Loree Lough - Suddenly Home

Her forgiving words seemed to invite her seatmate’s jabbering, which didn’t stop for the rest of the flight. What kept her from yawning from boredom as he droned on about his pedigreed Yorkshire terriers, his job as a tech systems analyst, his tomato garden, Alex didn’t know.

He only knew that, from his side of the aisle, anyway, she appeared to be interested in everything the man had to say.

Before he’d crashed his fighter plane, if he’d met a woman like that under any circumstances, he’d be having lunch with her by now, flirting his socks off, working his way up to inviting her to dinner. Wasn’t that what test pilots were expected to do, after all?

Why he felt he’d lost something meaningful when she disappeared from view, he didn’t know. He only knew that she was gorgeous. Kind. Special in ways he’d probably never understand. That look she’d given him when he took her bag out of the overhead bin kept flashing in his memory, a look that said she’d survived some pretty tough stuff in her life, too.

But since he’d probably never see her again, he wasn’t likely to find out what.

The cabbie stopped in front of Alex’s town house, popped the trunk and tossed an already battered suitcase onto the sidewalk.

Alex peeled a twenty from his money clip. “Keep the change,” he said, grabbing his bag.

The meter read $17.50, and even behind the iridescent wraparound sunglasses, the cabbie’s indignant expression was obvious. Tucking the bill into his shirt pocket, he slid in behind the steering wheel. “Gee, thanks, Mr. Trump,” he muttered as he slammed the door.

The sarcasm was lost on Alex, who stood at the end of his walk, staring at the black numbers above his front door. Shaking his head, he took out his new house key and jammed it into his new bolt, hoping the air conditioner was working, because it was uncharacteristically hot and humid for June in the Baltimore suburbs.

A note taped to the brass door knocker flapped in the sultry breeze. “Welcome home,” said his mother’s delicate script. “Remember: Life is what you make of it!”

Shoving open the front door, he stuffed the message into his jacket pocket. “Thanks, Mom,” he grumbled. “Next time I meet a gorgeous li’l gal, maybe I’ll remember your good advice.”

Taylor dropped her purse on the floor and opened the cat carrier. “Good to be home, isn’t it, Barn?” she asked, gathering him near. The gold-striped tabby nuzzled her cheek and chirruped happily, then leapt from her arms and headed straight for the long-fringed afghan at the foot of Taylor’s bed. As she watched him stretch, sadness cloaked her. Because Barney had been her mother’s cat, and wouldn’t be here at all if…

She straightened her shoulders. No point in dwelling in the past. What’s done is done, she told herself.

Taylor hurried into the kitchen and washed down two white pills with a glass of water. Prescription medication took care of Taylor’s allergy to cats, but who would have taken care of Barney if Taylor hadn’t adopted him? The better question was, who would have taken care of her if Barney hadn’t let her adopt him? By now, the cat was far more than a beloved pet; he was Taylor’s only living connection to her mother.

He rubbed her ankles as she filled his bowls with water and cat food. Once he’d finished nibbling at the kibbles, he headed for Taylor’s bedroom. Taylor followed, and watched as he sashayed toward the down-stuffed pillows at the head of her bed and began batting at the fringed trim.

Barely six months old when he lost his former mistress, Barney had quickly adapted to his new life. Taylor, on the other hand, had struggled with the loss every day since the accident.

Sighing, she tried to focus on the cat’s antics. Forcing a smile, she admitted that the pillows’ plumpness did look inviting, particularly after the long flight home from Ireland.

Ireland…

If not for her mother, Taylor probably wouldn’t have gone overseas at all.

After Taylor’s father died, her mother began traveling…and pestering Taylor to get a passport and see the world with her. Amanda visited dozens of countries in the years after Jake’s heart attack, but her favorite place in all the world had been Ireland. “If you go there,” she’d said, “you’ll find yourself drawn back, again and again.”

And just as Amanda had predicted, Taylor had fallen in love with the land and its people. If her budget allowed it, Taylor would return every June to commemorate her mother’s first trip there.

Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, she decided Barney was right. Those pillows did look irresistible. And they’d look even better after a hot shower and a soothing cup of herbal tea.

Ten minutes later, wrapped in a white chenille robe, long brown hair tucked under a thick towel, she carried a steaming mug of Lemon Clouds into the living room. “Just look at this,” she complained as Barney snuggled up close. “Do you have any idea how many trees had to die so this junk mail could be printed up?”

The cat gave the stack a slant-eyed stare and emitted an expansive yawn.

Grinning, she ruffled his fur. “Where would the rain forests be if everyone had your attitude?”

His response was a bigger, longer yawn.

Taylor smiled. Being needed, in Taylor’s opinion, didn’t get the notice it deserved. Having Barney to take care of, to look after, had made the difference between wallowing in grief and getting back to the business of living. She gave him a gentle pat. “Thanks, Barn.”

He rolled onto his side, as if to say, “Don’t mention it.”

Which was what the stranger on the airplane had said when she thanked him for getting her bag from the overhead bin….

Taylor shook her head and stuffed the junk mail into the pantry’s recycling bin, then gathered the important mail and headed for the home office she’d fashioned in a corner of her bedroom. Laying the envelopes on the desk, she faced her suitcase and groaned. The only thing she hated more than packing was unpacking.

Barney slunk into the room, stopping to sniff the suitcase. Forepaws resting on the handle, he continued his investigation.

“Oh, don’t be such a nag,” she teased when he meowed at her. “I’ll put things away tomor—”

Frowning, Taylor crossed the room. “Hey, where’s my luggage tag?” she wondered aloud. “And my bungee cord?” Her uncle Dave—self-appointed protector and Taylor’s only living relative—had insisted she secure the suitcase with a sturdy strap. “For extra protection,” he’d said.

Why hadn’t she noticed before that it was missing?

Jet lag, she thought, excusing the oversight.

On her knees now, she laid the suitcase on its side and pulled at the lock. It opened easily. Too easily. Ordinarily, it took several hard tugs to pop it. Unzipping the case, she threw back its lid and stifled a gasp.

Inside, where skirts and blouses should have been…

A jumble of rumpled blue jeans, wrinkled T-shirts and rag-knit socks. “Eee-yooo,” she complained, “just look at this mess.”

In her hurry to get home, she’d obviously grabbed the wrong suitcase. Had someone else picked up hers? Or was it still there, going round and round on the belt, waiting to be claimed?

Taylor glanced at the clock. Nearly six in the evening—far too late to call the airline now.

Attention on the suitcase again, she lifted one well-worn running shoe from the pile, held it at arm’s length. “Look at the size of this thing, Barn. Who would have guessed that the Jolly Green Giant was a jogger?”

In response, Barney hopped into the suitcase, purring as his forepaws kneaded the messy clothes inside.

“Get out of there,” she scolded, gently shooing him away, “before you snag something.” Though she honestly didn’t know how any of it could look any worse.