And trying and trying and trying, she thought, still smiling.
She continued toward the galley, taking orders for drinks as she went. An hour later, she had spoken with each passenger, delivered beverages, answered a half-dozen questions about connecting flights and cleaned up one spilled orange juice.
As the plane began to descend into Houston, Temple finished gathering up used cups, making sure seat belts were in place and trays and backs upright. An approaching weather front had made the flight unpleasant this morning. They had flown through fog for the past thirty minutes.
Scotty was at the controls. He was an excellent pilot, but his landings were never as smooth as Craig's. Wind gusts this morning made the landing bumpier than usual. The plane sat down hard, bounced, then landed again.
Temple smiled at the anxious looks out the window.
Once down, the plane taxied smoothly to the terminal. Temple picked up the hand mike again.
“Thank you for flying with us today,” she said. “If you enjoyed your flight, remember it was American Sparrow 2632.” She winked. “If you didn't, then it was American Eagle 3216.”
Even nervous passengers managed a laugh as they began gathering their belongings. Temple took her place at the door, smiling as the passengers deplaned.
By the time Temple finished cleaning up the galley and clearing the cabin, it was nearly noon. Scotty and Craig finished about the same time and exited with her.
The drizzle grew heavier as the three hurried across the tarmac. Scotty frowned at the darkening sky. “I'd say we're going to be stuck here for a while.”
Temple glanced up, assessing the rapidly worsening weather. “What did the tower say?”
“Heavy fog,” Craig and Scotty concurred simultaneously.
Scotty went ahead to check on the conditions for their return flight.
“It's like we thought,” he said when he met them in the staff lounge later.
Temple had kicked off her shoes and sat with her feet tucked beneath her. Craig had shoved his tie into his pocket as soon as they'd entered the staff area, tossed his jacket across the back of a chair and unbuttoned his collar. He was the sort of man who looked great in a uniform, and even better dressed casually. He'd run his fingers through his hair, letting it curl over his forehead. The afternoon shadow of a beard made his rugged good looks even more profound.
“How bad?” Temple asked, dragging her attention from Craig's profile.
“Another ten minutes and we're socked in. No flights in or out of Houston until the fog lets up, which the weather bureau advises will be around midmorning tomorrow, earliest.”
“Well, that does it.” Craig stood and stretched. “Let's get a hotel room.”
“If we can find any. Mr. Carlson said there are several conventions in town,” Temple said, picking up the empty soft-drink cups and dumping them into the trash can.
Craig tucked a phone receiver under his chin and punched in a number. Temple gathered up her things and shoved her feet back into her shoes.
“Nothing?” he said.
Temple heard him and paused.
“Any suggestions?” he said and disconnected the call.
“Ramada?” she guessed.
Craig punched another number.
“Yes, a single, or anything you've got.”
His gaze met hers and he shook his head.
“Thanks.”
Another number, and the same response.
Hanging up the phone, Craig looked grim. “Between the conventions and fog, looks like we're stuck in the employees' lounge.”
“Not me,” Scotty said. “I've got a cousin lives here. I'm giving him a call. He's in an efficiency or I'dâ”
“Thanks,” Craig said.
Giving them an apologetic wave, Scotty left.
“Well, what now?” she asked.
Craig picked up the phone and dialed again. When the other end answered, he inquired about a room.
“Hold on.” He held the receiver to his shoulder. “They've got one room. It's a dump, but it's better than sleeping in the lounge. Do you want it?”
“Only one room?”
“You better grab it.”
“That would mean you're stuck on the couch here. I'd feel guilty.”
“We need to decide. Wait, I'll flip you for it.” He dug into his pocket for a coin and came up with a quarter. “Heads or tails.”
“Heads.”
He flipped the coin, catching it deftly. “Heads. You win.” He put the receiver to his ear. She could have sworn the coin had landed tails up in his hand.
“Wait,” she said.
Craig let the receiver slide, arching his eyebrows inquiringly.
She shrugged. “We can share. I hate to think of you sleeping on one of these couches.”
Craig eyed the narrow sofa. A vinyl and chrome torture rack.
“You're sure?”
“Hey, I trust you,” she said. They were friends. He could take the sofa at the hotel.
Craig hesitated a moment, then spoke into the phone, his gaze locked with hers.
“I'll take it. Craig Stevens. Yes. It might take us thirty minutes or so to get there.” He gave them his credit card number and dropped the receiver back into the cradle.
“Okay. We've got a room.”
“Uh-huh,” she picked up her purse, feeling suddenly awkward. She wished she wasn't quite so conscious of him. “We'd better claim it before they double the rate and give it to someone else.”
The fog was as thick as pea soup. They waited for more than thirty minutes before a cab edged to the curb in front of the terminal. The driver rolled down the window and leaned out. “Can't see your hand in front of your face, but if you're not going far I'll give it a try.”
“Just a couple of miles.” Craig gave him the name of the hotel, and opened the back door for Temple.
“Luggage?” the cabbie asked.
“No luggage.”
The driver grinned as they crawled into the back seat.
“What about pajamas?” Temple asked.
His eyes locked lazily with hers. “What about them?”
Temple's pulse leaped at the innuendo in his voice.
Yeah. Silly. What about them?
When they got to the hotel after what felt like an endless cab ride through the fog, Craig registered while she bought a magazine in a shop just off the foyer.
“We're in 410,” he said, punching the elevator button.
They were both quiet during the ride up to the fourth floor. Temple was so aware of him standing next to her that she could hear him breathing. Never had she been so conscious of him. Her skin felt prickly. This was definitely not a brother-sister kind of feeling.
Craig unlocked the door of the room and flicked on the light. The room was plain but clean. Temple was relieved to see it had two beds.
“Double beds,” Craig said, then began to empty his pockets. Change and keys rattled onto the nightstand.
Moving to the window, she pushed back the drapes and looked out. “I can hardly see the street now. It's like we're inside a ball of cotton.”
“I think I'll call Neal.”
“Who?”
“Neal. An old navy buddy who lives here. We get together at least once a month.”
“If you're going to use the phone, I'm going to freshen up a little.”
“Be my guest.”
He reached for the phone as she closed the bathroom door.
When she emerged from the bathroom later, he was lying on the bed, sock-footed, watching “Another World.”
“Soap operas?” she chided.
“Three channels, max. This isn't the Hilton.”
Sitting down on her bed, Temple looked around the room. The Hilton it wasn't. Two double beds, a nightstand, a long vanity, TV and a straight-back chair.
“We've been invited to dinner.”
She glanced up. “By whom?”
“Neal and his wife.”
“Ummm.” She leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “You go. I'll be fine here.”
“Three channels,” he reminded. “It could be a long night.”
She yawned. “What's on?”
Craig picked up the channel guide. “Let's see. A religious crusade, a telethon and...oh, this looks good. Reruns of the NBA playoffsâ”
Rolling off the bed, Temple resignedly slipped her shoes back on.
“Don't look so glum,” he said. “Neal's a great guy, and you'll like Maryann.”
“Maryann?”
“Neal's Mrs. Right.”
“I suppose they have one of those perfect marriages.” That's all she needed. Ã
night with a happily married couple in a cozy home to remind her of how good life could be with Mr. Right. The Mr. Right she couldn't seem to find.
“I suppose they do,” Craig said absently, flipping through the three channels again.
What was it with men? she wondered. Did they think the programs were going to change just because they kept running through the channels?
Â
NEAL WAS the same height as Craig, but blond to his dark hair, brown-eyed instead of blue-eyed. Maryann was a petite brunette who looked little more than sixteen years old, her age, she was quick to point out, when she'd met Neal.
The two men greeted each other heartily.
“Well, Flyboy, sorry about the fog, but it gave us a chance to get together. And who might this be?” he said, turning to Temple.
“Temple Burney.” Craig made the introductions. “Neal and Maryann.”
“I'm glad you could come,” Maryann said, drawing Temple into the kitchen with her. “Now I'll have somebody to talk to while they swap war stories.”
Temple liked Maryann immediately. It was impossible not to. Within five minutes, she was making a salad while Maryann fished steaks out of the marinade.
The kitchen was a charming country style, with gingham curtains at the window that overlooked a patio filled with flowering plants. Perfect house. Perfect couple.
This is what I'm searching for. Just have to find the right man and, this too, can be mine, Temple told herself.
“Neal, the grill's ready,” Maryann sang out.
The two men passed through the kitchen, both talking at the same time.
“They're a pair.” Maryann said fondly. “You'd think they were brothers. Neal, the grill is ready,” she repeated sharply.
“I heard you, Maryann.”
Temple glanced up at the censure in Neal's tone, but Maryann seemed unfazed.
“When those two were in the Persian Gulf, I don't know which I worried about more,” Maryann said. “How long have you known Craig?”
“Since we were kids. We even went to summer camp together. We lost touch while he was in the service, but we both joined Sparrow Airlines five years ago and...the rest is history.”
“He's never mentioned me or Neal?”
Temple thought about that a moment. “No.” That seemed odd, too. Nancy was a closed subject, and now there was Neal and Maryann. It made her wonder what else Craig hadn't shared with her.
“Really? Neal, the grill is ready!” The veins in Maryann's neck stood out with the force of the reminder.
The door flew open, and Neal appeared. Shooting his wife an impatient glance, Neal snatched up the plate of steaks and left the room.
“Craig's talked about you,” Maryann continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air as Neal slammed out the back door.
Temple stopped washing carrots and looked out the window. Neal was putting the steaks on the grill while Craig bounced a basketball on the concrete patio.
“He has?”
“Uh-huh. He has dinner with us at least once a month. And we know about you two helping each other to find the perfect mate.”
A cold knot of apprehension formed in Temple's stomach. “He told you about that?” What was the deal here?
“Uh-huh. He told us about Gabrielle and the cats episode.” Suddenly, Maryann glanced up at her, desperation blazing in her eyes. “Don't do it.”
“Pardon?”
Leaning closer, Maryann whispered quickly. “Take my advice and stay single. You've got it made and don't realize it.”
Temple was confused. She'd only known Neal and Maryann an hour but they seemed to have all the ingredients for a perfect marriage, certain tensions aside.