Aunt Margaret’s soft voice sounded outside the bedroom door. She opened it a crack and peeked in, all soft curling salt and pepper hair and brown eyes. She was like a feminine version of Adam Johnson, the only one of his two sisters who favored him.
“It’s for you, darling,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Feel like talking to a man with a sexy voice?”
“I might as well,” Priss said with a reluctant grin, “I’m not sleeping very well. Is it Ronald?”
“No,” Margaret said. “Go ahead. Pick it up. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
Puzzled, Priss lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“You can’t pick up a bloody pen and write me two lines?” John Sterling demanded.
Her heart went wild. “John!” she burst out, all her good resolutions forgotten, her pride in ashes immediately at just the sound of his voice. She twisted the cord in her nervous fingers. “Oh, John, I miss you so much!”
There was a brief pause while she tried to regain her lost composure.
Damn, I’ve done it again, she thought furiously. She composed herself. “I miss everyone at home,” she amended. “But it’s great here, John, lots of sunshine and things to do, and places to see—”
“Stop rambling. Are you still dressed?”
She forced humor into her voice. “Why? Are you getting kinky? Want me to describe my night attire?”
“Stop that. I’m having hell trying to straighten things out at the station and worrying myself sick over you all at once. I bought a plane ticket I couldn’t afford, and it wasn’t just to hear you make cute remarks. How soon can you get here?”
Her mind went blank. “Get where? To Australia, you mean?”
“To the airport in Honolulu, dammit,” he ground out.
Her jaw dropped. “You’re here?”
“Yes, I’m here. Tired and hungry and half out of sorts—darling, get a move on, will you? And ask Margaret if I can stay the night. I have to talk to you.”
It was heaven. Dreams drifting down. The end of the rainbow. She cried huge hot tears and laughed through them. “I can be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “If I have to run all the way...!”
He caught his breath. “Hurry, darling,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
She kissed the mouthpiece tenderly and hung it up, suspended for a moment in a world that had nothing to do with reality. Then she sprang out of bed and burst into Margaret’s room.
“It’s John; he’s here; can he stay the night? We can put him on the sofa, and I have to get to the airport...!” It all tumbled out in a mad rush.
Margaret, who’d never married but remembered her own special season of love, smiled tolerantly. “Yes, he can stay the night. Get a cab to the airport—there’s money in my pocketbook in the hall. Blankets in the closet. Now I’m going to sleep. Soundly,” she added. “But don’t take advantage of my complicity, dear.”
Priss flushed. “No, I’d never do that,” she promised. “Oh, Aunt Margaret, I love you,” she said, impulsively hugging the older woman.
“I love you, too, dear. Now scoot!”
Priss was dressed in record time, in a pullover T-shirt and jeans and sneakers. She barely took time to run a brush through her hair, called a cab, and sat on the front steps of the small house waiting impatiently for it to come. Palm trees were silhouetted against the streetlights; the breeze rustled. And Priss was in agony. John was just miles away. John, here in Hawaii! The long months they’d been apart felt like years.
The cab came, at last, and she sat rigidly in the back until they got to the airport. She took just time enough to pay the driver before she went scurrying into the terminal.
Her wide soft eyes searched the crowd frantically. It wasn’t until she felt the touch on her shoulder that she realized John wouldn’t be wearing work clothes.
She turned, and there he was. All majesty and sophistication in a gray vested suit, his blond-streaked brown hair gleaming in the light, his
“It’s for you, darling,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Feel like talking to a man with a sexy voice?”
“I might as well,” Priss said with a reluctant grin, “I’m not sleeping very well. Is it Ronald?”
“No,” Margaret said. “Go ahead. Pick it up. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”
Puzzled, Priss lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“You can’t pick up a bloody pen and write me two lines?” John Sterling demanded.
Her heart went wild. “John!” she burst out, all her good resolutions forgotten, her pride in ashes immediately at just the sound of his voice. She twisted the cord in her nervous fingers. “Oh, John, I miss you so much!”
There was a brief pause while she tried to regain her lost composure.
Damn, I’ve done it again, she thought furiously. She composed herself. “I miss everyone at home,” she amended. “But it’s great here, John, lots of sunshine and things to do, and places to see—”
“Stop rambling. Are you still dressed?”
She forced humor into her voice. “Why? Are you getting kinky? Want me to describe my night attire?”
“Stop that. I’m having hell trying to straighten things out at the station and worrying myself sick over you all at once. I bought a plane ticket I couldn’t afford, and it wasn’t just to hear you make cute remarks. How soon can you get here?”
Her mind went blank. “Get where? To Australia, you mean?”
“To the airport in Honolulu, dammit,” he ground out.
Her jaw dropped. “You’re here?”
“Yes, I’m here. Tired and hungry and half out of sorts—darling, get a move on, will you? And ask Margaret if I can stay the night. I have to talk to you.”
It was heaven. Dreams drifting down. The end of the rainbow. She cried huge hot tears and laughed through them. “I can be there in twenty minutes,” she said. “If I have to run all the way...!”
He caught his breath. “Hurry, darling,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
She kissed the mouthpiece tenderly and hung it up, suspended for a moment in a world that had nothing to do with reality. Then she sprang out of bed and burst into Margaret’s room.
“It’s John; he’s here; can he stay the night? We can put him on the sofa, and I have to get to the airport...!” It all tumbled out in a mad rush.
Margaret, who’d never married but remembered her own special season of love, smiled tolerantly. “Yes, he can stay the night. Get a cab to the airport—there’s money in my pocketbook in the hall. Blankets in the closet. Now I’m going to sleep. Soundly,” she added. “But don’t take advantage of my complicity, dear.”
Priss flushed. “No, I’d never do that,” she promised. “Oh, Aunt Margaret, I love you,” she said, impulsively hugging the older woman.
“I love you, too, dear. Now scoot!”
Priss was dressed in record time, in a pullover T-shirt and jeans and sneakers. She barely took time to run a brush through her hair, called a cab, and sat on the front steps of the small house waiting impatiently for it to come. Palm trees were silhouetted against the streetlights; the breeze rustled. And Priss was in agony. John was just miles away. John, here in Hawaii! The long months they’d been apart felt like years.
The cab came, at last, and she sat rigidly in the back until they got to the airport. She took just time enough to pay the driver before she went scurrying into the terminal.
Her wide soft eyes searched the crowd frantically. It wasn’t until she felt the touch on her shoulder that she realized John wouldn’t be wearing work clothes.
She turned, and there he was. All majesty and sophistication in a gray vested suit, his blond-streaked brown hair gleaming in the light, his
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