“Finish your coffee,” he said. “We’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes.”
“It’s not coffee. It’s latte. Eggnog-flavored.” She had to argue about everything. But she obediently drained the large cup.
Oliver taxied to the end of the runway and waited for approval to take off. It wasn’t long in coming. He was in the air before he realized that Emma’s eyes were squeezed shut. Like yesterday, she held on to the bar above the door with what could only be described as a death grip. But at least she wasn’t confessing at the top of her lungs that she’d lied about her weight. The memory produced a grin and for a moment he forgot that he was annoyed with her.
They hardly spoke the entire flight. Every now and then he felt her glance in his direction, as if to gauge his mood. An hour outside of Colville, he saw that she was squirming in her seat.
“What’s the problem now?” he asked.
Emma shifted from one side to the other. “If you must know, I have to use the, uh, facilities.”
“You should’ve gone before we left.”
“I did,” she said, not bothering to hide her indignation.
“There isn’t a toilet on the plane.”
She turned and scowled at him. “I noticed. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“You can do what I do,” he told her. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a wide-mouth red plastic container.
She looked at it as if he’d just handed her a dead rat. “You aren’t serious, are you?”
“You said you had to go.”
“You don’t honestly expect me to…go,” she said, apparently not finding a more suitable verb, “in that.”
“I use it.”
“It’s different for a man. There’s a bit more effort involved for a woman.”
“We’re a little less than an hour from Colville.”
She crossed her legs. “I guess I can wait.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
By the time he approached the Colville runway, Oliver’s sympathies were with Emma. She was clearly uncomfortable, if the number of times she’d crossed and uncrossed her legs was any indication. He didn’t have the heart to tell her there wasn’t a terminal in Colville. The runway was next to a cow pasture, and while there was an office, that didn’t necessarily mean anyone would be there to let her in. It’d been a while since his last visit and he didn’t recall if there was a restroom of any kind in the hangar. For her sake, he hoped there was.
Emma bit her lower lip when the wheels touched down. Oliver taxied and parked the plane and leaped out. Just as he’d suspected, no one emerged from the office.
“There’s a toilet in there,” he said, helping her down. “But I’m not sure it’s open….”
She had a desperate look.
Emma hurried toward the office, but no one answered her frantic knock. When she glanced over her shoulder, he shrugged, pointing at the hangar.
With that, she bolted for the large metal shed. She must have found what she needed because she didn’t immediately reappear. While he waited, Oliver got on his cell and phoned the Spokane restaurant with his ETA. Someone would meet him at the airfield to pick up the salmon delivery.
When she returned from the hangar she was frowning. “The conditions in there were deplorable. Downright primitive.”
“Hey,” he said, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “It wasn’t me who gulped down that eggnog latte.”
She threw him an irate look. “The least you could’ve done was warn me how long the flight was going to take.”
“You’re a reporter. You could’ve done the research.” He was about to say something else when he saw the small black dog.
Emma had noticed the mutt, too, a curly-haired mixed breed, probably part poodle. From the matted hair and the lost expression in her brown eyes, Oliver could tell the dog was a stray.
“Where did you come from?” Emma asked, gently petting her. The dog stared longingly up at her and started to shake. “She’s cold,” Emma said.
Oliver felt bad, but there was little he could do. As it was, Oscar had seen her, jumped down, barking loudly, and then promptly did what dogs always do when they meet another of their kind. He sniffed her butt.
“I had no idea this town was so small,” Emma commented. She looked over the cow pasture and wrapped her coat more securely around her. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“You’re hungry?”
“No, but the dog is. I don’t usually carry food with me.” She checked the inside of her purse; the best she had to offer was a half-used package of antacid mints. Unfortunately, Oliver wasn’t much help, either.
A lone car drove past the road next to the airfield. “Do you have my cell phone number?” he asked, following the vehicle with his eyes.
“You gave it to me in Yakima.”
“Right.” He remembered that now. “Call me when you’re finished, all right?” As soon as she was picked up, he’d fly into Spokane.
“When will you be back?” she asked.
So she was going to miss him, he thought, warmed by the question. She wouldn’t admit it, of course, but she was attracted to him. He decided it was better not to react.
“You’re sure you have a ride,” he confirmed.
“Sophie McKay said she’d come and get me.”
She pulled out her cell and punched in a number from her little daybook. After a short conversation, she nodded in his direction, letting him know her ride was on the way.
Oliver hesitated. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable about leaving her here alone, in what was virtually a deserted field.
“You can go,” she said, her shoulders hunched against the wind. “Ms. McKay will be here any minute.”