Instead, his gaze jerked away, he strode past her, and was gone.
Her body wilted as the adrenaline that had peaked earlier was swept away with acute disappointment.
Sam had not even recognized her.
…
With a quick thanks to the woman behind the rental car counter, Sam Fratto turned and scanned the small baggage claim area of Salt Lake’s International Airport. It didn’t take him long to find the carousel slated for the incoming flight from Los Angeles, and he made his way over. He glanced at his watch. Probably not much longer. Dropping his duffel bag to the tiled floor, he leaned back against one of the pillars to wait.
A glance out the window at the snow falling thick and white to the ground told him that even though it was the first week of April, Mother Nature liked to keep everyone guessing. And it looked like the snow was sticking, too.
It had been a long time since Sam had been home. Too long.
“Beat you!” The shout was followed by the appearance of the two boys who had almost lunged into him at the bottom of the escalator. The little reunion he’d had the misfortune of running into on his arrival was now making its way to the same baggage claim area.
Hell. Maybe it hadn’t been long enough.
In any other airport, he would have assumed the cheering gaggle of people holding hand-made signs bright with glitter were waiting to greet some Hollywood A-lister or rock star. But considering he’d just arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah, he knew otherwise. And the first sign he had made out welcoming Elder Jared home from his mission confirmed Sam’s guess.
It was a welcome home crew.
A welcome home crew who wasn’t aware of the general rules of courtes
y and had blocked access between the bottom of the escalator and the rest of the airport. A problem made worse when the two little spawns had nearly sent him sprawling on his ass.
But it wasn’t that he was brooding over now. It was the pretty blonde who had triggered a faint memory of someone or something he couldn’t quite recall.
Even though she’d stood at the back of the group, she had been hard to miss. Pretty and slim, it wasn’t like she was wearing anything flashy or provocative. In fact, just the opposite.
But there had been something in the way she stared at him… Maybe it was the way her blue eyes had widened as she spotted him, and her mouth had dropped open in surprise. It was almost as if…she knew him. She had to be mistaken. Not that he was being overly modest. He was a critically acclaimed true crime writer. But he’d never had anyone actually approach him to ask if he was the Sam Fratto who had written four novels—the last two of which had been New York Times Bestsellers.
As if cued into his thoughts, she appeared again with the rest of the boisterous group. Deep in conversation with an older, sixty-ish woman, she hadn’t noticed him yet. Whatever the lady was saying to her, from the roll of her eyes, the blonde was barely tolerating it. The older woman touched her ponytail in distaste and shook her head. He recognized the symptoms. Had to be the mother.
The blonde’s gaze shifted and met his. Again, her eyes opened a little wider, and her whole body froze. He glanced away to give them privacy and trained his eyes instead on the carousel, willing it to move as the noise from the group drew near.
A little boy, no more than two, had pulled away from everyone and made his way over to the moving conveyor, where he climbed up and tottered across the slanted surface. No one from the group even looked his way, even as a loud ringing sound announced the imminent arrival of the baggage. But instead of sliding to his butt or climbing off the carousel, the little boy kept on walking, his steps becoming more precarious.
And still no one from the group looked his way.
No. Wait. The blonde seemed to realize the situation and was walking toward the kid. But she was probably a good thirty feet away, twice his distance. The carousel started moving. The toddler faltered. His arms flew out in front of him and he tilted sideways, falling, his little body about to meet the shiny, hard floor. Sam lunged forward and grabbed him just before his head slammed into the ground.
“Dylan!” The blonde had reached his side and grabbed the small bundle from Sam’s arms, her voice breathless. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
But the little boy seemed impervious to the danger he had barely escaped and struggled until she relented and put him down. He ran back to the group.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled, gratitude warming those baby blues. And suddenly he was hit again with the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. Whoever she was, she could easily disarm a guy with that warm smile and those shining eyes.
Hell, if he didn’t watch it, he’d be asking for her number, or something even more ridiculous. Get a grip. After all, this was the same woman who had been too preoccupied to safely supervise her kid. Probably most of the dozens running around here were hers—and a husband lurked somewhere out there as well.
“You really should take better care of your kid,” he managed to choke out. His voice, not exercised much over the past few hours, was gruff even to his own ears. “Airports aren’t playgrounds.”
Any gratitude quickly dissolved as her blue eyes narrowed to slits, and her face brightened considerably. Ahh, hell. He hadn’t meant to snipe at her. He was dead tired and just wanted to get in his rental and start navigating those icy roads for home.
He hoped he could keep his sanity for the next couple of months. So far, it wasn’t looking too good.
His black suitcase came into view, and with no small amount of relief, he headed over and pulled it off the carousel. His duffel was still on the floor by the pillar where he’d dropped it, and he went and grabbed it, too. The woman’s straight back was all he could see as she returned to her group, pony tail bouncing. He swept up his duffel and headed to the exit, still wondering why she seemed so familiar.
Ah, well. He hadn’t come home for touching reunions, anyway. And he sure as hell hadn’t come home for touching pretty blondes.