The House on Olive Street by Robyn Carr Page A

prepare was drying out when Beth heard the sound of the garage door sliding open; her husband was finally home. She didn’t let the lateness of the hour discourage her. She was married to a pilot and all kinds of things, from mechanical problems to bad weather, could delay flights. He was supposed to have been home at four and she wished he had called, but maybe he couldn’t.
    Of course, she had checked on his flight. It had arrived on time.
    But never mind all that. She quickly lit the candles on the dining-room table just as she heard Jack come in. He dropped his brain-bag, suitcase and hang-up right inside the door. “Oh, Christ. What’s all this?” he asked, looking through tired, reddened eyes into the dining room.
    “Just a nice dinner,” she said. “Would you like a drink first?”
    “Yeah, why not. Sure. I stopped off for a drink, but I could always use one more.”
    He hung his jacket on the doorknob and pulled offhis shiny black boots while Beth fetched glass, ice and scotch. His tie and epaulets had already disappeared and his shirt looked the worse for wear. She caught a whiff of perfume. Sometimes the flight attendants were squashed into the van with the pilots and their perfume clung to Jack’s coat. She ignored it. The sight of him, his tall handsomeness, never ceased to make her shiver with desire. He had a boyish look for a man just over forty. With his tall frame, solid chest and legs, drop-dead smile and full head of thick brown hair, he was more man than she thought she’d ever have a crack at. And he was so playful—that was one of the best things about him. Of course, she wished he’d play with her more than with all his pilot pals. Or whomever.
    “I hope this candlelight dinner isn’t all about a prelude to hot sex, babe, ’cause I’m shot. My body doesn’t know what day it is or what time it is. I could fall asleep without food, really, but…”
    “No, it’s all ready, Jack. And don’t worry, I’ll let you catch up on your sleep. Then once you’re well rested…”
    “It isn’t our anniversary or anything, is it?” he asked, joking. He sipped his drink and suddenly the smell of perfume mixed with scotch and something musky made her nauseated. It seemed like a lot of perfume for just one van ride over five hours ago. And a lot of scotch for a drink. She knew that to bring up the subject would only delay the discussion she had in mind; she dare not make any accusing remarks. It’s just that it bothered her so. To have another woman’s smell on him, however innocent.
    “Would you like to change?” she asked. “Get comfortable? And I’ll get the food on the table.” Maybe get that slut’s stink off you?
    “I guess,” he shrugged. He grabbed one of his bags,pushed his hat back on his head in that sexy, devil-may-care way he had, and took his drink with him to the bedroom.
    He’d been gone for six days and hadn’t even kissed her when he came in the door. He was five hours late, had stopped off for a drink—or six?—and hadn’t even bothered to call her. But Beth wasn’t discouraged. She couldn’t let herself be discouraged.
    There were a few things Jack could almost always do. Eat, drink and make love. Even when he said he wasn’t very hungry and was probably too tired to get it up. Beth assumed by the way he dug into his dinner that if she didn’t waste too much time in the kitchen cleaning up afterward, she might catch him before he fell asleep. It could be one of the best ever, by her way of thinking. Because Beth had something on her mind.
    “What’s that sneaky little smile about?” he asked her.
    “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve missed you, that’s all.”
    “You have? Well, I’m all yours for the next few days. I’m going up to the lake a couple of times—but you’ll be working then anyway. Except for honey-dos, I should be pretty much hanging around here.” Jack always referred to his chores as “honey-dos” but in fact, they had nothing to do