he
slowly rotated his gaze to meet hers.

Blue eyes. Oh God. Bluer than a clear Rocky
Mountain afternoon.

Tasha swallowed, her mouth gone suddenly dry,
then pointed to the mascara. “You get that one,” she said, her gaze
still locked with his. He turned his attention to his lap.

“Ahem, yes. I think I’ll do that.”

After he’d retrieved the elusive mascara and
popped it into the bag, Tasha snapped the clasp and shoved the bag
toward the woman. She searched for something to wipe the makeup
from the computer until the attendant came up behind her.

“Miss, you need to take your seat now,” she
said firmly.

“But I...” Tasha looked at her and saw the
exasperation in her eyes. She nodded, “I’ll take my seat now.”

First, she hoisted her heavy backpack up over
the man and into the compartment, crowding into him slightly. Then
she grabbed her carry-on and tossed it onto the floor in front of
her seat. When she tried to ease past his knees, he rose a bit out
of his seat, still clutching the make-up covered computer and
briefcase to his lap to let her pass. Just as she was clear, her
foot caught on the strap of her carry-on and she tripped into her
seat, catching his right arm in the process and dragging him to the
right with her.

He quickly jerked himself back into his own
space.

“Tight fit,” she said.

It sounded like he growled.

Tasha risked a glance his way. His glasses
sat a little cock-eyed on his face.

Sighing, she leaned back against the seat.
Her head fell for a second against the headrest and she momentarily
closed her eyes. Exhausted. This vacation her mother had insisted
upon—bless her kind soul—was supposed to relax her, wasn’t it? My
goodness! So far she’d overslept, almost missed her flight, and
ruined a man’s laptop all in the same day!

This was not relaxing.

Yes, Violet had surprised her all right. The
day after she’d suggested Tasha get away from Pinebow Springs for a
while, she’d shown up with Club Regale Resort reservations and
airline tickets in hand. A gift, she’d said. By that time Tasha was
thoroughly convinced that she did need to get away. And she’d be
grateful to her mother forever for providing her the
opportunity.

Laptop?

Abruptly, she jerked her gaze back to the
man’s computer and reached for her bag. “Oh! I think I’ve got
something in here to clean that up with,” she half-muttered under
her breath. After finding some tissues, she reached for the
computer. Startled when he pulled it back onto his lap, she
squarely met his gaze. “Let me clean it off for you.”

“No. Thank you. I’ll have it looked at
professionally.” He popped the lid of the computer shut.