Suddenly Home. Loree Lough

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      The cat gave an insulted meow and swaggered from the room, tail pointing indignantly toward the ceiling.

      Taylor barely noticed. Pinkies raised and nose wrinkled, she searched for a business card, an address book, anything that would tell her the owner’s name.

      She felt like Little Jack Horner as she stuck her hand into a side pocket and pulled out a business card. “‘Alex Van Buren,’” she read. “‘2345 Lancaster Road. Ellicott City, Maryland.’ Good. He’s local.”

      A second glance at the clock told her it was early enough to call him.

      Perched on the edge of the bed, she dialed Alex Van Buren’s number, and counted the rings.

      “Alex’s answering machine is broken,” said a deep male voice. “This is his refrigerator. Leave your name and number, and I’ll put the message under one of the magnets he’s got stuck all over me.”

      Giggling, Taylor rolled her eyes and waited for the beep. “Mr. Van Buren? My name is Taylor Griffith. It seems there was a mix-up at the airport, and I picked up your suitcase by mistake. Hopefully, you have mine, which, coincidentally, looks an awful lot like yours….”

      She cleared her throat. Why was she rattling on this way?

      “Would you give me a call, please, and let me know when it’s convenient for us to get together and, um, make the trade? If you have my suitcase, that is. If not, we can arrange a good time for you to pick up your suitcase.” She recited her phone number and hung up.

      Then, stretching, she slid under the covers, remembering his voice. Wholly, soothingly male, it reminded her of someone. Someone she knew.

      But who?

      The voice continued to echo in her mind until she drifted off to sleep.

      “Mr. Van Buren? My name is Taylor Griffith.”

      Alex lifted the corners of his pillow and pressed them against his ears. But it was no use. He could still hear her. “I picked up your suitcase by mistake….”

      He’d locked up tight and closed the blinds before climbing into bed, intent upon making up for the many nights of sleep he’d lost while in Ireland.

      If only he’d remembered to turn off the answering machine.

      Groaning, he levered himself up on one elbow and flicked on the light. Eyes shaded by one hand, he squinted across the room. Well, the bag he’d brought home certainly looked like his….

      “Would you give me a call, please, and let me know when it’s convenient for us to get together and, um, make the trade?”

      Alex turned the volume on the answering machine down, clicked off the light and flopped back onto his pillow. Rolling onto his side, he took a deep breath, hoping to pick up where he’d left off when Taylor Griffith had interrupted his dream.

      He’d been strolling along Ireland’s Dingle Coast, staring out at the great expanse of churning gray sea, when a lovely blue-eyed lass had stepped up beside him and offered to share her home-baked brown bread. But it was no use. Instead of accepting a slice, his thoughts returned to the Griffith woman’s message.

      Knuckling his eyes, Alex decided the suitcase news wasn’t nearly as interesting as his dream. Punching his pillow, he tried again to return to Ireland and the lovely blue-eyed lass.

      But a question popped into his head, disrupting the dream yet again. Its СКАЧАТЬ