A Warmth in Winter (19 page)

Half an hour later, he drove into a private hangar belonging to “the company I work for.” A very wealthy company, Annie surmised when they entered a building that contained not one but two sleek Lear jets.

Melanie had hit the jackpot with this one.

Behind the jets squatted a small green and white Cessna, gleaming in the hangar lights. Delirious with joy, Melanie squeezed Annie's arm several times after A. J. left them to file his flight plan. “Isn't he wonderful?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Annie answered, sinking her hands in her pockets. She might not have a boyfriend to keep her warm, but at least she had a nice heavy coat.

Half an hour later they were taxiing to the runway. Wearing headphones that would prevent them from having to shout above the roar of the engine, they talked. A. J. patiently answered Melanie's questions about aeronautics and his flight experience.

Annie couldn't help being impressed. The man proved masterful behind the controls; the takeoff was picture-perfect. Climbing to his assigned altitude, A. J. consulted charts, flipped levers, and talked with the tower until the plane was soaring above Portland.

In the backseat, Annie pressed her nose against the window and drank in the twinkling landscape below. The smell of leather surrounded her, mixed with the faint, exotic hint of Mr. Right's cologne. With A. J.'s help, she and Melanie were able to pick out a few landmarks below.

While Melanie babbled in the front, Annie stared out the window and kept her thoughts to herself. How lucky could Melanie get? She was a great friend, and Annie was happy for her, but still a gremlin of envy rose whenever she thought of Melanie's good fortune. Where were the A. J.s when Annie was looking for a good man?

“Down there,” A. J. turned his head to address her, and his strong baritone sent delicious shivers up her spine. “That's your home territory.”

“Southern Maine Tech?” Annie peered at the dotted lights below.

“It looks so small from up here,” Melanie yelled.

Small, but beautiful. White lights dotted the campus, and in the surrounding neighborhood colorful Christmas displays winked up at them. It was a perfect night for flying: light wind, great visibility. Celestial stars twinkled overhead as man-made stars glittered below.

Annie sat back and hugged herself, the warmth of the cockpit enveloping her. She didn't care if this flight never ended.

They flew for over an hour, and in the darkness ahead Annie recognized the familiar outline of Heavenly Daze. She leaned forward, tapped A. J.'s shoulder, and pointed to the lights below. “Look,” she called, “see how the streetlights form a cross?”

“It's an island,” A. J. answered, glancing over his left shoulder.

“Believe me, I know,” Annie whispered, sinking back into her seat. All of the important events in her life had centered around that island. She'd been raised there, loved and taught there, and she'd grieved there. She'd cried and dreamed and learned to face disappointment and elation there. Uncle Edmund lay buried there, and in the biggest house on the highest point, Aunt Olympia was almost certainly sitting alone in her room, awash in tears . . .

“Look!” Melanie squealed, diverting her attention. “Over there—isn't that a ship? Wonder if it's like the ship we'll be taking on the cruise?”

Annie sighed. Melanie hadn't yet convinced A. J. to sail away with her to a sunnier clime, but the girl deserved an A for effort.

The hour of eleven had come and gone when the lights of the Portland Jetport finally reappeared. The plane dropped, glided smoothly on the approach, then the wheels lightly touched the runway. They taxied to the hanger, and Annie closed her eyes, hating for the adventure to end.

Later, A. J. drove Melanie and Annie back to the restaurant where she'd left her car. While Melanie babbled on about how wonderful, kind, and thoughtful A. J. was to take them for a flight, Annie sat alone in the back, lost in her thoughts.

She snapped out of her reverie when A. J. got out and opened her door.

“You didn't have to do that,” she said, feeling heat on her cheeks. “You could have just dropped me on the corner.”

“Door-to-door service is my specialty.” His smile gleamed in the starlit darkness. “If I can't see you home, at least I can see you to your car.”

She led the way, feeling a little foolish as he followed her through the parking lot.

“Melanie will be wondering what's keeping you,” she said, slipping her keys into the lock.

“Melanie will understand.”

Feeling more flustered than she wanted to admit, Annie opened the door and got in, then hesitated. “Thanks. I had a wonderful time.” She felt a jolt when their eyes met. An electric, knock-your-socks-off kind of jolt that unnerved her.

If he felt the electricity, he didn't show it. But a man like A. J. probably wouldn't. He reached in and flipped the lock on her car door, his eyes still fixed on her. “Drive carefully, lovely lady.”

Nodding, Annie took a deep breath. She'd never felt this lightheaded, this giddy around a man. She must be coming down with something—altitude sickness?

She reached out to close the door and he stepped into the narrow space and caught her hand. He smiled. “I'd like to have dinner with you some night. Is that possible?”

Alarm slapped at her. Maybe she had mistaken a smooth male predator for a gentleman. “I can't—there's Melanie.”

His brow flickered. “What about Melanie?”

“You and her—I mean, she and you—”

Chuckling, he released her hand and stepped back. “Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, Annie.” He bent closer and his warm breath touched her face. “But I've only dated Melanie once. Tonight. Twice if you count the night I met her among a group of friends.”

Unable to find her voice, Annie nodded.

“So—can I call you sometime?”

“Better not,” she murmured. Melanie was a good friend, and Annie knew she viewed the situation in a different light.

“Maybe another time,” he said quietly.

As she drove off she risked a final glance in the rearview mirror. Mr. Right stood in the parking lot, watching her taillights. Had he felt it, too? She closed her eyes, breathing in the lingering scent of his aftershave.

She'd felt the power.

The breathless, once-in-a-lifetime connection.

Magic. Just like in the movies.

Pure magic.

Chapter Thirteen

O
n Wednesday afternoon Vernie cupped the receiver and turned her back to Elezar. Lowering her voice, she whispered into the phone: “What do you mean, a dock strike?”

“A strike, lady.” The rep from Wagner's Wholesalers sounded impatient. “Teamsters' dispute. The men walked off the job late Monday afternoon.”

“What about my order?” She tightened her grip on the mouthpiece. “What about my cranberries and nutmeg?”

The man on the phone let out an audible sigh. “When did you place the order?”

“Faxed it in Saturday night. The eighth.”

“Saturday—let's see. That would have sat in the fax till Monday, and—uh-oh.”

The last thing Vernie wanted to hear was an uh-oh. “What's wrong?”

The man sighed again. “We're doing all we can to keep business flowing, but I gotta tell you, lady, it don't look good. You'll have to wait your turn.”

Shaken, Vernie hung up. She didn't have time to wait her turn. The island Christmas party was Saturday night and there wasn't a dash of nutmeg on the island. Nor a single cranberry, so Babette wouldn't be able to make her holiday salad. Vernie's inattention would ruin everybody's Christmas, and they wouldn't be quick to forget.

Fumbling beneath the counter, she pulled out a plastic bottle of Coke and refilled her glass. This was awful. She'd go into Ogunquit and pay retail for supplies, but gale force winds were keeping them all island-bound. The ferry hadn't run in two days, but perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. At least she hadn't had to think up lame excuses about why her order had not been delivered.

Leaning down, she pulled out the slender bottle of vanilla syrup, then splashed a liberal shot into the icy Coke. At that moment Bea Coughlin pecked on the front window, startling Vernie. She looked up in time to see Bea frowning at the bottle, so Vernie shoved it under the counter and pasted on a smile.

Pressing her fingertips to the window, Beatrice yelled, “I'm going to ask Annie to bring sugar when she comes for the party this weekend. The bakery's getting low.”

Vernie shook her head. “No need to do that—”

Wait a minute. What was she thinking? There was a need—a strong need. And Annie was the answer! She could e-mail Annie and have her bring nutmeg, cranberries, and sugar when she came this weekend. Surely the weather would let up enough for Captain Stroble to bring the ferry across by then. The weather channel was still calling for a nor'easter by Sunday or Monday, but Annie would have come and gone by that time.

Rushing to the door on a tide of relief, she jerked it open and smiled at Bea. “That's a good idea, Beatrice. I've just heard that the wholesalers are on strike, and who knows when they'll get that order to us? So I'll e-mail Annie and ask her to pick up the things we need. Maybe she can get here by early Saturday afternoon and we'll have plenty of time to prepare for the party that night.”

Bea slapped a mittened hand to her cheek. “On strike! I was afraid something like that would happen. We should have gone to Ogunquit last week and picked up those supplies.”

Vernie forced a smile. “I know, I know. But no harm done.”

Feeling drained, she closed the door, then leaned against it. If Annie brought the supplies, no one would have to know about her incompetence. She ignored a prick of conscience. Why did anyone need to know?

Like a scratchy record, Stanley's voice echoed in her ear:
You can't admit your mistakes, can you, Vernie?

She lifted her chin and spoke to the memory. “Of course I make mistakes. I'm not perfect.”

Without warning, Elezar stepped around the corner, a dustcloth in his hand. He shot her a questioning look. “Everything all right?”

“Everything's fine. I'm going to ask Annie to bring our supplies since the strike is holding everything up.”

His expression sobered. “A strike? Is that the problem?”

“It is today—that and the weather. The wholesalers don't know when they'll be able to deliver, so Annie will have to help us out. Everything's going to be fine.”

The man's eyes darkened, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, ma'am.”

Feeling more confident than she had in days, Vernie picked up her glass and moved toward the stairs. “I'll have Annie pick up some cat food, too. MaGoo's gained five pounds on table scraps this week.”

Elezar nodded, then pointed toward the door. “I was thinking about going out for a walk. Will you be okay if I leave for a while?”

Vernie snorted. “It's not like anyone's beating down our door. Go on, I'll be back down in a few minutes.”

She tackled the stairs with spring in her step and climbed them in record time. In five minutes she'd be logged onto AOL, and then her problems would be solved.

The wind tugged at Elezar's hat, but he held it firmly in place as he strode toward the church. A breath of snow was in the air, but a thin sun drifted in and out of the threatening clouds. Dirty patches of half-melted slush bordered the cobblestone road and sidewalks. His breath formed a frosty vapor as he walked and thought about the humans he had been assigned to serve.

He ached when Vernie made bad choices, and she'd made several lately.

Lifting his gaze to the sky and the invisible realm beyond, Elezar addressed the Lord: “Father, what must I do? Pride is a crippling thing. We all saw what it did to Lucifer. Now Vernie has allowed pride to come between her and those she loves, and I don't think she's aware of her mistake.”

He paused at the churchyard, trying to identify the lone bent figure by a snowbank between the church and the Lansdowns' bed-and-breakfast. The man wasn't Winslow Wickam. This fellow was larger, with long white hair flowing over a white coat . . .

Elezar grinned. Gavriel had decided to materialize.

As Elezar drew nearer, the angel captain turned. “Brother! You're just in time.” He gestured to the pan in his hand, which contained something white.

Puzzled, Elezar walked on.

“I've heard the women talking about snow cream and I thought I might try some.” Gavriel extended the pan for Elezar's inspection. “Will you join me?”

Falling into step with his brother angel, Elezar lifted a brow. “Are Salt Gribbon's grandchildren doing well?”

“The children are happy.” Gavriel dropped his voice as they entered the church through a side door, then descended the steep staircase to the basement. “Now, let's see if the kitchen has what we need.”

Bemused, Elezar watched as Gavriel set the pan on the counter, then rummaged among canisters and jars in the cabinets. “Sugar and vanilla extract, I believe I heard them mention. Milk. An egg, and a dash of salt.”

Elezar eyed the pan skeptically. “With snow.”

Gavriel flashed a grin over his shoulder. “They say it's quite tasty.”

“Some mortals say liver and onions are tasty, too, but I have never agreed.”

Gavriel laughed, then splashed ingredients into the bowl. He stirred and tasted, made a face, then shrugged and dumped more sugar into the mixture. “Now,” he said, looking up. “Where shall we enjoy our treat?”

Elezar frowned. “We eat it like that?” Gavriel's concoction looked nothing like ice cream. Ice cream was smooth and firm. And it wasn't sprinkled with specks of dirt.

Draping an arm around his fellow angel's shoulder, Gavriel pointed toward the staircase. “Some of the women are due to arrive here soon for a cleaning session, so we'd best clear out. But I know where we can go.”