My Stallion Heart. Deborah Fletcher Mello

sir, Mr. Braddy?” the young woman answered, anticipation ringing in her tone.

      Tinjin sighed into the receiver. “I’m stuck in New York, Raina. There’s nothing coming or going for at least another eight hours.”

      “Oh, my,” Raina muttered. “Would you like me to arrange for a hotel, Mr. Braddy? Something close to the airport?”

      “No. I’ve already tried. Everything is booked solid. A major snowstorm has literally shut down the eastern seaboard.”

      “I’m so sorry to hear that, sir. Is there anything I can do?”

      Tinjin blew another sigh. “I’ve been trying to call my sister but she’s not answering and my cell phone battery is about to die. Would you please keep calling until you reach her, explain my situation and tell her I’ll get to Salt Lake City as soon as I’m able? When I can find someplace to charge my phone I’ll call her but it’s a madhouse here right now.”

      “No problem, Mr. Braddy. And I’ll stay close to the phone in case you need me.”

      Tinjin smiled. “Thanks, Raina,” he said, then he disconnected the line. Taking a deep breath he looked to his left and then to his right. People were crowded together, everyone at their wit’s end as they tried to figure out what to do and where to go. Babies were crying, mothers were pacing, fathers were cussing and not one soul seemed happy to be where they were.

      His British Airways flight from London had landed an hour ago, the plane’s tires hitting the icy tarmac just minutes before all flights were diverted to other locations. The wintry nor’easter was predicted to leave some twenty-plus inches of snow in the New York area, and with half of that already on the ground no plane was scheduled to depart until further notice.

      Not how he’d anticipated starting his weeklong holiday. Tinjin was suddenly wishing he’d gone to Bermuda as he’d initially planned instead of agreeing to join his sister and her family in Salt Lake City, Utah. But his baby sister, Tierra, always had a way of wrangling him to do what she wanted and her appeals for him to spend time with his toddler nephew and the new baby had been hard to resist. He loved his family and since relocating to London had missed them terribly. Despite the inconvenience he looked forward to spending some quality time with the people he loved most.

      Pausing in reflection, Tinjin considered his options. With a plan in motion he headed in the direction of the terminal train and pushed his way on board. He needed to get himself from terminal seven to terminal eight. Once that was accomplished he figured he could find a fairly quiet corner to wait out the storm.

      * * *

      Natalie made her way to the mezzanine level at JFK’s terminal eight. In the reception area of American Airlines’ Admiral’s Club she presented her membership card to gain admittance. Inside, the few gathered were nowhere near as frenzied as the masses in the holding pattern by the gates, and the level of noise dropped substantially. The catchphrase Membership Has Its Privileges rang through her mind. She heaved a deep sigh of relief as she maneuvered her way to a quiet corner by one of the only windows in the room and dropped down to the cushioned seat. Kicking off her six-inch heels she sighed in relief, twisting her ankles in small circles.

      She was past the point of being annoyed. Totally exhausted, she found herself wishing that she had just stayed in London. But her brother Noah had been adamant about her returning to the family fold long enough to honor her recently deceased mother. Tears suddenly welled in her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. She took a quick glance around the room and when she was certain that no one was paying her an ounce of attention she fell back into her thoughts.

      Natalie had been seventeen years old when she’d left home, leaving everything she knew and trusted behind. She was desperate for a new beginning, hopeful that destiny would lead her where fate intended her to land. Life in Utah had not been easy and Natalie had wanted much more than the abject poverty that had been her childhood existence.

      The family had been dirt poor, her single mother raising five children on a housekeeper’s minimum-wage salary. The Stallion siblings had known little of their father, and bitterness rang in their mother’s tone whenever one or the other ventured to question her about the man. Only Noah, barely sixteen years old at the time, had been bold enough to seek him out, begging for a shred of help for their family. When he was met with bitter rejection and their mother’s wrath, it had kept the rest of them from ever considering the idea again.

      What Natalie did know about her family was that her mother, Norris-Jean, had come from her own humble beginnings. She had been a teenager herself, pregnant with her eldest son, when she’d followed their father, a traveling minister, to Utah, trusting the promises he’d made to her. Those promises had been broken when Norris-Jean discovered the man of her dreams had a wife and another family who were more important to him.

      After Noah was born, a second string of promises, which had never materialized, led to the birth of the twins, Nicholas and Nathaniel. Their mother should have known better but it wasn’t until Naomi and then Natalie had come into the world that Norris-Jean finally accepted that the man she loved with all her heart had never loved her enough to want to do right by her.

      Natalie had asked her mother once why she’d never gone back to her own family and it was in that brief moment that she had seen the embarrassment and the regret that had eventually hardened Norris-Jean’s spirit, the wealth of it spinning in the woman’s eyes. Their mother had preferred to suffer in silence than admit her mistakes and seek help from people who might have been willing to lend them a hand. Pride had been Norris-Jean’s one shortcoming and her children had suffered for it. But for everything the woman hadn’t been able to provide she’d given them love tenfold, its abundance overflowing.

      Days earlier Norris-Jean had slipped quietly away in her sleep, leaving her five children to mourn the loss. Natalie had last spoken to her mother right before Paris fashion week, her requisite call to check that the matriarch had received the check Natalie had been sending every month since the day she’d left home. In the beginning, some months had been much harder than others. Most recently Natalie had been grateful for the steady income that allowed her to share her wealth so readily.

      A man’s deep baritone voice suddenly broke through the meditation Natalie had fallen into. “Those are not good airport shoes. Especially not in this weather!”

      Natalie lifted her eyes to stare at the man who was speaking to her. He was tall, lean and well dressed in a charcoal-gray silk suit, white dress shirt and burgundy red necktie. His shoes were expensive Italian leather, highly polished to a spit shine. He bent down and picked up her high heels, eyeing them too closely. She met the look he was giving her, one eyebrow raised curiously.

      “You must have worn these right off the runway,” the handsome stranger crooned.

      Her gaze trailed from the top of his head down to the floor beneath his large feet. His complexion was the color of Riesen’s chocolate-caramel candy, his eyes a deep, dark brown and he had full, luscious lips that pouted ever so slightly. His hair was cropped closely, a precision fade that complemented the thick texture of his tight curls. He suddenly smiled, his mouth widening into a deep grin that showcased the prettiest set of bright white teeth and accentuated the hint of a goatee across his chin.

      “Excuse me?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he waved her shoes in his hands.

      “These are from Jimmy Choo’s new fall collection. They haven’t even hit the stores yet!” He sat them upright by her side.

      Her gaze narrowed. “You know shoes?”

      He laughed. “It’s what I do,” he said as he extended a hand in her direction. “I’m Tinjin Braddy. Do you mind if I join you?”

      Natalie stared. He had the hands of a piano player, large appendages with elongated fingers. She raised her eyes back to his, not bothering to lift her own hands from her lap.

      Tinjin chuckled warmly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, not at all offended by her chilly reception. He settled himself down into the seat beside her.