Under the Covers (42 page)

"Are you sincere with all this?" Granny Pearl asked, waving the article like a white flag.

"Yes."

"No more tricks or lies?" Victoria asked.

"No. Never."

"You're not acting now?" Chelsea hitched out a hip. "'Cause you were pretty good, at least for a beginner. And I do feel responsible, since I hired you."

"I'm not acting. I am in love with Abby and I want to make everything right."

"So," Granny Pearl said, her mouth pursed, "what are your intentions?"

Hunter smiled slowly. "I'd like to marry her, if she'll have me."

Granny Pearl and the sisters shared wary looks back and forth for another minute before Gran finally nodded and handed him a printed itinerary. "All right, son, she's on this flight. But you'll have to hurry."

He started toward the door and remembered Lizzie. There was no way he'd make it in time if he waited to take her to the party. "My little girl—I have to take her to a party."

"We can drop her," Chelsea offered.

Lizzie ran in and Hunter explained. "Would that be okay with you, Lizzie?"

"You're going to get Dr. Abby?"

"Yes."

"Can Snarts play with Butterballs till you get back?"

"Yes." Although the mongrel had already collapsed under a shady tree as if his work were done.

Granny Pearl pointed to the tea sets on the shelf. "We'll have a tea party with her until it's time to take her to her friend's house."

"Goody!" Lizzie squealed, clapping Angelica's hands together with her own.

Hunter nodded and hugged Lizzie. "Your mom is picking you up from the party in the morning."

"Okay. Go get Dr. Abby, Daddy," Lizzie whispered. "Me and Angelica likes her."

Hunter ran to the car, brought Lizzie's overnight bag in, then hurried back outside and sped away. As he turned onto I-85 toward the airport, he cursed at the heavy traffic. He'd never make it.

His palms sweating, he glanced at the HOV lane and salivated....

Chapter 28

The Ass Man

The wind whistled behind Abby as she rushed into the Atlanta airport, the overcast sky and rumbling dark clouds signifying that a storm was brewing behind her. She hesitated as she walked in, the back of her neck prickling. Had someone called her name?

No, it must be the wind. She'd already said good-bye to her family, and Hunter... well, he wouldn't be coming. Sure, he'd sent flowers and gifts and made other romantic gestures, and he'd phoned a dozen or more times, but he was probably looking for more food for his story. By now he should have gotten the message that she didn't want to talk to him again. Ever.

It wasn't as though he would come chasing her to the airport or to Tennessee. Not that she wanted him to...

Refusing to wallow in her self-pity, she went through security, then took the train to the C terminal. The plane was already boarding when she arrived, so she wheeled her bag on and found her seat, then stowed her bag in the overhead compartment. The man seated next to her was a wiry man with legs so long they pushed against the seat in front of him. She climbed over him to reach her window seat, prayed she didn't have to go to the bathroom during the flight, then pulled out her bag of Reese's cups and indulged herself. Her butt was probably spreading, but who cared?

A heavyset woman plunked down in front of her, and threw her seat back so she was practically lying in Abby's lap. The flight attendant roamed the aisles, checking for seat belts, and motioned for the woman to raise her seat.

"I can't," the woman said, struggling with the lever.

The attendant tried to help. "Oh, dear, it's broken."

Abby grimaced and searched the plane for any vacancies, but the cabin was filled to capacity. Minutes later, the plane sailed through the sky. Abby stared out the window, kissing Atlanta good-bye for a few days so she could get her head on straight.

And forget about Hunter Stone.

* * *

Thunderclouds covered the sun and cast a grayness over the sky, the gloomy weather mirroring Hunter's mood. He vetoed the idea of the HOV lane, his aggravation mushrooming when the temperature gauge in his Explorer's engine suddenly shot up. If he kept driving, he'd blow up his engine. But he didn't have time to stop.

He had to catch Abby.

Cursing his bad luck, he flipped off the air-conditioning and turned on the heater, hoping to draw the heat from the engine. Keeping one eye on the temperature gauge, the other on the car in front of him, he maneuvered through traffic. The idea seemed to work temporarily and the gauge dropped, but it was a million degrees in the car and he was sweating like a pig, so he rolled down the windows.

"Just don't let it rain," he muttered.

Two miles down the highway, though, the sky opened up and spilled water like a dam had burst. Rain slashed the window and pelted his elbow and arm, so he had to roll his window up slightly. Sweat drenched his clothes as the heat blasted him. Even the roses on the seat beside him began to wilt. He briefly wondered if it had been worth the time to stop and pick them up. Yes, he decided, flowers definitely couldn't hurt in his quest to win Abby back.

Thunder rumbled and crackled, lightning zigzagging across the nearly black sky. He switched on his radio. "Severe thunderstorm warnings are in effect until seven P.M. tonight. Stay tuned for more details as the weather bureau delivers them."

Great. Just great.

On the other hand, maybe it was good. Maybe Abby's flight would be delayed and he would catch her before she boarded.

The traffic slowed to a crawl, the sound of metal crunching and tires squealing echoing over the storm. He grimaced and tried to change lanes, but just as he did, his car died. The Previa behind him braked and barely missed him, then the driver laid on his horn.

Hunter wiped sweat from his brow and tried to start the engine again, but the motor screeched, sputtered, then gave way to silence. He stomped on the gas pedal and cranked the key in the ignition again and again, but he knew it was useless. Meanwhile, a symphony of horns blasted the air. Hunter cursed, snagged his cell phone, called for a tow truck, then grabbed the wilting roses and slogged the last mile to the airport.

Rain assaulted him as he dodged cars and forged ahead. A MARTA bus screeched to a stop inches from his knees as he ran across the airport entrance. He jogged past the economy and hourly parking, and it seemed like another mile to Delta ticketing. Lightning flashed, almost catching a lamppost, and Hunter quickened his pace, panting and squinting through the downpour. Finally he jogged inside, where a long line of soccer players stood ready to check in. He ran toward security and the terminals, wove through a Japanese group searching for the international terminal, and checked the overhead screen.

He was too late.

Abby's plane had already taken off.

* * *

Abby woke up as the plane screeched to a halt. Her legs were cramped from being pinned between the broken seat and the man next to her, her neck ached from her sleeping position, and her heart ached from missing Hunter.

She had just had the most erotic—and incredibly romantic—dream. Hunter had been chasing her across the country, but they kept missing each other. When he'd finally caught her, he'd made love with her until dawn, then whispered that he didn't care if her boobs were too small, that he was an ass man himself.

Disgusted with her foolish fantasies, she shook her sleep-numbed legs and tried to stand as the passengers began to deplane. She had to erase Hunter from her mind like a bad computer virus. He didn't love her. He had used her and lied to her... nothing he'd said to her had been real.

Confusing thoughts held a debate in her head.

She remembered his tortured voice when he'd thought Lizzie was missing, and his stricken face when he'd thought he might lose her to his wife. Maybe he had spoken the truth about his feelings for his daughter.

But for her?

No...

He sent gifts and cards and apologies all week
, a little voice inside her head whispered.

Still, it isn't enough,
the other voice argued.

"Ma'am, aren't you getting off?"

Abby jerked her head up at the sound of the flight attendant's question, and realized she'd been holding up the line. She instantly hurried forward and retrieved her carry-on bag.

Maybe she would try out some of the activities at the resort. Something challenging and unusual that she'd never ventured to do before. Something exciting that would get her adrenaline pumping... something that didn't involve a man.

* * *

After sleeping in the airport, Hunter finally caught an early morning flight. The next few hours were almost as harrowing as the trip to the airport had been. And during his stay overnight he could have sworn that when he'd woken up, a punk kid with orange hair had been standing over him. The plane landed with a jolt. He shuffled as quickly as possible down the aisle, wove through the crowded terminal, hailed a taxi, then jumped in, still carrying the wilted roses.

Two hours later, he stood at the hotel desk, pleading with the manager to tell him where to find Abby. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't give out room numbers."

"At least phone her room for me."

"Certainly." He realized he looked a tad weather-beaten, but the man frowned at him as if he were some psycho stalker.

Hunter tapped his hand on the counter as he waited, but the phone rang and rang.

He balled his hand into a fist. Maybe she had simply taken a walk. He'd get a room, sit down in the lobby, and wait for her. He glanced at his clothes and frowned. Or maybe he'd get a shower first. Surely this resort had a clothing store, or at least a gift shop where he could pick up an extra outfit. At least some clean underwear.

"Let me have a room, please."

The clerk shook his head. "Sorry, sir, but we're all booked."

Hunter leaned over the counter, his jaw tight. "I think you can probably find one room here somewhere."

The man's reedy voice grated out, "Sorry, but we have the Shriners' convention here. There is no space."

Okay, dammit, he'd sleep on the floor, then get a return flight to Atlanta. But he had to apologize first. "How about a store?"

The manager pointed a finger down a long hallway. Hunter found the gift shop, frowning at the clothes emblazoned with deer antlers and coyotes. He finally chose a modest T-shirt imprinted with the words
The Great Smoky Mountains
then added a stash of underwear and a pair of running shorts to the pile along with some toiletries.

"Eighty-five dollars and four cents," a perky teenage brunette said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His heart roared in his ears.

His credit cards and cash were missing.

A flashback of the morning scene hit him: the young punk standing over him at the airport when he'd awakened had robbed him! Furious, he reached in his pocket for his cell phone and realized it was missing, too.

"Sir, eighty-five dollars—"

"I know." Hunter shook his head. "Could I pay you later?"

"Do you have a room number to bill it to?"

"No."

"Sorry, mister." The girl snatched the items and pointed to the door.

* * *

Abby boarded the Cessna with the other four guests who'd decided to take the plunge through the open skies, adrenaline racing through her. She'd taken a skydiving lesson this morning and had decided a real adventure like this was the only way to take her mind off Hunter.

The clear blue sky stretched in front of them, the mountains rising and filling the distance with vast greenery. She checked her backpack and supplies. The adventurers would be dropped at a clearing near a legendary waterfall, camp overnight, then hike their way back down the mountain. She hoped the physical activity would start the process of purging Hunter from her system.

* * *

An attractive blonde in a shocking pink dress, a woman whom he once would have pegged as his type, but who now didn't even stir his libido, had been staring at Hunter with a combination of distrust and pity while he'd whiled away the morning moping in the lobby, trying to convince someone to tell him where Abby might have gone.

Finally, her pity won over her distrust.

"Listen, Mr...." She hesitated, a look of recognition crossing her face. "Are you Hunter Stone?"

"That's correct."

"You're the reporter who wrote all those articles about Dr. Jensen. That one today was so sweet."

Hunter hadn't known his boss had run it. For the first time in years, he'd actually gone through a morning without reading the paper or checking to see his byline.

Some things were just more important. Like finding the woman he loved and convincing her he wasn't the total snake she thought him to be.

Her green eyes shimmered with approval. "It sounds like you have a thing for the doctor yourself."

Aha.
Why hadn't he thought of using the honest approach?

Because he'd grown accustomed to telling lies.

"I do," he admitted. "I came all the way here to tell her that I love her." He indicated the pitiful roses and her smile faded slightly. "It's a long story," he said, giving her the short version of a night from hell.