Munching popcorn, she listened to a young, tanned girl in skimpy shorts and a halter top make the opening announcements.
“Hi, my name is Julie!”
Applause.
Okay, Temple decided. This could be okay.
Settling herself on the hot bleacher, she reassured herself this wasn't so bad. Maybe it would even be fun.
“This afternoon, Rocco and Tuffy, our bottlenose dolphins, are going to perform for you.”
Applause. Applause.
Julie's voice faded as Temple focused on the two, large dolphins lazily circling the edge of the pool. The sun sparkled on the water and beat down on her head. The steel bleachers were like solar units turning the stadium bowl into a giant wok.
Sipping cola through a straw, wishing she'd brought a hat, Temple dug into the popcorn again.
“ISN'T THIS GREAT!” Darrell blared, leaning closer. “YOU'RE GOING TO GET A KICK OUT OF THIS!”
She forced a smile, seriously doubting she was going to like anything about it, despite her earlier reassurances. By now, she was pretty sure the only kick she was likely to get was a self-executed one.
“And coming out of the water,” Julie said in a voice brimming with enthusiasm, “Rocco will leap twelve feet into the air, perform a triple somersault, before diving back into the pool!”
Julie was too perky. Temple didn't like perky.
Applause, and more applause, accompanied by a few loud stomps and whistles.
The two dolphins darted swiftly around the pool. Sliding out of the water onto a ramp, they inhaled the fish Julie dropped into their open mouths.
Chattering noisily, Rocco and Tuffy took several cheesy bows while the crowd clapped.
Temple took another sip of cola.
It's as hot as blue blazes in here. Grams, I hope you appreciate this.
Slipping back into the water, the dolphins swam around, picking up speed. In no time, Rocco was doing seventy around the pool's perimeter.
Fascinated in spite of herself by the animals' artistry, Temple edged forward in her seat to get a better look as she absently nibbled popcorn.
Suddenly, Rocco torpedoed out of the water, made a sharp ten-foot arc in the air and flipped three times before plunging back into the crystal-blue water.
Temple heard the sharp crack of four hundred pounds of mammal flesh splitting water at precisely the same time a twenty-foot wall of water swamped her.
The impact bowled her backward, knocking the cola out of her hand and sending her popcorn flying.
Stunned, she lay in a pool of fishy-smelling water, staring sightlessly at the sky, while everyone clapped at Rocco's fine performance.
“COOL!” Darrell shouted, apparently not bothered by the tidal wave. There wasn't a dry thread on him, nor on anyone else seated in rows one through six.
Realizing her feet were sticking straight up in the air, giving Darrell and the fifteen hundred others around him a bird's-eye view of her Victoria's Secrets, Temple rolled over and sat up. She knew her mascara lay in black puddles underneath her eyes, and she could feel her hair slicked to her head in irregular waves.
Darrell glanced over. “NEED A HAND?”
Humiliated, the old gag line Need a hand? and someone clapped, popped into Temple's mind.
Before she could stop him, he'd jerked her upright.
Landing on her feet, she frantically strained soggy popcorn through her teeth to keep from choking. The pungent fish odor radiating from her blouse was nauseating. She stood for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She was afraid to lick her lips. She was fairly certain that dolphin water wasn't sanitary.
Absently tapping her on the back, Darrell's gaze remained fixed on the show.
“WATER FELT GOOD, DIDN'T IT!”
By now, Temple could feel every eye in the stadium centered on them, and the spectacle she'd just made of herself.
“Great!”
Her hair hung in matted, wet clumps around her face, streaming with water. She plucked at her blouse, pulling it away from her skin in a futile effort to keep what Grams would call “decent.”
When the show was over, Darrell suggested they go directly to the Shumay the Killer Whale show.
Hear that, Grams? Shumay. Killer whale. Happy?
Limping up the stairs to her front door later that afternoon, Temple turned to wave goodbye to Darrell with rabid relief that the day was finally over.
Inside her apartment, she collapsed on the sofa. Her clothes were sticking to her like clammy cheesecloth. Her hair would take a week of reconditioning. Her shoulders and nose were sunburned. Her feet felt as if she'd walked barefoot over a bed of hot coals, her sandals were ruined and the backs of her heels were turning purple.
Staring at the ceiling, Temple groaned. She knew finding Mr. Wonderful wasn't going to be easy, but this was ridiculous.
She wasn't operating under the Law of Averages; she was cursed by Murphy's Law.
3
F
LO LARSON, who ran the car rental booth at Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, leaned back in her seat and lit a cigarette, clearly enjoying the twenty-minute ride to the airport.
“You threw him out a second-story window? It's a wonder you didn't kill the poor man,” Temple marveled. Edgar Winters was eighty-three years old if he was a day!
“Aw, didn't hurt anything but the old goat's pride.” Flo took another drag from her cigarette before biting into a glazed doughnut. Temple could practically hear the cholesterol, fat, and triglycerides explode in Flo's veins.
“Flo, why?”
“Like I said. I caught him in bed with Ruthie Fredericks.”
“And you actually picked him up and threw him out the window?”
The lively seventy-year-old grinned guilelessly. “I figured if the old fart thought he could make love to a woman at his age, he probably thought he could fly, too.”
Temple smiled, and kept on driving. Morning traffic around the airport was unusually light. She exited the highway and drove her pickup toward the employee parking area, her gaze fixed on the rearview mirror.
Flo finished her cigarette and doughnut about the same time. Hitting the automatic window button, she pitched the butt and stuffed the bakery tissue containing doughnut crumbs into her coat pocket. Flipping down the visor mirror, she examined her teeth for pastry residue, brushing at her chin and mouth.
“What time's your flight?” the older woman asked.
“Seven.”
“St. Louis?”
“Uh-huh, and all points between.”
Flo rummaged through her purse for a tube of lipstick. “Thanks for the ride. Guess I'll have to break down and buy a new battery. Makes twice this week the Pinto wouldn't start.”
Still watching the rearview mirror intently, Temple only half listened to Flo.
“Who are you flying with this morning?”
“Stevens and Scott.”
Temple glanced out the side-view window. Craig's white Lincoln should be turning off the highway any minute. Strange how much more she looked forward to a flight when she knew they would be working together.
Flo shook her head. “You and Craig are like a couple of kids,” she declared. “Torment the life out of each other. You two play this parking-space game every morning?”
“Every morning we fly together.”
“Funny you two never got together. You know, Craig's good-looking, successful,” Flo remarked. “You're good-looking, successfulââEverybody good-lookin' an' successful,” she sang in an uplifting, spiritual rhythm with a snap of her fingers.
“Craig and me?” Temple laughed. “No sky jockeys for me.”
Pilots were off her list. Even Craig. Not even for Mr. Right. For some reason, though, he'd been looking awful good to her lately.
“Besides, he was engaged to my best friend once,” she told Flo. “Things didn't work out and she was deeply hurt. She's still carrying a torch for him. I just wouldn't do that to her.”
“Temple, you're too nice for your own good.”
“That's me. Took my Girl Scout oath to heart.”
“Hmmph,” Flo said, stripping the cap off her lipstick. She'd just touched the color to her lips when Temple spotted Craig's Lincoln and floored the pickup. The truck shot forward, pinning Flo's neck to the headrest, sending a bright slash of Moroccan Sunset lipstick streaking past her nose.
Stamping the accelerator to the floor, Temple grinned devilishly when she saw Craig's car spurt forward.
Flo struggled to right herself, clinging to the door handle as the two vehicles raced side by side along the outer road. Craig tried to shut Temple out at the turn, but failed.
Whipping into her parking spot, Temple slammed on the brakes and cut the engine. Her '87 GMC Silverado precisely straddled the line between the two spaces in top-notch line-straddling form. Weeks of practice were paying off. She rarely missed her mark these days.
The Lincoln pulled up and squalled to a halt. Backing up, Craig made several attempts to maneuver the automobile into the tight space Temple had left. The power steering screeched as he worked to manipulate the big car into the narrow opening. The grating sound of tire rubbing against concrete shattered the silence.
Reading Craig's lips, Temple laughed and waited as Flo, used to their antics, slid across to the driver's side to exit. He managed to wedge the door open, but had to maneuver sideways to squeeze out.
“Hi, Captain Stevens. Beautiful morning, isn't it?” she said cheerfully.
Craig reached inside the car for his jacket and flight bag and slammed the door. Inspecting the curbed tiresâscuffs of powdery white ringed both the left front and rearâhe shook his head in disgust.
“Lane shark.”
“Poor loser.”
Flo, still wiping lipstick off her nose, walked ahead of them to the terminal. Eyeing Temple's battered pickup, Craig fell into step with her.
“When are you going to get a decent car?”
“When that ole used car lot in th' sky comes to claim her.” She drawled, grinning in the direction of her truck. “You look beat. Hard times?”
“The worst. How about you?”
“Terrible.”
His crystal-blue gaze measured her with the practiced eye of a man who makes his living on quick estimates. “How was your date with...Darrell, wasn't it?”
“All noiseâno spark. How was your week?”
“Let's see...Sunday night was the pits. Scott rickey-dooed me again. I went for dinner, and got stuck with his cousin from Little Rock.”
“Oh? How about your date on Saturday night?”
“Nina wanted to go to a movie.”
“Yeah? Have a good time?”
Craig's amusement faded. “Nina has a deviated septum.”
“Really?”
“Have you ever sat next to someone in a movie theater with a deviated septum?”
“I don't think so.”
“Her right nostril. She couldn't breathe. Everyone within three rows of us knew it.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, Nina was a breeze compared to Geneva. She was Jeff's choice for me for Monday night. You don't want to hear about her.”
Temple laughed as they entered the airport lobby together. The commuter terminal was bustling this morning. Sparrow counters were country blue with the large maroon Sparrow Airlines logo prominently displayed on the back wall of each section.
Smiling hello to Ginny, who was wiping down her lunch counter, they partedâCraig to check in, Temple to grab a quick cup of coffee. Ginny had been on a week's vacation so they were seriously behind on gossip.
The vivacious redhead glanced up as Temple dropped her flight bag on the floor and slid onto a stool at the counter. “How'd it go Friday night?” It was Ginny's party where she'd met Darrell.
“Ginny, does Darrell have a hearing problem?”
Ginny frowned. “Oh. You mean about him talking too loud?”
Temple nodded. “Yeah, about that.”
“I don't think so... I know his family. The whole bunch talk loud for some reason.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“No go?”
“My ears rang all night!”
“Let's seeâ” Ginny checked an imaginary list “âthat must be prospect number three this month?”
Temple studied her sunburned nose in the mirror hanging behind the counter. She still looked like Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer.
Ginny leaned on the counter, her brown eyes quizzical. “I thought Darrell might make the cut. So he talks a little loud. It could be worse.”
Temple's eyes met her friend's. “Yeah? Like how much worse?”
Ginny's eyebrows lifted into a look of innocence. “He could be twins?”
Sighing, Temple reached for the sugar. “Maybe I should give up on finding Mr. Spectacular and just buy a cat.”
“Persians are good,” Ginny agreed sagely. “Independent. Feed them once a day, empty their box every other day or so. They purr nice, lick your hand once in a while. Shed very little if you keep them brushed. When you get tired of looking at them, you can lock them in the laundry room. They don't lose their shoes, keys or billfold and they don't snore.”
Even if she locked Darrell in the laundry room, she'd still hear him.
The whole town would hear him.
Again, Temple studied her reflection in the mirror, wondering if she had time to do something about her nose as she watched the traffic of passengers in various states of haste passing behind her.
Couples were parting with hugs, kisses and tearful smiles. For a moment, she felt a pang of envy which she quickly pushed aside.
“I don't know how you do it, Gin. You and Mike have gone together for what? Two years?”
Temple couldn't find a man who held her interest for more than two days. Not even for Grams. Lately she could hardly make it through four hours with one.
“Are you two thinking of marriage?”
Ginny shrugged and poured ketchup into plastic bottles. “I don't know. There are still some things to work out,” she said. “Mike's not crazy about children and I want a houseful.”
“He'll come around.”
“I'm not counting on it. He had my Chia Pet spayed for my birthday.”
Grinning, Temple glanced at her watch, took a last sip of coffee and slid off the stool. “Running late. See you later.”
“Hey,” Ginny called. “Your birthday's coming up. Shall I start looking for a cat?”
“I'll think about it,” Temple said, heading toward the exit. The idea was sounding better to her all the time.
Scotty was in the copilot seat, clipboard in hand, going down the preflight list when Temple stepped inside the door of the small cockpit.
“Coffee, gentlemen?”
“Love of my life,” Scotty said, taking one cup.
This morning's flight was aboard a Saab 340 aircraft with a crew of three: pilot, first officer and flight attendant. The aircraft, with one-by-two seating, represented a whole new generation of planes built especially for shorter-distance flying. The cockpit was equipped with state-of-the-art avionics technology. It was one of Temple's favorite planes.
Squeezing around her, Craig took his seat at the controls. The rush of heat at the unexpected contact took Temple by surprise. It was all-encompassing, like being bathed in tropical sunlight. Her cheeks flamed and she stared at him, trying to understand what had happened.
Craig took the cup of coffee from her. “Something wrong?”
“No, uh...everything's fine, thanks.” What was that about? Shivers for Craig Stevens? Since when? Just because he was wearing Old Spice after-shave, her absolute favorite.
Scotty sipped his coffee gratefully. “Didn't have time for any at home this morning. Steph was up all night with the baby.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Temple leaned against the door frame, her equilibrium regained.
“Teething.” Laying aside the clipboard, Scotty took another sip of his coffee. “Funny how quick you forget things,” he said. “Pete and Cari are five and six now. Steph and I had forgotten the number of times we had to get up at night to massage sore gums and try to get aspirin down a baby. But, alas, I see I bore you.” He grinned.
Craig settled his sunglasses on his nose and adjusted them. Temple noticed the way his hair lay smoothly against the nape of his neck, the attractive way the crisp, navy and light blue uniform fit him like a glove, defining his broad shoulders and muscled thighsâ
Geez, Burney, what is the matter with you? Craig's your best friend? You're ogling him like a potential, clandestine lover! Ooohh, now there's a thought.
Shaking the fantasy aside, she made herself concentrate on what Scotty was saying.
“You two need to find somebody and settle down.” He handed his cup back to Temple. “Stop all this running around with strangers, going home alone, waking up to Pop-Tarts in the toaster and instant coffee.”
“You sound like Grams,” she said.
“I like Pop-Tarts,” Craig grunted, frowning at his clipboard.
“Eleven years tomorrow I asked Steph to marry me, and miracle of miracles she said yes. We're getting a sitter and going out to dinner Friday night.”
“Wow,” Temple teased, underwhelmed by the plans.
“Hey, don't knock it. It may not be laser lights and rockets, but it's nice. Comfortable. The kind of familiarity that makes itâ” He stopped midsentence, looking a little embarrassed at his pleasure in the relationship he shared with his wife. “Well, we'll have a quiet, candlelight dinner with wine, then homeâto bed. Early.” He winked at Craig. “It's not bad. Trust me.”