by Jillian Hart
“I don’t know. You look like a rule breaker to me. The sort that if you give an inch, you’ll take a mile.”
“Nope, I’m one of the good guys. The fire chief could have been more understanding. I was so wrapped up in paperwork that I didn’t get to go up today.”
“You mean fly?”
He nodded, grabbed three fries and dragged them through the tiny paper cup brimming with tartar sauce. “I fly every day. It gives me some peace to be up away from everything. It gives me perspective.”
“What perspective is that?”
“Don’t sweat the small stuff. We’re lucky to be here, alive on this earth, with all that comes with it.” He took a big hungry bite of his burger.
“That’s how I feel in my garden. All the world and its strife and my problems big and small fade away when I’m working with my roses.” Kirby reached into her white paper sack and withdrew a large packet of golden fries and a plastic container of tartar.
“I noticed all those prickly bushes along the fence line. I think I broke a few branches when I repaired the fence.” He felt bad now, although he’d been careful at the time. “Did you plant all those yourself?”
“Not all of them. The rose garden was the reason I bought the house. Even though it was more than I wanted to pay.”
“Ah, now the truth comes out. You’ve got yourself a mortgage payment you can’t quite afford.”
“Hey, I resent the way you said that. You make me sound like one of those stereotypical women who can’t manage their money.” Kirby unfolded a paper napkin and set her fries and container of tartar on it, neat as a pin.
“How true is it?” He was proud of the way his voice sounded light, as if he were teasing her, but a hard cold stone had settled in his gut. A bad feeling that felt way too familiar.
That was the reason Carla had married him, she’d told him. After he’d spent twenty-three days as a prisoner of war.
“Okay, so I had to put extra money down so I could just squeak into qualifying for the mortgage, but I did it. And my savings suffered for it, especially when I didn’t get the promotion at the hospital I’d put in for. I finished my master’s this last December and I thought I’d get a better job right away, but—” She shrugged.
No, Kirby was nothing like Carla, marrying for financial advantage. What was he doing confusing the two? He was hungrier than he thought, so he unwrapped his second bacon double cheeseburger. “You wanted a job in management?”
“Oh, no. I loved patient care, but I wanted to do more. That’s why I wanted to become a nurse-practitioner.”
Wanted to do more? She was a real Mary Poppins, wasn’t she? She lit up like a dawn sky, genuine and lovely. He didn’t doubt her sincerity. She shone down to her soul.
She unwrapped her hamburger with careful precision. “Having my own clinic and helping people is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
See? She was nothing like Carla, and this was what all his turmoil had been about. The return of the dreams, the memories of the crash. It was Kirby’s doing. She made him wish his poor battered heart could love again.
What man wouldn’t wish for a woman like her? Look at her. She talked on about her day at work and all the people she’d helped. She wanted to make a difference—at least, she tried to, she said. She lifted one delicate shoulder in an uncertain shrug.
“I know you make a difference.” He remembered the competent and caring nurse she’d been on board the flight to Seattle. A volunteer’s flight. She volunteered when she was on a tight budget.
Didn’t that say everything about her? Everything he would ever need to know? She wasn’t the kind of woman who had ulterior motives or the type who was always looking for the easiest path. No, she’d worked hard, put herself through school and was independent. She managed her money, had her own house and a career she worked hard at.
There was a lot to respect about her. A lot to trust in her.
The more time he spent with Kirby, the more he found to admire in her.
And the more flawed he felt.
What was he doing here, anyway? He’d meant to grab food and take it home to Leo. That’s what he should be doing.
But why? He’d go home to a house that echoed around him. And spend his evening working on dismantling the kitchen cabinets. No, he was content right here.
The door opened with a gust of wind and a ring of children’s voices. Two little boys pushed playfully at each other, arguing over who would hold the door for their mom, who carried a big purse and a bulging diaper bag over one shoulder. She was followed by her husband, cradling a pink-swathed infant in his arms.
Kirby glanced over her shoulder, and the longing on her face was as obvious as the tile floor at their feet.
“You’re looking to get married,” he stated flat out, not believing he’d actually come right out and said it.
And why not? He might as well make it clear. If they were going to share suppers and watch movies, then it would be as friends. And only friends.
“Yes, but I told you. I’m waiting for my one true love.” Her eyes turned dreamy as she watched the family crowd close to the counter, the little boys talking over each other trying to be the first to order.
“You’re getting close to thirty. You’re not tempted to grab the first guy who comes along?”
“Where is this coming from? You’re the one who advised me never to settle.”
He took a big bite, finished his burger and chewed. Conveniently it was too impolite to answer with his mouth full.
She scowled at him, in the nice way she had. “I know. You men think you’re not safe from a woman who’d like to get married. But you’re wrong. A good marriage and the blessing of children would be the most wonderful gift. But it’s the love that gives life its meaning.”
Maybe that’s why he felt so aimless. Restless. Sam crumpled the empty burger wrapping and tossed it onto his tray. This was all too philosophical for him. “I’m waiting for my one true love, too.”
“Now you’re teasing me.” She tossed a French fry at him.
He snatched it out of the air before it could bonk him in the forehead. “Hey! Be careful. If you want war, I know how to fight.”
“So do I.” She lobbed a little overcooked French fry missile at him.
He punched it and it skidded across the table. “See? You’re outgunned. Are you willing to surrender?”
“Not unless you’re offering acceptable terms.”
“Me? Why should I? You’re the one needing to surrender.” To prove his point, he blasted two rapid-fire fries her way. They bounced harmlessly off her milk-shake container. “Warning shots,” he explained, gathering more ammo. “Surrender, agree to being taken my prisoner and I’ll be kind.”
Kirby took up another fry, trouble twinkling in her eyes as she considered. “Prisoner? That doesn’t sound like a favorable condition for me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s a risk you’ll have to take. Either way, it’s a shame to waste these fries. They’re made from real potatoes. Mmm, good.”
She laughed, and made him laugh, too. She made him feel way too much, and he didn’t like it.
Not at all. He was a big, tough loner of a man who didn’t need anyone.
The family that had come in had finished ordering, and broke away from the counter like a football team from a huddle. The little boys dashed full speed through the restaurant, eager and shoving. Both parents told them to slow down.
He couldn’t stand to look at the happy family. The kind he could never have because he was never going to get married again. How could he? His heart was gone and he couldn’t get it back.
Ever.
At least Kirby seemed to understand that. And he appreciated her for it.
“Are you done? C’mon, let’s take our milk shakes and get out of here.”
“I didn’t agree to being your prisoner.” She was all that was good in the world, and he knew it.
He’d found what he hadn’t believed exi
sted. A good woman with a loving heart. There wasn’t a selfish, hurtful bone in her.
He was crazy and he couldn’t explain it, but the thought of being away from her hurt as badly as a bullet through the middle of his chest.
He’d keep her with him for as long as he could.
Then he’d have to say goodbye.
He held out his hand. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
Chapter Ten
“What do you think?” He held the chopper steady, so she could watch the dark bowl of night chase the last of the twilight across the sky.
“This is fantastic. I wouldn’t m-miss this for the world.”
Was that a tremble he heard?
He hazarded a look through the shadowed cockpit. It looked to him as if she was gripping the edge of her seat pretty hard. “You’re scared?”
“How could you guess?”
“Relax. I know what I’m doing. This is supposed to be fun, right? To get away from it all.”
“Y-yes. Sure. Does this qualify as cruel and unusual punishment?”
Now she told him she didn’t want to go flying? “Have a little faith in me, Kirby. I’m not such a bad guy.”
“I know.”
He had the sudden urge to show off a little, to show her what he could do, but she was pretty white-knuckled. She’d been that way on the trip back from Seattle, he remembered.
He banked—not too tight, just enough to nose them around to face the white-capped mountains ringing the eastern horizon. Man, they were something. Big, rugged, bold. Close enough to touch. “Open your eyes, Kirby.”
“I don’t like sitting up front. I feel like I’m going to fall straight to the ground.”
“I won’t let that happen. I promise. Enjoy the view. Have some fun.”
“This is fun. I’ve had so much I’m ready to go home.”
“Not yet. Wait. Watch for it….” He nodded toward the horizon, where darkness crept over the rim of the mountains. “Right there. Keep looking right over the white caps. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. And relax. I hardly ever crash. Really.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” she quipped, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Was he laughing at her?
Kirby wanted to look at him, but it was hard considering she was frozen stiff in fear and turning her head was a major effort. In the shadows, with the faint green glow from the panels, he looked like a pirate at sea, bold and powerful, a sheer renegade.
Have faith in him? No way—he was enjoying this a little too much.
“You really don’t like to fly?” How could he say that and sound so innocent? He had to have figured it out by now.
“No.”
“But you volunteer for medical flights.”
“Yes, but I don’t like it.” She was thankful Sam was at least keeping the helicopter level. “I’m in the back and I’m busy, so I can pretend I’m not up in the sky dangling way too high above the ground.”
“I didn’t know. Well, don’t worry. Stick with me and I’ll show you there’s a lot to like about flying. Angels fly, you know.”
He had to be a good pilot. He looked calm, in control, able to handle any situation. Really, she trusted him. But accidents happened. “You mentioned you’ve crashed before….”
“Look.” Instead of answering her, he pointed to the eastern horizon.
The first star of the night peeked out of the haze of twilight, flickering like a newly lit flame, sputtering, and then shining strong and bright and true.
“It’s breathtaking.”
“Quick, make a wish.”
His gaze locked on her as tangible and as reverent as a tender touch to the side of her face.
She shivered deep inside, where she was vulnerable. Where she felt her heart opening to him against her will.
She was in love with him. Way too in love with him for her own good.
Did she dare to hope that he could love her in return? Was it possible?
His hand covered hers, where she gripped the seat so tightly. He peeled her fingers from the curve of the cushion and took her hand in his. A startling, electric shock zinged up her arm and ended in her soul.
It was like the star burning to life through the darkness, a bright diamond glow where only darkness had been before, and now was a blazing light that would burn for millions of years.
She felt bright with it, consumed with the growing love inside her.
“You saw the star first,” she whispered. “You make the wish.”
“I wish for your wish. For whatever your heart desires.” His big fingers squeezed hers with care. “Go ahead and dream a little.”
Her heart already knew the answer. She didn’t have to form the thought in her mind or utter a silent prayer from her lips. The Lord had been endlessly good to her. She had a thousand wonderful blessings. Good health, a good family, wonderful sisters she could count on. Her job, her house, her dog, her friends, her happiness.
But she wanted the sweetest gift of all. True love.
Please, Father, is it too much to ask?
“Wish made?” Sam’s fingers squeezed hers again, holding on.
She never wanted him to let go. But when she nodded, he moved away as if their closeness had never been.
In the broad sweep of sky, stars appeared like magic, one after another as the twilight became night. Shimmering carat gems, brilliant white against the deepening black. God’s handiwork.
Awe filled her. She worked so hard and was so busy, always coming and going, she hadn’t taken time to look at the beauty around her. To appreciate the sweetness of living, simply of being alive.
“There, you finally relaxed.”
Sam’s words, the beat of the blades overhead and the vibration of the engine through the metal frame reminded her of where she was. Dangling up in the sky, where only stars and angels belonged.
The sound was what she remembered first. The horrible crash of thunder the same moment lightning burned her eyes, the boom of metal, the roar of the engine as it blew. And then absolute silence, so loud it vibrated in her ears as the private plane fell to earth.
They’d crashed in the Bridger Mountains, the same ones she was looking at.
Fear exploded inside her. She clamped her mouth shut, squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the seat that was steady and level. See? She was safe. Perfectly safe. The mild vibration from the engine and the whomp, whomp, whomp of the blades were proof of that.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” She couldn’t tell him, this rogue pirate of a man, who was so tough and strong and had been in more terrifying situations.
“You’re not fine.” He sounded irritated. Concerned.
Would he understand? She drew in a steady breath. “Normally I’m so busy when I’m in flight that I don’t notice how high up we really are.”
“Afraid of heights?”
She nodded, struggling to push the memories back down into the compartment where she kept them, in a dark, sad place in her heart. When she opened her eyes, it was with the bump of the skids meeting the blessed earth.
Now, if she could only pretend she was all right. Because she was—what did she have to complain about? She was here and alive and with Sam. It was friendship that glowed between them as he killed the engine and reached for her hand. His touch was that of comfort and connection and she wanted more.
She wanted to reach out and sink into his arms. To lay her cheek against the comforting solid plane of his chest, and hold on forever. She longed for it more than anything. But what right did she have?
Guilt clenched like a vise tight around her heart, squeezing harder until it hurt to breathe. She shrugged away his touch and unlatched the seat harness.
If Sam knew, would he want her? Would he understand?
Her Mr. Perfect would. As she’d written on her list. The right man would love her anyway.
But was there such a man?
She wasn
’t sure. As her feet hit the ground, she glanced over her shoulder to see him looking so competent at the controls. Back straight, shoulders set, head bowed slightly forward as he scribbled in his flight log. He was a man with enough courage to have served their country and to serve his community, with strength and grace and humor.
No, he wouldn’t understand. He would never understand.
She ran as fast as she could. She wanted to get away from him. She never wanted to see him again. So he wouldn’t ask what had happened up there. And she wouldn’t have to tell him, and he wouldn’t have to know.
So he wouldn’t see the real Kirby McKaslin. The Kirby no one knew.
No, it was better to run away and keep running.
“Kirby! Hey, wait up!” His booming voice sounded concerned.
She kept on going. Dug her keys out of her pocket and hit the remote. Her lights flashed, the door was unlocked and all she had to do was yank it open and she’d be safe from him—
“Kirby. Hey, what’s wrong?” A steely hand curled over her shoulder, pinning her in place before she could leap into her car. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were afraid of flying. Not really. I’d never meant to hurt you.”
His warm breath tickled the side of her neck. His touch was both an undeniable claim and an offer of comfort.
The last thing she needed. Or deserved.
“I can’t believe this. You’re shaking. I can feel it. You weren’t just afraid. You were terrified.” His hand slid down from her shoulder to her wrist. “Your hands are cold. I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. You said you’ve crashed twice and look at you. You’re not afraid to fly.”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“This is all about you, don’t you see?” Did he have to be so caring? If he were less than perfect, then she wouldn’t be here with her heart breaking and the past so tangible she could taste it. Hear it.
“What does that mean? If it’s not the flight, then what did I do that’s got you all upset? Tell me, Kirby. I need to know.”