Short Cut to Santa Fe Read Online Free PDF Page A

with the tail of the small plane, looking very much as if it were growing out of the terminal. She grinned cheerfully, temper restored. The guide gave her an annoyed look of the you’re-the-last-thing-I-needed-today variety and began to speak. “If you could all just identify your luggage, please, then we’ll have it put on the bus. Unless you prefer to carry it yourself. There is room inside the bus for hand luggage. Larger pieces go in the hold.”
    A uniformed man was hurrying about the room, snatching up bags and putting them on a trolley, muttering, “Archway Tours, miss? Sir?” and adding to the frantic, uneasy air of the whole operation.
    It occurred to her that there must be someone in that building who might know how late John’s plane was likely to be. Harriet kept well back until the man with the baggage came sweeping through with his load; the group began to straggle along after him. Impatiently, she moved forward toward the waiting room. “Excuse me,” she said firmly as she tried to push her way past a large, brown-haired man with sulky eyes who had the air of an athlete beginning to run to fat and booze. “I’m trying to get in, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œYou the person who’s taking pictures of everyone?” he said. “What goddamn business is it of yours who’s on this tour?”
    â€œI’m not,” said Harriet crisply. “I’m taking pictures of the planes and the buildings. I could not be less interested in the people getting on that bus if I tried.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Brett, watch where you’re going.” The sharp, annoyed voice seemed to come from nowhere. “Let the woman get inside.”
    Brett muttered something that might even have been an apology and stepped aside. The disembodied voice had come from a woman who had been hidden by his bulk, brown-haired, freckled, and thin, with sharp blue eyes and a basic expression like a lost and hungry kitten.
    Beyond her, Harriet could see a child in jeans, a man in uniform, and a tall, thin man wearing a beige raincoat and a tired, uncertain expression. John. Her heart lurched; she forgot her annoyance and the frustrations of the day. Harriet raced over and flung herself at him. “My God, but it’s good to see you again,” she said finally, loosening her grip. “But why were you on that plane? It looks like a charter for a tour.”
    â€œThat’s the choice. Charter or buy your own plane. Most scheduled flights land in Albuquerque. You didn’t know that, did you? But your word is my command. You said you’d meet me at Santa Fe, and Santa Fe it was. Never mind, it was an experience and you look terrific,” he murmured. “And smell—mmm. Tangerine soap, grapefruit shampoo, with an overlay of sweat, road dust, and—I know. Garlic. You have no idea how sexy it is.”
    â€œYou’re so romantic, John. And I’m sorry. It never occurred to me you’d have trouble getting a flight into here. I didn’t even check.”
    A soft voice interrupted her. “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you—”
    Harriet turned and saw the skinny child in jeans. She had long, lank, dirty blond hair and a long, very serious face, and looked to be about eleven. Her pale blue eyes were growing alarmingly large and moist, and her pale cheeks were beginning to blotch slightly. “What can we do for you?” asked Harriet quickly, crouching down slightly to adjust to the difference in height.
    â€œAre you with the tour?” she asked. “Because I can’t find our luggage and I can’t find my brother either, and we have to catch the bus or we won’t be able to get home. My mother is supposed to pick us up—” She paused, unable to go on.
    â€œNo problem,” said John efficiently. “I think I saw your brother on the plane. What’s his name? And just to keep it official, how