The Tender Stranger

by Diana Palmer

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SEAT WAS MUCH TOO LOW for his tall frame; he had barely enough room without the paraphernalia his companion was shifting in her own seat. He gave her a short glare through deep brown eyes. She flushed, her gaze dropping to her lap as she tucked her huge purse on the other side of her and struggled with her seat belt.

  He sighed, watching her. A spinster, he thought unkindly. From her flyaway brown hair to the eyes under those wire-rimmed glasses, from her bulky white sweater down to her long gray skirt and sensible gray shoes, she was definitely someone's unclaimed treasure. He turned his eyes back to the too-narrow aisle. Damn budget airlines, he thought furiously. If he hadn't missed the flight he'd booked, he wouldn't be trying to fit into this sardine can of a seat. Next to Miss Frump here.

  He didn't like women. Never less than now, when he was forced to endure this particular woman's company for several hundred miles from San Antonio down to Veracruz, Mexico. He glanced sideways again irritably. She was shifting books now. Books, for God's sake! Didn't she know what the baggage hold was for?

  "You should have reserved a seat for them," he

  muttered, glaring at a stack of what was obviously romance novels.

  She swallowed, a little intimidated as her eyes swept over a muscular physique, blond hair and a face that looked positively hostile. He had nice hands, though. Very lean and tanned and strong-looking. Scars on the back of one of them...

  "I'm sorry," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "I've just come from a romance writer's autographing in San Antonio. These—these are autographed copies I'm taking back for friends after my Mexican holiday, and I was afraid to trust them to the luggage compartment"

  "Priceless gems?" he asked humorlessly, giving them a speaking glare as she tucked the sackful under her seat 'To some people, yes," she acknowledged. Her face tautened and she didn't look at him again. She cast nervous glances out the window while the airplane began to hum and the flight crew began once more the tedious demonstration of the safety equipment. He sighed impatiently and folded his arms across his broad chest, over the rumpled khaki shirt he wore. He leaned his head back, staring blankly at the stewardess. She was a beauty, but he wasn't interested. He hadn't been interested in women for quite a few years, except to satisfy an infrequent need. He laughed shortly, glancing at the prim little woman next to him. He wondered if she knew anything about those infrequent needs, and decided that she didn't. She looked as chaste as a nun, with her nervous eyes and hands. She had nice hands, though, he thought, pursing his lips as he studied them. Long fingers,

  very graceful, and no polish. They were the hands of a lady.

  It irritated him that he'd noticed that. He glared harder at her.

  That caught her attention. It was one thing to be impatiently tolerated, but she didn't like that superior glare. She turned and glared back at him. Something danced briefly in his dark eyes before he turned them back to the stewardess.

  So she had fire, he thought. That was unexpected in a prim little nun. He wondered if she was a librarian. Yes, that would explain her fascination with books. And love stories.. .probably she was starving for a little love of her own. His eyes darkened. Stupid men, he thought, to overlook a feisty little thing like that just because of the glitter and paint that drew them to her more liberated counterparts.

  There was murmuring coming from beside him. His sensitive ears caught a few feverish words: "Hail Mary, full of grace..."

  It couldn't be! He turned, his eyes wide and stunned. Was she a nun?

  She caught him looking at her and bit her lip selfconsciously. "Habit," she breathed. "My best friend was Catholic. She taught me the rosary and we always recited it together when we flew. Personally," she whispered, wide-eyed, "I don't think there's anyone up there in the cockpit flying this thing!"

  His eyebrows levered up. "You don't?"

  She leaned toward him. "Do you ever see anybody

  in there?" She nodded toward the cockpit. "The door's always closed. If there isn't anything to hide, why do they close the door?"

  He began to smile reluctantly. "Perhaps they're concealing a robot pilot?"

  "More likely, they've got the pilot roped into his seat and they don't want us knowing it." She laughed softly, and it changed her face. With the right cosmetics and a haircut that didn't leave her soft hair unruly and half wild, she might not be bad-looking.

  "You've been reading too many of those," he observed, gesturing toward the sack of books.

  "Guilty." She sighed. "I suppose we need dreams sometimes. They keep reality at bay."

  "Reality is better," he replied. "It has no illusions to spoil."

  "I’d rather have my illusions."

  He studied her openly. Wide, bow-shaped mouth,

  straight nose, wide-spaced pale gray eyes, heart-shaped

  face. She had a stubborn chin, too, and he smiled slowly.

  "You're a strange little creature," he said.

  "I'm not little," she returned. "I'm five feet six." He shrugged. "I'm over six feet. To me, you're little." "I won't argue that," she said with a shy smile. He chuckled. "Do you have a name?" "Danielle. Danielle St. Clair. I own a bookstore in

  Greenville, South Carolina."

  Yes, that fit her image to a T. "I'm called Dutch," he

  returned."But my name is Eric van Meer." "Are you Dutch?" she asked.

  He nodded. "My parents were."

  "It must be nice, having parents," she said with unconscious wistfulness. "I was small when I lost both of mine. I don't even have a cousin."

  His eyes darkened and he turned his face away. "I hope they serve lunch on this flight," he remarked, changing the subject with brutal abruptness. "I haven't had anything since last night."

  "You must be starved!" she exclaimed. She began to dig in her bag as the plane jerked and eased toward the runway. "I have a piece of cake left over from the autograph party. I didn't have time to eat it. Would you like it?" she asked, and offered him a slice of coconut cake.

  He smiled slowly. "No. I'll wait. But thank you."

  She shrugged. "I don't really need it. I'm trying to lose about twenty pounds."

  His eyes went over her. She was a little overweight. Not fat, just nicely rounded. He almost told her so. But then he remembered what treacherous creatures women were, and bit back the hasty words. He had concerns of his own, and no time for little spinsters. He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting her out.

  The flight passed uneventfully, but if he'd hoped to walk off the plane in Veracruz and forget about his seat-mate, he was doomed to disappointment. When the plane finally rolled to a stop she stepped out into the aisle, juggling her luggage, and the sack containing her books broke into a thousand pieces.

  Dutch tried not to laugh at the horrified expression on

  her face as he gathered the books quickly together and threw them into her seat, then herded her out of the aisle, "Oh, Lord," she moaned, looking as if fate and the Almighty were out to get her.

  "Most travelers carry a spare bag inside their suitcases," he said hopefully as the other passengers filed out She looked up at him helplessly, all big gray eyes and shy pleading, and for an instant he actually forgot what he was saying. Her complexion was exquisite, he thought. He would have bet that she hardly ever used, or needed to use, beauty creams.

  "Spare bag?" she echoed. "Spare bag!" She grinned. "Yes, of course." She shifted restlessly. "Well?" he prompted gently. She pointed to the overhead rack. "We'll wait for everyone else to get off," he said. "Mine's up there, too; it's all right. No big deal."

  She brushed back strands of wild hair and looked hunted. 'I'm so organized back home," she muttered. "Not a stick of furniture out of place. But let me get outsid
e the city limits of Greenville and I can't stick a fork on a plate without help."

  He couldn't help laughing. "We'll get you sorted out," he said. "Where are you booked?"

  "Book.. .oh, the hotel? It's the Mirador," she said. Fate, he thought with a wistful smile. "That's where my reservation is," he said.

  Her face lit up, and the look in her eyes faintly embarrassed him. She was gazing at him with a mixture of blind trust and hopeful expectation.

  "Do you know the hotel? I mean, have you been here before?" she faltered, trying not to pry.

  "Several times," he confessed. "I come down here once or twice a year when I need to get away." He glanced around. "Let's go."

  He got down her suitcase and helped her extricate the spare bag from the case with a wry glance at the neat cotton nightgowns and underwear. She blushed wildly at that careless scrutiny, and he turned his attention to her books, packing them neatly and deftly.

  She followed him out of the plane with gratitude shining on her face. She could have kissed him for not making fun of her, for helping her out. Imagine, she thought, a man like that actually doing something for her!

  "I'm sorry to have been so much trouble," she blurted out, almost running to keep up with him as they headed toward customs and immigration. She was searching desperately for her passport, and missed the indulgent smile that softened his hard features momentarily.

  "No trouble at all," he replied. "Got your passport?"

  She sighed, holding it up. "Thank God I did something right," she moaned. "I've never even used it before."

  "First time out of the States?" he asked pleasantly as they waited in line.

  "First time out, yes," she confessed. "I just turned twenty-six. I thought I'd better do something adventurous fast, before I ran out of time."

  He frowned. "My God, twenty-six isn't old," he said.

  "No," she agreed. "But it isn't terribly young, either." She didn't look at him. Her eyes were quiet and

  sad, and she was thinking back of all the long years of loneliness.

  "Is there a man?" he asked without quite knowing why.

  She laughed with a cynicism that actually surprised

  him, and the wide eyes that looked up into his seemed

  ancient. "I have no illusions at all about myself," she

  said, and moved ahead with her huge purse.

  He stared at her straight back with mingled emotions, confusing emotions. Why should it matter to him that she was alone? He shook his head and glanced around him to break the spell. It was none of his business.

  Minutes later she was through customs. She almost waited for her tall companion, but she thought that one way or another, she'd caused him enough trouble. The tour company had provided transfers from the airport to the hotel, but a cab seemed much more inviting and less crowded. She managed to hail one, and with her bag of books and suitcase, bustled herself into it. "Hotel Mirador," she said.

  The cab driver smiled broadly and gunned the engine as he pulled out into the crowded street. Dani, full of new experiences and delightful sensations, tried to look everywhere at once. The Bay of Campeche was blue and delightful, and there were glimpses of palms and sand and many hotels. Veracruz was founded in the early 1500s and looked as many old cities of that period did, its architecture alternating between the days of piracy and the space age. Dani would have loved to dive straight into some sightseeing, but she was already uncomfortable in the formidable heat, and she knew it

  would be foolish to rush out without letting her body acclimate itself to its new environment.

  As she gazed at the rows of hotels, the driver pulled into one of them, a two-story white building with graceful arches and a profusion of blooming flowers. It had only been a few minutes' ride from the airport, but the fare was confusing. And a little intimidating. Twenty dollars, just for several miles. But perhaps it was the custom, she thought, and paid him uncomplainingly.

  He grinned broadly again, tipped his hat, and left her at the reservation desk.

  She gave the clerk her name and waited with bated breath until her reservation was found. Finally, she had a room. Everything would be all right.

  The room was nice. It overlooked the city, unfortunately, not the beautiful bay. But she hadn't expected much for the wonderfully low rates that had come with the package tour. She took off her sweater, amazed that it had felt so comfortable back in the States where it was early spring. It was much too heavy here, where the temperature was blazing hot even with the air-conditioning turned up. She stared out the window at the city. Mexico. It was like a dream come true. She'd scrimped and saved for two years to afford this trip. Even so, she'd had to come during the off-season, which was her busiest time back home. She'd left her friend Harriett Gaynor watching the bookstore in her absence. Go, Harriett had coaxed. Live a little.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Live a little, ha! What a pity she hadn't looked like that

  gorgeous stewardess on the plane. Perhaps then the blond giant would have given her a second glance, or something besides the reluctant pity she'd read in his dark eyes.

  She turned away from her reflection and began to unpack her suitcase. There was no use kidding herself that he'd helped her for any reason other than expediency. He could hardly walk right over her precious books. With a sigh she drew out her blouses and hung them up.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BY LATE AFTERNOON DANI felt up to some exploring, and she wandered the ancient streets with me excitement of a child. She'd changed into blue jeans and a loose, light sweatshirt and thongs, looking as much like a tourist as the other strangers in port. Her body was still adjusting to the heat, but the sweatshirt was simply a necessity. She couldn't bear to wear form-fitting T-shirts in public. They called too much attention to her ample bustline. She found the stalls along the waterfront particularly fascinating, and paused long enough to buy herself a sterling silver cross with inlaid mother-of-pearl. Her pidgin Spanish seemed adequate, because most of the vendors spoke a little English. Everywhere there were colorful things to see—beautiful serapes in vivid rainbow shades, ponchos, hats, straw bags and animals and sea shells. And the architecture of the old buildings near the docks fascinated her. She stared out over the bay and daydreamed about the days of pirate ships and adventure, and suddenly a picture of the big blond man flashed into her mind. Yes, he would have made a good pirate. What was it that Dutch had called pirates—freebooters? She could even picture him with

  a cutlass. She smiled at her own fantasy and moved on down the pier to watch some men unloading a big freighter. She'd never been around ships very much. Greenville was an inland city, far from the ocean. Mountains and rolling, unspoiled countryside were much more familiar to Dani than ships were. But she liked watching them. Lost in her daydreams, she didn't realize just how long she'd been standing there, staring. Or that her interest might seem more than casual.

  One of the men on the dock began watching her, and with a feeling of uneasiness she moved back into the crowd of tourists. She didn't want trouble, and a woman alone could get into a sticky situation.

  Dusk was settling over the sleepy city of Veracruz, and the man was still watching her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him moving toward her. Oh, Lord, she thought miserably, now what do I do? She didn't see a policeman anywhere, and most of the remaining tourists were older people who wouldn't want to be dragged into someone else's problems. Dani groaned inwardly as she clutched her bag and started walking quickly toward the hotel. The crowd dispersed still farther. Now she was alone and still the footsteps sounded behind her. Her heart began to race. What if he meant to rob her? Good heavens, what if he thought she was looking for a man? She quickened her steps and darted around a corner just as a tall form loomed up in front of her. She jerked to a stop and almost screamed before she noticed the color of his hair in the fiery sunset.

  "Oh," she said weakly, one hand clutching her sweatshirt.

  Dutch star
ed at her coolly, a cigarette in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was still wearing the khaki safari suit he'd worn on the plane, but he looked fresh and unruffled. She found herself wondering if anything could rattle him. He had an odd kind of self-confidence, as if he'd tested himself to the very limits and knew himself as few men ever did.

  He glanced over her shoulder, seeming to take in the situation in one quick glance. His eyes were very dark when they met hers again. "You'll enjoy your holiday more if you keep out of this part of town after dark," he told her pleasantly enough but with authority in his tone. "You've picked up an admirer."

  "Yes, I know, I..." She started to glance over her shoulder, but he shook his head.

  "Don't. He'll think you're encouraging him." He laughed shortly. "He's fifty and bald," he added. "But if you purposely went down to the docks looking for a man, you might give him a wink and make his day."

  He'd meant it as a joke, but the remark hurt her anyway. Clearly, he didn't think she was likely to attract a man like himself.

  "It was more a case of forgetting where I was, if you want the truth. I'll know better next time. Excuse me," she said quietly, and walked past him.

  He watched her go, furious with her for letting the taunt cut her, more furious with himself for not realizing

  that it would. He muttered something unpleasant under his breath and started after her.

  But she'd had quite enough. She quickened her pace, darting into the hotel and up the staircase to the second floor instead of waiting for an elevator. She made it into her room and locked the door. Although why she should have bothered was anyone's guess. He wasn't the kind of man who chased bespectacled booksellers, she told herself coldly.

  She didn't bother to go downstairs for dinner that evening. Probably he wouldn't have come near her, but she was too embarrassed to chance it. She ordered from room service, and enjoyed a seafood supper in privacy.

  The next morning she went down to breakfast, too proud to let him think she was avoiding him. And sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at a window table with a newspaper. He looked good, she thought, even in nothing more unusual than white slacks and a red-and-white half-unbuttoned shirt. Just like a tourist. As if he felt her eyes on him, he lifted his gaze from the paper and caught her staring. She blushed, but he merely smiled and returned his eyes to his reading. She hardly knew what she was eating after that, and she couldn't help watching him out of the corner of one eye.