The thatched cottage on The Burren where he’d spent his first night abroad, listening to the gentle lowing of Black Angus cows.
But he couldn’t concentrate on Ireland or anything related to it, thanks to one Taylor Griffith.
Alex sat up, threw his bare legs over the edge of the bed and growled under his breath. There seemed to be a conspiracy these past few days to keep him from getting any shut-eye at all.
At a bed-and-breakfast in Ballydehob, the owner’s short-legged dog—named Bruce, of all things—barked the whole night away. In a small hotel in Killorglin, trains that ran like clockwork woke him every hour on the hour. Last night, the darlin’ woman who owned the house near Shannon Airport couldn’t seem to comfort her colicky baby. And now some girl seemed to think she had his suitcase, and he had hers.
He wouldn’t get any sleep until he got to the root of this, so why try?
Heaving a deep sigh, Alex hit the answering machine’s play button and turned the sound up. As the tape rewound, he opened the nightstand drawer, poked around until he found a pen buried under paperback novels and soda straws. Dig as he might, he couldn’t find anything to write on.
He listened to the first part of her message, and when she began reciting her number, Alex scribbled it on the palm of his hand. He’d call Ms. Griffith first thing in the morning, see about straightening out this mix-up she’d referred to.
After tossing the ballpoint back into the drawer, he turned the answering machine’s sound down. For the last time tonight, he hoped.
Then the red, white and blue ID tag on his bag caught his eye. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He’d lost the original luggage tag soon after buying the suitcase, and had been making do with the paper ones provided by the airlines ever since.
Alex hobbled toward it, rubbing his bad leg and doing his best not to think about how he’d earned the limp. Try as he might, the crash was something he’d never forget, or live down. And why should he be allowed to do either? It wasn’t every day that a test pilot lost a multimillion-dollar aircraft in the middle of the Caribbean.
He grabbed the luggage tag. “Taylor Griffith,” precise black letters spelled out, “142 Old Belle Way, Ellicott City.” Grinning, he thought, She sure didn’t sound like an old belle….
He unfastened the stretchy red-and-yellow band wrapped around the suitcase, then unzipped it. Inside, in neatly folded stacks, lay delicate, feminine articles of clothing in every shade of the rainbow. A tiny, pointy-toed black shoe poked out of a side pocket, and he held it by its long, slender heel. Chuckling, Alex said under his breath, “I guess not all elves live in hollow trees.” Turning it this way and that, he added, “Some of ’em live at 142 Old Belle Way.”
He put the shoe back where he’d found it. At least, he hoped he had. The idea of disturbing the perfection inside bothered him, and he chalked it up to years of rigorous military training.
Training. One more thing to remind him of the man he used to be. It hadn’t been hard, turning deliberately back into the not-so-tidy guy he’d been before enlisting….
Padding barefoot across uncarpeted hardwood, he picked up the telephone receiver. Tucking it between ear and shoulder, Alex punched in the number printed on his palm. Two rings, three, then a melodious “Hello?”
Nope, doesn’t sound a bit like an old belle, he thought again, grinning.
“Hello?” she repeated.
There was something about that melodic voice. Something rich, something vibrant. Where had he heard it before? Clearing his throat, Alex said, “Miss Griffith?”
There was a considerable pause before a soft “Yes?” sighed into his ear.
“This is Alex Van Buren.” She hadn’t corrected his “Miss” to “Mrs.,” and for a reason he couldn’t explain, Alex was relieved. “I, ah, I understand you have my suitcase?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Mr. Van Buren. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. I don’t know what possessed me to grab your bag without checking first to make sure it was mine. If you’ll just tell me where you’d like it delivered, I’ll be happy to—”
He had a feeling she was ending every sentence by accenting the last word out of nervousness, or worse, fear. “Hey,” Alex interrupted, giving in to a need to soothe her, “there’s no way of knowing which of us got to baggage claim first. Maybe it was me who picked up the wrong bag.”
He listened to the silence that prefaced her quiet sigh.
“Oh, thank goodness! You do have my bag. I was beginning to worry I’d have a long uphill battle with the officials at the airline….”
“It’s here,” he assured her, “safe and sound.” Then, remembering that he’d promised to drive his mom to a church brunch the next day, he said, “Tell you what. I’ll be in your neck of the woods tomorrow.” He knew exactly where her street was, and could easily stop by her place on the way to his mother’s. “How ’bout we make the switch then?”
He remembered the delicate perfume that had wafted from her clothing, the soft fabrics, the feminine colors. He very much wanted to meet the woman with feet half the size of his, who packed with such precision, who had the voice of an angel…and the strength to haul his big, heavy suitcase home.
The instant he realized he’d been daydreaming, Alex coughed. Twice. “Well. Now, then. So tell me, Miss Griffith, are you an early riser?”
“An early riser? Well, I—I, um…”
Easy, he warned himself, because if the rest of her was as small as her shoe, she was probably just a little bit of a thing, and easily frightened.
“Do you need directions?” she asked.
Chuckling, he said, “Nah. Ellicott City is my hometown. I used to drive a delivery truck during my college years. I bet if I put my mind to it, I could draw a map of the place.”
Alex shook his head, more confused by his odd behavior than he’d been by anything in quite some time. It wasn’t like him to make small talk, particularly of the humorous kind. At least, he hoped she’d heard the nonsense he’d been spouting as humorous….
“Well, all right,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll see you around ten, then?”
“Right-o. Ten, then.”
Right-o? Where had that come from? Was it her voice or her attitude—or both—that had rattled him so? Alex wouldn’t have been able to explain why if his life had depended on it, but he didn’t want to say goodbye.
“Thank you, Mr. Van Buren, for going to so much trouble.”
“No thanks necessary, Miss Griffith. Like I said, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”
When she hung up, Alex felt disconnected from more than her lovely voice. Smiling, he climbed back into bed and snapped off the light. Fingers clasped under his head, he stared at the darkened ceiling. “If she looks even half as good as she sounds,” he said to himself, “you’re in for a real sweet treat, Alex, m’boy.”
But that was the flyboy in him talking, and he knew it. A test pilot
