Driven to Distraction & Winging It

by Tina Wainscott

  When they walked away from the counter Alec said, “Shouldn’t you be heading back to town for your big date tonight?”

  “Nah, I’ve got plenty of time, and you have a couple of hours to kill, so I thought we’d stop off at the pilots’ lounge and see who was there.”

  “Yeah, seeing me in this condition should really cheer everyone up before they head off for the cockpit.”

  “Don’t you think you’ve earned a few bragging rights?” Josh argued.

  Alec didn’t answer, but he also didn’t argue when Josh led the way down the terminal to the nearest pilots’ lounge.

  9

  ALEC SPENT the few hours before he left Portland making the necessary arrangements for what he would need when he did land in Charleston. He had called his pilot friend who’d been handling his affairs and arranged for his buddy to leave him a change of clothing at the airport in Charleston.

  “Nothing fancy,” Alec had told the guy, knowing it was pointless to ask for the loan of a sports coat and tie with his arm in a cast. A simple pullover polo and a pair of dress slacks would have to suffice. And though Alec couldn’t bring himself to ask the guy to loan him some underwear, he also hadn’t bothered to tell the poor guy he’d have to slit the left sleeve of the shirt to accommodate his cast. Alec made a mental note to reimburse his friend for the damaged shirt later.

  He’d spent the remainder of the torturous wait trying to decide exactly how he was going to convince Mackenzie that she shouldn’t marry John Stanley. Because there was no possible way she could be in love with the guy, and Alec knew it.

  Maybe John was the quiet, respectable, solid-as-a-rock kind of guy, but Alec had never seen Mackenzie look even once at John with the same excitement, intensity and passion she’d shown him. Not to mention their cautious but steamy adventures on the night he’d stayed over because she was so upset about her parents getting back together.

  And if I hadn’t picked that untimely moment to panic because I realized I was falling in love with her, then I probably wouldn’t be sitting here in Portland now.

  Maybe I should have made mad, passionate love to her that night, Alec decided with a frown. He could have shown her what it was like to be loved by a real man, not some namby-pamby rich guy like John Stanley. Not that Alec thought for a moment that John’s money had anything to do with the situation. He did know Mackenzie well enough to know that much.

  No, marrying John had to be nothing more than some twisted desire to please that overbearing mother Angie had warned him about. And even though common sense told Alec Mackenzie’s mother would undoubtedly be present for the celebrated event, even old mom wasn’t going to stand in Alec’s way. Maybe he was winging it, but Alec loved Mackenzie more than he ever thought possible, and he intended to spend the rest of his life showering her with more love and affection than any woman could hope for.

  If, Alec reminded himself, Mackenzie would only listen to reason and give him half a chance.

  “I’m on my way, Mackenzie,” Alec mumbled under his breath as he stared through the airport window at the big 747 taxing across the runway. “I’m on my way now, and nothing or no one is going to stop me.”

  NEITHER ALEC NOR Mackenzie had a clue that they were both sitting in an airport terminal on opposite sides of the country at exactly the same time. While Alec was waiting patiently for his flight to Chicago, Mackenzie was dreading the fact that her parents’ plane would soon be landing in Charleston.

  But not because she wouldn’t be glad to see her parents.

  Mackenzie was actually looking forward to their short visit. She only dreaded the lengthy inquisition she would receive from her mother about what was currently going on in her life.

  Unfortunately, since her parents’ recent wedding, Barbara Malone had become almost fixated over the fact that Mackenzie’s life didn’t have that couple-connotation to it. Not that Angie hadn’t been just as bad lately. In Mackenzie’s best interest, of course, Angie had purposely arranged for John’s cousin to be seated next to Mackenzie during the rehearsal dinner earlier that evening. The guy had been pleasant enough, and even though Angie insisted the successful entrepreneur was both wealthy and available, Mackenzie had barely said more than two words to the man during the entire evening.

  Call her crazy, but Mackenzie knew she could look the whole world over and there still wouldn’t be anyone for her but Alec.

  And the fact that he didn’t feel the same way about her broke her heart at least a dozen times a day.

  But that’s another story, Mackenzie reminded herself when the loudspeaker announced the timely arrival of Flight 603.

  Leaving her seat in the waiting area, Mackenzie walked up to Gate B in time to see her mother and her father step into the terminal. After accepting hearty hugs first from her dad and then from her mom, Mackenzie had just pulled back from her mom’s warm embrace when Barbara said, “Good heavens, Mackenzie, you look exhausted.”

  “It’s been a busy day, Mother,” Mackenzie reminded her with a sigh.

  “Well, I’m sorry we had to take such a late flight, but your father had a business meeting first thing this morning.”

  “I couldn’t have been here any sooner myself,” Mackenzie assured them. “It was after eleven o’clock before I finally got away from the rehearsal dinner.”

  “And how is Angie holding up?” Barbara wanted to know as they headed for the baggage claim area.

  “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

  “She isn’t having second thoughts, I hope,” Barbara said with a worried look on her face. “I mean this was a whirlwind romance, you know.”

  “She’s not having second thoughts about John,” Mackenzie said. “But you know Angie. She’s frantic that something will go wrong and spoil her perfect ceremony.”

  “Well, if that’s her only concern, then there shouldn’t be a problem,” Barbara insisted. “Angie’s such a stickler for details, what could possibly go wrong?”

  Dave Malone laughed at his wife’s last statement. “I’ll never understand you women in a million years,” he said. “It’s almost as if you attract disaster with all the fretting and worrying you do. But this isn’t a perfect world, girls,” he added. “And anyone who expects everything to be perfect all the time is only setting themselves up for a big disappointment.”

  “Well, I sure wouldn’t want to be the poor soul responsible for fouling up Angie’s perfect wedding,” Mackenzie said with a laugh. “She’d have that person’s head on a silver platter sitting right next to her five-tier wedding cake.”

  Dave laughed again, then reached out and removed two matching suitcases from the moving conveyor belt, but Mackenzie didn’t miss the collaborating look her mother was currently sending his way.

  Clearing his throat, Dave said, “I know you invited us to stay with you while we’re here in Charleston, princess, but your mother and I decided it might be better for you if we didn’t impose.”

  Mackenzie started to protest, but Barbara quickly chimed in, “Your place is so small, dear, and even after the wedding you’ll be working every day. Having us underfoot would only complicate matters.”

  “We made reservations at a bed-and-breakfast not far from your condo,” Dave said.

  “And you can have all day tomorrow without having to worry about entertaining us,” Barbara pointed out.

  “That really isn’t necessary,” Mackenzie said with a frown.

  “Sure it is. You need your privacy, and we old married folks need ours,” Barbara said, making Mackenzie blush slightly as they walked toward the parking garage.

  And rather than risk having them change their minds, Mackenzie simply shrugged and said, “Whatever you say, guys, but you know you’re perfectly welcome to stay with me.”

  However, as Mackenzie drove towards the quaint bedand-breakfast her mother was rambling on about, she had to admit she was extremely grateful that her parents were being so considerate. She would have been happy to do it, but she certain
ly hadn’t been looking forward to bedding down on her rather uncomfortable sofa during their stay. And as silly as she knew it was, just the thought of offering up her bed to her now reconciled parents had actually given her a mild case of the willies.

  After all, Mackenzie had enough trouble sleeping in her own bed at night with intimate thoughts of Alec flying around the room. But thinking that her own parents would have possibly been doing God only knew what behind the mosquito netting on her big four-poster bed?

  Well, for sanity’s sake, Mackenzie wouldn’t even allow her mind to wander in that direction.

  MACKENZIE AWOKE ON Saturday morning to the terror-stricken shrieks of the soon-to-be bride. “You’re not going to believe this,” Angie wailed the second Mackenzie picked up her beside phone, “but the florist just called to say that the carnations and daisies turned out to be one shade lighter than the color I originally ordered.”

  “Sorry, but that’s the price you pay for insisting on fresh flowers,” Mackenzie made the mistake of saying with a yawn. “But believe me, Angie, no one else will notice.”

  “But I’ll notice,” Angie screamed in Mackenzie’s ear. “Besides, I made it perfectly clear I wanted the carnations and the daisies to be the exact shade of purple as the bridesmaids’ dresses. I even left a swatch of material so the idiot could make the perfect match. And what did the florist assure me? ‘Why, that’s no problem, Miss Crane, we’ll be able to match your color exactly,’ he said. And now he calls up on the day of the wedding to inform me that the color might be a full shade lighter? I just knew something would go wrong. I just knew it!”

  Mackenzie let out a sigh, wondering why the florist had been stupid enough to even admit to such an oversight. But given Angie’s reputation, Mackenzie also imagined the poor florist was literally shaking in his boots, wondering what on earth he was going to do with a shop full of purple daisies and carnations. In fact, Mackenzie suspected the only other flower-filled event that could even compete with Angie’s order had to be the celebrated Rose Bowl Parade that was held in Pasadena every New Year’s Day.

  “Didn’t I tell you a crisis like this was going to happen?” Angie practically sobbed again. “And if I stop by the florist to see what can be done about that problem, I’ll never make it to my salon appointment on time. If I’m not there early, there’s no way I can have my manicure, my pedicure…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,” Mackenzie broke in, though she had no idea what she could do short of taking a magic marker with her and personally coloring each bloom exactly one shade darker. “You go on to your salon appointment,” Mackenzie added, “and I’ll head to the florist.”

  “Thanks, Mackie,” Angie said with a sigh of relief. “But you tell that shyster I’m not paying one cent for defective flowers. I want the shade I ordered. And I don’t care if he has to send someone to outer Mongolia to get the right shade. Understand?”

  “Got it,” Mackenzie assured her best friend, but when she disconnected the call, Mackenzie briefly entertained the thought of volunteering for the trip to outer Mongolia herself. Especially if the early morning phone call from Angie was any indication of what the remainder of the day held in store for her.

  With a loud sigh, Mackenzie pulled herself out of bed, then padded into her small kitchen to brew some coffee, hoping a jolt of caffeine would give her the energy she needed to come up with a solution to the current carnation crisis. Without the worry of having to entertain her parents for the day, Mackenzie had planned to take a long run on the beach and then get ready for the big event at her own leisure.

  But now, of course, there were more pressing matters to disrupt her peaceful morning. And a mad dash to the florist, which she doubted would produce any acceptable results, would have to be the first thing on her list.

  “God, please just get us through this day,” Mackenzie said aloud as she filled a cup with the dark liquid and swallowed a healthy gulp.

  Her only saving grace was the knowledge that it was only ten hours away from countdown. And with that thought in mind, Mackenzie carried her coffee with her and headed for the shower, never once suspecting that the carnation crisis would be an infinitesimally small blip on the horizon compared to the full-force hurricane that planned to blow into Charleston later that afternoon.

  ACCORDING TO THE itinerary the snotty ticket agent in Portland had printed out for Alec, he was scheduled to arrive in Atlanta, Georgia, at 11:15 Eastern Standard Time on Saturday morning. The problem was that at precisely 10:00 a.m. on that same sunny morning, the baggage handler and airplane mechanics’ union had staged the largest strike to hit the airline industry since 1982.

  And like a multitude of other bewildered holiday-bound passengers who were stranded at the giant hub of the South, Alec found himself in a total panic.

  Rather than waste even a second standing in line when he already knew it could be hours before he found another flight to Charleston, Alec bolted as best he could in his condition through the terminal with a herd of other seasoned travelers in search of the nearest car rental agency. But even his good fortune at being one of the first people in line didn’t mean Alec’s problem had been immediately solved.

  In fact, after one look at his compromised condition, the efficient rental agent informed Alec on the spot that renting a car to a man with one arm in a cast, and with only one eye left for visibility, was totally out of the question.

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Alec argued. “I’m a pilot, dammit. I’m competent enough to carry passengers across the country coast to coast, and I’m definitely competent enough to drive a car.”

  Still unimpressed, the agent shook his head and said, “Look, we both know there’s no way they’d let you in the cockpit of a plane in your condition any more than I’m going to look the other way and hand over the keys to one of our rental cars.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll just take my business elsewhere,” Alec said with a threatening look.

  “Be my guest,” the agent said. “But renting a car in your condition won’t be any different at the next place, buddy. You can count on that.”

  Alec reluctantly dropped out of line and started back down the terminal glaring at his watch. The drive from Atlanta to Charleston would take a good five hours without any traffic problems, and it was already ll:30 a.m. And even if he left at that very moment, arriving in Charleston by five o’clock would be cutting it extremely close.

  But what other choice did he have?

  Hurrying through the terminal, Alec stopped at the first ATM he found. Minutes later he was standing outside, trying to hail a taxi from the long line of cabs that were slowly inching their way toward the main doors of the terminal.

  Alec waved to the nearest taxi and limped in its direction, but the driver quickly shook his head and pointed to a nicely dressed couple standing only a short distance away from Alec on the sidewalk. Frowning, Alec walked toward the next taxi in line and received the same treatment when the driver took one look at his disheveled appearance before he revved the engine and eased the taxi forward to safety.

  Tempted to throw himself on the next car hood and beg for mercy, Alec was surprised when an extremely battered green and white taxi suddenly came to a stop directly in front of him. A tall man with skin the color of midnight quickly pulled himself from the confines of the car, then hurried around to open the back passenger side door.

  For a second, all Alec could do was stare at the man. He was dressed in the comfortable attire common to the Caribbean, wearing a wild print shirt and khaki shorts and sandals, and his dreadlocks sported a wide assortment of brightly colored beads. He smiled at Alec and his shiny ebony face disappeared behind a huge set of spectacular gleaming white teeth when he said in his thick Jamaican accent, “Rafe at your service, mon. Where are you going on dis fine Saturday morning?”

  Rather than be concerned that Rafe’s old wreck might not even make it out of the terminal parking area, Alec slid into the back seat of the taxi without a
second thought, prompting another wide grin from his appreciative driver. Rafe closed his door, then ran back to the driver’s side and quickly settled himself behind the wheel.

  “I need you to take me to Charleston,” Alec told his colorful rescuer as Rafe eased away from the curb.

  “No problem, mon,” Rafe assured him. “De plaza or de avenue?”

  “The city,” Alec told Rafe as if it were a perfectly reasonable request. “I want you to take me to Charleston, South Carolina.”

  Rafe’s multicolored beads began tapping out a little tune as he quickly shook his head, but Alec didn’t let his driver’s first refusal deter him from his mission. Leaning forward, Alec fanned out five crisp one-hundred dollar bills under Rafe’s nose like a professional card dealer.

  “There’s another five hundred in the deal if you get me to Charleston by five o’clock,” Alec informed his now wide-eyed driver.

  Rafe eagerly reached for the money, but Alec jerked the bills away. “Cash on delivery,” Alec insisted.

  Rafe hesitated for a second, then grinned his wide-toothed grin. “No problem, my friend. For dat type of money, Rafe will race you to de city of Charleston on de wings of de wind.”

  “That’s the answer I wanted to hear,” Alec told him, but when Rafe lurched forward and cut off several other taxis in order to take the lead out of the terminal, Alec realized Rafe’s penchant for racing with de wind had probably caused most of de dents and de dings in de side of de cab.

  But what the hell, Alec thought as Rafe slammed his foot down on the accelerator and zoomed away from the terminal. Wasn’t a wild ride with the zealous Jamaican worth the gamble if it got him to the church on time?

  And besides that, Alec reasoned, the odds that he would be involved in a plane crash and a car wreck all in the same week had to be pretty slim.

  IT WAS TWO-THIRTY BEFORE Mackenzie finally got the flower situation firmly under control. Unable to console the hysterical florist, whom Angie had called repeatedly from the salon on her cell phone with threats of a lawsuit, it had finally been Mackenzie’s decision to stop fretting over the daisies and carnations they couldn’t change. Instead, Mackenzie decided to find some blasted bloom that did match the small swatch of purple material the poor man held in his trembling hand.