A Bride for Jackson Powers (Desire, 1273)

by Dixie Browning

  Edging her way through the cluster of women, she got in line for one of the changing tables. The line inched forward slowly. Hetty bounced a fretful Sunny in her arms, wondering what on earth had possessed her to do such a thing. She had her own problems to deal with without taking on someone else’s burden. She’d been on her way from Oklahoma to Miami, Florida, supposedly changing planes in Cincinnati and again in Atlanta, when her plans had started to fall apart.

  A table opened up and she grabbed it, plopping her charge down on her padded backside. “Stop squirming, sugar, your little doohickey’s stuck.” She struggled with the zipper, half-afraid if she took too long the baby’s father would come after her. “Ooh, you’re a real mess, aren’t you?” Rummaging in the stuffed diaper bag, she found a container of predampened tissues. “No wonder you were so fussy, you’re getting a rash.”

  Holding two wriggling feet up with one hand, she felt in the bag again with the other and came up with a familiar-looking tube. She’d used the same ointment on Robert whenever he’d been threatened with diaper rash.

  “I hope you’ve got a teething ring in here somewhere, else you’re going to wear those knuckles out,” she murmured. There were already several women lined up behind her, waiting for the fold-down changing table. The rest room was crowded. Someone called out that there was no paper. A roll was tossed from one booth to the other.

  Mercy, to think she’d harbored the illusion that travel would be one glamorous adventure after another. Her friend at the agency had explained that the cheapest rates involved an illogical route with several changes along the way. Hetty hadn’t been intimidated. Once she’d taken the first step, she hadn’t looked back.

  Now she almost wished she had. Still, her very first flight was proving exciting, if a bit tiresome. And in a few hours she’d be embarking on her very first cruise.

  “Here’s hoping I don’t have to change ships between islands,” she muttered, disposing of the soiled diaper.

  At any other time in her life, Hetty would never have considered doing something so absurdly impractical, never mind expensive. But when an old friend, a woman who knew about her situation and who worked at a travel agency in Oklahoma City, had called to tell her about a last-minute cancellation, Hetty had jumped at the chance. It was too late now for second thoughts.

  “There, sweetheart, we’re all done. Let’s see if Papa brought along something for you to eat, shall we?”

  “Would you mind? You’re not the only mother with a wet kid.”

  Hetty smiled apologetically. “We’re all finished. Sorry you had to wait.” She got a frown for her efforts and scurried out of the way, taking her place in the line waiting for a lavatory.

  The familiar scent of baby oil and the feel of the small, sweet bundle in her arms brought back painful memories. Hetty promised herself resolutely that once she got back from her cruise, found a job and a place to live, she would begin mending fences. Family—any sort of family at all—was too precious to be squandered. She was determined to patch things up again.

  Conscious of the waiting lines behind her, she spared only a fleeting glance in the mirror, startled all over again by her new haircut and the unfamiliar clothes. If she’d known she was going to wind up in ice-bound Chicago instead of balmy Miami, she would have dressed far differently. Or at least worn something warmer than the silky knit tunic, the overshirt and shawl the clerk assured her were made to be worn with the new longer skirts.

  But there’d been no way of knowing that the jet stream would zig when it should have zagged, or that the arctic blast would collide with a stream of Gulf moisture along the mid-Atlantic.

  Hundreds of flights were being diverted as, one after another, airports from Atlanta northward were shutting down. Evidently she was among the lucky ones. According to rumor, there were a number of loaded flights trapped on runways, unable to take off, unable to return to the gates because of the planes already stranded there.

  From now on, she’d just as soon stick to Greyhound.

  With the diaper bag and carrier in one hand, and her big, lightweight purse that was supposed to be just the thing for traveling over her shoulder, she hugged the infant who was chewing on her yellow fringed shawl and said, “Come on, sugar-britches, let’s go before your daddy sends out a search party.”

  He was hovering like a dark cloud just outside the ladies’ room door. Hetty wondered if he was even aware of all the women who glanced at him and then turned back for a second look.

  Probably used to it. He was that kind of man. George Clooney with a harder edge, a narrower backside and broader shoulders. She’d noticed that much standing in line behind him, before she’d ever seen his face, which seemed to wear a perpetual scowl.

  “About time you showed up. I was starting to worry.”

  The crowd was thicker than ever, and from the snatches of conversation, growing more impatient by the minute. “Sorry. These things take time. Your little girl’s got a rash, and she’s either hungry or teething or both, but at least she’s dry now.”

  Reluctantly she handed the baby to her father, thinking about the baby she’d left behind. As long as she was going to have to find work quickly once she got back home, she might as well try something in the care-giving line. At least she’d had plenty of experience.

  She’d hoped the weather might have miraculously cleared while she was inside. It hadn’t. Fortunately she still had plenty of time to reach Miami.

  Smiling, she gave the baby a goodbye pat on her padded bottom and said, “This isn’t the way the travel ads described it, else I might not have tried it.”

  “Tried what?”

  “Flying.” Sunny snuggled into her father’s arms and began to gnaw on his collar. The man was a mess. An expensive-looking suede jacket was slung over one shoulder, his tie was loose, the two top buttons on his shirt unfastened. Hetty thought she’d never seen a more strikingly attractive man in her life, scowl and all.

  The scowl moderated. “You mean you’ve never flown before?”

  “I never needed to go anywhere farther than Oklahoma City.”

  “You picked a lousy time for your maiden voyage.”

  “I’m beginning to—” Someone struck her in the back, and she stumbled against the man and baby. His free arm came around her, the carrier and diaper bag slammed into her behind, and she inhaled sharply, absorbing the mingled scent of bergamot and leather.

  It occurred to her that with spare time on her hands for the first time in her adult life, she might just weave herself a lovely romantic fantasy from this chance encounter.

  The fantasy gripped her arm and growled in her ear. “Let’s get out of this mob.”

  Startled, Hetty glanced around. If there was a place out of the flow of traffic, it must be a closely guarded secret. Children played reckless games of tag or whined and tugged at parents’ arms. Babies cried. Tired travelers tried to hang on to baggage, children and patience against a constantly shifting current of humanity. Over all that came the confusing din of weather updates, distorted loudspeaker announcements and the polite beep-beep of motorized carts on some mysterious mission of their own.

  Such was the power of a well-directed scowl, that Sunny’s father was able to lead her through the throng to a relatively clear corner behind a deserted service desk. “Hold her while I shift these trash receptacles, will you?”

  Hetty watched as he rearranged airport property, commandeering an abandoned wheelchair and using it to block off a six-square-foot fortress. “Can you do that?” she asked dubiously.

  The look he shot her said, I did it, didn’t I? Who are you to question my authority?

  Hetty sighed. She might look like a seasoned traveler in her brand-new outfit, the discount store’s version of resort wear, but underneath it all she was plain-old Henrietta Reynolds, a thirty-seven-year old widow, who had never traveled farther than a few hundred miles from home in her life.

  “I guess we’d better introduce ourselves. Jax Powers,�
�� he said, extending a square, masculine hand. His dark-blue eyes still had that guarded look, as if he weren’t sure he was doing the right thing, encouraging a chance-met stranger.

  Hetty shifted the baby and clasped his dry, hard palm with her own. “Hetty Reynolds. I notice you call your daughter—she is your daughter, I believe you said? And you call her…Sonny?”

  “She is my daughter, and that’s Sunny with a U, not an O. Miss Marilyn Carolyn Powers.”

  Her mouth formed a silent O.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I was told she answers to Sunny. It’ll do for now.” Before Hetty could think of a response, he said, “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Could I leave you two here while I go find us some supper or lunch or whatever’s available?”

  “Food. Mercy, I didn’t realize it, but I haven’t eaten since I left home, if you don’t count pretzels.”

  “Stay right here.”

  As if she would dare do anything else. Behind the impromptu barrier there was no place to sit except the floor. She sat, settling Sunny on her lap and plopping purse and diaper bag in the carrier. She’d located a crushed box of teething biscuits under the diapers, as well as two jars of pears and one of squash, four cans of formula and two nursing bottles.

  “At least you won’t starve, sugar-bun.” Secure in her tiny fortress, she hummed snatches of several lullabies as she watched the parade of fellow travelers. Despite the unexpected delay, it was all still new enough to be exciting.

  Occasionally she glanced at her watch, forcing out any encroaching doubts by concentrating on the future.

  For years she’d been far too busy to waste time on daydreams. Oddly enough she’d discovered quite recently that when it came to dreaming, she was a natural. For instance, she’d had no trouble at all picturing herself dancing under a tropical moon. Dining on food she hadn’t had to cook or serve, from dishes she wouldn’t have to wash, surrounded by beautiful, well-dressed people who neither complained nor demanded.

  Heaven. It was going to be sheer heaven for seven whole days.

  Nearly an hour dragged past before Jax returned with two foam cups and a paper sack. “The situation’s not quite desperate yet, but it’s not likely to improve until the weather lets up. Latest word is that in another six hours, tops, we’ll be on our way.”

  A wide smile spread over Hetty’s face. Not for one moment had she let herself think she wouldn’t reach Miami in time. Still, being a novice traveler, she hadn’t quite been able to relax.

  “Hope you take cream in your coffee and don’t mind chili and onions on your dogs. I got us two apiece since this might have to last awhile.”

  Hetty reached behind her for her purse, but at the look on his face, she murmured her thanks and shifted Sunny to the carrier seat so that she could take the proffered food.

  There was something oddly companionable about sitting shoulder to shoulder on a hard, carpeted floor, eating cold hotdogs and drinking weak, lukewarm coffee. Sunny alternately dozed and waked to gum her biscuit, scattering sticky crumbs on Hetty’s lap and smearing a few on the sleeve of Jax’s tan suede jacket.

  They didn’t talk much. That suited Hetty just fine. If she’d ever possessed any social skills they had long since withered from lack of practice.

  “Do you suppose I could find my way back here if I go wash up?” she asked, neatly tucking her napkin and cup into the grease-stained paper sack.

  “Leave a trail of bread crumbs.”

  “Does a wet teething biscuit qualify as bread crumbs?”

  He grinned, and she was struck all over again by what a remarkably attractive man he was. And to think that she, plain old Hetty Reynolds, was sharing time, space and conversation with him. You might even say she was having dinner with him.

  He told her to shift the wheelchair, slip through and then roll it back in place. “Take a right, go about fifty feet, cross to the other side and you’re there. Reverse the procedure on the way back.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Hetty retorted. She retrieved her purse and set out, dismissing the fear that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back through the mob. Or if she did, that the man and his baby would have moved on.

  Jax watched her go, weaving gracefully past outstretched limbs and heaps of luggage, stepping over a couple of teenagers sleeping on the floor. She even walked like a model, that subtle sway that hinted at feminine secrets under the loose, formless clothes.

  Not that he was any expert on fashion models. For the most part, the women in his life, at least since his days in the marine corps, were either lawyers or businesswomen. Even those who weren’t were no more interested in long-term involvement than he was.

  And he definitely wasn’t.

  Hetty. He couldn’t quite figure her out. One corner of one of her incisors was chipped. He found the small flaw strangely intriguing. She might act as if all this was new to her, but he could easily picture her with her head in the air, striding down a runway, her long, limp outfit flapping loosely in a way that subtly emphasized the feminine form underneath.

  Don’t even think about it, Powers. You’ve got trouble enough without looking for more.

  Two

  Hetty yawned. She’d fallen asleep, only to wake up with her head on Jax’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” she murmured. “Your arm must be aching. You should have wakened me.”

  “No problem.”

  She smoothed her skirt, pretending a nonchalance she was far from feeling. She’d been married for eleven years, for heaven’s sake. When it came to men, she wasn’t entirely without experience.

  Jax went back to the business section of yesterday’s New York Times. Sunny was making sucking noises in her sleep. Hetty, needing to do something to counteract her embarrassment, tucked the blanket around the small, chubby body, her hands lingering on the dimpled knees.

  “She’s awfully good-natured.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Sunny. Her diaper rash is better. As long as her bottom’s dry and her stomach’s full, she seems content just to watch the world go by.”

  “Let’s hope things get moving around here before we run out of food and diapers.”

  Rather pointedly, he went back to his newspaper, and Hetty frowned at her watch, then squinted at it to be sure the hands were still moving.

  They were. Nothing else was, at least not so far as travel was concerned. The same old mob, moving sluggishly now, if at all. Other than a few snores and a minor fracas now and then, they were quieter. Three rows away, an elderly man was demanding to see someone from security. His wife kept shushing him, telling him everything was going to be all right, that she’d checked their horoscope before they’d left home that morning.

  Hetty wondered what her own horoscope had said. Had it mentioned anything about meeting a tall, dark and handsome stranger? If it weren’t for Jax she might have been concerned by now, but outright panic was a luxury she’d never been able to afford.

  She hadn’t panicked back in those miserable days after her mother had died, when her father’s drinking had gone from bad to worse. Nor a few years later, when she could no longer convince herself that he was still grieving, that he truly loved her and that he regretted the outbursts, which had grown more and more violent.

  Instead she had quietly made plans to move to Oklahoma City as soon as she graduated, to find a job and a place to stay.

  She certainly hadn’t panicked the day she had stood before the justice of peace and placed her life in the hands of a man more than twice her age, even though he’d been practically a stranger. They’d known each other only in the way most people living in the same small town did. Still, Gus had offered her a safer alternative than running away to the city with no funds, no friends and no job. She would always be grateful to him for that.

  She hadn’t panicked eleven years later when Gus had flown his plane into a power line and been killed, nor when her mother-in-law had suffered the first in a series of strokes, nor when Jeanni
e, Gus’s teenage daughter, had “borrowed” her credit card and run up an enormous debt just before she dropped out of school and disappeared. Not even when the rebellious fifteen-year-old had come home again five months ago—just long enough to leave her newborn infant.

  Hetty had coped with it all. She was not an excitable woman.

  Or maybe she’d just never had the luxury of giving in to her emotions.

  At any rate, Jax had come along before she had any inkling how bad the weather really was. Thank goodness for that. And for his kindness, his decency, his knowledge.

  As for that mysterious quality that made her stomach flutter when he happened to touch her or look at her with one eyebrow slightly elevated, one corner of his gorgeous mouth quirked…

  Well. The less she thought about that, the better. That sort of fantasy could wait until she embarked on her cruise.

  But first she had to get to Miami. So far as she could tell, nothing was moving outside. As Jeannie would say, it was Sleepy Hollowsville. Minco, the town where they lived, had been Deadsville. Jeannie’s school had been Dullsville.

  Hetty wondered what her own life had been? Busysville?

  Determined to hang on to her optimism, she dug out the dog-eared brochure a friend who had moved to the city and gone to work for a travel agency had mailed her. She gazed at the color photos and reread the copy she’d long since memorized.

  “Dining under the stars…dancing on the fantail…nightly shows, live music, the adventure of a lifetime.”

  Yes, well…first she had to get there. Once the weather broke, it shouldn’t take long to scrape the runways and deice the planes. She knew about things like that because she’d read practically every adult offering in the library at least once.

  As if picking up on her thoughts, Jax laid his paper aside and asked when her cruise was scheduled to leave Miami. He had turned back the sleeves of his gray broadcloth shirt to reveal tanned, muscular forearms with a dusting of crisp, dark hairs. His necktie, thoroughly chewed by his daughter, had been crammed into his briefcase.