Mr. Wrong (30 page)

Denver International airport was crowded. Sara thought it was amusing when she’d flown in yesterday that the large, white circus-looking tents were used as a permanent structure for keeping snow off of the buildings. But the rapid snow falling made the tents look like something out of an Alaskan survival movie.

Sara
parked and fumbled out of the car. Everything spilled from her purse. “Crap.”

“Do you need some help?”

Her heart stopped. She looked up. A man in a business suit leaned down to help her.

“No. Thank you.” She pushed it all back in and took off at breakneck speed into the airport. She surveyed the departures.
Johanesburg, terminal C gate 12. She ran to go through the security check station.

“You have to have a ticket.”
The dark-headed man pointed to a sign. “The policy is stated right here and, if you didn’t notice the automated voice, it is repeating it over and over.”

Sara knew this, but she couldn’t afford a ticket.
“Look, I know it’s dramatic, but the guy that I love is going to board a plane to Africa in less than fifteen minutes, and I can’t afford a ticket to Africa.”

The security guy frowned but leaned forward and whispered,
“Ms. you don’t need a ticket to Africa, you just need a ticket to get through security.” He waved her away. “Now run back to the ticket counter and ask for the cheapest ticket.”

Sara
clambered for the ticket counter. People were everywhere. The lines were three and four rows. She turned to the guy next to her. “What is happening?”

He pulled his eyes from the paperback he was reading and frowned.
“It’s an airport.”

He said it like she was stupid
.

She
sighed. “I mean, why is there so many people waiting?”

The guy shrugged and gestured to the floor to ceiling window with his book.
“The snow. A lot of flights are cancelled.”

Sara
rubbed her forehead. “I need to purchase a ticket now.” She felt the anxiety burning inside of her chest.

The guy rolled his eyes and went back to his book.
“Why don’t you head to customer service, the line is shorter.”

Sara
bolted for customer service. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder.

The line was shorter.
A short man with a brown mustache yelled at one of the service people. “I can’t miss my connection. My wife will kill me; it’s our anniversary.”

The lady, with a tight bun and tired eyes that said she’d been through this routine one too many times smiled flatly.
“I’m sorry, sir. That flight is cancelled. The storm is coming from the north and flights from Canada aren’t taking off right now.”

The man pounded his fist on the counter.

“Next in line, please.” The bun lady turned to the next customer, clearly excusing the man.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and rolled his bag next to a few seats against the wall.
He slumped into one of the seats.

Sara
felt bad for him. His anniversary.

“Next.”
The bun lady excused another victim, who turned away rather upset-looking, too.

“Next.”

Her heart pounded and she felt like she could hardly speak. “I need your cheapest ticket.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere.”

The lady pushed her gold-framed glasses down on her nose.
“You have to know where you’re going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going
. . . I mean . . . I don’t know. I just need to talk to someone that is leaving, and I need a ticket to get through security.”

The moment it was out of her mouth she knew it sounded slightly
stalkerish.
Bun lady raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

Sara
envisioned her pushing a panic button under the counter that would send airport security descending upon her like vultures to prey.

“Look.
I l-love this guy who is leaving for Africa. And I just want to tell him how I feel.”

“Why don’t you just call him?”
The lady’s voice was louder now, laced with irritation.

Sara
felt her cheeks redden. “There are some things that can’t be said over a phone call.”

Her
nostrils grew to a larger size. She clicked the buttons on the computer. “This late the cheapest flight is $150.00.”

Sara
tugged at her duffel bag. She didn’t have that much in her account. “Can I have you help me activate a credit card?” She mentally kicked herself for not ever doing this before.

Her mouth went into an even thinner line.
“I’m not here to help you with your financial needs. I am here to help customers buy tickets.” The lady took a breath, and Sara realized that she was in for one of those lengthy speeches that this lady clearly wanted to give to someone. Probably years of discontent with her job was about to come out all over Sara.

The
mustached man from a few minutes ago stepped in front of Sara. “I want to transfer my ticket to this girl.”

Stunned,
Sara didn’t know what to say. Her eyes fluttered to hold back the tears.

“W
hy would you do that?” The bun lady was clearly displeased at being cut off.

His eyes c
rinkled into a smile. “Because someone should have the opportunity to tell the person they love—that they love them—in person.”

E
motion bubbled up from her chest. She hugged him. “Thank you.”

The short man
laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“Well
.” The bun lady exhaled dramatically and pushed her glasses back. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let’s get your ticket.”

Chapter 44

Sara ran from the security checkpoint, carrying her shoes in her hands. She bolted down terminal C like a track star at the last winning race of the season. Nothing else mattered at this last race. All other races before right now meant nothing.

Worry entered her mind.
What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he missed his flight to talk to her and he didn’t care about anything she told him?

She pulled out her phone and pressed
Beau’s number. At least this way she could find out if he even wanted to see her. It rang four times and went to his voicemail. She hung up, sweat ran down her back. Maybe she should walk away? Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

She could see gate twelve
, and she pressed harder. She muttered a prayer that if this was right—it would work out.

She hopped on a walking escalator
and pushed herself through the standing people. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

“Watch
yourself,” an older gentleman called out to her. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”
Sara gave him a weak smile. She leapt over a large stack of suitcases at the end of the escalator. And pain jarred into her ankle. She fell to the floor.

“See.” The old man helped her up. “You’re running through here like a crazy woman.”

Sara steadied herself and held back the tears. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to find someone.” She stared up at gate 12.

To her relief, she could
still walk on her ankle. She hobbled over to the lady manning the gate. “Are you still boarding for Johannesburg?”

Annoyed the lady turned to her.
“The flight to Johannesburg just got cleared for takeoff.” She looked at her computer. “You’re five minutes too late. Do you have a ticket?”

Sara
pressed her hands down on the counter and tried to alleviate the pressure from her ankle. “No. I don’t have a ticket.” Tears burned into her eyes. She’d missed him.

The lady s
tared at her. “Well, then how can I help you?”

Sara
shook her head. The tears finally won. “No, you can’t help me.”

The annoyed lady suddenly softened.
“Are you okay?”

Sara
laughed sadly. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“What can I do?”
She touched Sara’s arm gently.

Sara
snorted. “Unless you can stop the plane, there is nothing you can do for me.” She smiled her best fake smile. “It’s okay. I should have told him. I should have called him sooner and told him I wanted to talk to him. But,” she said and waved her hand in the air, “now he’s gone. And I’m here.” Sara pushed away from the counter. She had to find a place to sit for a while.

“What would you have told this guy
, if you’d had the chance to tell him?”

No. No. No.

Butterflies thrummed into her chest.

There he was
— jeans, white shirt, cowboy boots. His coat and computer bag draped over his arm. His blue eyes were red around the edges.

“
I thought you were gone.”

Beau narrowed his ey
es and took the sight of her in. He let out a breath. “Shouldn’t you be at a wedding?”

Sara
unwillingly touched her left finger with her thumb. He was really asking, shouldn’t you be marrying Jonathon?

Her throat instantly went dry
, and she felt like she couldn’t talk. “Beau . . .” Knowing her eyes were red, her hair was sweaty, she held her shoes in one hand, and she could hardly walk, she gulped back emotion.

“Sara, are you okay?” He reached for her.

She stopped him. She looked up into those blue, perfect eyes. “Beau—I love you. I’ve loved you since . . .” Her mind flashed to so many scenes with him in them. “Since that day in the grove, after you’d stood next to me at my father’s funeral. But I didn’t know it yet.” She bit the emotion back and thought of that day. “I’ve tried to get you out of my head. I’ve tried to be angry with you. I’ve tried to picture you and . . . and her together.”

Beau
took a step back. His eyes intent on hers.

“But when
Genova told me you lied to me.” She let the words stand for a second, demanding an answer.

But Beau didn’t answer.

“I was ticked at you for lying to me.” She added as a side note but waved her hand in dismissal in the air. “But I knew you thought you were doing the gentlemanly thing. I knew you thought you were giving me to Jonathon or something because you thought I’d be better off.”

He dropped his coat and computer bag roughly to the floor and spread his hands wide in the air
in question. “Why are you here, Sara? You don’t want me.” Anger steeled the edges of his words.

She blinked
and couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting it. “Yes, I do.”

He grabbed her shoulders.
“I’m arrogant and I usually say what’s on my mind.”

She smiled. “M
aybe that’s what I like about you.”

He
shook her, again. “No you don’t. You hate that about me. In fact, you want someone predictable . . . someone that has a five-year plan. You want someone that doesn’t challenge you or question your plans for the future.”

She bit her lip.
“No. I don’t.”

His eyebrows went up.
“You don’t?”

Sara
took a deep breath. “I’ve told you before that the best part of life is the unwritten part.” Chills ran through her, and she knew that was the truth.

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper.
“I’m not right for you.”

Sara smiled
and felt herself blush. “If you’re not Mr. Right, then I guess the only thing I want—is Mr. Wrong.”

Beau closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He flashed them open. “
You want someone that can take you to the temple.”

Any previous anger,
dissipated. And she suddenly understood. “Of course I want someone who can take me to the temple. I want a God-fearing man that wants to follow the Lord’s commandments. I want a man that takes on life like he’s not afraid of anything. I want this same man to love his mother and care about her welfare. And to sit in on discussions with people that want to learn the gospel. And be concerned with people that need his help, go visit them at the hospital, take them little treats when Martha’s not watching—yeah, Larry told me about that. And I want this very same man to help me every time I ask for it.” Tears burned in her eyes. “Even when I don’t ask for it. And always stand beside me.” She could feel herself shaking with passion. “I want you, Beau. I want you no matter what your past looks like. I just want a future with you. With the good man I know you to be. And, I’m willing to wait until you can take me to the temple.” She nodded forcefully. Then added, “If you want me?”

Vulnerable.
Plain. Truth. That’s what she’d given him. The truth. And now, she had to see if he wanted it.

He glared at her
and turned away. “This was supposed to be over.”