Chapter Four
Rafe Chancellor strode through the Atlanta airport with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder and his Stetson low over his eyes. The contacts he had made the last three days would set the tone for his business for the next six months to a year, possibly longer, depending on how serious the Georgia investors were about the marketability of a cruise line based on their coast.
He pulled his ticket for the flight home to Biloxi out of the pocket of his denim vest and handed them to the airline representative for his boarding pass and seat assignment.
"Good morning, sir," the girl said, looking up at his six-foot-two frame, made taller with the toe-capped suede boots he wore.
" 'Morning, ma'am," he responded, smiling at her pert, attractive appearance. "Beautiful day for flying, isn't it?"
She smiled and turned to look out the wide windows behind the desk. "It looks that way. I hope the weather holds."
"Do you have a forecast?" he asked, thinking she would still look attractive, but not nearly as polished, without the heavy makeup. It looked like makeup—just a little too unnatural.
"Gulfport/Biloxi," she answered, "reporting overcast skies, visibility of five miles. Nothing too serious to fly into, but not the kind of day you'd like to spend sitting on a beach."
"No."
She looked up at him, and her smile widened as she handed back the ticket for a window seat in the smoking section. "I don't guess that would bother you too much. You don't look like a beach person."
His eyes answered her assessment with a twinkle. "You got that right, ma'am." He readjusted the weight of his saddlebags and touched the tip of his hat to her as he moved aside to let her handle the next person in line. It never worked to get something started with someone in her position. It would be too transient an affair in spite of the amount of time he spent in Atlanta on business.
He was more interested in developing a relationship, not necessarily a marriage again, but something more lasting than a one-night stand every few months. The problem was, the kind of woman who challenged him and met his standards didn't seem to exist where he was living. Of course, he hadn't met Lacey Adams yet.
According to what George had told him about her, she sounded like she might fit into the "interesting" category. Then again, George's ideas on the subject could differ greatly from his own. He could judge a person only to a degree on hearsay. Then he had to evaluate according to his own tastes. He had seen an article about Lacey Adams in the newspaper a few weeks before George had mentioned her. He had to admit that the woman in the picture had intrigued him enough to read the article.
Lacey Adams had possibilities, definite possibilities. By the picture in the newspaper, which had caught her off guard in the middle of a business transaction—or perhaps the photographer had staged the scene—he could tell that she was worth a second look. Then, when George had mentioned her to him, he had decided this one should be investigated.
Rafe sat down next to an abandoned Atlanta Constitution and picked it up to glance over the headlines. But his mind strayed back to Lacey. He still wondered why he had sat down on the Sunday after George had called him and had written her all the notes and made the tape for her. It wasn't the way he usually approached a woman.
Generally he was more direct. Just phoned them up out of the blue and announced his name and practically in the same breath asked them for a date. Maybe that was why he hadn't had much success lately, too. Then again, maybe he hadn't wanted to have much success "dating," especially now that Margaret had taken Angela back. Just until the end of summer, she had told him. Just until she got married; then he could have Angela back.
He'd hated sending Angela to Margaret. Angela was too young to understand the tug-of-war Margaret was playing. But he knew Margaret well enough to let Angela go this last time instead of continually pulling her from home to home like a wishbone. It would take a while for Angela to adjust again this fall when she returned home, but hopefully that would be the last time.
Damn, but he missed Angela. She was his number-one priority. Maybe he had also used her as part of his defense. After Margaret had left him, he hadn't been sure he wanted to have anything to do with women again. He had thrown himself into his work, which was what Margaret had always complained about. But he had spent as much time as always with Angela, trying to make his daughter aware of how much he loved her.
He hadn't been ready to get seriously involved with a woman for some time now. Maybe he still wasn't ready. That was probably why none of the isolated affairs he had attempted in the past two years had developed into anything lasting.
Being single again was pretty nice, he had decided—at least when Angela was living with him. Without her the house sounded hollow and deadly empty. He guessed that was why he had taken such a frivolous approach to Lacey Adams. He'd been bored that Sunday afternoon. And he'd been drinking bourbon. The combination had given him a "what-the-hell" spark of creativity.
He smiled to himself, thinking of her last reply— take it or leave it. It had been damned cheeky of him to reprimand her for not following his precise instructions. Sometimes he just had to remind himself he wasn't in the military anymore.
It was a wonder she would still consider going out with him. It would have been his own fault if she had told him to go soak in a water trough. His last letter of correction had probably been his ace in the hole—one last attempt to irritate her enough for her to pull out. That way he could tell himself that he had made the effort to get a date with her, and it wasn't his fault she had said no.
But she had said yes. Or he was running on that assumption with his last letter of invitation, about the car and driver picking her up Saturday night. How was she going to feel, he wondered, when she discovered he was hosting a reunion of his cavalry officers?
He smiled again. The poor girl just didn't know what she was getting herself into if she got messed up with him. That was probably why he was being so avant-garde in his approach. It was like field exercises and obstacle courses; if she passed the test, he might think about keeping her around—for a while.
When it came right down to it, he did miss the affection of a woman, although he didn't miss any one woman in particular. He also didn't want to be roped and hog-tied into marriage, although there were some nice benefits of marriage—like the presents at the reception. Remembering Margaret and all they had endured with each other, he couldn't think of much else that had been pleasant beyond the wedding day, except for Angela. If nothing else, the marriage had been worthwhile because of Angela.
Rafe set the newspaper aside. He wasn't paying attention to any of the words in front of him. Instead his mind had been distracted by the honey-blonde who had just walked up to the ticket counter.
Something in her carriage caught his attention, the way she walked with assurance and style, and the way her smile radiated. She looked familiar. He sat straighter, trying to get a better view.
I'll be damned, he thought, assessing her openly now. It had to be her. Gulfport/Biloxi flights out of Atlanta were narrowly focused enough that it couldn't be anyone else. And George was certainly right—Lacey Adams was a good-looking woman.
Excited within, he maintained a blank-faced facade. What should he do now? Walk over to her and introduce himself, or just let her slip away from him and wait until their date on Saturday? Now that he'd seen her, he didn't think he could contain his curiosity that long. Yet he'd built up such a systematic approach to her, he didn't want to blow it all on a chance meeting. It was much better the way he had originally planned it. The drama of the situation was more in keeping with his style.
But he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to do more than nod and say, "Howdy, ma'am," in passing her on the airplane. He watched her tugging her suitcase on wheels past the desk to take a seat in the waiting area.
Her eyes glanced in his direction, seemed to linger for a millisecond, and passed. His blood warmed from the excitement of her proximity. She seemed to be
glancing around the room at everyone with equal attention, as he himself had done. Gulfport and Biloxi were small enough that the chances were always good that he would run into someone on this flight he knew. She was probably looking around the room for the same reason.
She took a seat somewhere behind him, where he would have to turn around and stare to look at her. This will never do, he thought, wondering what Plan B should be and how he could put it into action.
The ticket agent was finalizing seating arrangements; the line in front of the ticket counter had disappeared. She was checking in the late arrivals as they walked up.
Rafe left his saddlebags on the seat with the newspaper and stepped back up to the ticket counter. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said when she looked up and smiled at him again. "Could you tell me, is that Miss Lacey Adams who just checked in, the blonde with the blue suitcase?"
The girl glanced over her shoulder in the direction he had indicated with a nod of his head. Lacey sat with her back to them two rows of chairs away. "Yes, I believe I did check in someone by that name."
Rafe smiled, his best "you're-going-to-love-me" smile and asked, "Is there any way you could change my seat so that I sit next to her on the flight?"
The check-in agent frowned and examined the stickers left on the diagram of the airplane. "I don't know. She's in nonsmoking, you're in smoking."
"I don't mind changing, ma'am."
She glanced up at him again and frowned.
"You see, we haven't ever met, but we have a date together this Saturday night," he explained, without really explaining, "and I think she'd appreciate a chance to get to know me a little before our first date. Wouldn't you feel better about a blind date that way yourself?"
She smiled, and Rafe thought: Everybody loves a romance. "We-e-ll," she said, looking down again at her chart. "She's sitting at a window in a full row. But I do have two seats together a couple of rows forward. I'd have to change both of you."
"That'd be just perfect," Rafe said, smiling with his "I'm-going-to-love-you" smile. "Is there any way you can change her seat without her knowing I asked to have it done? I'd like to keep it a surprise."
"That's no problem," the girl said, taking his ticket from him and changing the seat-assignment sticker. "I'll just tell her it's a through flight and someone's sitting in the seat I gave her."
"You're a doll," Rafe said, returning his ticket to his vest pocket and sauntering back to his seat.
He picked up the newspaper again and this time didn't read a word. He only wanted the newspaper as a shield to hide his smile when Lacey Adams was paged over the P. A. system and asked to return to the ticket desk. He'd take his time getting on the plane. Let her get good and settled in her seat first. They'd have the entire flight to get acquainted.
Rafe picked up a whiff of her perfume from where she sat behind him. She even smelled classy. He crossed his legs and swung his boot, forgetting the business matters that had totally occupied his mind minutes before. The return trip was going to be more interesting than usual.
The agent was on the intercom announcing pre-boarding of passengers. Rafe rustled his newspaper, trying to act uninterested. He could hear Lacey zipping her bag open and shut. When he glanced around at her out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she had pulled a magazine from her bag. He'd better not wait too long to board or she'd have her nose buried in the magazine before he could interest her in some conversation.
The aft rows were called for boarding in the smoking section of the aircraft. Rafe didn't think he'd miss his cigarettes with Lacey for company.
He watched her stand up as the forward rows were called. She tugged at her bag, which refused to turn in the direction she wanted to pull it. She bent down to right the wheels.
Rafe's instincts were to stand up and offer to assist her with the bag. It would be a natural as a conversation opener. But it'd be too obvious, since he was seated next to her, to suddenly "discover" that coincidence as they searched for their seats once they boarded the plane. Better to let her struggle with the bag now and then act the gentleman as they left the flight. He could easily carry her bag; he traveled very light, with his saddlebags over his shoulder. That would leave her with a more lasting impression anyway.
He watched her through the gate, admiring her curves and the flair with which she dressed. It must be one of her own designs, he thought. Something about her outfit said "Lacey".
He waited for the line to thin a bit, knowing there would be a jam in the retractable corridor as people who had already boarded blocked the aisles on the plane in the process of stowing their carry-on luggage and belongings. There would be time enough to present his boarding pass when the last person passed through the door, time enough to let Lacey settle into her seat and wonder who was going to fill the space next to her.
The last passenger disappeared through the gate. Rafe stood up. He threw his saddlebags over his left shoulder and decided to pick up the newspaper as well. It would make a good prop for a businessman returning home with nothing more serious on his mind than reading the morning newspaper. Someone involved with world events wouldn't project the image of a man on the make. Besides, that didn't fit his own image of himself.
Rafe tried to act nonchalant as he boarded the plane. It was difficult, since his eyes went right to her the minute he entered the coach section of the plane. Their eyes met and locked, held, assessed, and passed over. Her stare was direct, curious, but again he got the impression that she had not looked at him any differently than she had at every other passenger who had come through the doorway.
He realized he was somewhat disappointed, and oddly nervous about walking up to her and sitting next to her now that the moment was almost upon him. He looked down at the number of his boarding pass and up at the numbers and letters of each seat. The agent had made no mistake. They were seated together in 6D and 6E.
He slipped the saddlebags off his shoulder and stowed them in the overhead bins to leave more room for his long legs beneath the seat in front of him as he sidled across 6C and sat down.
Okay Chancellor, he told himself. Now's your chance. What are you going to say to the woman?
He fiddled with the seat belt, adjusting the buckle to fit his lap. Then he turned to check the nearest emergency exit from his seat. Then he pulled the in-flight magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him and noticed he had read the same copy on the trip up. He put the magazine back and flattened the newspaper on his knees. Taking a deep breath, he turned to speak to her.
She was staring out the window at the last-minute baggage being stowed on board. She must have felt him staring, because she turned and looked at him and her eyes quickly darted away.
"You headed all the way to Biloxi/Gulfport?" Rafe asked, deciding it was now or never to get her attention. Once that initial contact was made, the rest would be downhill. Except he had picked a bad opening line.
"Yes," she answered. "This is a nonstop flight."
Terrific, Rafe thought. Bomb one for an aviator. He smiled, hoping that his "how-silly-of-me" grin would hold her interest long enough for him to try to speak and say something more intelligent. "I guess what I meant is, are you from the Coast or from Atlanta?"
Now, that sounded legitimate enough for one stranger to be asking another stranger, he decided. Harmless.
"I live on the Coast," she told him. "How about you?"
He smiled. Her question had been prompted by politeness more than genuine interest. Her fingers were playing with the edges of her magazine, telling him he had done well to get her attention before the plane left the ground, or she would have been walled off by its pages.
"Biloxi's my home." Fair-enough answer, he decided. Now, don't blow it by asking where she's been hiding all your life. Don't ask the tacky question: Are you married? He already knew the answer, and she would probably appreciate a male who didn't ask that for a change.
The flight attendant was walking down the aisle checking to be sure all carry-o
n luggage was stowed beneath seats and seat belts buckled. Rafe turned his attention to the flight attendant and smiled as she passed. Better not tire out Lacey Adams with too much talk about nothing before he got a real chance to get into a lot of talk about something. Let her think that last was just a friendly comment. He'd made voice contact. He could go from there in a few minutes—when he had something better to say.
He turned back to Lacey and smiled his "I'm-harmless" smile.
She was staring out the window again.
Rafe waited until the plane left the terminal and the flight attendant had finished her speech before he attempted talking to Lacey again. "Hope the weather is as good in Biloxi as it has been here," he said, thinking what a mundane subject to start with, not exactly the kind of thing you could term "memorable".
"Uhm."
And not a subject that you could do a lot with, he decided. "I'm R.C.," he said, holding out his hand.
She took it and smiled, placing her own hand in his for a shake. "Lacey."
"Do you get to Atlanta very often?"
"Not too often," she answered. "I'm a fashion designer and I own a boutique. I come here occasionally on buying trips."
"Really," he said, impressed that he was finally getting her to open up to him. "I would have thought New York was the place for that sort of thing."
"It is. But Atlanta has become one of the most aggressive cities of the South. Houston is another fashion center. I'm there frequently also."
"You must log a lot of air miles," he commented.
He heard what sounded like a small sigh, but when he looked at her, she was still smiling. "I do. It gets a bit hectic and bothersome. But I enjoy it or I wouldn't do it. I have enough people working with me who would jump at the chance to travel, so I feel lucky to be able to get away and leave the responsibilities behind with them. Of course, sometimes I let them buy for me."
Male Order Bride Page 6
