“Monica’s on the phone with her right now.”

So that part wasn’t a lie. A twinge of disappointment fluttered in his head. “Good, good.” Glen searched for an excuse to stay on the line. Maybe get a tidbit about Mary he didn’t already know.

“Is that all?” Trent asked.

“Uhm . . . yeah.”

From Trent’s end he heard Monica talking. “You’re kidding.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Hold up,” Trent said before the sound from the other end became muffled.

“She what?”

“What is it?” Glen asked again.

All Glen caught was the word broken.

“That’s crazy.”

“Trent?” Glen attempted to catch his brother’s attention. “What’s broken?”

“Mary . . . hold on.”

Mary was broken? She didn’t sound busted when he spoke with her.

He repeated his brother’s name a few times before Trent responded.

“According to Mary, Dakota fell and broke a leg.”

“I thought she was in labor.”

“That, too.”

Glen didn’t know a lot about having babies, but he didn’t think a broken anything would aid in the delivery.

“I’ll call you back.” Trent moved on in a hurry.

“If you need me for anything.”

“Okay . . . yeah.” The line went dead.

Glen was leaning over his desk, sliding his fingers over his cell phone. So Mary did need Monica’s number. But she’d memorized his.

That was a juicy piece of information that had him smiling.

Now how was he going to wiggle his ass all the way to California without being obvious?

As it turned out . . . he didn’t need to wiggle at all.

His phone rang.

“Forget something?”

Trent didn’t bother with hello. “I need you to fly Monica to California. I’d do it myself but I have that meeting tomorrow with the transplant coordinator and the Red Cross.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

A few minutes later Glen pushed away from his desk in search of one of his top brokers. He needed to find out what planes were available and round up a copilot.

There was something to be said for being the CFO of Fairchild Charters.

Chapter Three

There was no reason to hurry. As it turned out, eight hours after the rush of phone calls and breaking the speed limit, Dakota was holding on to Junior a little longer.

Walt stuck his head out into the lobby on occasion and informed Mary of the progress. “She’s at seven now.”

It had taken her two hours to go from six centimeters to seven.

“How is she?”

Walt ran a hand through his hair. “Better. The epidural . . .” He paused. “Thank God for the epidural.”

Mary grinned.

“Does she need anything?”

He shook his head. “I have it covered.”

Mary knew that was coming. It didn’t hurt to ask. “What about you? Do you need anything?”

Walt glanced over his shoulder. “I’d kill for chocolate.”

“I doubt it has to come to that.” She pushed herself off the waiting room sofa and tucked the book she’d been reading into her purse. “Any particular kind?”

“Any . . . all.”

“Sounds like Dakota’s sugar cravings have been passed on to you.”

Walt grinned. “Thanks, Mary.”

It felt good to get off the labor and delivery floor. Mary already knew that the vending machines closest to the emergency room had the best selection for after-hours pickings. But since the gift shop and the cafeteria were still open, she went ahead and started her search there.

One look at the line out the cafeteria door and she turned to find the overpriced gift store. The store window held the usual suspects. Pink and blue teddy bears, get well balloons, and several sprays of flowers and live plants. Inside, an elderly woman in a blue volunteer uniform greeted her with a smile. She considered a gender specific stuffed toy but decided to wait until Junior was born. Unlike everyone else in the free world, Dakota wanted to be surprised when the baby was born, so Mary had no idea what color to pick. Next to the tiny teddy bears was a gangly legged stuffed monkey holding crutches.

Oh, what were the chances of that?

Mary reached out a hand just as someone behind her did the same.

“Excuse me,” she said without looking up.

“I touched it first.”

That voice.

She closed her eyes, rested her hand on the monkey, and turned. “What are you doing here?”

Tilting her neck to look at his face was an effort. It wasn’t that Mary was terribly short, but Glen was a full head taller than she was. And those eyes. Piercing, brown with just a hint of gold. Strong jaw in need of a shave.

Her heart fluttered and parts of her she’d rather not mention started to melt. One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile as he dipped just enough for her to notice the pilot’s hat sitting on top of his full head of dark brown hair.

The man needed a warning label.

“I had to give a friend a ride.”

Only a pilot would call a cross-country flight a ride.

“A ride,” she repeated for good measure.

He shrugged. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

She hated the fact that her cheeks warmed immediately.

I’m not going to smile. I’m not going to smile.