Free Glad Tidings by Debbie Macomber Page A

again—being delayed due to weather, I mean.”
    He pinched his lips together. “True. Not to worry, the newspaper will reimburse you for the room.”
    Emma couldn’t prevent a look of surprise at his easy capitulation on the matter of her expenses. Still, that wasn’t her main concern at the moment.
    “I appreciate it, but I was thinking, you know, that it’d probably be better if I drove to Colville this time, rather than fly. I realize it’s a full day’s drive, but—”
    Walt raised his hand and stopped her. “Out of the question. I already have an agreement with Hamilton. He’s got a run into Spokane tomorrow morning. He’ll drop you off at Colville, fly into Spokane and then come back for you later in the afternoon.”
    Emma’s heart shot to her throat. “You actually want me to do this again…tomorrow?”
    Walt nodded. “Meet Oliver at the airfield same time as before.”
    “Oh.” She stood, but her feet felt weighted down. In less than twenty-four hours, she was going back up into the wide blue yonder with Oliver Hamilton.
    “Have a good day,” Walt said, turning to his computer and dismissing her. “Remember, I want that first article before you leave this afternoon. We’re already in the second week of December, and there’s a time factor here.” He gestured at some limp Christmas garland draped on his window.
    “It’ll be on your desk,” she promised, relieved that she had the rough draft on her laptop computer.
    More by instinct than knowledge, she stumbled back down to her cubicle in The Dungeon, preoccupied by the fact that she’d be flying again so soon.She’d learned that—especially with the help of drugs—she could handle being in a small plane. She didn’t like it, never would, but in all honesty, the flight hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared.
    Examining her reluctance to repeat the experience, she was forced to admit something she’d rather ignore. More than the flying itself, it was Oliver Hamilton she wanted to avoid.

Chapter Seven
    A fruitcake is to a chef what love is to a gigolo—an item we both desperately try to avoid.
    —Michael Psilakis, executive chef and owner of Onera, New York City
    O liver wasn’t in the best of moods. He’d made a recent and rather disturbing discovery: Emma Collins wasn’t good for his ego. Until he met her, he’d been doing just fine when it came to attracting the opposite sex. Better than fine.
    His late-afternoon conversation with Walt had further eroded his ego. Apparently, upon their return from Yakima, Emma had attempted to get out of flying with him a second time. Fortunately, Walt had said no; a deal was a deal and Oliver didn’t plan to let her kill his chances of advertising his air-freight business in the local paper.
    Okay, he’d admit it’d been a mistake to kiss her, amistake he didn’t intend to repeat. If this was how Emma felt, then he could ignore her, too.
    A glance at his watch told him she had five minutes to show up. If she wasn’t at the airport by seven, he was leaving without her. He would’ve kept his end of the bargain, and she’d just have to explain to her boss that she’d been late. He’d only signed this new contract a few weeks ago, flying Alaska salmon packed in dry ice to restaurants in Spokane and Portland. It was a regular job and he couldn’t afford to mess up the opportunity.
    Just as he was about to board the plane, Emma hurried onto the tarmac, clutching her briefcase and a large takeout coffee.
    “You’re late,” he snapped.
    “I most certainly am not.” Then, perhaps to reassure herself, she stopped and checked her watch. “I’ve got five minutes to spare,” she announced with more than an edge of righteousness. “At least by my watch.”
    “Well, not by mine.”
    This time she wasn’t having trouble remaining upright because—or so he assumed—of some stupid pill.
    Regardless, he was going to stick to his policy of ignoring her; he’d simply fly his plane.
    He felt