Two Little Secrets. Linda Wisdom Randall
she would have opted for a cruise.
Except the movie Titanic stayed with her much too long.
So she’d armed herself with motion-sickness medication, a couple of paperback novels and a positive attitude to get her over the Pacific Ocean.
She made her way down the aisle to her seat. She pushed her carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, then settled herself in the window seat assigned to her. She opened her book and pretended not to hear the jet engines warming up or feel the faint rumble under her feet.
“Excuse me, I’m afraid you’re sitting in my seat.”
She looked up into a pair of brown eyes that rivaled Casper’s, her German shepherd’s.
“I don’t think so.”
He didn’t move. “I do think so. You’re in my seat.”
She looked up at him, refusing to back down.
“This is seat 15C and my ticket reads 15C.” She pulled her ticket out of her bag and showed it to him.
As if not to be outdone, he brandished a ticket with the same seat number printed on it.
She glanced at his ticket and smiled. “Amazing, my ticket says the same thing. Besides, haven’t you ever heard of possession being nine-tenths of the law and all that?”
“I guess we’ll need a third party to figure this one out,” he said, pushing the call button.
The flight attendant was warm and helpful as she took both tickets to investigate. When she returned, she was equally apologetic.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Stone, but somehow the same seat assignment was made for both of you,” she told him. “As Ms. Walker’s ticket was purchased first…” Her voice fell off. “I’m afraid we have no more window seats. In fact, we’re full except for the middle and aisle seat here.”
He nodded. “That’s fine with me.”
She handed them back their tickets and went about her duties.
“Sorry about that. I’m Zach Stone.” He held out his hand.
“Ginna Walker.” She felt his warm palm slide across hers.
Not bad at all. She judged him to be a couple of inches over six feet and nice-looking, with dark-blond hair she knew would lighten under the Hawaiian sun. It needed a good shaping, her keen hairdresser eye noticed. Soft yellow polo shirt, khaki-colored pants. A pair of glasses stuck out of his shirt pocket.
Maybe the flight won’t be so bad, after all.
All the way to the airport, Zach had busied himself with instructions for Lucie about the twins. His sister looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Which he had. He was leaving his precious babies with his sister and her son, a child who aspired to be number one on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.
“Nothing is going to happen to the twins,” Lucie had said firmly, steering him through the security checkpoint and toward the gate. She held on to him as if she feared he would bolt in the opposite direction. “Emma always knows when Nick is trying to con her and she keeps Trey out of trouble. You just enjoy your vacation. And remember what I told you. For the next two weeks, no mention of your kids. You’re a single man out for relaxation. That’s it. And if you get lucky—” she paused “—I packed what you’ll need in your shaving kit.”
Zach groaned. He really should have made a run for it, but he knew his bloodhound of a sister would only drag him back. The woman was relentless.
He dropped into the aisle seat and adjusted his seat belt. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lucie had stationed herself by the door, prepared to stand there until the plane left the ground. With him in it.
An exotic fragrance he couldn’t hope to name floated from his seatmate. Nothing overpowering but enough to tempt the senses. The lady was ready for her vacation in the islands in a short black knit skirt that bared a pleasant amount of leg and a blue silky top that stopped a couple of inches short of the skirt’s waistband. Brown hair that shone with gold and coppery highlights was pulled up and back in a curly ponytail that cascaded down her back. The eyes that watched him were a startling shade of blue. They were large and liquid, meant to captivate a man. Her voice held a husky note that was equally enthralling. Zach, the kid, would have stuttered his way through an introduction. Zach, the man, almost swallowed his tongue.
Maybe this vacation won’t be so bad, after all.
Since his seatmate was engrossed in her book, Zach opened the book he’d brought with him. With Lucie so insistent on his finding some romance in the islands, he wasn’t about to allow her to choose his reading material.
As they took off, he glanced out the corner of his eye and noticed her knuckles were white as she gripped the book.
“Flying’s safer than riding in a car,” he said in a low voice, in the hope of relaxing her.
“Cars remain on the ground while planes, which are infinitely heavier, go up in the air and have the chance of coming down when least expected,” she murmured.
He noticed she started to relax once the plane had leveled off, even if one leg still had a habit of jiggling up and down. Which drew his attention back to her legs, which were as nice as the rest of her.
“Don’t worry, I won’t start screaming or anything,” Ginna said. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I turned on the TV. Big mistake. I think every disaster movie ever made was on. I channel-surfed from crashed planes to earthquakes to tornadoes to sinking ships. You watch enough of those and anyone with normal intelligence would be afraid to leave the house.”
“I guess that could get a person thinking,” Zach admitted, silently amused by her candor. A logical man to the core, he couldn’t imagine that watching a few disaster movies would keep him off a plane.
Ginna leaned over. “If I’d seen one more movie showing a plane crash, I wouldn’t be here,” she confided in a low voice. “I’m not a good flyer. When my mother was six months pregnant with me, she was on a plane that developed engine trouble and could have crashed. Which is why I usually spend my vacations at places you can drive to.”
“That could limit your options,” Zach commented.
Ginna shrugged. “I live in Newport Beach a short drive from the beach, a little over an hour’s drive from the mountains, maybe a couple of hours from the desert. I think I have most of the bases covered if I want to get to one of those places. Anything else, I plan for a longer drive.”
“Yet you’re flying five hours to a Pacific island.”
“I got a great deal from a client who’s a travel agent,” she said, then went on to clarify, “I’m a hairdresser.”
“Funny, I got a great deal from my sister, who happens to be a travel agent,” Zach said dryly.
Ginna raised her plastic glass of diet soda. “To travel agents who know where the deals are.”
Zach tapped his glass against hers. “The plastic clink isn’t as satisfying as crystal goblets, but we know the sentiment is there,” he said.
She nodded. “Exactly. The thought is there. So what do you do, Zach?”
“I write a magazine column,” he replied, figuring it was close enough to the truth.
“Really? Let me guess. A travel column. How to fly and arrive in one piece.”
“Are you sure you don’t write fiction in between haircuts?” he joked, relieved she’d answered her own question.
She shrugged. “I’ve been told I have an overactive imagination, but I can’t even write a decent letter. I guess when someone says they write a magazine column, I tend to automatically think of the wilder side of the business. Someone who’s free and easy, able to pick up and go when they please.