He sighed. “I was on a winning streak. I didn’t know how long it was going to last. But sending for you was the stupidest thing I could’ve done. The minute you showed up, I started losing.”
“You’re blaming me?” Emma had to get away from this Neanderthal. “Go ahead without me,” she told him. “I’ll phone for a taxi.”
Oliver nearly doubled over as he burst into laughter. “La-di-da. Her highness requires a private conveyance. Do you actually believe a town the size of Colville has a taxi service?”
“Oh.” Emma had assumed there was one.
“Don’t worry. I’m the forgiving sort. I’ll still let you ride with me and if you’re real nice I won’t make you sit in the back of the truck.”
By this time Emma was so angry with Oliver, she wanted to smack him upside the head. “Have you been drinking?” she snapped.
“Absolutely not.” His smile faded. “FAA regulations don’t permit it. I worked too hard for this license to mess it up over a beer.”
She had half a mind to lean over and smell his breath. She didn’t, for fear he’d try to kiss her again. And yet…the thought was strangely appealing.
She and Oliver clambered into a rickety old truck driven by a bearded taciturn man named Michael Michaels—known as Mike-Mike. He had remarkably little to say, which was fine with Emma. Preferable to Grizzly’s idea of conversation, anyway.
On the ride back to Colville Emma reminded herself that she wasn’t attracted to Oliver Hamilton. Still, if he wanted to kiss her—not now, of course, but later—she was afraid she might let him. Perhaps she was experiencing altitude sickness. There was definitely something in the air, but it wasn’t Christmas and it sure wasn’t love.
Emma sat between the two men with Boots, plus her purse and briefcase, on her lap and Oscar down by Oliver’s feet. When they arrived at the field, Emma climbed out of the truck once Oliver had leaped to the ground. She thanked Mike-Mike politely for the ride.
Oliver handed his new friend a few dollars. With the two dogs trotting behind them, Emma and Oliver headed toward the Cessna.
“How’d the interview go?” Oliver asked as they approached the plane.
The tension left her shoulders. “I think Sophie is one of the most interesting women I’ve ever met.”
“Really.” Oliver walked around the Cessna, giving it the usual inspection.
“She’s loved one man her entire life.”
He nodded, although she doubted he was listening.
“Harry died twenty years ago, and she’s loved him and only him all these years. I find that so romantic.”
“Romantic,” he repeated absently.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
Oliver glanced back at her. “I heard you. So what’s the big deal? Men and women stay in love all the time.”
“They don’t,” Emma said. “Do you know what the divorce rate is in this country? One out of every two marriages fails. That’s a fifty-percent failure rate. Men and women don’t stay in love, and do you know why?”
He yawned.
“It’s because there aren’t any genuinely romantic men left in this world. Where’s Cary Grant when we need him? What about Humphrey Bogart? Rock Hudson? No, wait. Not him. Although he was very romantic in all those Doris Day movies.”
“Donald Duck. Daisy thought he was pretty romantic.”
This time she couldn’t resist and slapped his shoulder. “It’s all one big joke to you, isn’t it?” Without giving him a chance to respond, she said, “I’m serious.”
“There are romantic men in this world, Emma. Lots of them, and they don’t look anything like a bunch of old movie stars, either. Real romance isn’t about candlelit dinners or diamonds or champagne. As for couples staying in love, my parents have been married for thirty-six years.”
Suddenly Oliver Hamilton was the expert. “You know all about this subject, do you?” She let him hear the sarcasm in her voice.
“You’d probably consider my brother a romantic. At least he tried to be. Unfortunately, the whole thing backfired on him.”
Emma knew he wanted her to ask what happened and she refused to. She needn’t have worried because Oliver was intent on telling her, whether she wanted to be told or not.
“Jack took his girlfriend to a fancy restaurant in order to propose. He wanted to do it up big, you know. So he had the chef bake the engagement ring into a piece of chocolate cake.” He was smiling as he described the details of his brother’s attempt at romance. “The problem is that when Ginny ate the cake, she swallowed the diamond ring.” He slapped his knee now, overcome by mirth.
“Oh, let’s just get in the plane.”
But Oliver seemed determined to finish his story. “I told him he was lucky Ginny didn’t choke to death on that diamond. They’ve been married for six years now and have two little rug rats, both as cute as can be.”
Emma was about to comment when a white van drove into the airfield. Boots started barking frantically. Emma bent over and picked up the dog in order to calm her. She’d welcome the opportunity to clean her up. Maybe she could sneak her into the apartment and do that later today.
The van pulled up next to the plane. Emma read the lettering on the side of the vehicle and groaned. Animal Control.
“It’s the dogcatcher,” Oliver said out of the side of his mouth, in case she wasn’t smart enough to read it for herself.
“I can see that.”
“Afternoon, folks,” the tall thin man said as he climbed down from the van.
Boots growled and Oscar joined him in perfect harmony.
“Good afternoon, Officer Wilson,” Emma said formally, reading the nametag on his jacket.
“Do you know that dog?”
“Ah…we only just met.”
“Before you ask,” Oliver said, distracting Officer Wilson. “Oscar’s license is paid in full. He’s not a local but he’s legal.” He grinned, apparently at his own cleverness.