felt slightly superior with her tomato juice, but the sensation lasted only until she remembered that Holbrook had a Pulitzer to his credit, that he’d interviewed presidents and kings and some of the greatest movie stars who’d ever graced the silver screen. Because she held him in such high esteem, she was willing to allow for his arrogance.
He’d forgotten all about her, anyway. Now that his dinner tray was out of the way, he was writing on the yellow legal pad in earnest.
The plane began its descent into Portland soon after, and Carly obediently put her tray into the upright position and fastened her seat belt. She was nervous about flying in general and taking off and landing in particular, and she gripped the armrests so tightly that her knuckles ached. Even though she’d flown a lot, Carly had never gotten used to it, and she doubted that she ever would.
When the plane touched down and then bumped and jostled along the runway, moving at a furious pace, Carly closed her eyes tightly and awaited death.
“It’s going to be okay,” she heard a voice say, and she was startled into opening her eyes again.
Mark Holbrook was watching her with gentle amusement, and he reached across the aisle to grip her hand.
Carly felt foolish, and she forced a shaky smile. But she had to grimace when the engines of the big plane were thrust into reverse and the sound of air rushing past the wings filled the cabin.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a staticky voice said over the sound system, “we’d like to welcome you to Portland, Oregon. There’s a light spring rain falling today, and the temperature is in the mid-forties. Thank you for choosing our airline, and we hope you’ll fly with us again soon. Please remain in your seats until we’ve come to a complete stop at the gate…”
Mark was obviously one of those people who never listened to such requests. He released Carly’s hand after giving it a squeeze, and stood to rummage through the overhead compartment for his carry-on luggage.
“Need a lift somewhere?” he asked, smiling down at Carly.
For a moment she almost regretted that her friend Janet would be waiting for her inside the terminal. She shook her head. “Thanks, but someone will be picking me up.”
He produced a business card from the pocket of his rumpled tweed coat and extended it. “Here,” he said with mischief in his eyes. “If you need any help learning the ropes, just call my extension.”
She beamed at him and replied in the same teasing tone of voice, “I think I’ll be able to master my job on my own, Mr. Holbrook.”
He chuckled and moved out of the plane with the rest of the mob, glancing back at Carly once to give her a brazen wink and another knee-dissolving grin.
Ten minutes later, when the crowd had thinned, Carly walked off the plane carrying her beauty case and purse. Her best friend from college, Janet McClain, was waiting eagerly at the gate, as promised.
“I thought you’d missed your flight,” Janet fussed as she and Carly hugged. Janet was an attractive brunette with dark eyes, and she’d been working in Portland as a buyer for a major department store ever since graduating from college. She’d been the one to suggest that Carly leave home once and for all and make a life for herself on the coast.
“I didn’t want to be in the crush,” Carly answered. “Is my apartment ready?”
Janet shook her head. “The paint’s still wet, but don’t worry about it. You can spend a few days at my place—you need to wait for your furniture to arrive anyway.”
Carly nodded. In the distance she caught a glimpse of the back of Mark Holbrook’s head. She wished she could see if he was walking with anyone, but even at her height of five feet seven inches the effort was fruitless.
“Who are you staring at?” Janet demanded, sensing drama. “Did you meet somebody on the plane?”
“Sort of,” Carly admitted. “I was sitting across the aisle from Mark Holbrook.”
Janet looked suitably impressed. “The journalist? What was he doing in coach?”
Carly laughed. “Slumming, I guess.”
Janet’s cheeks turned pink. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her raincoat. “Did you actually talk to him?”
“Oh, yes,” Carly answered. “He condescended to say a few words.”
“Did he ask you out?”
Carly sighed. She wished he had and, at the same time, was glad he hadn’t. But she wasn’t prepared to admit to such confusion—reporters were supposed to be decisive, with clear-cut opinions on everything. “He gave me his card.”
After that, Janet let the subject drop even though, these days, judging by her letters and phone calls, she was fixated on the man-woman relationship. She’d developed a penchant to get married and have a child.
They picked up Carly’s luggage and had a porter carry it to Janet’s car, which was in a far corner of the parking lot. The May sky glowered overhead.
“Well, Monday’s the big day,” Janet remarked when they had put Carly’s bags in the trunk and Janet’s stylish car was jetting sleekly into heavy afternoon traffic. “Are you excited?”
Carly nodded, but she couldn’t help thinking of home. It was later there; her dad would be leaving his filling station for the day and going home. Since his daughter wasn’t there to look after him, he’d probably buy fast food for supper and drive his cholesterol count sky high.
“You’re pretty quiet,” Janet observed. “Having second thoughts?”
Carly shook her head resolutely. She’d dreamed of working on a big-city newspaper all her life, and she had no real regrets. “I was just thinking of my dad. With me gone, there’s nobody there to take care of him.”
“Good grief, Carly,” Janet immediately retorted, “you make him sound ancient. How old is he—forty-five?”
Carly sighed. “Fifty. And he doesn’t eat right.”
Janet tossed her an impish grin. “With his old-maid daughter out of the way, your dad will probably fall madly in love with some sexy widow or divorcée and have a wild affair. Or maybe he’ll get married again and father a passel of kids.”
Carly grinned and shook her head, but as she looked out at the rain-misted Oregon terrain, her expression turned wistful. Here was her chance to live out her dreams and really be somebody besides a beauty queen.
She hoped she had what it took to succeed in the real world.
Carly’s new apartment was in Janet’s building, and it was a simple one-bedroom unit painted white throughout. Since the walls were still wet, it smelled of chemical fumes.
The carpets, freshly cleaned, were a toasty beige color, and there was a fireplace, fronted with fake white marble, in the living room. Carly looked forward to reading beside a crackling wood fire in her favorite chenille bathrobe.
“What do you think?” Janet asked, spreading her
