To Heal a Heart. Arlene James

to reopen the hatch as he trotted down the enclosed ramp.

      Just as Mitch rounded a sharp turn, he spotted a folded sheet of paper on the floor. Small and lined, it looked to be filled on both sides with handwriting. Thinking that someone who had boarded the plane before him might have dropped some important notes, he scooped up the paper. The hatch slid open just then, and an attractive brunette female flight attendant smiled at him.

      “Find a seat quickly,” she instructed as he twisted past her. “We’ve got an immediate departure window.”

      Mitch meant to hand her the sheet of paper he’d found, but she hurried away the instant the hatch was secured. Not wanting to hold things up a second longer, Mitch shrugged and slipped the paper into his suit coat pocket as he made his way down the narrow aisle between the seats. Spying an open place about halfway down, he made for it quickly.

      The passenger in the aisle seat looked up as he neared. Warm amber eyes regarded him politely. A small but plump mouth curved into a rosy smile. He noted the bright, healthy sheen of light coppery-blond hair smoothed neatly over her head and culminating in a long, thick braid that draped across one shoulder. He forgot all about the sheet of paper in his pocket.

      “Excuse me,” he said, aware that his voice had deepened. “May I slip in?”

      She tilted her pretty head, looking him over quickly. Her high, wide cheekbones, pert nose and slightly pointed chin gave her face a gamine appearance that he found utterly charming.

      “It’ll be easier if I move over,” she said, releasing her safety belt.

      She lifted the arm that separated the seats and slid to the center space, next to a gaunt adolescent girl too interested in her fashion magazine to notice much of anything else.

      Mitch stuffed his briefcase into an overhead bin and dropped into the aisle seat just as the flight attendant approached to secure the storage locker. He reached for his safety belt as the plane began to creep backward from the bay. Mitch snapped his belt, and the attendant went on her way. Immediately he offered his hand to the pretty strawberry blonde, a little surprised at himself.

      “Mitchell Sayer.”

      She placed her small, cool hand in his. Her nails, he noticed, were short and bare of polish.

      “Piper Wynne.”

      “That’s an unusual name,” he heard himself saying, “but a lovely one.” It also seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t imagine why.

      She laughed and took back her hand, which he realized only then that he’d held too long. “Thank you, and no, I wasn’t named after an airplane. It was a bird, actually.”

      “I’m guessing that would be the sandpiper.”

      She cocked her head. “Yes. How did you know?”

      He folded his arms, not lamenting the close confines for once. “Seemed a logical conclusion.”

      “You’re a birder then, are you?”

      “No, not particularly, but I always read the nature magazines we get at the office.”

      “Office,” she mused, tapping her chin with the tip of one forefinger. “And if you’re getting magazines by subscription, then you must have people waiting to see you. So what are you? Doctor, dentist…”

      “Attorney,” he supplied.

      “Ah.”

      “And the magazines are usually for the people who sometimes accompany my clients. I have a thing about keeping people waiting.”

      “A prompt attorney?” she quizzed with mock skepticism.

      He laughed. “Evidence notwithstanding.”

      She smiled and tugged at the hem of her moss-green straight knit skirt as she crossed her legs. A small woman with small feet and hands, the latter happily devoid of rings, she cut a trim figure in the knit top and tailored jacket that matched her skirt. Mitch looked away, a little embarrassed that he had noticed both her ring finger and her shape, but then he looked back again, too interested to let the connection drop.

      “Tell me about this sandpiper association,” he said, settling back to listen.

      She laughed and began relating her mother’s fascination with the quick, darting shorebirds that migrated yearly to the Far East. Again something tugged at his memory, some note of familiarity, but he was quite certain that he had never met the captivating Miss Piper Wynne. She was so captivating that only when the flight attendant returned to offer them a drink did Mitch even realize that they were in the air.

      Piper waited several seconds for Mitchell Sayer to give the attendant his drink order, but she realized that he was waiting for her to do the same thing. Only after she had expressed a preference for water and the girl next to her had requested a diet cola did he ask the flight attendant for tomato juice, confiding offhandedly, “My mother’s a big believer in vitamin C.”

      “Maybe you’d prefer orange juice,” the flight attendant suggested, but Mitchell shook his head.

      “I would like some hot sauce or pepper, though.”

      The attendant searched the cart for pepper packets even as she poured diet cola into a plastic cup of ice. Seat trays came down, tiny napkins were dispensed and the drinks were passed. Piper noticed that Mitchell didn’t so much as open a pepper packet until she and the girl next to her had tasted their drinks.

      She smiled over the rim of her cup. He was a real gentleman and a very attractive one. Big and ruggedly handsome, with dark, slightly wavy hair and wide, deep blue eyes, he possessed an air of quiet confidence coupled with a boyish charm that eased into a quick, dimpled smile. Piper took the smile as a sign that her new life was getting off to a promising start.

      Instantly her brother’s face flashed before her mind’s eye. Startled by the doubt that lanced through her, she gulped water and fixed her attention on the man at her side. Having stirred several packets of pepper into his tomato juice with a swizzle stick, he was sipping the bright red brew experimentally.

      “How is it?” she asked.

      He shrugged and said, “Too salty. I prefer to make my own, and lace it with hot sauce.”

      “A purist,” she pronounced, smiling at him, “with a taste for spicy foods.”

      He chuckled, his velvet-blue eyes crinkling at the edges. She wondered if he was married. He took another drink, then lifted his arm to check the time on his wristwatch. She noticed that he wore no wedding ring—so, it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little. Would it?

      She didn’t for an instant think anything would come of this chance encounter, but it seemed an important omen somehow—not that she actually had doubts about this move. She was determined to enjoy every moment life had to offer from here on out. No more crisis management with roller-coaster emotions for her. She was finished with risk assessments and double shifts, second-guessing every move made in the heat of the moment and those soul-tearing life-and-death decisions. Especially the latter.

      Exhaustion, guilt and heartbreak had all been left behind in Houston with the emergency-room nursing position that had engendered them. Piper was determined to find relief and happiness in Dallas, beginning now—and who knew? One day she might even meet a special man. Twenty-six certainly wasn’t too young to be thinking about marriage and family. Twisting in her seat, she pasted on a bright smile and caught herself literally fluttering her eyelashes.

      “I bet your favorite food is Mexican,” she said.

      “My favorite food is edible,” he quipped. Then he admitted, “I do love a good tamale, though…and blackened steak, Indian curry, Italian diavolo, Szechuan Chinese, anything spicy. My mother says that if you put enough peppers on old shoes, I’d eat them.”

      Piper laughed, ignoring an underlying and all-too-familiar pang. Firmly she told herself that all the tears and grief and self-flagellation in the