Under the Covers

by Rita Herron

  A heavyset woman plunked down in front of her, and threw her seat back so she was practically lying in Abby's lap. The flight attendant roamed the aisles, checking for seat belts, and motioned for the woman to raise her seat.

  "I can't," the woman said, struggling with the lever.

  The attendant tried to help. "Oh, dear, it's broken."

  Abby grimaced and searched the plane for any vacancies, but the cabin was filled to capacity. Minutes later, the plane sailed through the sky. Abby stared out the window, kissing Atlanta good-bye for a few days so she could get her head on straight.

  And forget about Hunter Stone.

  * * *

  Thunderclouds covered the sun and cast a grayness over the sky, the gloomy weather mirroring Hunter's mood. He vetoed the idea of the HOV lane, his aggravation mushrooming when the temperature gauge in his Explorer's engine suddenly shot up. If he kept driving, he'd blow up his engine. But he didn't have time to stop.

  He had to catch Abby.

  Cursing his bad luck, he flipped off the air-conditioning and turned on the heater, hoping to draw the heat from the engine. Keeping one eye on the temperature gauge, the other on the car in front of him, he maneuvered through traffic. The idea seemed to work temporarily and the gauge dropped, but it was a million degrees in the car and he was sweating like a pig, so he rolled down the windows.

  "Just don't let it rain," he muttered.

  Two miles down the highway, though, the sky opened up and spilled water like a dam had burst. Rain slashed the window and pelted his elbow and arm, so he had to roll his window up slightly. Sweat drenched his clothes as the heat blasted him. Even the roses on the seat beside him began to wilt. He briefly wondered if it had been worth the time to stop and pick them up. Yes, he decided, flowers definitely couldn't hurt in his quest to win Abby back.

  Thunder rumbled and crackled, lightning zigzagging across the nearly black sky. He switched on his radio. "Severe thunderstorm warnings are in effect until seven P.M. tonight. Stay tuned for more details as the weather bureau delivers them."

  Great. Just great.

  On the other hand, maybe it was good. Maybe Abby's flight would be delayed and he would catch her before she boarded.

  The traffic slowed to a crawl, the sound of metal crunching and tires squealing echoing over the storm. He grimaced and tried to change lanes, but just as he did, his car died. The Previa behind him braked and barely missed him, then the driver laid on his horn.

  Hunter wiped sweat from his brow and tried to start the engine again, but the motor screeched, sputtered, then gave way to silence. He stomped on the gas pedal and cranked the key in the ignition again and again, but he knew it was useless. Meanwhile, a symphony of horns blasted the air. Hunter cursed, snagged his cell phone, called for a tow truck, then grabbed the wilting roses and slogged the last mile to the airport.

  Rain assaulted him as he dodged cars and forged ahead. A MARTA bus screeched to a stop inches from his knees as he ran across the airport entrance. He jogged past the economy and hourly parking, and it seemed like another mile to Delta ticketing. Lightning flashed, almost catching a lamppost, and Hunter quickened his pace, panting and squinting through the downpour. Finally he jogged inside, where a long line of soccer players stood ready to check in. He ran toward security and the terminals, wove through a Japanese group searching for the international terminal, and checked the overhead screen.

  He was too late.

  Abby's plane had already taken off.

  * * *

  Abby woke up as the plane screeched to a halt. Her legs were cramped from being pinned between the broken seat and the man next to her, her neck ached from her sleeping position, and her heart ached from missing Hunter.

  She had just had the most erotic—and incredibly romantic—dream. Hunter had been chasing her across the country, but they kept missing each other. When he'd finally caught her, he'd made love with her until dawn, then whispered that he didn't care if her boobs were too small, that he was an ass man himself.

  Disgusted with her foolish fantasies, she shook her sleep-numbed legs and tried to stand as the passengers began to deplane. She had to erase Hunter from her mind like a bad computer virus. He didn't love her. He had used her and lied to her... nothing he'd said to her had been real.

  Confusing thoughts held a debate in her head.

  She remembered his tortured voice when he'd thought Lizzie was missing, and his stricken face when he'd thought he might lose her to his wife. Maybe he had spoken the truth about his feelings for his daughter.

  But for her?

  No...

  He sent gifts and cards and apologies all week, a little voice inside her head whispered.

  Still, it isn't enough, the other voice argued.

  "Ma'am, aren't you getting off?"

  Abby jerked her head up at the sound of the flight attendant's question, and realized she'd been holding up the line. She instantly hurried forward and retrieved her carry-on bag.

  Maybe she would try out some of the activities at the resort. Something challenging and unusual that she'd never ventured to do before. Something exciting that would get her adrenaline pumping... something that didn't involve a man.

  * * *

  After sleeping in the airport, Hunter finally caught an early morning flight. The next few hours were almost as harrowing as the trip to the airport had been. And during his stay overnight he could have sworn that when he'd woken up, a punk kid with orange hair had been standing over him. The plane landed with a jolt. He shuffled as quickly as possible down the aisle, wove through the crowded terminal, hailed a taxi, then jumped in, still carrying the wilted roses.

  Two hours later, he stood at the hotel desk, pleading with the manager to tell him where to find Abby. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't give out room numbers."

  "At least phone her room for me."

  "Certainly." He realized he looked a tad weather-beaten, but the man frowned at him as if he were some psycho stalker.

  Hunter tapped his hand on the counter as he waited, but the phone rang and rang.

  He balled his hand into a fist. Maybe she had simply taken a walk. He'd get a room, sit down in the lobby, and wait for her. He glanced at his clothes and frowned. Or maybe he'd get a shower first. Surely this resort had a clothing store, or at least a gift shop where he could pick up an extra outfit. At least some clean underwear.

  "Let me have a room, please."

  The clerk shook his head. "Sorry, sir, but we're all booked."

  Hunter leaned over the counter, his jaw tight. "I think you can probably find one room here somewhere."

  The man's reedy voice grated out, "Sorry, but we have the Shriners' convention here. There is no space."

  Okay, dammit, he'd sleep on the floor, then get a return flight to Atlanta. But he had to apologize first. "How about a store?"

  The manager pointed a finger down a long hallway. Hunter found the gift shop, frowning at the clothes emblazoned with deer antlers and coyotes. He finally chose a modest T-shirt imprinted with the words The Great Smoky Mountains then added a stash of underwear and a pair of running shorts to the pile along with some toiletries.

  "Eighty-five dollars and four cents," a perky teenage brunette said.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His heart roared in his ears.

  His credit cards and cash were missing.

  A flashback of the morning scene hit him: the young punk standing over him at the airport when he'd awakened had robbed him! Furious, he reached in his pocket for his cell phone and realized it was missing, too.

  "Sir, eighty-five dollars—"

  "I know." Hunter shook his head. "Could I pay you later?"

  "Do you have a room number to bill it to?"

  "No."

  "Sorry, mister." The girl snatched the items and pointed to the door.

  * * *

  Abby boarded the Cessna with the other four guests who'd decided to take the plunge through the open
skies, adrenaline racing through her. She'd taken a skydiving lesson this morning and had decided a real adventure like this was the only way to take her mind off Hunter.

  The clear blue sky stretched in front of them, the mountains rising and filling the distance with vast greenery. She checked her backpack and supplies. The adventurers would be dropped at a clearing near a legendary waterfall, camp overnight, then hike their way back down the mountain. She hoped the physical activity would start the process of purging Hunter from her system.

  * * *

  An attractive blonde in a shocking pink dress, a woman whom he once would have pegged as his type, but who now didn't even stir his libido, had been staring at Hunter with a combination of distrust and pity while he'd whiled away the morning moping in the lobby, trying to convince someone to tell him where Abby might have gone.

  Finally, her pity won over her distrust.

  "Listen, Mr...." She hesitated, a look of recognition crossing her face. "Are you Hunter Stone?"

  "That's correct."

  "You're the reporter who wrote all those articles about Dr. Jensen. That one today was so sweet."

  Hunter hadn't known his boss had run it. For the first time in years, he'd actually gone through a morning without reading the paper or checking to see his byline.

  Some things were just more important. Like finding the woman he loved and convincing her he wasn't the total snake she thought him to be.

  Her green eyes shimmered with approval. "It sounds like you have a thing for the doctor yourself."

  Aha. Why hadn't he thought of using the honest approach?

  Because he'd grown accustomed to telling lies.

  "I do," he admitted. "I came all the way here to tell her that I love her." He indicated the pitiful roses and her smile faded slightly. "It's a long story," he said, giving her the short version of a night from hell.

  She tapped long pink nails on the sleek cherry-wood finish. "I'm not supposed to do this, but in this case..." She paused and gestured toward the flowers. "I'll make an exception. Dr. Jensen booked a flight—"

  "She's left already?"

  "No," the young woman said. "She's taken our special skydiving excursion."

  Hunter's stomach plummeted to his feet. "Skydiving?"

  "Yes, sir, it's a wonderfully exhilarating experience."

  "I know. I did it in the service." And it had scared the crap out of him. "When... when will she be back?"

  "Oh, not until tomorrow."

  Hunter groaned.

  "We have another plane leaving in a few minutes. If you're interested you could meet up with her on the ground."

  Hunter's legs trembled like broken guitar strings. He loved Abby desperately. He missed everything about her; the sweet way she'd taken care of his daughter, her intelligence, the way she defended marriage, the way she loved that little mop of a dog, her long, curly hair, that porcelain skin, her husky voice, the way she tucked her bottom into the curve of his body when she slept....

  Yes, he had to admit it, he missed her butt. He was no longer a boob man, but an ass man, as long as that ass belonged to Abby. And right now he wanted to hold it in his hands so badly he was shaking.

  Or maybe he was shaking at the thought of diving out of a plane again.

  He'd come too damn far to wait another day to see her. Besides, the way his luck was running, he'd wind up missing her again.

  But could he really face his fear of heights and jump out of a plane for her?

  Chapter 29

  Fulfilling the Fantasy

  Abby recited the details of operating the parachute in her mind as the time for the group to make their jump approached. Sunshine glittered off the mountain peaks, casting the trees in a golden glow. Puffy white clouds floated along like cotton candy, the hum of the plane mingling with the wind.

  The two men dove first, the next skydiver a middle-aged woman who squealed and squawked as she stepped up to the doorway's edge. With a hoot of excitement, she yelled, "Geronimo," and jumped. Abby's heart raced as she watched the others freefall, then pull the ripcord to open their parachutes.

  "Are you ready, Dr. Jensen?"

  A moment of apprehension attacked her, but her reasons for the jump flooded her, so she nodded, took a deep breath, and made the dive.

  The air swept her into its current, and she thought she heard the guide shout, "Bombs away," as he jumped after her. Then Abby lifted her arms and floated down, reveling in the wind beating her face and the freedom of flying. As she soared toward the lush green grass, she remembered the fantasy she had told Hunter about—the one about making love on the side of a mountain.

  That fantasy would probably never come true—because her heart belonged to Hunter.

  And he was out of her life forever.

  After two horrible relationships, how could she even think of another?

  * * *

  Hunter glanced out the plane, the wind rushing through the opening, pulling and sucking at him as if it would jerk him out any second.

  His stomach was tied in as many knots as a rope he'd once used for practicing his Boy Scout loops. He'd never unraveled those knots; would his stomach come untangled once his feet hit the ground?

  Provided he made it that far and didn't have a heart attack in midair.

  The plane soared close to the mountain, the engine sputtered, and the plane jerked. Cool air surged inside the cabin, the whistle of the wind screaming, and he wrapped his fingers around the metal handhold in a death grip. The instructor eyed him skeptically as he reminded Hunter of the basics.

  "We can go out together if you want, sir."

  Hunter stared at the scrawny twenty-year-old and grimaced. So the young man was a daredevil. Hunter couldn't help it that he had an irrational fear of heights. "No, I'm fine. I've done this before." And lived, he reminded himself. He couldn't very well act like a wienie in front of this kid. But nausea rose to his throat, almost choking him.

  He'd charged this excursion to the paper, he reminded himself. And he'd promised his boss a story out of it, his first for the sports section, another reason he had to go through with the jump.

  He hugged the window and looked out, his legs trembling as the scenery whizzed by in a blur. Taking a calming breath, he willed his head to stop spinning and his heart rate to return to normal. But his pulse was hammering away, the blood roaring in his ears, battling against the loud sound of the plane's engine.

  "We're almost there," the guide said, pointing to a clearing. "The other group just landed."

  Hunter nodded, his gaze glued to the daunting distance between himself and the ground. It was a long way down.

  "Okay, are you ready?"

  Hell, no.

  "You're kind of green, mister. You don't have to do this if you're too nervous."

  He glared at the young boy and thought of Abby. He couldn't back out now.

  Praying he didn't freeze and forget how to operate the parachute, then end up splattered in pieces all over the mountainside, he stepped to the edge, closed his eyes, and jumped. He would prove to Abby he loved her.

  Either that or he'd die trying.

  * * *

  "Oh, my heavens," Winnie, the middle-aged woman with Abby's group, cried. "We've got company."

  "That guy needs to pull his cord." The guide shaded his eyes with his hand as he squinted at the sky.

  Abby studied the man's features. Something about him seemed familiar, but he was falling so fast she couldn't see his face.

  "Pull the cord!" the guide yelled.

  "Do it now," Winnie shouted.

  "He's going to crash," somebody else exclaimed.

  They all screamed at once for him to pull, but the wind grabbed their voices and tossed them away. The man threw out his arms and rocked from side to side, throwing his body off balance, and the wind swept him toward the forest.

  "Pull!" everyone shouted again.

  Abby held her breath. Finally he stiffened and released his parachute. It jerked h
im up slightly; then he floated downward, but his delay in pulling the cord had caused him to veer so far off course, he was sailing straight toward a grove of trees.

  Abby's group ran toward the woods, all yelling for him to hang on.

  A man's shout echoed in the wind. The parachute caught on a tree and he dangled like a rag doll, arms and legs flapping wildly while the excess material floated down on top of him. He jerked and pulled and pushed, trying to clear his head from the leaves and the billowing parachute. Several seconds later, his head bobbed out.

  Abby's mouth gaped open in shock. "Hunter?"

  He jerked his legs and arms, trying to untangle himself. "Abby, I had to see you."

  "Hang on," the guide shouted. "We'll get help."

  Hunter kicked and swung his body toward a lower branch, but missed and dangled back, legs flailing wildly. He tried it again, the sound of the tree limb breaking renting the air.

  "Don't move," the guide shouted. He motioned to the group, and they ran for assistance.

  "Hunter, what are you doing here?" Abby shouted. She'd fantasized about having the man on his knees, but hanging from a tree? "I thought you were afraid of heights."

  "I am!" The parachute slipped, the branch vibrated and cracked, and Hunter's body swayed with it. "But I love you, and I'm more afraid of losing you than I am of heights."

  Abby's heart constricted.

  "I tried to catch you in Atlanta. I went to your house, but your sisters and grandmother said you'd gone." The branch lowered another notch. "And I tried to make it to the airport but my car broke down and it was storming—"

  "Hunter, stop moving!" Abby shouted. The tree branch groaned again.

  "Then the flights were canceled because of the weather, and I had to stay the night at the airport on a bench and my wallet got stolen—"

  "Oh, my gosh," Abby whispered.

  The tree cracked again.

  "And when I arrived, there weren't any vacant rooms, and you'd already left to come here."

  He had jumped out of a plane for her.

  The branch snapped in another place, wood splintered and rained downward, and he slipped a few more feet. Winnie screamed. Abby pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from doing the same. Hunter stared up at the yards of parachute and the tree, then at the ground, the color draining from his face.