With a frown, she pushed the thing aside, not remembering when the blanket or the pillow behind her had appeared. For a moment, she couldn’t think at all but could only feel. Her emotions bounced from the guilt she felt for her grandmother’s death to her relief at being jolted from the endlessly recurring nightmare to…rage at the insensitive clod next to her.

Rage won out. Furiously, she fastened her seat belt. Hart, was it? Well, anyone with any heart would have at least offered her a little sympathy after a terrifying nightmare…

Of course, if he had, you would have burst into tears and embarrassed yourself no end, her mind’s voice swiftly reminded her.

“And we’d better finish putting you back together, honey…”

If there was anything Bree hated, it was someone who tossed out casual endearments like honey. After glaring up into a pair of fathomless blue eyes, she lowered her gaze and glimpsed her bone pumps, swinging back and forth from his finger. She snatched them, not remembering having removed her shoes any more than she remembered the appearance of the blanket and pillow.

A watery sun was peering through the tiny plane window, and Bree’s stomach went bump as the earth seemed to rush up at them. She put her shoes on, then hurriedly grabbed her purse and reached in for a brush and compact. What she needed was a bathroom and some soap and water; her compact mirror affirmed that three hours’ sleep hadn’t been nearly enough. Her makeup had long ago worn off: dark, bruised eyes and tousled hair confronted her, along with lips gnawed red in the process of reliving Gram’s death.

From the corner of the mirror, she glimpsed her seatmate’s expression. Her hasty brush strokes stopped. He was…staring. And the corners of his lips were just turned up, as if he’d caught her doing something intimate.

“You have someone to help you at the airport?” he asked.