Men bound by blood, tied to the sea

and destined to be heroes.

Meet the Powers men:

Jackson Powers. Maritime lawyer. Rich, handsome and stranded with baby in A Bride for Jackson Powers by Dixie Browning, a 2/00 Silhouette Desire title.

Matthew Powers. Sea captain, forefather. Strong, honorable and married for convenience in The Paper Marriage by Bronwyn Williams, an 8/00 Harlequin Historicals novel.

Curt Powers. Navy SEAL. Arresting, determined and involved in a dangerous mission of the most private nature in The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom by Dixie Browning, an 11/00 Silhouette Desire title.

Don’t miss this exciting new series from

Silhouette Desire and Harlequin Historicals!

Dear Reader,

In keeping with the celebration of Silhouette’s 20th anniversary in 2000, what better way to enjoy the new century’s first Valentine’s Day than to read six passionate, powerful, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Beloved author Dixie Browning returns to Desire’s MAN OF THE MONTH promotion with A Bride for Jackson Powers, also the launch title for the series THE PASSIONATE POWERS. Enjoy this gem about a single dad who becomes stranded with a beautiful widow who’s his exact opposite.

Get ready to be seduced when Alexandra Sellers offers you another sheikh hero from her SONS OF THE DESERT miniseries with Sheikh’s Temptation. Maureen Child’s popular series BACHELOR BATTALION continues with The Daddy Salute—a marine turns helpless when he must take care of his baby, and he asks the heroine for help.

Kate Little brings you a keeper with Husband for Keeps, in which the heroine needs an in-name-only husband in order to hold on to her ranch. A fabulously sexy doctor returns to the woman he could never forget in The Magnificent M.D. by Carol Grace. And exciting newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero in Jesse Hawk: Brave Father.

We hope you will indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day with all six of these passionate romances, only from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

A Bride for Jackson Powers
Dixie Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Curtiss Ann Matlock, my dearest friend,

distant cousin and Oklahoma connection.

We’ve put in a few airport hours together, too.

DIXIE BROWNING

celebrated her sixty-fifth book for Silhouette with the publication of Texas Millionaire in 1999. She has also written a number of historical romances with her sister under the name Bronwyn Williams. A charter member of Romance Writers of America, and a member of Novelists, Inc., Dixie has won numerous awards for her work. She lives on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

One

Obviously, Jackson was doing it all wrong. He didn’t even know how to hold her. You’d think a man his age would’ve learned that much by now. She’d started to squeal and kick him in the belly.

A few people glared at him. Most were too busy comparing hard-luck stories.

“…catch a shuttle. If I’m not in D.C. by nine tomorrow—”

“Fat chance. I’ve been standing here for the past three hours and the damned line hasn’t moved an inch, I swear.”

“This place stinks. I mean literally! Last time I’m ever going to plan a trip this time of year, so help me. Hey, quit shoving, will you?”

Two small boys broke through the line, whooping like wild animals. A middle-aged woman wearing sweats and a fur coat dropped a heap of carry-on luggage, flopped down on the pile and began to swear.

Jax wanted to say, Yeah, well what if you were stuck here with a daughter you’d met only hours earlier, who doesn’t even speak the damned language? He sniffed. He had a pretty good idea what was stinking, and it wasn’t just the weather. He jiggled the damp, squirming baby in his arms, mumbling words that were supposed to be comforting, but didn’t appear to have that effect. Too bad babies didn’t come with an operations manual.

Someone bumped him from behind and murmured a soft apology. The natives were getting restless. He’d heard of road rage. It was nothing compared to airport rage, given a holiday crowd and the ice storm of the century.

“Whaddya mean, flight delayed? I gotta get outta here, dammit!” the man in front of him shouted. “Don’t nobody in this place know how to deice a plane? Buncha idiots, if you ask me!”

Lines for the two flights serviced from this particular desk had already merged into one unruly mob. He was being jostled from all sides.

The sigh that came from behind him was almost lost in the clamor. Jax’s shoulders sagged as Sunny shifted from fret mode to shriek mode. Pink-shod feet, size zilch, kicked him in the belly. Poor kid must be miserable. He wondered how long it would take the dampness to soak through her padded pink snowsuit and all the layers it enclosed.

Another sigh whispered behind him. He was tempted to turn around and snap out something really helpful, like, “You think you’ve got troubles? How’d you like to try mine on for size?”

He shifted his burden, struggling to hold on to baby, briefcase, carrier and pink plastic diaper bag. Sunny was bored with the carrier, which was why he was carrying her in his arms. The thing was a damned nuisance, but Carolyn had said she needed it.

“Shh, yeah, I know, babe, it’s a rough deal. I’ll get us out of here, don’t worry.” At this point he’d gladly take the first flight out, regardless of where it was bound.

“Excuse me,” said a voice so soft he nearly missed it.

“You talking to me?” He turned to the woman behind him in what had once been an orderly line.

“I was wondering—do you know—I mean, I think your baby might need changing.”

“So?” He wasn’t normally given to surliness, but these were not normal circumstances. “Sorry. Yeah, I kind of suspected as much.”

The woman glanced around, probably searching for someone who looked like a wife and mother. There were plenty of likely looking candidates as far as age was concerned, only none of them belonged to him and Sunny.

“Um…maybe I could hold your place in line while you…uh…”

“Change her drawers? You mean right here?” Jax dodged as a utility cart beeped its way through the throng.

“I’m pretty sure I saw a changing table in the ladies’ room.”

“The ladies’ room. Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Jax’s conscience was broadsided by a pair of silver-gray eyes the size of half dollars. Sarcasm wasn’t going to help matters. Besides, she didn’t deserve it, she was only trying to help.

It was the first thing he noticed about her, after the voice. Those eyes. Because it beat staring at the foulmouthed fathead in front of him, he took a moment to size up the rest. Either she was an elegant idiot or a model fresh off a tropical assignment. At first glance, her face struck him as too thin to be called pretty. Her skinny skirt, splashed with big, colorful blossoms, came down to her ankles and was topped off with a few baggy layers that wouldn’t stand a chance against this weather. He hoped to hell she had something warmer stashed away in a locker. That yellow thing draped around her shoulders wasn’t going to do the job.

“Look, I’m really sorry, miss. I know you’re only trying to—” Suddenly Sunny lunged. The woman flung up her hands in an instinctive gesture to catch her.

“I guess she’s hungry, too,” Jax said, a note of desperation edging into his voice. “I offered her a bottle, but she wasn’t interested.” He bounced the baby some more, the only noticeable effect of which was to make her pitiful cries waver.

Where was his secretary when he needed her?

Where was Sunny’s mother when he needed her?

Hell, for that matter, where was any woman when a man really needed them? One thing he’d learned over the course of nearly four decades was that women were about as dependable as the weather. Nothing had ever happened to change his mind to any great degree.

“This damned ice gets any thicker,” the guy in front grumbled, “we won’t get out of here till the Fourth of July. Where the hell is all this global warming when you need it, somebody wanna tell me that?”

Jackson Powers, who answered to Jax, J.M. and Mr. Powers, came close to regretting the impulse that had made him race directly from his office to Norfolk International, where he’d taken a seat on the first plane headed west. Thank God he kept a razor and a toothbrush at his office. He’d stuffed those and the report he’d been working on into his briefcase.

When he’d gotten the call from Carolyn Tribble, a woman with whom he’d had a short, pleasant fling out in San Diego about a year and a half ago, he’d been in the middle of negotiating the case of the single-hulled tanker, Panamanian registry, that had sunk off the Jersey coast back in October and was threatening the entire area with a massive oil spill. It had taken him a couple of minutes to place her.

“Jackson, this is probably going to come as a surprise,” she’d said, “but you have a six-month-old daughter.”

Surprise? Try stunned disbelief. Try instinctive denial. He never took chances when it came to sex. “What makes you think it’s mine?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, hon, the timing, for one thing. You were the only man I slept with after I filed for divorce. I was real careful about that because Stu was having me followed. Anyway, right after you flew back east I came down with this flu thing that dragged on for weeks, and sex was the last thing I was interested in, so you see, she has to be yours. That’s why I put your name on her birth certificate. Besides, she’s got your forehead and all that thick black hair, and I’m a natural blonde, remember? We talked about it that night I—”

“Look, are you sure about this? I always take precautions.”

“Remember that night in the bathtub, when you got that big bruise on your—”

“Okay, so maybe we slipped up once, but—”

“Slipped down, actually. It’s a wonder we didn’t break our necks. And it was twice, in case you’ve forgotten the next morning. That’s when we saw your bruise, remember?”

There was a long silence, during which Jax tried to recall the details of the encounter in question.

“Um…a daughter, you say.” His mind had raced frantically, weaving the shocking news into a totally unrelated memory from the distant past. “Carolyn? You still there? Look, how about if we got married? I know it’s a little late, but—”

“Oh, Jackson, you are so sweet! Thanks, but no thanks. That’s just what I’d have expected from you, though. You’re a genuine throwback, a real gentleman. What I was sort of hoping was that you’d already have a wife by now, and maybe you and she could…you know, like maybe adopt her? I mean, Sunny’s my baby, too, after all, and I do want the best for her.”

“A daughter. I have a daughter,” he remembered repeating numbly, unable to absorb the impact.

She had gone on to tell him all her reasons for not having an abortion, and how she’d honestly intended to be a wonderful mother, but that was before she’d become seriously involved with this guy from the State Department. “So you see, I’ll be traveling all over Europe the next few years, doing a lot of entertaining, and a baby’s not going to fit into that kind of life-style. What Sunny needs is two loving parents and a real home. Jax, that’s absolutely the only reason I’m putting her up for adoption, because she’s a perfect doll. You’ll adore her. Everyone does.”

He started to speak, but she wasn’t finished. “So I thought I’d give you first choice, but if you can’t take her, I won’t have any trouble finding someone to adopt her. In that case, though, I’ll still need your signature.”

That was Carolyn. Strikingly attractive, highly intelligent, totally self-centered. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate being married to her, but for the sake of their child he’d been willing to give it a shot.

So now here he was, stuck in a socked-in airport in Chicago on his way back to Norfolk with a baby that had his forehead and his thick black hair.

Jax’s hair was straight and laced with gray, while Sunny’s was soft as down and curly, but one look at that small pink face and he’d known. Known it in the marrow of his bones, or wherever such knowledge was centered. She was his, all right—toothless grin, fat pink cheeks, navy-blue eyes and all. His daughter.

“I could take her for you.”

“Huh?” His attention swerved to the tall, thin woman with the clear gray eyes and the quiet voice.

“Into the ladies’ room, I mean. To change her diaper. You could stand guard outside the door if you’re worried. Not that I’d blame you, because you read about things every day—kidnappings and all, I mean. And I’m a stranger, so it pays to be cautious.”

Caution fought with desperation. Desperation won. “Shh, Sunny, it’s going to be all right.” After only a moment’s hesitation, Jax handed his daughter over to the woman in the long, flowered skirt, the thick-heeled sandals and the layers of baggy sweaters on top. He was no expert on women’s fashions. Most of the women he associated with in the course of his work wore tailored suits. As for the others—the ones he took to dinner, a show, and occasionally to bed—they always looked pretty, but he’d never spent much time analyzing what they wore.

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind, I guess she’d be more comfortable. There’s powder and diapers and stuff in here—” He handed over the large pink bag and the carrier, then braced himself to wait. “Her name’s Sunny,” he called as an afterthought.

He could only hope he was doing the right thing. What he knew about babies could be scratched on the head of a thumbtack.

His daughter. That red-faced, smelly, noisy little miracle was his own flesh and blood. God, he didn’t know the first thing about relating to family. Other than the great-uncle a social worker had tracked down some thirty-five years ago who’d installed him in a series of boarding schools and grudgingly paid the freight, he’d never had to deal with a family. At least not since he was six years old.

As she turned away from the darkly handsome creature with the stern face, the guarded eyes and the beard-shadowed jaw, Hetty’s arms curved around the soggy little bundle. Brushing her lips against a soft, dark curl, she whispered, “Don’t fuss, sugar-britches, he’ll be right there waiting for you when I get you all cleaned up.”

He didn’t quite trust her, that much was obvious, but what choice had he had? If it hadn’t been for the hint of vulnerability he’d let slip through his guard, Hetty would never in a million years have dared speak to him. Mercy, he was intimidating. But at least he seemed to care about the baby, which said a lot in his favor.

Edging her way through the cluster of women, she got in line for one of the changing tables. The line inched forward slowly. Hetty bounced a fretful Sunny in her arms, wondering what on earth had possessed her to do such a thing. She had her own problems to deal with without taking on someone else’s burden. She’d been on her way from Oklahoma to Miami, Florida, supposedly changing planes in Cincinnati and again in Atlanta, when her plans had started to fall apart.

A table opened up and she grabbed it, plopping her charge down on her padded backside. “Stop squirming, sugar, your little doohickey’s stuck.” She struggled with the zipper, half-afraid if she took too long the baby’s father would come after her. “Ooh, you’re a real mess, aren’t you?” Rummaging in the stuffed diaper bag, she found a container of predampened tissues. “No wonder you were so fussy, you’re getting a rash.”

Holding two wriggling feet up with one hand, she felt in the bag again with the other and came up with a familiar-looking tube. She’d used the same ointment on Robert whenever he’d been threatened with diaper rash.

“I hope you’ve got a teething ring in here somewhere, else you’re going to wear those knuckles out,” she murmured. There were already several women lined up behind her, waiting for the fold-down changing table. The rest room was crowded. Someone called out that there was no paper. A roll was tossed from one booth to the other.

Mercy, to think she’d harbored the illusion that travel would be one glamorous adventure after another. Her friend at the agency had explained that the cheapest rates involved an illogical route with several changes along the way. Hetty hadn’t been intimidated. Once she’d taken the first step, she hadn’t looked back.

Now she almost wished she had. Still, her very first flight was proving exciting, if a bit tiresome. And in a few hours she’d be embarking on her very first cruise.

“Here’s hoping I don’t have to change ships between islands,” she muttered, disposing of the soiled diaper.

At any other time in her life, Hetty would never have considered doing something so absurdly impractical, never mind expensive. But when an old friend, a woman who knew about her situation and who worked at a travel agency in Oklahoma City, had called to tell her about a last-minute cancellation, Hetty had jumped at the chance. It was too late now for second thoughts.

“There, sweetheart, we’re all done. Let’s see if Papa brought along something for you to eat, shall we?”

“Would you mind? You’re not the only mother with a wet kid.”

Hetty smiled apologetically. “We’re all finished. Sorry you had to wait.” She got a frown for her efforts and scurried out of the way, taking her place in the line waiting for a lavatory.

The familiar scent of baby oil and the feel of the small, sweet bundle in her arms brought back painful memories. Hetty promised herself resolutely that once she got back from her cruise, found a job and a place to live, she would begin mending fences. Family—any sort of family at all—was too precious to be squandered. She was determined to patch things up again.

Conscious of the waiting lines behind her, she spared only a fleeting glance in the mirror, startled all over again by her new haircut and the unfamiliar clothes. If she’d known she was going to wind up in ice-bound Chicago instead of balmy Miami, she would have dressed far differently. Or at least worn something warmer than the silky knit tunic, the overshirt and shawl the clerk assured her were made to be worn with the new longer skirts.

But there’d been no way of knowing that the jet stream would zig when it should have zagged, or that the arctic blast would collide with a stream of Gulf moisture along the mid-Atlantic.

Hundreds of flights were being diverted as, one after another, airports from Atlanta northward were shutting down. Evidently she was among the lucky ones. According to rumor, there were a number of loaded flights trapped on runways, unable to take off, unable to return to the gates because of the planes already stranded there.

From now on, she’d just as soon stick to Greyhound.

With the diaper bag and carrier in one hand, and her big, lightweight purse that was supposed to be just the thing for traveling over her shoulder, she hugged the infant who was chewing on her yellow fringed shawl and said, “Come on, sugar-britches, let’s go before your daddy sends out a search party.”

He was hovering like a dark cloud just outside the ladies’ room door. Hetty wondered if he was even aware of all the women who glanced at him and then turned back for a second look.

Probably used to it. He was that kind of man. George Clooney with a harder edge, a narrower backside and broader shoulders. She’d noticed that much standing in line behind him, before she’d ever seen his face, which seemed to wear a perpetual scowl.

“About time you showed up. I was starting to worry.”

The crowd was thicker than ever, and from the snatches of conversation, growing more impatient by the minute. “Sorry. These things take time. Your little girl’s got a rash, and she’s either hungry or teething or both, but at least she’s dry now.”

Reluctantly she handed the baby to her father, thinking about the baby she’d left behind. As long as she was going to have to find work quickly once she got back home, she might as well try something in the care-giving line. At least she’d had plenty of experience.

She’d hoped the weather might have miraculously cleared while she was inside. It hadn’t. Fortunately she still had plenty of time to reach Miami.

Smiling, she gave the baby a goodbye pat on her padded bottom and said, “This isn’t the way the travel ads described it, else I might not have tried it.”

“Tried what?”

“Flying.” Sunny snuggled into her father’s arms and began to gnaw on his collar. The man was a mess. An expensive-looking suede jacket was slung over one shoulder, his tie was loose, the two top buttons on his shirt unfastened. Hetty thought she’d never seen a more strikingly attractive man in her life, scowl and all.

The scowl moderated. “You mean you’ve never flown before?”

“I never needed to go anywhere farther than Oklahoma City.”

“You picked a lousy time for your maiden voyage.”

“I’m beginning to—” Someone struck her in the back, and she stumbled against the man and baby. His free arm came around her, the carrier and diaper bag slammed into her behind, and she inhaled sharply, absorbing the mingled scent of bergamot and leather.

It occurred to her that with spare time on her hands for the first time in her adult life, she might just weave herself a lovely romantic fantasy from this chance encounter.

The fantasy gripped her arm and growled in her ear. “Let’s get out of this mob.”

Startled, Hetty glanced around. If there was a place out of the flow of traffic, it must be a closely guarded secret. Children played reckless games of tag or whined and tugged at parents’ arms. Babies cried. Tired travelers tried to hang on to baggage, children and patience against a constantly shifting current of humanity. Over all that came the confusing din of weather updates, distorted loudspeaker announcements and the polite beep-beep of motorized carts on some mysterious mission of their own.

Such was the power of a well-directed scowl, that Sunny’s father was able to lead her through the throng to a relatively clear corner behind a deserted service desk. “Hold her while I shift these trash receptacles, will you?”

Hetty watched as he rearranged airport property, commandeering an abandoned wheelchair and using it to block off a six-square-foot fortress. “Can you do that?” she asked dubiously.

The look he shot her said, I did it, didn’t I? Who are you to question my authority?

Hetty sighed. She might look like a seasoned traveler in her brand-new outfit, the discount store’s version of resort wear, but underneath it all she was plain-old Henrietta Reynolds, a thirty-seven-year old widow, who had never traveled farther than a few hundred miles from home in her life.

“I guess we’d better introduce ourselves. Jax Powers,” he said, extending a square, masculine hand. His dark-blue eyes still had that guarded look, as if he weren’t sure he was doing the right thing, encouraging a chance-met stranger.

Hetty shifted the baby and clasped his dry, hard palm with her own. “Hetty Reynolds. I notice you call your daughter—she is your daughter, I believe you said? And you call her…Sonny?”

“She is my daughter, and that’s Sunny with a U, not an O. Miss Marilyn Carolyn Powers.”

Her mouth formed a silent O.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I was told she answers to Sunny. It’ll do for now.” Before Hetty could think of a response, he said, “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry. Could I leave you two here while I go find us some supper or lunch or whatever’s available?”

“Food. Mercy, I didn’t realize it, but I haven’t eaten since I left home, if you don’t count pretzels.”

“Stay right here.”

As if she would dare do anything else. Behind the impromptu barrier there was no place to sit except the floor. She sat, settling Sunny on her lap and plopping purse and diaper bag in the carrier. She’d located a crushed box of teething biscuits under the diapers, as well as two jars of pears and one of squash, four cans of formula and two nursing bottles.

“At least you won’t starve, sugar-bun.” Secure in her tiny fortress, she hummed snatches of several lullabies as she watched the parade of fellow travelers. Despite the unexpected delay, it was all still new enough to be exciting.

Occasionally she glanced at her watch, forcing out any encroaching doubts by concentrating on the future.

For years she’d been far too busy to waste time on daydreams. Oddly enough she’d discovered quite recently that when it came to dreaming, she was a natural. For instance, she’d had no trouble at all picturing herself dancing under a tropical moon. Dining on food she hadn’t had to cook or serve, from dishes she wouldn’t have to wash, surrounded by beautiful, well-dressed people who neither complained nor demanded.

Heaven. It was going to be sheer heaven for seven whole days.

Nearly an hour dragged past before Jax returned with two foam cups and a paper sack. “The situation’s not quite desperate yet, but it’s not likely to improve until the weather lets up. Latest word is that in another six hours, tops, we’ll be on our way.”

A wide smile spread over Hetty’s face. Not for one moment had she let herself think she wouldn’t reach Miami in time. Still, being a novice traveler, she hadn’t quite been able to relax.

“Hope you take cream in your coffee and don’t mind chili and onions on your dogs. I got us two apiece since this might have to last awhile.”

Hetty reached behind her for her purse, but at the look on his face, she murmured her thanks and shifted Sunny to the carrier seat so that she could take the proffered food.

There was something oddly companionable about sitting shoulder to shoulder on a hard, carpeted floor, eating cold hotdogs and drinking weak, lukewarm coffee. Sunny alternately dozed and waked to gum her biscuit, scattering sticky crumbs on Hetty’s lap and smearing a few on the sleeve of Jax’s tan suede jacket.

They didn’t talk much. That suited Hetty just fine. If she’d ever possessed any social skills they had long since withered from lack of practice.

“Do you suppose I could find my way back here if I go wash up?” she asked, neatly tucking her napkin and cup into the grease-stained paper sack.

“Leave a trail of bread crumbs.”

“Does a wet teething biscuit qualify as bread crumbs?”

He grinned, and she was struck all over again by what a remarkably attractive man he was. And to think that she, plain old Hetty Reynolds, was sharing time, space and conversation with him. You might even say she was having dinner with him.

He told her to shift the wheelchair, slip through and then roll it back in place. “Take a right, go about fifty feet, cross to the other side and you’re there. Reverse the procedure on the way back.”

“Easy for you to say,” Hetty retorted. She retrieved her purse and set out, dismissing the fear that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back through the mob. Or if she did, that the man and his baby would have moved on.

Jax watched her go, weaving gracefully past outstretched limbs and heaps of luggage, stepping over a couple of teenagers sleeping on the floor. She even walked like a model, that subtle sway that hinted at feminine secrets under the loose, formless clothes.

Not that he was any expert on fashion models. For the most part, the women in his life, at least since his days in the marine corps, were either lawyers or businesswomen. Even those who weren’t were no more interested in long-term involvement than he was.

And he definitely wasn’t.

Hetty. He couldn’t quite figure her out. One corner of one of her incisors was chipped. He found the small flaw strangely intriguing. She might act as if all this was new to her, but he could easily picture her with her head in the air, striding down a runway, her long, limp outfit flapping loosely in a way that subtly emphasized the feminine form underneath.

Don’t even think about it, Powers. You’ve got trouble enough without looking for more.

Two

Hetty yawned. She’d fallen asleep, only to wake up with her head on Jax’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” she murmured. “Your arm must be aching. You should have wakened me.”

“No problem.”

She smoothed her skirt, pretending a nonchalance she was far from feeling. She’d been married for eleven years, for heaven’s sake. When it came to men, she wasn’t entirely without experience.

Jax went back to the business section of yesterday’s New York Times. Sunny was making sucking noises in her sleep. Hetty, needing to do something to counteract her embarrassment, tucked the blanket around the small, chubby body, her hands lingering on the dimpled knees.

“She’s awfully good-natured.”

“Hmm?”

“Sunny. Her diaper rash is better. As long as her bottom’s dry and her stomach’s full, she seems content just to watch the world go by.”

“Let’s hope things get moving around here before we run out of food and diapers.”

Rather pointedly, he went back to his newspaper, and Hetty frowned at her watch, then squinted at it to be sure the hands were still moving.

They were. Nothing else was, at least not so far as travel was concerned. The same old mob, moving sluggishly now, if at all. Other than a few snores and a minor fracas now and then, they were quieter. Three rows away, an elderly man was demanding to see someone from security. His wife kept shushing him, telling him everything was going to be all right, that she’d checked their horoscope before they’d left home that morning.

Hetty wondered what her own horoscope had said. Had it mentioned anything about meeting a tall, dark and handsome stranger? If it weren’t for Jax she might have been concerned by now, but outright panic was a luxury she’d never been able to afford.

She hadn’t panicked back in those miserable days after her mother had died, when her father’s drinking had gone from bad to worse. Nor a few years later, when she could no longer convince herself that he was still grieving, that he truly loved her and that he regretted the outbursts, which had grown more and more violent.

Instead she had quietly made plans to move to Oklahoma City as soon as she graduated, to find a job and a place to stay.

She certainly hadn’t panicked the day she had stood before the justice of peace and placed her life in the hands of a man more than twice her age, even though he’d been practically a stranger. They’d known each other only in the way most people living in the same small town did. Still, Gus had offered her a safer alternative than running away to the city with no funds, no friends and no job. She would always be grateful to him for that.

She hadn’t panicked eleven years later when Gus had flown his plane into a power line and been killed, nor when her mother-in-law had suffered the first in a series of strokes, nor when Jeannie, Gus’s teenage daughter, had “borrowed” her credit card and run up an enormous debt just before she dropped out of school and disappeared. Not even when the rebellious fifteen-year-old had come home again five months ago—just long enough to leave her newborn infant.

Hetty had coped with it all. She was not an excitable woman.

Or maybe she’d just never had the luxury of giving in to her emotions.

At any rate, Jax had come along before she had any inkling how bad the weather really was. Thank goodness for that. And for his kindness, his decency, his knowledge.

As for that mysterious quality that made her stomach flutter when he happened to touch her or look at her with one eyebrow slightly elevated, one corner of his gorgeous mouth quirked…

Well. The less she thought about that, the better. That sort of fantasy could wait until she embarked on her cruise.

But first she had to get to Miami. So far as she could tell, nothing was moving outside. As Jeannie would say, it was Sleepy Hollowsville. Minco, the town where they lived, had been Deadsville. Jeannie’s school had been Dullsville.

Hetty wondered what her own life had been? Busysville?

Determined to hang on to her optimism, she dug out the dog-eared brochure a friend who had moved to the city and gone to work for a travel agency had mailed her. She gazed at the color photos and reread the copy she’d long since memorized.

“Dining under the stars…dancing on the fantail…nightly shows, live music, the adventure of a lifetime.”

Yes, well…first she had to get there. Once the weather broke, it shouldn’t take long to scrape the runways and deice the planes. She knew about things like that because she’d read practically every adult offering in the library at least once.

As if picking up on her thoughts, Jax laid his paper aside and asked when her cruise was scheduled to leave Miami. He had turned back the sleeves of his gray broadcloth shirt to reveal tanned, muscular forearms with a dusting of crisp, dark hairs. His necktie, thoroughly chewed by his daughter, had been crammed into his briefcase.

“I’m supposed to board at four tomorrow afternoon. Thank goodness I allowed extra time and made a room reservation for tonight near the airport there. My friend at the agency suggested it.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think I ought to call and tell them to hold it in case I’m late?” She answered her own question. “No, there’s no chance of that. Once we’re able to leave, it won’t take long to get there.”

“Have you checked in with your friend to let her know what’s happened?”

“Do I need to?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

Jax knew it would mean standing in another line, waiting for a pay phone to be free. He would’ve offered her his cell phone, but reception was lousy. Too much interference.

He watched her weave her way through the crowd, wondering if she did it deliberately—that slight swing of the shoulders counterbalanced by the subtle sway of her hips.

Probably something to do with bone structure. He was no expert, but even under those limp, floppy layers, hers looked pretty damned fine, from the high forehead, to the delicate cheekbones and elegant neck, right down to those world-class ankles. Not even the clunky sandals could detract from her classy lines.

Beside him, Sunny experimented with a new sound that involved humming and gum smacking. Jax laid a hand on her warm little belly. “Nice friend you’ve got there, kid. Let’s hope we can find you someone just as nice once we get home.”

Home. That was another problem to be dealt with. His Norfolk apartment was strictly adults only. Maybe he’d better call his secretary and get her started on lining up a few prospects. A nice house in a quiet neighborhood, with a big yard and a nearby school. While she was at it, she might arrange for him to interview prospective nannies and housekeepers. He’d need one of each.

Still no sign of Hetty. He could go after her, but he didn’t particularly want to risk losing their space. Besides, he could easily miss her in this throng. She might even have found somebody else. Teamed up with someone who didn’t have a kid needing attention every few minutes.

The idea was surprisingly unwelcome.

Having learned a long time ago not to expect anything from a woman, Jax had seldom been disappointed. He couldn’t quite figure this one, though. Something about her didn’t add up.

Or was it that the sum total wasn’t what he expected of a woman who looked like a model, walked like a model and talked like a small-town housewife from flyover country?

Actually, she didn’t talk all that much, which in itself was unusual. Most of the women he knew, especially the beautiful ones, were inclined to chatter.

Dismissing the woman from his mind, he turned his thoughts to the domino effect the addition of one small daughter was going to have on his once-orderly life. Oddly enough, the idea wasn’t quite as disturbing as it might have been mere hours ago.

He glanced at his watch again, then scanned the crowd for a familiar head of short, reddish-brown hair. Sunny began to whimper, and he dug out the rubber teething ring Hetty had discovered under the cushion of the carrier. “Don’t sweat it, sugar, we’ll be home before you know it.”

“Mercy, do you know what time it is?”

His head came up, and he frowned to cover his relief. She was back again, slipping through the fragile barricade with an air of having made it home safely.

“Time?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” She planted her back against the wall and lowered herself gracefully to the floor beside him. Her first act was to check on Sunny, which gave him a funny tight feeling in his throat. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? The way time loses all meaning? I can’t even remember how long we’ve been here, much less—”

“How long until we get out,” he finished for her.

She smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. He wondered if she was finally going to lose her grip. He’d been waiting, expecting tears, complaints and the rest of the package to come pouring out. It had been his experience that women were quick to let the world know when things didn’t go to suit them.

“I never saw so many fancy phones. When I finally got to one I knew how to use, the office was closed. They have a twenty-four-hour, 800 line, but it stayed busy for so long I gave up.”

“Hardly surprising, under the circumstances. I figured you were having trouble getting through, you were away so long.”

He’d figured no such thing, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Yes, well, like I said, there are so many kinds of phones now that I’ve never learned how to use, and then I got to talking to this nice woman who was traveling with her three teenage sons. They’re from Omaha. Her husband’s a cement contractor, and the boys are all planning to go into the family business as soon as they graduate from high school. I think that’s real nice, don’t you?”

What he thought was that it was highly irrelevant, and wondered where she’d been all her life that a simple pay phone was beyond her experience, but he refrained from saying so.

“I guess you think I’m ignorant—about the phones and all, but I told you I haven’t traveled much.”

Sunny started to fuss. Hetty reached over and captured one of her tiny feet, cupping it in her hand. “Did you wash the bottle after last time?”

“I did the best I could without soap. Damn, I hate this! What if she gets sick? What if her rash gets worse?”

“You simply climb on a chair and ask if there’s a doctor in the house. At least that’s the way it’s done in the movies.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Jax, don’t worry so much. Most babies have a diaper rash at one time or another. We’ll just have to keep her dry, that’s all.”

“What if she catches something? There are people from all over the world here—one of them might be carrying a germ or a virus.”

Hetty couldn’t help but be amused, even though she knew better than most how scary caring for a baby could be for an inexperienced parent. “She’ll let you know if she’s not feeling well.”

“By crying. Right. Only, how’m I supposed to know if she’s sick or just wet again? Or worse?”

“Worse, you’ll know. Wet’s pretty much a given. A lot of her fussiness is teething, though. She’s got two tiny nubbins almost through, didn’t her mama tell you?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d referred obliquely to Carolyn. Jax had a feeling she was curious about why he was traveling alone with a baby he obviously didn’t know a damned thing about. Luckily she seemed as disinclined as he was to discuss personal matters.

Which was just one more way in which she differed from the women he knew.

One bottle and two stale pimento sandwiches later, the weather picture hadn’t improved. At last report, nothing was moving on land or in the air. Every airport east of the Mississippi between Nashville and New England was either iced in or fogged in. On one of the runways, a scraper had run into the wing of a 747, damaging both. Even after the weather cleared up, things were going to be in a hell of a mess until they sorted out the logistic tangles.

Hetty’s head had once more settled on his shoulder, her soft breath purring warmly against his throat. Sunny was draped across her lap sleeping, fed, dried and burped. The burping was news to him. Carolyn had forgotten to mention it, but it seemed to make a difference. Whoever and whatever else Hetty Reynolds was, she was a godsend, given the circumstances.

He wondered if she had kids of her own. Where were they? Had she given them away? Dropped them off in a diner the way his mother had done him when he was six years old and then forgotten to come back for him for the next thirty-three years?

Jax blinked sleepily and considered easing them into a more comfortable position. Maybe later, he thought, his gaze on the hand that was resting protectively on Sunny’s back.

No rings. Funny things, hands. They said a lot about a person. Hers weren’t at all the kind of hands he would have expected on a woman whose traveling outfit consisted of slinky sweaters, long, flowered skirts and a subtle perfume that reminded him of summer nights in Virginia, a long, long time ago.

His stomach growled. His eyelids drooped. They’d all be a lot more comfortable lying down, with Sunny in her carrier between them, but if he woke her now, she’d go all self-conscious again.

Funny woman.

Nothing had changed when Hetty opened her eyes. Every bone and muscle in her body protested, and she blinked several times to clear her vision. The light hadn’t changed. It could be noon or midnight. The crowd, if anything, was thicker, but at least it was quieter now. Exhausted travelers were sleeping wherever they could find a few clear feet of floor. Those who were lucky enough to have snared a seat were snoring, their heads either tipped back at an awkward angle or resting on their chests. One man had draped a newspaper over his face. Hetty stared, fascinated, as it lifted and fell, lifted and fell with each breath.

Only gradually did she become aware that she was lying on the floor on her side, with Jax’s arm around her and Sunny sleeping peacefully in the carrier between him and the wall.

He stirred and mumbled something without waking up. The baby whimpered. Hetty thought, never in a million years would anyone believe this. Meeting a handsome stranger, sleeping with him on the floor of an airport? Surrounded by thousands of people, all going nowhere?

Uh-uh. This was like a play by that Kafka fellow. Surreal. Done in shades of gray, with no discernible plot, or at least, none she could follow.

Her eyes fuzzy with sleep, she tried and failed to focus on her watch. At this rate she was going to be cutting it awfully close. What if she didn’t make it in time? What then?

It never occurred to her to feel sorry for herself. Instead she thought, All that insurance money, wasted. I’m sorry, Gus.

She’d spent most of Gus’s insurance, after his burial expenses, on his mother and daughter. Jeannie had a habit of running up bills that Hetty had paid, rather than see her rebellious stepdaughter get into any more trouble.

Jeannie’s boyfriend, Nicky, had been a dreadful influence all through junior high, but nothing Hetty said had made a difference, and by then Sadie, Gus’s mother, had suffered the first in a series of strokes. She’d been no help at all.

In the end, the young lovers had dropped out of school and run away. Eight months later Jeannie had come home long enough to leave her infant son. That had been five months ago.

“Here, now that I’m gone, you might as well have somebody else to boss around,” she’d said. “Daddy and I were getting along just fine before you tricked him into marrying you.”

Hetty let it pass. That hadn’t been the way it was at all, but by then, she knew better than to argue. People heard what they wanted to hear, believed what they wanted to believe. For the next several months she’d had her hands too full to worry.

Robert had thrived. Sadie hadn’t been able to help, but she’d been a wealth of information. They hadn’t heard from Jeannie except indirectly. Someone had seen them in a bus station in Oklahoma City. Someone else said they were both working at a truck stop grill outside Tulsa.

Then Sadie died in her sleep. An embolism, according to her doctor. She had willed her car, which had sat up on blocks for years, to Hetty. She’d left her house to Jeannie. Hetty had finally located the girl, too late for her grandmother’s funeral, but not too late for Jeannie and Nicky to claim the house, their son, and to inform Hetty that her services were no longer needed.

Which was when she’d impulsively decided to take what was left of the insurance money and blow it all on this trip and a wardrobe suitable for a romantic, once-in-a-lifetime cruise. Foolish?

Try stupid. Try silly, impractical, selfish and all the other things she’d tried so hard all her life not to be, because when he was drinking, which was most of the time, her father used to accuse her of being a dumb, selfish slut just like her mama.

Lying awake, she gradually became aware of her surroundings. Of the mingled smell of popcorn, stale chili, baby powder. The leathery, masculine smell of Jax’s coat.

She tried not to think about all the what-ifs, but it was no good. They crowded in, anyway.

What if she missed the cruise? What if she wound up in Miami with no job, no friends, no place to stay and not enough money to get home again? Wherever home was.

What if Minco, Oklahoma, was only a figment of her imagination? What if the world began and ended right here in this madhouse of an airport?

“What if you just go to the bathroom, splash your face with cold water and stop all this silliness,” she muttered aloud.

Beside her, Jax stirred. He was spooned around her body, his right arm draped over her waist. Her mind might be racing like a hamster on a treadmill, but physically she felt incredibly safe.

Or maybe she didn’t….

Against her back she could feel Jax’s hard body shifting. He flung his free arm over his head. His knuckles struck the wall, and he mumbled a curse word.

Hetty didn’t utter a sound. Did he realize she could feel what was happening to him? Was it…intentional, or was it just that thing that happened to men early in the morning?

Gus had found it embarrassing, but then, Jax was nothing at all like her late husband. She couldn’t imagine Jax ever apologizing for being…well…aroused.

Hetty knew the instant he became aware of the situation, because he began to draw away from her. She wished she could sink through the floor, but as that was hardly likely, she tried to pretend she was just waking up.

Yawning and stretching, she wondered if her eyes were either puffy or shadowed or both. Both, probably. It was the way she reacted to lack of sleep. She’d never particularly worried about her lack of looks, but at this moment she’d have given everything she possessed to be beautiful. To have hair that wasn’t flat on one side from being slept on and fuzzy everywhere else, thanks to some distant ancestor who was obviously related to a sheep.

She probably had finger marks on her cheek, too. Great.

“You awake?” Jax whispered. He’d shifted enough so that his arousal was no longer probing her backside. Either that or one look at her had cooled his early-morning ardor.

“About half-awake.”

“Looks like nothing’s changed.”

“I don’t see people rushing toward our gate. Maybe if we went around to the south side of the terminal, things would be different.”

“This is the south side,” Jax said wryly.

“Oh.”

“You want to take a bathroom break first?”

“If you don’t mind.” She’d give her last five dollars for a toothbrush. Why hadn’t her friendly travel agent warned her about things like this? She’d have stuck one in her purse.

“Toothpaste and shaving soap in my briefcase. You’re welcome to anything you want.”

Hetty sat up, raked her fingers through her hair and said, “Bless you! I’d have brought my own supplies in my purse if I’d thought about it.”

He handed her a small tube of shaving soap, the old-fashioned kind that required a brush, and one of toothpaste. Hetty thought it was sweet. The only two men she’d known well enough to know their shaving habits used the stuff in an aerosol can.

“When you get back, I’ll go and then reconnoiter for supplies. Coffee and anything else I can find, right?”

They disentangled assorted limbs, straps, coats and shawls, and in the process Hetty was reminded all over again of just what an attractive man Jackson Powers was. Even rumpled, unshaven, his thick hair looking as if it had just been combed with a thresher.

And to think she’d slept with him.

Mercy!

Ten o’clock came and went. Hetty popped a cold, limp French fry into her mouth and wondered whether to call it breakfast, lunch or an early dinner. At this point she was no longer even sure what day it was. “I’ve been thinking—what if this thing we call an airport is really a small planet circling in outer space? What if we’re all alone in the universe?”

“Read a lot of science fiction, do you?”

“If the library has it, I’ve read it. Some of it’s boring, but it’s still another point of view. That’s always—well, almost always—enlightening.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“I think so, too. That’s why I’ve plowed through so many boring books.” She checked the snap on her purse, then laid it aside. “I tried the travel agency’s 800 number again on the way from the rest room. It was still busy.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jax said. He snagged the last French fry, wondering how long it was going to have to last. He’d had to search two different concourses before he’d found food this morning. Instead of coffee and pancakes, or anything else faintly resembling a breakfast, he’d had to settle for saltines, French fries and Bloody Mary mix. For ten bucks he’d managed to get a pint of whole milk for Sunny. He only hoped it didn’t make her sick. Evidently formula had more ingredients than plain milk.

Hetty’s shoulders were drooping. He told her to brace up, that things could be worse. Judging from the way her chin trembled, she wasn’t far from tears.

God, he hoped she didn’t start crying. When it came to dealing with feminine tears, he was at a dead loss, regardless of the age of the female.

She blew a wisp of hair off her forehead. “You reck’n?”

“I reck’n,” he said, amused by the colloquialism.

“You’re right. We could’ve been diverted to Alaska and had to make connections by dog sled.”

“Or we could be in the air in all this mess. Or one of those poor devils trapped out on the runway. Given a choice, where would you rather be?”

He was trying to cheer her up, and Hetty appreciated it, she really did, only there was nothing cheerful in knowing that the one time in your life you did something truly frivolous, it turned out to be a monumental flop.

“You’re a nice man, Jackson Powers.” She managed a smile, despite the fact that she was probably going to miss her cruise. In spite of the fact that she was practically broke, with no job and no home to return to until she patched things up with Jeannie.

Which meant dealing with Nicky. Jeannie’s new husband recognized a good thing when it fell into his lap and wasn’t about to let his stepmother-in-law horn in on it.

“How many cans of formula do we have left?” Jax asked briskly, as if knowing she could use a distraction.

“We’re out. It’ll have to be the milk next time. It might give her diarrhea, which could be a problem unless we can locate a source of diapers.”

Hetty welcomed the chance to take on someone else’s problems. Jax and Sunny weren’t family, only passing strangers, but anything was better than being all alone in the wilderness of an overcrowded, shutdown airport with roughly a zillion frustrated holiday travelers.

You’d think she’d know more about airports, having been married to a pilot, but after years of selling hardware, Gus had barely gotten started on his crop-dusting career before he’d been killed.

“Want to go check out the weather report again?” Jax asked. He had the most remarkable eyes. Hetty couldn’t decide whether they were charcoal-gray or navy-blue. Mostly he kept his feelings hidden, but she’d caught glimpses of humor and concern. Once or twice she’d seen something that looked almost like admiration.

Which had to be wishful thinking on her part.

“Can we afford to leave our space unguarded?” Miracle of miracles, no one had tried to push past their fragile barrier. Jax had moved a sign advertising a Bermuda Cruise so that it hid the area where they’d slept.

“There’s a lot of coughing and sneezing going on. I don’t mind taking my chances, but I hate to expose Sunny any more than I have to.”

It was decided that they would take turns scouting out food and information, and baby-sitting. He said, “I’ll make a run and see if I can round up some diapers and baby food.”

“I think I saw a drugstore down that way about half a mile,” Hetty offered.

There had to be something in an airport this size. It was almost a small city in itself. “I’ll give it a shot,” he said as he eased past the wheelchair.

She smiled, and without realizing it, Jax smiled back and went on smiling for the next few minutes until he caught himself at it.

He wasn’t a smiler. It wasn’t his nature. Something—either the ice storm or the woman—was royally screwing him up.

The day passed in slow motion, as if the hands of all the clocks had gone on strike. From sheer boredom, they lapsed into a desultory conversation. It started when Hetty caught him looking at her hands. She had polished her nails for the first time in years, but no amount of polish could disguise years of housework, minus all but the most basic appliances.

“I told you I’d been married. I don’t wear my wedding ring because it makes my fingers break out,” she confided diffidently.

“You’re divorced?” He knew several divorced women who had shifted their rings to the other hand. It was a personal choice, he supposed.

“My husband died.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He told her his secretary was allergic to anything that contained fragrance, but not to metal.

“My mother-in-law was allergic to animals. She used to live on a farm, too.”

Jax murmured a polite response, and Hetty went on to describe the house and the barn that had been turned into a hangar, where Gus had kept his green-and-yellow Cessna.

She told him about the potholders her mother-in-law had made. “She must have crocheted five hundred of the things before her last stroke. She couldn’t get out of bed, but she had the use of her hands right up until the last few months. I think it helped, having something to do.”

“Your husband was a pilot?”

“A crop duster. That is, he was a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War. For a while he didn’t want to fly at all, but then this plane went up for sale and he got interested again, and one thing led to another.”

Jax studied her for a long moment, making her aware all over again of how awful she must look. Something, probably the dry air, was making her hair frizz up all over her head. Not even the best haircut could change that, although even Jeannie, who’d barely been speaking to her by then, had agreed the cut was an improvement.

“A ’Nam vet, hmm? He must’ve been a few years older than you.”

“Age is irrelevant. Gus was the dearest man in the world. I’ve never known him to raise his voice, much less his hand, to anyone, no matter what the provocation.”

Gradually Jax drew forth her story. He wasn’t a trial lawyer, but he did know how to elicit information. He also knew how to read between the lines. Either she was a damned good liar or he was going to have to realign his thinking when it came to women. Hetty Reynolds didn’t fit any recognizable pattern.

Under the circumstances he couldn’t very well walk off and leave her to fend for herself, but he hoped to hell the weather broke before he got in any deeper.

Three

Stress. His doctor had told him four years ago, when he’d gone in for his last annual physical, that stress was a silent killer. Since then Jax had concentrated on relaxing whenever he could find time. It worked pretty well as long as nothing happened to blow his orderly routine, which could accommodate any number of international maritime disputes, ship disasters, oil spills and the like.

It was what happened outside his professional life that tended to screw up the works. A couple of impulsive acts and his whole life had suddenly lost steerage. Impulse one had been buying an old relic of a schooner last fall. For nearly a century the Lizzie-Linda had worked the waterways from Maryland to North Carolina, first as an oyster boat, then as a freighter. There wasn’t a lick of paint left on her anywhere. Five inches of her eight-inch log bottom were rotten, yet something about her graceful lines and proud bearing had struck an unsuspected lode of romanticism buried deep inside him. For the cost of hauling and back storage he’d bought her and eventually found a place where he could keep her. Since then he’d spent most of his spare time and a considerable portion of his funds trying to patch her up.

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