Flying High

by Barbara Dunlop

  The charter company had one of those annoying answering systems that made a person press a thousand buttons to get a recorded voice mail telling them to call back later.

  She snapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into her purse. She’d try again from the taxi. Hiking her carry-on bag up farther on her shoulder, she glanced around to get her bearings.

  She thought the exit was in front of her, but maybe…

  Through the glass wall, to the unsecured side of the terminal, she saw a man walk by and did a double take. Her chest contracted.

  Striker?

  Here.

  In Seattle.

  She rushed backward, coming up to the glass, banging on it with the flat of her hand. Several people turned to stare, but she ignored them. She banged again.

  He turned.

  Finally.

  His eyes widened, his mouth curved into a welcoming smile. She knew with an instantaneous certainty that he was glad to see her. It wasn’t just an act.

  Maybe none of it had been an act.

  He moved to the window, put his hand up against hers, then pointed the direction she should go. She nodded, walking next to him down the concourse, grinning like an idiot.

  When she came to a solid wall and he disappeared from view, she picked up her pace. Then she started to jog, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her, struggling to keep her purse and carry-on secured on her shoulder.

  She rushed through the security door and came face to face with him.

  He pulled her into his arms, lifting her, bags and all, off the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, his cheek pressed to hers, his voice rumbling in her ear.

  She closed her eyes and absorbed his touch. Contentment settled deep into her soul. She’d made it. New York, Seattle or Blue Earth Island, wherever Striker was, was home.

  They’d get by somehow. Elle had retail stores on the West Coast, surely they’d be interested in someone with her experience.

  “Erin?” he prompted, reminding her that he’d asked a question.

  “I came back,” she said.

  He drew back to gaze at her. “What for?”

  She experienced a fleeting moment of doubt. “Were you serious?”

  “About what?”

  “About wanting me to stay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I was—”

  “Then I’ll stay. I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what we’ll do. I mean, I hope you don’t want to buy too many planes, because—”

  “Erin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Before we have this conversation, can I show you something?”

  “Sure.” She glanced around. “So, what are you doing here?”

  He lifted the bag off her shoulder and settled it on his own. Then he took the handle of her suitcase. “Traveling pretty light for somebody who came back forever.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure—”

  His midnight-blue eyes caught hers and he took her hand. “I’m sure.” He kissed her knuckles, glancing around the crowded terminal. “This is probably the worst place in the world to say this, but I love you, Erin.”

  Happiness engulfed Erin’s entire body. “I love you too, Striker.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. “Isn’t this going to make an interesting story to tell our grandchildren?”

  “Grandchildren?”

  He started walking, guiding her with him through the crowd. “I was kind of hoping you wanted kids.”

  “Well, uh, sure.”

  “Since I promised my parents we would.”

  “You told your parents about me?”

  “They can’t wait to meet you.” He zipped a card into a card lock and a door buzzed open. “They’re going to love you.”

  Erin glanced around. “Striker, where are we—”

  “It’s okay. I’m a pilot.”

  They started down a long hallway. “I know you’re a pilot, but—”

  “Hey, Striker.” A security guard nodded.

  “Hi, Bert.”

  Erin craned her neck to look at the man as they hurried past. “You know him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you flew a floatplane.”

  “I fly lots of things.”

  They made their way down a staircase, under a canopy and out onto the tarmac.

  Striker gestured to a gleaming white jet. “What do you think?”

  Erin looked around. “What?”

  “It’s mine.”

  Erin stopped dead still. “What?”

  “Well, ten percent of it.”

  She opened her mouth. Nothing but a rasping sound came out. She swallowed. “You bought…” He couldn’t have bought a jet. He was joking.

  They were never going to be able to afford food.

  Striker stopped beside her. “Well, actually, it’s owned by Reeves-DuCarter International.”

  Okay, that made more sense.

  “I own ten percent of Reeves-DuCarter.”

  Erin stared up at him. “The Reeves-DuCarter.”

  He nodded. “I—”

  “The Reeves-DuCarter,” she repeated on a squeak.

  “I was on my way to New York,” he said softly. “To apologize and tell you we can live any damn lifestyle you want.”

  She blinked. Then she blinked again. “Are you telling me you’re a rich man?”

  He looked away. “Eight figures, just like Allan.”

  Erin’s knees went weak. Good God, she’d tried to give the man fashion advice. She’d told him which fork to use. She’d cut his hair.

  “Erin?”

  “Why?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “See, I didn’t actually ever tell you I was only a floatplane pilot, you just assumed I had no class.”

  She bopped him in the arm. “You tried to buy the ugliest suit I have ever seen.”

  “Okay, so maybe I hammed it up a little.”

  “A little?”

  “You were so damn fun to tease.”

  She stared at him. “How well do you know Allan?”

  Striker shrugged. “Pretty well.”

  “You did tell him we were after a contract.”

  Striker held up his hands. “No. He figured it out that night at dinner. I never lied to you, Erin. Not about anything. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I love you very much.”

  The fight left her. “You were coming to New York?”

  “I was coming to New York.” He gestured to the jet. “But we can go wherever you want.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now. Only thing is, we’d better stay on this continent. I promised my dad I’d have you and the jet home by tomorrow.”

  Epilogue

  STRIKER’S YOUNGER BROTHER Tyler whistled low under his breath as he handed Striker a beer on the grassy lawn of his lakefront home. He nodded to Erin who was being warmly welcomed by Striker’s mother and his sister-in-law, Jenna. “I can see why you were nearly incoherent.”

  Striker accepted the beer. “What are you talking about?”

  Derek trotted down the steps to join them on the lawn.

  “Derek said you could barely get out a proper sentence on the phone.”

  Derek chuckled.

  “Derek’s a lunatic,” said Striker.

  “How’d you get a woman like that to give you the time of day?” asked Tyler.

  “Derek’s not a lunatic,” said Derek. “He’s older and wiser than both of you.”

  “Yeah?” said Striker. “Then how come Derek’s the only guy who’s stag tonight?”

  “Like I said, I’m older and wiser.” He tipped up his beer.

  Tyler grinned at his oldest brother. “Don’t worry, bro. Jenna invited Candice to keep you company.”

  Derek stared at Tyler. “What?”

  Tyler nodded.

  “It’s bad enough that I’ve got to put up with her all day long, now she’s invading my weekends?”

  “Jenna thought she could h
elp with the wedding plans.”

  Derek snorted. “Right. That woman would take a wrecking ball to the church steeple to make it fit in the pictures.”

  “Who’s Candice?” asked Striker, his gaze drifting past Derek’s shoulder to watch Erin. She fit. Chatting with his mother, laughing with Jenna. She so fit.

  “She’s our decorator,” said Derek.

  “I thought Jenna was your decorator.”

  “It’s a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde partnership,” said Derek. “Jenna’s the nice decorator. Candice is the evil maniac.”

  Tyler pointed at Derek around his beer can. “You be nice.”

  “Me be nice?”

  Striker took a couple of steps away from his brothers, drifting toward Erin.

  “She’s too good for you,” called Tyler.

  Striker grinned over his shoulder and nodded. “I know. Ain’t it great?”

  He crossed the lawn to where the women were chatting among Jenna’s rose bushes. Another woman had joined them. Striker assumed it was Candice.

  “There’s Trinity Church,” said his mother. “That would hold four hundred.”

  “Or St. Paul’s, if you want to have it on the East Coast,” said Candice.

  Erin opened her mouth. “I think—”

  “I’m worried about a caterer,” said Jenna. “September isn’t very far away.”

  Erin tried again. “What if—”

  “Too bad the Lighthouse is completely shut down,” said Candice.

  Jenna turned to Erin, her eyes shining. “My reception at the Quayside was spectacular.”

  Striker’s mother touched Jenna’s arm. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have another one there?”

  Striker’s heart swelled with pride. Erin was being so patient with them. They’d talked about a simple ceremony, even considered eloping.

  He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

  “Any chance we could talk you into the Quayside, Striker?” asked Jenna. “Erin would love it.”

  “We were thinking simple,” said Striker.

  “You can easily go simple at the Quayside,” said his mother. “We’ll talk to the event planner about something minimalist.”

  “The ballroom holds five hundred,” said Striker.

  His mother blinked at him, clearly confused as to his point.

  Jenna held up her hands. “I know the perfect bakery.”

  Striker whispered in Erin’s ear, “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  Jenna’s voice grew more excited. “Maybe a champagne icing, no other color, we could work with texture…”

  “I can stop them,” he offered to Erin under his breath. “I know you want simple.”

  “Don’t.” There was a catch in her voice.

  Striker gently turned her in his arms. “Hey…”

  Her eyes were shimmering.

  “Sweetheart? I can stop them right now.”

  She put a hand on his bicep and shook her head. “It’s a family, Striker.”

  “I know they can be overwhelming.”

  She shook her head again. “I’ve never had this before.”

  He blinked. “You’re okay with them taking over your wedding?”

  She smiled. “I can get married at the Met with a thirty-foot train and fifty bridesmaids—”

  “Don’t say that too loud.”

  Her smile grew. “As long as you’re my groom, nothing else matters. Let them plan it all.”

  “You sure?”

  Striker’s mother’s voice rose above Jenna’s. “I think a full skirt might be too much. What about something off the shoulder?”

  “Have I got a designer for you,” said Candice.

  Erin blinked rapidly. “I’m going to have brothers and sisters.”

  Striker glanced around at his meddling, strong-minded family. “Better get to know them before you get all starry-eyed about it.”

  “I’m going to love them all.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’d better love me the best.”

  “Always,” she sighed.

  He leaned down to kiss her.

  Jenna touched Erin’s arm, and Erin turned away from the second kiss.

  “We’ve got a really interesting off-white theme going here,” said Jenna. “How do you feel about lilies?”

  “Love them,” said Erin.

  “Love you,” Striker whispered.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-7246-3

  FLYING HIGH

  Copyright © 2005 by Barbara Dunlop.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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