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the door through which the passengers would pass. Likewise, he knew
Jordanna would easily see him.
Heart thudding, he caught sight of the aircraft's lights as it pulled up to the
terminal. His throat felt suddenly tight; he tried to swallow the lump there
but couldn't. All he could do was to imagine the airplane's door being
opened and its passengers, who'd traveled such a long way, streaming out,
up the corridor, onto home soil at last.
It seemed an eternity before the first of the bedraggled travelers emerged to
be crushed into familiar, welcoming arms. Patrick's eyes filled with tears; he
brushed them with his sleeve and focused again, waiting, watching, his life
suspended until she came into view.
Inside the aircraft, Jordanna waited for those before her to begin to move.
She wondered how something so simple could take so long, particularly
after all they'd been through, then realized that, exhausted as she was, her
patience was next to nil. Those around her were as quiet as she; it was as
though every bit of the energy they possessed was focused on terra firma
and home. She shifted from her left foot to her right, then hoisted the strap
of her shoulder bag more comfortably when, at last the line started forward.
She needed to see Patrick, needed to hold him. Had it not been for thought
of him she might have gone mad during the harrowing hours of flight, the
more harrowing hours of silent detainment on Libyan soil. If she'd needed
something to help her sort things out regarding her life, this ordeal had been
it. Forty-eight hours of enforced inactivity, of near constant fear, could do
that to a person. Oh, yes, she knew what she wanted. It was simply a matter
of physically getting there.
She thought she'd scream when the line slowed down again, but it moved on
again quickly and, heart pounding, she kept up. Weary as she was, both
mentally and physically, she suddenly had all the energy in the world. It was
as though her life passed through a funnel, narrowing in on the one element
that held meaning. Patrick.
The corridor leading from the plane into the terminal seemed endless. The
clamor of joyous reunions reached her moments before she stepped into the
light. Blood thundering through her veins, she searched the throng of faces.
Tears blurred her vision. Walking ever forward, she blinked.
"Jordanna! Over here!" She turned her head to see a large man approaching.
But it wasn't Patrick. It was... Peter. The nightmare continued!
Before she could move much farther, she was enveloped in a hug expansive
enough to be captured by the cameras that rolled. "How are you, babe? I was
so worried!"
Frantic now, she continued to search the crowd. Peter kissed her soundly on
her cheek, but she didn't notice. Could it be that Patrick hadn't come? Could
it be that her ordeal had been for nothing? Tears streaming down her cheeks,
she struggled to focus.
Then she saw him, as different from Peter as night from day. Where Peter
looked fresh and well rested, Patrick was the one who had obviously lived
through the ordeal with her. Where Peter was surrounded by the press,
Patrick stood alone, waiting in anguish.
"I've got to go," she heard herself murmur, and pushed against Peter's arms.
"Excuse me... I've got to " Then she was free, dodging her way through the
crowds, until at last Patrick was holding her and she knew she was home.
Heavy sobs came from deep within then, expressing both the heartache
she'd endured and the joy of reunion. Her arms circled his neck, clinging
with desperation and need and love. She couldn't talk through her tears,
could only hold him tighter, and tighter. He was as silent, and as firm. His
strong arms surrounded her. His own tears fell freely.
How long they stood like that, they neither knew nor cared. The only thing
that mattered was that they were together again. Gathering his composure
mere moments ahead of her, Patrick moved his lips by her ear. His voice
was hoarse, but she heard every word. "There's a diamond ring in my
pocket. Want it?"
Face buried still against his neck, right arm remaining coiled in tight
possession, she lowered her left hand to his pocket. The small box was
easily opened, her finger quickly slid through the ring. Then, without so
much as a look at the exquisite gem, she resumed her hold of him.
"I love you, Pat. I love you so much!"
"Mrs. Kirkland. A moment, please?" The interruption came from one of the
several press people who'd gathered around. Jordanna pressed her head
more tightly to Patrick's neck. "How was it?" came the intrusive voice. "Did
the passengers ever panic?"
"Did the Libyans board the plane?" demanded a second.
"Did you talk with the hijacker at all?" shot a third.
Very slowly and with deliberation, Patrick eased Jordanna to his side.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, he broke out into a broad smile. "I love
you," he mouthed, rewarded by her own smile. Then he turned to the
microphones that seemed to have gathered in a swarm. "I believe that Mrs.
Kirk- land is well, but tired. She's been through an ordeal. We've all been
through an ordeal."
"She saw her husband " a reporter began, only to be soundly interrupted
by Patrick, whose gaze had returned to Jordanna's and was not to be
dislodged.
"Her ex-husband. She's engaged to me now."
"Engaged?" A second reporter frowned down at his notebook as though in
search of information he'd somehow missed.
"That's right," Patrick said with a grin.
Sniffing a new story in the works, an astute television correspondent waved
his microphone closer. "So the rivalry goes on?"
Patrick's grin didn't fade, nor did he shift his eyes from Jordanna's. "No. The
rivalry's over. Now, if you'll excuse us..." Turning, he began to lead
Jordanna from the crowd.
A final question followed them. "When's the wedding?"
"Within the month," Patrick stated, his arm wrapped firmly about Jordanna's
shoulders as he quickened his pace. "Is that all right?" he murmured softly,
when at last the reporters had given up.
"Oh, yes," she breathed, her bright eyes beaming. "Oh... yes."
"HI SLEEPYHEAD," Patrick whispered, smiling broadly. "How do you feel?"
Opening her other eye, Jordanna stretched, then reached forward and took
his hands. "Better. I was exhausted."
"Good reason for that." His eyes lowered briefly before returning to her face.
"Maybe you should cut back your hours."
She smiled at his concern. "I already have. And I'm okay. Really. A nap
before dinner always does the trick. Have you been sitting here long?"
"Long enough. I like watching you. My beautiful wife." Leaning forward,
he caught her lips in an exquisitely gentle kiss.
"Mmm," Jordanna breathed. "I like that." In the eighteen months they'd been
married, it had only gotten better and better.
"Angel?"
She opened her eyes to find him looking at her in concern.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
Laughing, she pressed his hand to her swelling stomach. "It's a little late to
worry about that, isn't it?" She was six months pregnant and growing by the
day.
"But I do worry. I know how much the business means " [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]