Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(3)



Her cursory inspection also told her everything she needed to know about his character. She saw indolence in his slouching posture, arrogance in the angle of his head, and the flicker of something unmistakably carnal in those half-lidded marsh violet eyes.

She repressed a small shiver. “Let’s be off, then, Mr. Traveler. You’re a bit late, aren’t you? I do hope no one has taken my luggage.” She extended her carry-all for him to take, but she hit his chest instead. The Times fell out, along with the new biography of Sam Houston she’d been reading, and one of the chocolate bars her hips didn’t need, but which she enjoyed nonetheless.

She bent to pick everything up just as he took a step forward. Her straw brim bumped his knee, and her hat flew off to join the pile on the floor.

She set it back over her unruly curls. “Sorry.” She wasn’t normally clumsy, but she’d been so distracted by her troubles lately that her best friend, Penelope Briggs, told her she was in imminent danger of turning into one of those “dotty, dear things” so beloved by British mystery writers.

The idea of becoming a “dotty, dear thing” when she was barely thirty depressed her unbearably, so she didn’t let herself think about it. Besides, if everything went according to plan, that worry would disappear.

He didn’t help collect her possessions, nor did he offer to take her carry-all when she was done, but how much initiative could one expect from a man who had been born so physically blessed?

“Let’s be off, then.” She pointed the proper direction with her rolled umbrella.

She had nearly reached the end of the gate area before she realized he wasn’t following her. She turned to see what was wrong.

He was staring at her extended brolly. It was a perfectly ordinary brolly, and she couldn’t imagine why he seemed so mesmerized by it. Maybe he was more slow-witted than she’d originally thought.

“You . . . uh . . . always point the direction like that?” he asked.

She glanced down at her floral brolly and wondered what on earth he was talking about. “We need to go to luggage claim,” she explained patiently, jiggling the handle just a bit for emphasis.

“I know that.”

“Well, then?”

He developed a slightly dazed look. “Never mind.”

Once he began to move, she set off. Her gauzy skirt swirled around her legs, and a lock of hair blew across her cheek. She probably should have taken a few minutes to tidy up a bit before she’d got off the plane, but she’d been so busy entertaining the children who were seated across from her that she hadn’t thought of it.

“Mr. Traveler, it occurs to me . . .” She realized she was talking to herself.

She stopped, looked back, and spotted him gazing into the window of a souvenir shop. She stood patiently tapping her foot while she waited for him to join her.

He continued to stare into the window.

With a sigh, she marched back to join him. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“We need to get my luggage.”

He looked up. “I was thinking I might like a new key chain.”

“You wish to buy one now?”

“Maybe.”

She waited.

He sidled six inches to the left to get a better view.

“Mr. Traveler, I really think we should carry on.”

“See, I’ve got this Gucci key chain a friend of mine gave me a couple years ago. But I don’t much like things with other people’s initials on them.”

“You received this key chain a few years ago?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She remembered a sermon she’d once heard about the way God sometimes compensated human beings who were born handicapped in one area by richly endowing them in another. Someone who was born with exceptional good looks, for example, might be dull-witted. A pang of compassion struck her, along with a sense of relief. His denseness would make the next two weeks so much easier. “Very well. I’ll wait.”

He continued to study the display.

Her arms were beginning to ache from the combined weight of her carry-ons. She finally extended her carry-all. “Would you mind taking this for me?”

He regarded it doubtfully. “It looks heavy.”

“Yes. It is.”

He nodded vaguely, then returned his attention to the window.

She switched the carry-all to her other arm. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh, I can pay for it myself.”

“That’s not what I meant. Would you like some help making your selection?”

“Now, see, that’s what got me into trouble in the first place. I let somebody else choose my key chain.”

Her shoulders had begun to scream in protest. “Mr. Traveler, we really have to be going now, don’t we? Perhaps you could do this some other time?”

“I s’pose I could, but the selection might not be as good.”

Her patience frayed. “Very well, then! Get the one with the cowboy on it.”

“Yeah? You like that one?”

She forced her jaw to unclench. “I adore it.”

“The cowboy it is.” Looking pleased, he walked into the shop, paused on the way to admire a display of tea towels, then took forever to chat with the attractive young woman behind the counter. Finally, he emerged with a small package, which he immediately deposited in her cramped fingers. “Here you go.”

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