96 Hours by Georgia Beers Page B

All that dark hair, the dark lashes, the dark brows and then those blue eyes. How could you not fall into those? Combined with the tall, lean body and killer smile, Abby made one hell of a package. Unfortunately, he wasn’t her type; she’d made that pretty clear when she told him about her last breakup—with a girl—hoping to make him feel better. But hell, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. He liked her. She was energetic and fun to talk to. Erica was much harder to read. She wasn’t just quiet, she seemed to be inside her own head, not paying a lot of attention to those around her. The way her eyebrows dipped and formed a V just above the bridge of her nose told him she was always thinking. The suit told him she was on some kind of business trip. The way she sat in the car all tucked into herself against the door told him she didn’t feel like having a conversation. She was just as hot as Abby (he had to admit the first time he’d noticed her had been in the airport the day before and that was because of her killer ass), but in a much cooler, much more unreachable kind of way. He suspected that she’d present a very large challenge to anybody who set his sights on her and wondered if he was up for it. Something to think about anyway.
    “So, Tim,” he asked. “What do you do when you’re not carting around stranded airline passengers?”
    “And bringing them to your house,” Abby added with a grin.
    Tim MacDougal chuckled from behind the wheel. He was a robust-looking man of average height and solidly built. Red-gold hair was losing the fight to silver and his ruddy complexion was tinted a light pink as if he was continuously blushing. Like his wife, kindness radiated off him in waves.
    “I’m a high school English teacher,” he said proudly.
    “Did you take the day off?” Brian asked.
    “Oh, no. School’s closed for the time being. They’ve got more of you folks housed in the gymnasium and the cafeteria.”
    Brian shook his head. “I forget that there were other planes.”

     
    A couple moments later, two tractor trailers rumbled by them, heading into town.
    “Looks like food,” Abby observed, following the trucks as they passed, watching them out the back window.
    “They’re using the hockey rink as a giant refrigerator,” Tim told them.
    “Brilliant,” Abby whispered in awe. She turned back around, her thigh pressed tightly against Erica’s, whose gaze hadn’t left the window since they began the ride. Again, Abby wondered what was going on in that beautiful head, but knew better than to ask. Erica obviously wasn’t the kind of woman who thought about effect before saying what was on her mind, so Abby had decided to think twice before asking. Damn if the girl wasn’t a lot of freaking work.
    Not long after that, they pulled into the driveway of a modest, white, two-story house on a quiet street. The landscaping was simple and neat, pots of red geraniums adding splashes of color along the front walk and at the side door. The five of them poured out of the car and Tim popped the trunk so they could retrieve their belongings. One by one, they followed him into the house.
    The MacDougals weren’t rich, but they were happy and they took pride in their home. That much was obvious as soon the four guests set foot in the cheerful red, white, and yellow kitchen. Everything about it was bright, sunny, and inviting. Abby glanced at Brian and read the homesickness that was written all over his face, the sense of longing for his old life. Her heart ached for him and she patted him absently on the arm, hoping to offer comfort.
    The vividness of the kitchen gave way to more relaxed and warm muted greens and gentle ivories as they followed Tim, single file, through the house and up the stairs.
    “We’ve got two spare bedrooms up here and a guest bathroom,” he told them. “You two guys can fight over who gets which room.” Either one was a far better option than a cot at the Lions