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“Okeydokey,” the attendant said, then pushed the cart forward.
“The craziness is catching,” Glory muttered.
“I heard that,” Bram said, laughing.
Heavens, Glory thought, taking a sip of her juice, Bram Bishop had such a rich, rumbly, masculine laugh, that it had sent a shiver down her spine. He really was very good-looking. His features were rugged and tanned, his medium brown hair was sun streaked to nearly blond in places. And he had, without a doubt, the most beautiful, bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
Oh, yes, Bram Bishop was drop-dead gorgeous
He was also nuttier than a fruitcake.
He’d bought a plane ticket for a five-foot toy panda bear? Said bear being a gift for a baby who wasn’t due to be born until the end of the year?
That was definitely crazy.
Well, it was sweet, too, in all fairness. Bram Bishop and his brothers must be extremely fond of each other. That was nice. A close-knit family certainly wasn’t a given in today’s society.
“So!” Bram said, interrupting Glory’s thoughts. “I’ve introduced myself and my buddy here. It’s your turn. You are...?”
“Glory Carson,” she said, smiling.
Say, now, Bram thought, what a lovely smile Glory Carson had. It lit up her whole face and made those fascinating green eyes sparkle.
“That’s a pretty name,” he said. “Glory. I really like it.”
“Thank you.”
“So tell me, Ms. Glory Carson—it is Ms., isn’t it?”
“I’m not married,” she said.
She could, she supposed, correct Bram, tell him she was actually Dr. Carson, but she wasn’t in the mood to go into a lengthy explanation about her work, not after the weekend she’d just put in. She was having an hour’s flight worth of time-out.
“I’m single, too,” Bram said, then drained his cup. “That’s one thing we have in common already.”
Already? That was a red-alert word, Glory thought. Mr. Bram Bishop just might be starting his hustle, making his move, his come-on. Oh, this malarkey got so tiresome.
“That didn’t sound right,” Bram said, frowning. “My mouth got ahead of my mind. That ‘already’ was really tacky.”
“Oh,” Glory said, surprise evident on her face.
Bram smiled. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to get to know you better—talk, share, discover who you are. But I’m not assuming anything here.”
“That’s very refreshing,” Glory said, unable to keep from smiling.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Bram said. “Do you live in Houston?”
“Yes.”
Dynamite. “That’s good,” Bram said, nodding. “Next question. How long is your hair when it’s falling free?”
Glory frowned and finished her orange juice.
“Cancel refreshing,” she said. “What’s next? The spiel about wanting to see my hair spread out on your bed pillow? You need some new material, Mr. Bishop.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Talk to your panda bear.”
No wonder he wasn’t married, Bram thought in self-disgust. He was an idiot. The thing was, he didn’t have any “material,” because he’d never needed it with women. He just said what was honestly on his mind. And since he was wondering how long Glory Carson’s hair was, he’d asked her.
Bram looked at the panda. “I blew it, buddy.”
“Indeed,” Glory said, not opening her eyes.
“Cups, please,” the flight attendant said, appearing next to Bram’s seat. “We’ll be landing in Houston very soon.”
Bram reached over and plucked the cup from Glory’s hand.
“There you go, darlin’,” he said to the attendant. “Listen, let me ask you something.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If a man you just met asked you how long your hair was when it wasn’t piled on your head, what would you do?”
“Slug him,” the flight attendant said.
“Thanks for sharing,” Bram said glumly.
“Glad to help,” the attendant said, moving on.
Glory had to quickly smother a bubble of laughter.
This really wasn’t funny, she told herself. Her merriment was probably the product of her bone-deep fatigue. But Bram had sounded like a dejected little boy who’d been told it wasn’t polite to ask for candy that hadn’t been offered to him.
He was an unusual man, this Bram Bishop. She’d expect someone with his looks and build to be smooth as molasses around women, having them fall all over him after one glimpse of that dazzling smile, that body and those gorgeous blue eyes.
Yet he seemed to be doing everything wrong, saying the worst things possible in a first-meeting scenario.
Wait a minute, Glory thought. The key word was seemed. It could very well be that Bram had perfected an aw-shucks-poor-me-I-screwed-up routine that resulted in women forgiving him a multitude of social sins.
. Oh, forget it. She didn’t have time for this nonsense. She’d be very glad when the plane landed and Bram exited with his silly panda.
Glory opened one eye just enough to look at the toy bear.
Then again, she mused, she had to give Bram credit for doing such a sweet—though ridiculous—thing as getting that toy for his brother’s baby-to-be, and actually buying an airplane ticket for the enormous bear so nothing would happen to it.
Stop it, she told herself, closing her eye again. Why was she wasting her precious time attempting to analyze the enigmatic Mr. Bishop? Enough was enough.
Glory directed her mind to go as blank as a television screen when the Off button was pushed. No matter how little time remained until the plane landed in Houston, every minute spent in a relaxed, nonthinking mode was beneficial for replenishing her energy supply.
Three minutes later she opened her eyes.
Darn it, she thought, she was becoming more tense by the second. She could no longer ignore the presence of the huge panda, or the man who had plunked it next to her.
She was just so aware of Bram Bishop sitting beyond the enormous toy. It was as though he was emanating a masculine current that crackled and hummed over and around her.
She somehow knew that he was sliding glances her way, scrutinizing her from head to toe. She could feel the heat radiating from Bram’s gorgeous blue eyes as his gaze touched her body, causing her skin to first tingle, then draw the warmth inward, deep and low
Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. But then again, she reasoned, she couldn’t remember ever being quite this exhausted. Of course. That had to be the answer to her overreaction to Bram’s blatant male sexuality. Her state of total fatigue.
But even though there was a reasonable explanation for her being flustered by Mr. Bishop, it was still disconcerting and definitely unacceptable.
Well, there was only one solution. Bram couldn’t sneak little peeks at her body if she was talking to him. She could keep those compelling, dangerous eyes of his centered on her face if she chatted with him
“So, Bram, what do you do in Houston?” Glory asked pleasantly.
Bram jerked in his seat at the sudden sound of Glory’s voice.
“When?” Bram asked, just as pleasantly.
Glory frowned. “When?”
“Yeah, you know, are you asking what I do for a living during the day? Or—” his voice seemed to drop an octave “—what I do at night in my private time? What hours exactly are you interested in?”
This had not been a good idea, Glory thought. Talking to Bram was not solving the problem of the strange heat swirling through her. He’d taken an ordinary what-do-you-think-of-the-weather type question and somehow turned it into a sensuous image-evoking event....
Bram Bishop at night, in a room glowing with candlelight. Tall, ruggedly handsome Bram, reaching out those powerful arms to draw a woman close and... A woman? Oh, why not.... Go for it, Glory. Bram pulling her into his embrace, pinning her in place with those blue, blue eyes, then slowly, tantalizingly lowering his head toward her lips and...
“Glory?”
“Who?” Glory blinked. “What?” She sighed. “Never mind. I’m really too tired for chit-chat, I guess. I apologize if I’ve been rude in any way, Bram. I’m not at my best, by any means. I’m going to shut up until we land. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye.”
“I own Bishop Construction,” Bram said quickly. “Would you like me to build you a house?” He smiled. “A patio? How about a gazebo? You strike me as the type of lady who would really enjoy a gazebo.”
“I do? I don’t think... No, I know, I’ve never sat in a gazebo.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I haven’t had the opportunity or the time, I guess.”
“Ms. Glory Carson, you should correct that as soon as possible.” Bram nodded decisively. “You’re definitely a gazebo person.
“Hey, don’t misunderstand me here. This isn’t a sales pitch to have you hire me to build you a gazebo. I simply picture you really liking one.
“Let’s see now,” Bram went on. “You’d wear a summer dress, one of those filmy, swishy things, and a wide-brimmed hat. Yes, that’s good. Don’t forget the hat. And—” he grinned “—your hair would be down, loose. Yep, that’s you, all right.”
It certainly was not, Glory thought. The verbal picture Bram was painting was of a woman with idle hours, who was whimsical and romantic. That definitely was not who Dr. Glory Carson was.
“Well,” she said, “if I ever decide to have a gazebo built, I’ll give you a call.”
“Speaking of calling,” Bram said, “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable giving me your telephone number so I could—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant said, “we’ll be landing in Houston in five minutes. Please be certain that your seat belts...”
Damn, Bram thought, tuning out the remainder of the attendant’s message. Glory had retreated behind the panda, was checking her seat belt and fiddling with her purse. There was a briefcase under the seat in front of her. Cripe, he hadn’t even found out what she did for a living.
Why had she been in Austin? What had she been doing to become so exhausted? Where did she live in Houston? What was her telephone number?
Who was Glory Carson?
If his brothers knew how badly he’d blown the opportunity to gather information about a possible wife candidate, they’d razz him from now until next Tuesday.
Well, all was not lost.
They still had to land, exit the plane and walk up the tunnel. Before he was separated from Glory in the crunch of people in the terminal, he was definitely going to find out how to contact her.
He had no intention of losing track of her, because he had every intention of seeing Ms. Glory Carson again.
Two
Bram sank onto the sofa in his living room and muttered a word his mother would never have allowed to be spoken under her roof.
It was totally unbelievable, he mentally fumed, reflecting on the mayhem that had arisen the moment the powers that be had given permission for the passengers of the airplane to leave their seats.
He’d leaned over to retrieve the panda and to tell Glory Carson that he wished to speak to her—his intention being the request of her telephone number—when a little old lady, who looked no bigger than an elf, had asked him if he’d please retrieve her parcel from the overhead compartment, dear boy?
Two more women tagged him for the same job, as well as one short, stocky man. When he’d finally been able to return to his seat, the panda was still there, grinning like an idiot, but Glory was gone.
His last hope had been the luggage claim area, but no Glory Carson appeared to snatch a suitcase from the rotating jumble of luggage. Apparently she had been in Austin for a short enough stay to have a carryon in the overhead compartment like the rest of the world.
“Damn it,” Bram said, then lunged to his feet. “The telephone book!”
Twenty minutes later, Bram smacked the large book shut and glowered into space.
Nothing, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He’d looked up every spelling of Carson imaginable. He’d even called directory assistance and come up empty. The operator had found a Dr. G. Carson, but Bram hadn’t bothered to ask for the number.
No, Glory wasn’t a doctor, for Pete’s sake. They’d covered the Ms. versus Mrs. bit on the plane. If Glory was a doctor, she would have said so at the time.
Bram began to pace, the large living room accommodating his long, heavy strides back and forth across the chocolate-colored carpeting.
He’d decorated his apartment on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise in earth tones: brown, oatmeal, yellow, burnt orange and deep green. The knickknacks and pictures were of a Southwestern motif, the furniture oversize to allow for his height. The color scheme, he’d told his mother, represented Texas, which was exactly the way he wanted it.
He’d decided years before that even though he owned a construction company, he wouldn’t build himself a house until he was ready to marry and settle down. Then he would draw up plans with his wife’s input to create a home, not just a structure with the label of “home.”
But here he was, thirty-three years old, more than ready to find the woman of his dreams, have babies with her, build that special home.
Here he was, alone and lonely.
And he’d let a very viable wife candidate in the form of Ms. Glory Carson slip through his fingers.
“Man,” Bram said, halting his trek and dragging one hand through his hair, “this is frustrating as hell.”
