“We’re not going to starve, Amber. I’ve got a bottle of water and three muffins in the front, but we won’t need them. I’m going to walk to the main road.”
Her eyes go wide. “You’re not leaving me here alone.”
“You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“You’re not leaving. I have” —she sinks back into the seat and rolls her eyes— “abandonment issues.”
“I’m not abandoning you. I’m going for help.”
“Quinn, I mean it. Don’t all helicopters have trackers or something?”
“A transponder, yes. But nobody will realize we’re missing for a while.”
“But I heard you on the radio earlier. You talked to someone about the flight plan. Won’t they come looking if you don’t show up?”
I sit down next to her. “Eventually, Ken will realize we’re missing. But it’s not unheard of that I take a detour from the plan.”
“Detour? What do you mean?” When I don’t answer, her jaw goes slack. “Like you land somewhere and have sex?” She sneers at the seats. “Here?”
I shrug. “I can’t say it’s never happened.”
Her eyes close. “Great. How long will we have to wait?”
“I’m sure he’ll call it in after a few hours.”
“Oh, well, that’s not such a big deal.”
“Then they’ll have to find us. There’s almost eighty square miles of searchable area between DHR and the airport.”
She huffs in frustration. “Why couldn’t I have chosen the airport closer to the ranch? They would have found us faster.”
“They’ll find us faster if I jog out of here.” Her eyes narrow. She’s about to bite my head off. I hold up my hands. “Fine. Fine. I’ll stay.”
“What if they don’t find us before nightfall?”
“I have flares.”
“What’ll we do until then?” she asks.
I raise a brow.
She pushes me away. “Shut up. I’m not sleeping with you.”
I chuckle. “You call what we did sleeping?”
Ignoring my comment, she asks, “How long have you been flying helicopters?”
“About four months.”
“Four? How in the hell did you manage to land us?”
“Because I’m that good,” I tell her. She flashes me a vicious glare. “What? You said you liked cocky.”
“Yeah, when I’m not in a life-or-death situation.”
“Cocky is exactly what you should want in that case. Wouldn’t you rather be up there with a pilot who’s sure of himself?”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“I had over a hundred and eighty hours of flight training. I only needed forty because I’m not a commercial pilot. But I figured, what the hell, I might as well get the license.”
“But this has never happened to you before? I’m your first crash?”
I laugh. “Crash is putting it a little harshly. I doubt there’s even body damage.”
“You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Amber.”
“I mean with the flying and the bronc riding. Do you have a death wish or something?”
“Flying choppers does not mean I have a death wish. It’s one of the safest modes of transportation.”
“The broncs, then—why do it?”
“Which answer do you want? The one where I tell you chicks dig it? The bruises, the buckles, the danger? Or the one where I tell you I do it to try and control something that’s out of control—namely, my family.”
“Did your therapist tell you that?”
“I don’t have a therapist.”
She cocks her head and stares. “Self-analysis. Add that to your list of talents. So, you have family issues too?”
“I don’t talk about my family. Let’s just say they hate the fact that the apple fell really far from the tree.”
“Well, I do have a therapist, and he tells me my promiscuity stems from my fear of abandonment. No attachments—no risk.”
“And you have a fear of abandonment because…”
“If you can’t figure it out, you’re not as smart as I thought you were. Listen, can we not talk about family?”
“Fine by me. How about our jobs? You know what I do. How about you tell me what pays the rent.”
“I’m a head hunter.”
“As in a job recruiter?”
“Not exactly. Recruiters are employees who hire people only for their company. Think of me as more of a matchmaker, only for employment. Companies pay me to find candidates who will best fit the positions they’re wanting to fill.”
“Is that what you went to school for?”
“I tried college. Even made it through a few years. I quit when my dad… Forget it. We said we wouldn’t talk family.”
“I never went to college. Waste of time, if you ask me.”
“You don’t need a degree to fly?”
“Not to get a license. Most commercial employers would require one, but I don’t plan to fly commercially.”
“Yet you got your commercial license.”
“I had the time. Tell me more about your job. How does someone become a head hunter?”
“It wasn’t something I set out to do. I waitressed. Worked at a country club driving the beer cart. Was a receptionist for a construction company. But I knew they were all temporary. I started applying for jobs I thought could turn into a career, but I never got a second interview. I thought it was my lack of education. So after the tenth rejection, I called them all back and asked them to be frank about what I was lacking. When a few of them spelled it out for me, I felt like they were describing some friends of mine, so I encouraged those friends to apply. They ended up getting hired. So I kept going on interviews, getting rejected, and finding friends who were a better fit. Before long, people were knocking on my door, begging me to find them jobs. Eventually, I went back to those employers, and some of them were nice enough to write me letters of recommendation for finding them the perfect candidates. I took those letters to small corporations and asked them if they’d give me a finder’s fee. Some agreed, and it kind of blew up from there.”
“A self-made woman. Impressive. But you can only have so many friends. How do you find people?”
“Research. These days, you can pretty much find out anything about anyone. I spend a lot of time looking into executives of random companies. I have a database of them. Qualifications, backgrounds, families, education, training. The more I do it, the easier it becomes.”
“So you poach people from one company and send them to another?”
“Basically. And sometimes I even go back to the first company and get hired to fill the position I stole from them. I call those twofers.”
A cow strolls up, investigating the chopper. Amber scrambles out of her seat, climbing over me to the far side while wincing in pain.
If I didn’t know her ankle was killing her, it might be funny. “She’s just curious. She won’t hurt you.”
“What if it charges us?”
“Cows don’t typically charge. Only bulls.”
“She’s staring at me.”
“She’s checking things out. This is her territory. She’s not used to seeing a helicopter in her pasture.”
“Wait. If cows are here, then cowboys will be close by. We’re saved!”
“While it’s possible a rancher could be nearby, they don’t typically hang around the herd unless they’re bailing hay or rotating them into pastures.” I pat her leg. “Don’t worry. Someone will find us sooner or later.”
She pulls her leg away. “I’m not worried.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
“What? I’m not.”
“So tell me, Amber Black, this promiscuity of yours… Just how slutty are we talking?”
Her eyebrows arch. “You want to compare numbers?”
I laugh. “Sure, why not? I’ve been with about seventy women. You?”
“I’
ve been with one.”
For a moment, I’m confused, then realization dawns and my jeans get tight. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna need details.”
“I’ve never talked about it with anyone. Except Tag.”
“Tag?”
“My best friend.”
“You have a friend named Tag? What’d she do to get that nickname?”
“Tag is a he. And it’s his real name—Tag Calloway. Funny story. He accidentally fingered my butt once.”
“How do you accidentally finger someone’s butt? And why do I feel like you have lots of stories?”
“You have no idea.”
Suddenly, I find myself wanting to know everything about Amber Black.
Chapter Six
Amber
Quinn stares at me like a dog who wants a pat. “Tell me about Tag Calloway.”
“We grew up together. He was the first friend I made when we moved from White Plains to Calloway Creek.”
“Calloway Creek? Tag’s family owns the town?”
“Ha. Far from it. That’s another story I’ll tell you sometime. Tag and I did everything together—walked to school, got jobs at the movie theater, got our first piercings.”
“I assume you’re talking ears,” he says with a smirk. “I’d have found any others.”
“Ears for me. Nipples for him.”
“Ouch.”
“Women love it. Maybe even more than they love bruises.” I wink.
“Is that so?”
“Because we did everything together, we thought we’d try sex, you know, so we were better at it when it really mattered.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. You?”
“Sixteen. So the finger in the butt?”
It’s still hard not to smile when I think of it. “We were young and inexperienced. So when he did it, I thought maybe that’s how it was done. We were in my basement. My dad interrupted us before we could go any further. The next time we were together, and he put his finger in my vagina, he commented how I must be more relaxed because it wasn’t as tight. I told him it’s because the time before, he put his finger in my butt. He was mortified at first, but soon we were laughing so much we cried. When he went to stick his dick in me, I told him to make sure he got the right hole. We still crack up over it to this day. It’s the one thing I can hold over him.”
“That’s hilarious. And much more entertaining than my first time.”
“I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”
“Libby Metzer. She was a year older and way more experienced. I think she made it her mission to deflower as many virgins as possible. The first time we were together, I blew my load before she even touched me.”
I cover my mouth and giggle. “How embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as mistaking a butthole for a pussy.”
“Touché.”
“The second time we were together, she gave me a handy. I lasted about ten seconds. And when we finally did it, I think I lasted five. I followed her around like a puppy dog after that. I wanted more. She never gave it to me. She never gave it to anyone. More self-analysis—she’s the one who fucked me up and made it so I never sleep with a woman more than once.”
“Never?”
“I wouldn’t think that would be surprising to the nympho of Calloway Creek.”
“You don’t know me well enough to call me that.”
“Apologies. So you lied last night? You don’t fuck ’em and chuck ’em?”
“Oh, I do.”
“You’ve never slept with them more than once?”
“Just one. Tag.”
“I get it. Friends with benefits.”
“We were for a lot of years—ten, to be exact—but it got to be a crutch. At first, we’d do it as a way to comfort each other. Like if we failed a test or got grounded. But over the years it became more frequent. If I had a bad day or if he lost a client, we’d fuck. We weren’t in a relationship, but we were sleeping together all the time. It became almost toxic. And we were afraid it would eventually ruin our friendship, so we stopped.”
“Just like that?”
“Yup.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“That long ago? How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Nice. My second older woman.”
“Out of seventy, you’ve only been with two older than you?”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the young ones.” He flinches. “Okay—that came out wrong. They were all over eighteen. At least since I’ve been eighteen myself.”
“Thanks for clarifying.”
“So what do you do now when you’ve had a bad day?”
“Tag and I get drunk and laugh about his finger in my ass.”
“I suppose you’re lucky to have a friend like that. Aaron is my best friend. Hell, if you don’t count the other guys on the ranch, he’s my only friend.”
“Did he ever stick his finger in your ass?”
“Oh, now you’re a comedian.”
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“I have to pee.”
He points to the pasture. “The world is your toilet.”
“But I’m going to need help.”
“Right.” He gets out of the chopper and helps me down. “How do you want to do this?”
I look around. “How about behind the tree?”
“Because the cows might see you?”
“Ha. Ha. Okay, here then.”
“Not right here. I don’t want to step on your pee when we get in and out of the chopper.” He picks me up and carries me around back. “This will be our designated pee spot.”
“What if I need to… you know.”
He puts me down gently. “Amber, don’t ruin the fantasy. If I think about you taking a deuce, how will I ever get off while fantasizing about our night together?”
“You plan on doing that?”
He nods. “Oh, yeah.”
Tingles shoot through me at the thought of him masturbating while thinking of me. I shake off the feeling. “Now turn around, but put a hand under my arm to balance me.”
“Don’t pee on my boots.”
I lower my pants and undies and squat. He loses his grip on me, and I fall backward. “Quinn!”
“Sorry. But it’s hard to hold you up like this. It’s not as if I haven’t seen every inch of you.”
“Fine. You can turn around.”
He gets behind me, spreads his legs wide, and holds me steady by putting his hands under my pits. “Don’t let me fall back. It’s really hard for girls to pee like this and not get any on their pants.”
“Bet you’re kind of jealous that I can just whip it out, huh?”
“Yes, Quinn. This is the one time in my life I wish I had a penis.”
He gets me situated back in the helicopter and walks the perimeter, looking for people, I presume. Before he returns, he goes to the front seat and gets the paper bag. “Dinner is served,” he says, hopping up and holding out a muffin.
I push it away. “Not hungry.”
“You’re not still scared, are you? It’s not like we’re in the middle of the Pacific. Someone will find us. Later tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Fine. Give it to me.” I take the food from him.
For the next two hours, until the sun sets, we talk about our jobs, our friends, and our bad habits. Anything but family—that topic seems to be off-limits for us both. When we’ve learned all we can about each other, we name all the cows we can see in the pasture. I wanted to play games on my phone, but Quinn suggested we not use up the battery. Makes me think he’s not so confident about being rescued as soon as he led me to believe.
After dark, Quinn fires off a flare and lights two road flares in clearings on either side of the helicopter.
I lie down on the back row, my entire body not long enough to span the six seats facing forward. Quinn lies opposite me on the oth
er seats. I’m not sure I’ve ever known as much about anyone other than Tag, and I met him less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Be honest with me,” I say. “Were you scared when the engine stopped? You had to be. You’re only human.”
“It’s strange—there was a moment after everything went quiet when I loved it. It was serene. I was gliding through the air like an eagle, and nothing could be more perfect. If I were a religious person, I’d say it was the closest to God I’d ever been. Don’t get me wrong, I was scared shitless, mostly because you were in the back, but in some weird way, it was also one of the best moments of my life.”
“You were scared because I was in the back, huh?”
“Hell yes. I didn’t want to be the one to tell the Mitchell clan that I killed one of their own.”
“One, you wouldn’t have to because you’d be dead too. And two, I’m not part of the Mitchell clan.”
“Whatever you say. But you might want to tell them that.”
“It’s great that our near-death experience has you feeling all warm and gooey inside. I’m just glad I didn’t lose control of my bladder. Speaking of which, you mind helping me outside again?”
We get to the pee spot. It’s dark, our surroundings barely lit with the orange hue of the flares.
I squat and then stiffen. “What about snakes? I could get bit on the ass.”
“There is that possibility.”
“Are you serious?”
“No.”
I pee, but when I stretch to look up at him, he’s scanning the ground around me. I stop midstream and stand, pulling my pants up. I’m not about to risk it.
Headlights come around a tree line in the distance. Quinn picks me up and spins us around. “Yes!”
I eye him suspiciously. “You seem surprised. I thought you said you were sure someone was coming.”
“I was pretty sure. Well, I’d hoped.”
I smack him on the chest. Then I kiss his cheek. “Thank you for not crashing.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart.”
Chapter Seven
Quinn
Headlights come closer, and I take a relieved breath. It’s not that I didn’t think someone would come. I just wasn’t sure how long it would take. And nights can get cold in Texas, even in May.
Texas Roses (The Devil's Horn Ranch Series) Page 4