Dates And Other Nuts (8 page)

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Dates And Other Nuts
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“What are you doing home so early?” Temple asked. “It's only nine.”
“I held out as long as I could. Did you know Gabrielle is an animal lover?”
He scratched his flat belly. Just thinking about the woman's apartment made him itch.
“Yes, I think she has a cat—”
“Cats. Five. And two dogs.”
“Five?”
“Five cats, Temple. And a rottweiler and a chow. Big rottweiler,” he clarified. “One with cold eyes that watched me. Big chow. Lots of hair. Shedding. Liked me a whole lot, if you know what I mean.”
“I thought she lived in an apartment,” Temple said.
“Don't you know where she lives?”
“No. I only see her occasionally. We fly different schedules. You didn't like her?”
“We're not...compatible,” he said shortly.
“Oh, I thought you would be. I mean, she's fun. A kind of latent flower child. You're so traditional I thought she'd be good for you. Contrast, you know?”
“The woman's apartment is a tinderbox. The cat box stinks so bad it's sickening. I'm not sure, but the methane gas in there could have sent us sky-high. She has five cats, Temple,” he repeated. “Five! Plus two dogs. They all sleep in the same room—”
“Oh, Craig—”
“They're big dogs, Temple,” he emphasized, more vehemently than before. “Big and amorously aggressive. That damn chow tried to mark me!”
“Did what?” she said, laughing.
“Marked me.”
“I'm sorry. I had no idea. Gabby's so relaxed—”
“If she were any more
relaxed
she'd be dead. The dogs would bury her! Nothing gets to her. Cats and dogs all over the place. They eat off her plate, Temple. Her apartment looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a month. Every electrical outlet in the place is overloaded. Her curling iron was burning a hole in the bathroom counter—the woman doesn't own a microwave. She put the ribs, box and all, into the oven to reheat, and set it on fire. This is a woman who's in charge of getting passengers out of a burning plane...?”
“Gabrielle's wonderful at her job,” she insisted. “She's virtually unshakable.”
He sneezed.
“Are you catching a cold?”
“No, I'm not catching a cold!” He sat up to snag a tissue from a box on the desk. “I'm trying to hack up a fur ball.”
“I'm sorry,” she said, laughing again. “Next time—”
“Say good night, Temple.”
“Uh, good night.”
Hanging up, he sneezed again. Next time?
In her dreams.
6
T
WO FLIGHTS were running late Monday morning and the terminal was crowded with early-morning commuters and vacationers. The business travelers, still trying to wake up, buried their heads in newspapers. The vacationers, animated by the prospect of their trip, chattered among themselves excitedly.
A sudden hush fell over the two groups and Temple turned to see what was the cause. A man in a pilot's uniform, wearing sunglasses, strolled down the concourse holding onto the harness of a Seeing Eye dog.
“Coming through, coming through.”
Temple froze, staring. “Scotty!”
Pushing the sunglasses up on top of his head, Scotty grinned. “Just kidding, folks,” he said, sweeping Temple into an impromptu dance step as they continued down the concourse.
“He really is kidding,” Temple called back to the stunned crowd.
“Whose dog?”
“A passenger's. Told him I'd take Wolf for a walk.”
Craig approached, and the high jinks ceased. Handing the dog over to Pat at the gate, Scotty fell into step with Temple. The three walked toward the turboprop awaiting them.
“Are you trying for the unemployment line?” Craig asked and Scotty chuckled.
“Aw, fliers need a good laugh now and then,” Scotty said.
“A blind pilot? When passengers are boarding a plane?”
“Management says to keep 'em laughing.”
Temple glanced over her shoulder. “I wonder how many cancellations Ali is fending off right now?” she said, looking in the direction of the ticket counter.
Ascending the steps to the plane, Temple disappeared into the galley, Craig and Scotty into the cockpit. By the time she'd finished double-checking cups, sugar, creamers, and juice, the coffee was ready.
Balancing a tray with two cups, Temple delivered the refreshments to Scotty and Craig who were in the middle of the usual preflight check.
“Coffee?”
“Mmm,” Scotty said, a pencil in his mouth, taking his cup.
“Thanks.” Craig accepted the cup Temple handed him. “By the way,” he said, “here's your checkbook. I finally found that $57.98. Dry cleaning, hair salon and Girl Scout cookies.”
Temple winced. “I forgot the cookies!”
“Math never was your strong suit.”
He seemed to have gotten over the Gabrielle incident, or at least he wasn't going to mention it.
“The usual payment?” she asked.
“Double chocolate chips this time.”
“You'll have them tomorrow morning.”
Craig stowed his clipboard, and sat back. “How's the passenger list look?”
“Usual crowd,” Temple said. “The ones Scotty didn't scare off with his blind-pilot act.” She rapped the copilot on the shoulder.
“Did you get my present?” Craig asked.
“What present?”
He tossed her a package of nuts. Grinning, she caught it, getting the implication immediately.
Nuts to you
.
“I take it you haven't forgotten Gabrielle?”
“I owe you one, Burney.”
“I got one already. Thanks, Scotty, for setting me up with Jon.”
Scotty wouldn't look up. “Sorry about that, kiddo.”
She picked up their empty cups. “And Craig, I'm really am sorry about Gabby. Next time—”
He cut her off. “No next time. You take care of your love life, and I'll take care of mine.”
She tossed the package of nuts back at him.
Slipping out of the cabin, she made a mental note to phone Gabrielle the moment she got home and find out her version of the story.
After checking the galley again, Temple took her place at the door of the plane to greet the embarking passengers.
Thirty minutes later, the passengers were safely buckled into their seats and ready for takeoff. A pair of redheaded twins had already alienated everyone within two rows of them. Their mother was showing signs of strain and it wasn't eight-thirty yet.
A bell sounded, and Temple picked up the closed-circuit intercom.
“Ready to fly?” Craig asked.
“Like a bird.”
Completing a final walk down the aisle to check seat belts and chair backs, Temple returned to the front, slipped a tape into the cassette player and reached for an oxygen mask as a resonant baritone on the tape relayed vital safety instructions.
Switching off the cassette, Temple smiled and reached for her microphone. Sparrow was known for its good-natured approach to flight information. Sort of sweetening the dry repetitive instructions.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Sparrow Airlines. We know you had a choice. You will note that in case of the grievous combination of turbulence and weak stomachs, there are bags in the pocket of the seat in front of you. Since I'm the only attendant on board, please use them. And if you must hurl, please hurl accurately.”
The twins were hanging over the backs of the seats in front of them, forcing the occupants to lean forward. They were already glancing anxiously over their shoulders. The mother's efforts to reseat the twosome were ineffectual. It was going to be a long flight, Temple decided.
“Should it become necessary to set down this plane in water,” she continued, “the cushion of your seat is a flotation device—”
“Water?” someone commented loudly. “When did they put an ocean in Oklahoma?”
“Why should we need flotation devices?” a man in the back row piped up. “I want a parachute.”
“In the unlikely event of the sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop in front of you. Place the bag first on your face, then assist your children—”
The twins found the reading-light switches.
“—if you want to,” she added, grinning.
Announcements out of the way, Temple buckled herself into her seat. The plane was barely off the ground before the boys discovered the air flow vents. Temple loaded her refreshment cart with coffee and juice, and began to make her way down the aisle.
It was a typical flight. The twins couldn't decide what to drink, wouldn't sit down, wouldn't leave their trays upright and wouldn't listen to their mother.
Temple finished her run and returned to the cockpit to see if Craig and Scotty needed anything.
Craig glanced up as she came in. “Everything all right back there?”
“Twins from hell in fine form, new mother nicely settled. We've got a male passenger who is taking up two seats and half the aisle, complaining about the no smoking rule in loud tones. Oh, and he thinks he's Casanova. If his knee presses my backside one more time I may do something drastic. In other words, conditions normal.”
“There's always one,” Scotty commented.
“If we can put a man on the moon, why couldn't we send a select few?” Temple muttered.
“Wouldn't that put a kink in your plans?” Craig mused aloud as he took a gauge reading.
“Maybe I'll just get a cat.” After her date with Jon, even a rhino with an infected horn didn't sound bad.
“Ditch the cat idea,” Craig intoned.
Scotty graciously changed the subject. “Hey, Craig, Steph has a woman for you—”
Craig threw his hands up in frustration.
“What is it with me? Do I have Idiot stamped across my forehead? Sucker? Fool? Do I look like someone who enjoys pain?”
A buzz interrupted the conversation and Temple voiced a mental “shoot.”
“Ten to one it's the knee man.”
“I'm betting on the twins.” Temple grimaced.
As she left the cabin, Scotty was trying to set Craig up with a woman in Steph's pottery class.
By the time the flight was over, Temple had peeled the twins off the backs of their seats at least three times. She'd also helped the new mother change a soiled diaper in the galley. Diaper service, she decided, was above and beyond the call of duty. By the time they landed in Dallas she was exhausted.
Craig caught up with her as she was leaving the terminal.
She glanced up as he fell into step beside her. How could he fly the hours he did and still look as fresh as the moment he'd arrived in the morning? she wondered. Even a hint of his after-shave remained; Old Spice. She'd read somewhere that in a sniff test recently conducted with a thousand women, they still preferred Old Spice ten to one over other men's after-shave. She'd given Craig a large bottle for Christmas. For a giddy moment, she wondered if he was wearing the tiger-patterned briefs she'd also given him.
Actually, she was far too aware that she was wearing the French-cut scarlet teddy he'd given her.
“Got time for a quick drink?” he asked.
“Sorry, got a date,” she said. “And Thia's called twice this week and I haven't returned her call. She'll think I've skipped town.”
“We could make it a quick one. You can talk to Thia anytime.”
He'd caught her at a weak moment, darn him. An hour with Craig Stevens would make up for the date that Ginny had arranged for her tonight.
“Okay, if it's a quick one.”
They cut across the concourse to one of the small airport lounges, and found a table near the back. The waitress took their drink order and disappeared into the shadows.
Craig leaned back and loosened his tie. “You look tired.”
“Beautiful but tired,” she amended for him. “Why can't men start with the nice before they state the obvious?”
His gaze traveled over her lightly, making her wish she hadn't said anything. “Okay, beautiful but tired. What's wrong?”
Shrugging out of her uniform jacket, she ran her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp a moment. It felt delicious. “Maybe I'm getting burnout. I'm really beat.”
“The knee man?”
“Him, and the twins, and the woman with the fussy baby. I don't know. Maybe it's a good thing I don't have children.”
“Marriage, babies, in that order, isn't it?”
“Yeah, so I'm told.” She toyed with the candle-holder setting in the middle of the table.
“I think,” he said, leaning forward to take her hand, “that you would make a very good mother.”
His thumb rubbed across her knuckles, making her heart pound like a trip-hammer.
“Oh, yeah?” Her smile was a little weak. “What makes you think so?”
“Intuition.”
“Thought that was a woman thing.”
He shrugged, laying her hand carefully back onto the table. “Depends on how well people know each other.”
Reaching for her water glass, she wondered if an aspirin would help or hinder at this point. She was so tired her whole body ached.
“Speaking of marriage—”
She looked up. “Were we?”
“I got a wedding invitation from Judi and Rick.”
“You've got to be kidding. They've been together—what? Six years?”
“About that,” he said.
“One or the other of them has walked out of the relationship at least a dozen times,” she said. “What makes them think getting married will change anything?”
Leaning closer, he whispered, “Rumor has it they think they're in love.”
“Nuts.”
“That's a strange comment coming from someone who's trying her damnedest to find Mr. Right.”
“Only because of Grams.” She could have bitten her tongue in two.
“Grams?”
“All right, I hate to admit it,” she told him, “but I feel kind of obligated to find someone, you know, and settle down, for Grams. She worries about me. Thinks I can't be happy until I'm safely married and have a family of my own. She keeps reminding me how old she is and how she's not going to be around forever—” She stopped speaking and drew a weary breath.
She hadn't meant to tell him why she'd embarked on this plan to find a suitable mate, but now that it was in the open she was relieved. At least he would know why she'd been dating so much lately.
He frowned slightly. “That's what this is all about? This sudden dating frenzy? To please your grandmother?”
The waitress returned with their drinks. Temple extracted the straw from her glass and took a quick sip to give herself a moment to think. She and Craig were close, told each other nearly everything, but not
everything.

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