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It took her more than a few minutes. When she didn’t find them at the curb check-in or the airline counter inside, she was forced to buy a ticket for the flight so she could get through security. Standing in line, she glanced at her watch before she slipped it off and put it in the plastic security bin. The Beaumonts’ plane boarded in less than fifteen minutes.
Once the TSA officer had waved her through the scanner, she quickly stepped over to the conveyer belt to get her shoes and purse. Unfortunately, her purse had been confiscated by one of the TSA officers.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the officer said, “but we need to search your bag.” He took her out of the line and over to a table where he emptied the contents of her purse. He held up the lemon juicer her father had given her and that she’d forgotten about.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a lemon squeezer.”
He held it like a gun. “It doesn’t look like any lemon squeezer I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, it is. My father designed it.”
“Hey”—another officer came over—“I’ve seen those. Some guy sells them on Pier Thirty-Nine. I got my wife one for her birthday, and at first she wanted to beat me over the head with it for not getting her that charm bracelet she wanted. But then she used it to make her aunt Martha’s lemon cake—you know, the one I bring to work every Christmas—and now she thinks it’s the best gift ever. She says it gets the juice out of a lemon like nobody’s business.” He took the squeezer and demonstrated how it worked.
Olivia glanced at her watch as she put it back on. “Look, I really need to get to my plane before it leaves. You can keep the squeezer if you want to.”
The officer studied it for a second more before putting it back in her purse. “Fine. But next time you should leave the squeezer at home.”
“Thank you.” She grabbed her purse and hurried toward the gate. She arrived just as they were making the last call. Which meant that she had to board the plane. She intended to walk down the aisle until she found them, and then by any means possible get them off the plane before it took off. She didn’t plan on a large woman with an even larger suitcase stopping her.
It seemed that the woman was planning an extended trip to Louisiana and had something against checking bags. The suitcase she was trying to shove into the overhead compartment didn’t fit, but that didn’t stop the woman from trying. She shoved, repositioned, and shoved again while the flight attendants were occupied elsewhere and didn’t seem to realize the woman was blocking the aisle.
“Maybe you should check it,” Olivia said.
The woman glared at her. “And maybe you should mind your own business.”
Normally Olivia would’ve kept her mouth shut and waited patiently. But this was an emergency, and she was getting a little tired of always being the nice one.
“And maybe there’s a reason these overhead bins are small.” She rose up on her tiptoes so she was at eye level with the woman. “Maybe it’s because they’re not meant for suitcases the size of a cargo trunk.”
“Why you little pip-squeak—”
A flight attendant finally showed up. “Is there a problem?”
The large woman gave her suitcase one last shove and closed the compartment with a slam. “No, there’s no problem.”
“Good,” the attendant said, “because we’re getting ready to leave the gate.”
“No!” Olivia shook her head. “You can’t take off. I need to get some people off the plane.”
“Off the plane?” the man sitting to her left said. “Why do you need to get people off the plane? Is something wrong with the plane? And what’s that hanging out of your purse? Is that a gun?”
“Gun!” A woman yelled.
“No.” Olivia pulled out the squeezer and held it up. “It’s just a—”
“Hijack!” someone yelled, and the entire plane erupted in chaos. The flight attendant dove to the floor as people cowered behind the seats in front of them with frantic screams and squeals of terror. There were only four people who didn’t duck: An attractive older gentleman Olivia immediately recognized as Donny John Beaumont. And his three extremely good-looking sons. One son was grinning from ear to ear, the other was smiling just enough to show his dimples, and the last was looking as if he’d just drunk an entire glass of her father’s lemon juice. Of course it was Deacon who took charge—who unbuckled his seat belt and stood, his large frame filling the aisle.
Suddenly she forgot how to breathe. Because even though he was still scowling, he was the most beautiful, gorgeous, amazing thing she’d seen in days. And she realized that she had driven fast, parked in an illegal zone, and almost gotten in a fight with a large lady all because she didn’t want him to leave. Not because of some fashion show. Or her designs. But because she couldn’t stand the thought of his leaving. It didn’t matter if he was Michael’s son. It didn’t even matter that he only wanted to use her to get back at his father. All that mattered was that she get a chance to tell him how she felt.
Unfortunately, before she could, the large woman clocked her with her tote bag. The last thing Olivia saw was Deacon’s face going from angry to concerned. The last thing she felt was his arms around her. The last thing she heard was the strong, steady beat of his heart.
When Olivia woke up, she wasn’t in Deacon’s arms. Nor was she on the floor of the plane. Instead she was being rolled through the airport on a stretcher by a male and female EMT who seemed to be deep in conversation.
“It looked like a gun,” the woman said. “I understand why that woman knocked her out.”
“It did not look like a gun.” The man pushed her around a group of travelers. “Which is why they didn’t handcuff her.”
