Page 7 of Daddy, Take Me Away
Maybe if someone had taken her by the hand, like grumpy Hamish was doing right now, and walked her like the real Little girl she longed to be across a busy road, maybe she'd have felt just like this, but she doubted it. This was all Hamish.
She shivered as they passed from the full view of the sun into the cool shade of the parking garage. He was going to let go of her hand now, she realized. She was glad, more than ready for this nerve-wracking tingle to go away. Expecting his inevitable release, she even gave her captured hand a slight tug, but to her surprise he didn't let go.
Pausing a moment to collect his bearings, she spotted the sign high on the cement wall marked Charter Buses.
“This way,” he said briskly and, her hand still tucked in his firm grip, walked her a winding path through the rental cars toward the check-in desk.
Did he like holding her hand as much as she secretly did?
Now, her tummy was tingling, too.
Chapter Four
The woman was a menace, mostly to herself. Of all the tourists he'd ever rented the old crofter's cabin to, he couldn't remember anyone requiring as much help as Chloe so obviously did.
“But–” her plaintive little voice said in hurt confusion from the check-in counter. “B-but I bought a ticket.”
For the second time, she held up her ticket confirmation receipt for the male attendant to see.
And for the second time, the man said sympathetically, “I'm sorry, lass. But your ticket was for yesterday's charter. It's expired. Did you get the trip insurance?” When he reached for her receipt, she handed it over. “If you did, I can reschedule you–nope, see right there?” He pointed to a line on her receipt. “Looks like it was declined.”
Taking the receipt back, she looked at it again. Her shoulders slumped. “I didn't have enough money for all the things that required trip insurance.”
“Och, love. I'm sorry. I truly am. My hands are tied.”
Clapping a hand over his eyes, Hamish scrubbed his palm down his face to his chin. He shook his head. Where in the world would she be now if only he weren't here? He shook his head again. Hamish to the rescue once more.
Strangely, that didn't annoy him half as much as it should have.
Turning from the desk, Chloe looked up from her receipt, her forlorn eyes meeting Hamish's way-too protective gaze. Sighing, he pushed off the pillar where he'd been leaning to give her the privacy to talk finances and take care of business, and went to her.
“I missed my charter. I'm going to have to drive,” she said sadly once he'd reached her. Raising her bowed head, she looked reluctantly from him to the ocean of rental cars spread out around them. “I'm so going to crash this car.”
Without a word, he took her hand again. When he started walking, she fell into step beside him.
When they crossed back out of the carport shadow into sunlight again, she finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“Long-term parking. We're going to the same destination, anyway,” he replied, careful to keep his internal irritation in firm check. Littles had a tendency to think his normal grumpiness directed at them. None of this was her fault, faulty plans notwithstanding. It was all him, and he knew it.
“You don't have to drive me.” She glanced up at him.
He kept his eyes locked on aisle numbers, already knowing what he did and didn't need to do. He'd never offered another guest a ride to or from the airport. He had no idea what his problem was.
Except that, yes, he did, and it was absolutely Chloe's fault.
She was hitting every one of his Daddy buttons. Her tentative body language, her Little voice when things went wrong, her gorgeous blue, blue eyes so wide and uncertain. He just wanted to grab her up and hug all that uncertainty right out of her, setting free the little lassie inside her.
Just what he needed, to be some American's vacation fling.
Where the hell was the car? Digging his fob out of his pocket, he pressed the honk button until he finally heard the navigating chirp of his Sorento calling him home.
“Hope you peed on the plane,” he said. “It's an hour drive without a lot of public bathrooms along the way.” Popping the trunk, he dropped both their carry-ons and his luggage inside. “Consider yourself warned.”
“I'm fine,” she chirped.
He walked her around the car to the passenger side, opening the door for her.
She blushed, making him wonder if American men no longer did this for their lasses. Shame on them.
