Stand-In Mum. Marie Ferrarella

spared a glance in his direction. “Don’t know what I’d do without Ike sometimes.”

      “Don’t tease me like that, darlin’,” he warned playfully, “or you’ll tempt me to do away with the best friend I ever had.” Hands on the back of the seat in front of him, Ike smiled warmly at Sydney. “If he ever stops paying you the attention you so richly deserve, you know where to come.”

      Sydney’s laugh was short, amused. As if the man would ever betray a friend. She knew him far too well to ever believe that. If she ever did have a falling out with Shayne, Ike would be the first one there trying to talk them back together—and not giving up until they reconciled. “Big talk coming from a confirmed bachelor.”

      “Oh, no, not confirmed.” He looked at Marta and winked. “Just waiting for the right woman to come along, that’s all.”

      There was a great deal more to the story than that, Sydney thought. And even if there hadn’t been, she seriously doubted that Ike would give up the place of honor he held in all women’s hearts for a place of honor in the heart of just one.

      Still, there might be a chance, she mused, catching a whiff of the light scent that Marta liked to put on before she donned a stitch of clothing.

      The plane groaned like a keening woman in deep mourning. Marta felt that if she were any more rigid, she would snap like a frozen twig. “Is it much farther?”

      “We’ll be there soon,” Sydney promised.

      It couldn’t be soon enough for Marta.

      Marta wasn’t aware of grasping his hand. To her, Ike’s hand was part of the armrest—until she felt his fingers close over hers. But her breath had completely escaped her lungs at that point, and there were no words with which to upbraid him or even to say a single scathing thing about his obstinately being too familiar with her.

      Marta was sure this was going to be her last moment on earth, and she didn’t want to enter the next world with a curse on her lips.

      God didn’t like it when you cursed.

      For a little thing, she sure had a hell of a grip, Ike thought, feeling his fingers go numb. It was a bumpy landing as far as landings went, with a spate of unexpected tailwind turning on them at the very last minute. As the plane was being buffeted by the wind, coming in for the final leg of its journey, Ike was certain that Marta was going to pass out right where she sat.

      But then, taking another look into her bright green eyes, he’d amended that. The woman looked like the type to spit in the devil’s eye rather than let him know she was afraid. He liked that. It showed character, and he was a great admirer of character.

      When it looked as if she was going to snap off the armrest, he’d slipped his hand into hers again, knowing that she’d probably take his head off for it when she could talk again. But his desire to offer her a measure of comfort transcended any apprehension over words she might use to cut him down. He never liked to see someone in pain, physical or mental.

      “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Sydney’s never crashed a plane yet.”

      “All it takes is once.” Marta didn’t know if she thought the words or said them out loud until she heard him laughing softly to himself.

      Damn him anyway. She was descending into hell, and Don Juan was already with her.

      “You can open your eyes now, we’ve landed,” he whispered to her.

      She was aware of his warm breath along her face before she attempted to make any sense out of the words that were buzzing close to her ear. Her eyes flew open. Embarrassed, she stiffened, then quickly pulled her hand away from his.

      He had to think she was an idiot. That made two of them.

      Avoiding Ike’s eyes, Marta cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

      His shrug was careless, easy. “Nothing to be sorry for. Not everyone likes to fly.”

      He knew damn well what she was referring to. He was undoubtedly enjoying stringing this out. “I meant about squeezing your hand.”

      Ike pretended to examine his hand for signs of wear. His grin was fast and lethal and took no prisoners. “Hardly felt it. Feel free to squeeze anything you like anytime you have the need.”

      Color, quick and bright, flashed across her cheeks and face, working its way simultaneously to the roots of her dark red hair and down her throat. Marta could feel it, and by the look in his eyes knew that he could see it. She damned this one legacy from a mother she barely knew: translucent skin. It allowed her every emotion to be telegraphed so clearly. If she had skin his color—bronzed, she thought as if he had an intimate relationship with the elusive sun—no one would ever guess at what she was feeling.

      Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “I won’t be doing any squeezing.” And that, she figured, got her message across loud and clear. She was here to visit Sydney and her family. There was no room in her schedule for penciled-in recreational activities that involved egotistical men.

      He glossed over her words. “Then I’ll be the poorer for it, darlin’.”

      Seeing Sydney reaching for the door, Ike opened his own and jumped down into the snow. Rounding the nose of the plane quickly, he presented himself at her side by the time she’d opened the door, ready to assist her from the plane.

      Amusement played across Sydney’s lips. “Looking to do a good deed?” she asked, as he carefully helped her from the plane. “Why don’t you help—” She didn’t have time to finish.

      Disembarking from the plane, Marta found that her legs had suddenly transformed themselves from solid flesh and bone to rubbery oatmeal. She gasped as she found herself keeling over. Ike swung around and caught her before she fell face-first into the snow.

      The feel of his arms, strong and sure, closing instantly around her, ignited Marta’s indignation. It also created a spark of something else within her that ultimately went to fuel her indignation even more. She didn’t like that hot, fast, upward spike she felt, didn’t like it at all.

      With a toss of her head, she sent the hood of her parka slipping off to rest on her shoulders. Hair the color of flame at twilight began a hopeless duel with the wind that was picking up. It was the wind, not proximity, that snatched her breath away, she told herself. Like a reigning gypsy queen, she raised her head regally. “I’m perfectly capable of standing up on my own.”

      Ike withdrew his hands, holding them aloft in the air like a man staring down the bore of a red-hot .44. “Anything you say, darlin’.”

      But she wasn’t capable of standing up on her own. At least, not at the moment. Taking another step proved that. Feeling wobbly as well as chagrined, she threw her hand out and braced herself against the side of the Cessna. She regretted it instantly. The metal felt incredibly cold against her fingertips. She shoved her hand in her pocket, praying for the return of equilibrium.

      In answer to her prayer, Ike took hold of her elbow as if he were escorting her onto the dance floor of her senior prom. “This happens sometimes with first-time flyers,” he assured her easily. From her pallor and her questions, he took it for granted that this was her first time in a plane this size. “It takes a second or two to get your land legs back.”

      Grateful for the momentary respite, Marta tried to understand the strange feeling in her lower body. “I thought that was only with ships.”

      He grinned again. She wished he’d stop that.

      Ike patted the side of the plane. “This is a ship.” He glanced at Sydney, knowing that she agreed. “A ship of the air, and someday, when I have the time, this fine woman is going to teach me how to navigate it, aren’t you?”

      Pulling her parka as close around her as she could, Sydney began to lead the way to her house. It was only three, but it was growing dark already. Though she loved it here, she’d be glad when summer was more than just a distant memory. “You’d