The medical pilot said, “I’m going to get my machine started, and out of the way. If there’s a fire –”
“Yeah, go on,” Rufus interrupted in a quelling voice.
The pilot shot Kendra a look, then sprinted back to his plane.
Daniel’s voice came from the radio inside. “Far Hills, this is Cessna One Four Six One.”
Rufus reached the radio in three strides. “Go ahead, Daniel.”
“Instruments indicate landing gear has not deployed. Do you require a fly-over for visual confirmation, Far Hills?”
“No fly-over needed. Visual confirmation, Daniel – gear has not – repeat not deployed.”
“Understood, Far Hills.”
“Daniel, there’s a fairly flat pasture north of town – landing on grass could be softer –”
“Negative. The plane waiting to take this passenger to a hospital is here. Besides, the fuel won’t stretch. I’m coming in.”
“It’s all yours, Daniel.”
Oh God, what if not even Daniel could pull this off?
An answer came that she hadn’t known was inside her until Daniel had found it – then she would be forever grateful that she had spent this morning with him. Hours she would have forfeited if not for his stubbornness.
As if by silent order, the crowd edged closer to the open gate that led to the runway. She became aware of Marti holding her hand and Rufus at her other side, his big hand cupping her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Daniel’ll bring ’em to earth safe and sound.”
My angel can fly and then come back to earth safe and sound.
“About to land, Far Hills,” came Daniel’s voice over the radio, as calm as ever. “See you in a minute.”
Please, Daddy, watch over Daniel.
And then, just before the radio transmission cut off came the bleat of a siren from inside the plane.
“Oh, my God – !”
“No. That’s okay. It’s the stall horn. He cut the engine on purpose, so when it hits it’s not as likely to explode.”
Explode.
Silence again. All breath held. All the world suspended. The propeller still circling, but slowed slightly, changing the texture of the blur made by its passing blades. The plane carrying Daniel and two people she’d never met seemed to float, as if it rode on a cushion of air. As if her prayers and hope alone could hold it up.
And then it dropped those final inches, squealing metal against groaning tarmac.
The back connected first. Screeching, howling, ripping metal.
The left wing dipped, then leveled. The plane skidded slightly sideways, all the while protesting the harsh brake of friction. The propeller broke its teeth trying to bite into the solid surface.
It seemed the sound would go on forever.
And then it stopped.
For a second no one moved, echoes of metal screams crashing in their ears, while their eyes tried to absorb the stillness of the crumpled tube before them.
“Hot damn! Let’s go!” shouted the medic. He sprinted to the medical plane, already taxiing closer, while Rufus and the others closed in on the maimed plane that held Daniel.
Kendra was aware of all the action around her and its purpose, was even aware of what the voices said – Marti announcing she had phone calls to make, some assuring her everything was okay, others extolling Daniel’s bravery and his flying skill.
She remained rooted to the same spot, just outside the gate.
Never taking her eyes off the plane.
Watching as the workers on the ground yanked open the stuck door under the plane’s high wing. Watching as they awkwardly scrambled to unload the injured hiker from the angled fuselage and started the gurney toward the awaiting plane.
The second hiker emerged, a teenaged version of the injured man. Father and son looked as much alike as Daniel and Matthew did. The boy started after the gurney, then reached back into the plane, shaking hands with the man still inside, the man who had rescued him and his father.
The boy jogged across the pavement to catch up with the gurney, coming alongside it a few yards beyond where Kendra stood, and clasping his father’s hand.
Kendra felt an amazing connection herself in that instant – to a woman she’d never met and probably never would. The mother and wife of these two strangers Daniel had rescued.
The woman who could have lost so much if it hadn’t been for Daniel Delligatti.
As if it were her own emotion, Kendra felt the unknown woman’s never-ending flow of gratitude that there had been a man like Daniel to rescue the man and boy she loved.
I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d told him not to go.
And maybe she couldn’t have loved Daniel Delligatti as much as she did if he hadn’t been the kind of man who wanted to go.
A man like Daniel...
A man who was so much more than the sum of the parts he’d played. A man who wasn’t yet convinced of that himself. But she was.
She had been from those first hours sheltering from Aretha.
She had loved him in those hours – him, the person beyond the names or the history. Not with the depth and complexity she now felt, but with a clarity and simplicity she no longer denied.
Daniel appeared, framed in the elevated doorway.
He jumped lightly down. A familiar slash of white split his face as he grinned at Rufus, and shook the older man’s hand.
She had a sudden, clear memory of Daniel’s hand on the piano the day he’d come back to Far Hills. Fingers positioned to play a chord, instead hitting the keys one by one.
That’s what she’d been doing to him – looking at each part of him individually, when they really formed a chord. If any note were missing, it would not be the same sweet sound – and he would not be the same man.
The others crowded around Daniel, and she could see him dampening their hyperbole. He and Rufus walked side by side around the plane, with their admiring entourage following. Daniel looked as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had changed.
Until he spotted her.
Daniel never took his eyes off her as he started toward her. She never took her eyes off him as he stopped half a foot away, not touching her.
“I heard you said that if anyone could land that plane safely, I could.”
“I did.”
He waited, but she said no more. She couldn’t. There were too many emotions to try to fit into words that couldn’t hold them.
“But that’s not enough? Dammit, Kendra!” He rubbed his hand across her eyes, then reached across the space between them to grasp her upper arms. “Listen, I was wrong, charging in here demanding you marry me, thinking that would make a family. You’ve taught me. About family. About loving day to day, and letting other people love me. But you’re wrong now.
“What happens if I give up trying to change your mind. And then I keep coming back every day. Like I’ve always done. Like Rufus. Like Joe, who taught me to fly – he kept coming back through a war and more bad flying conditions than I’d see in two lifetimes, right up until he died in his sleep at ninety-two.
“Would you deny us all – you, me and Matthew – a life together on the chance something bad might happen? That’s crazy.”
She’d been wrong about a lot of things, including thinking she’d ever had a choice about loving him. Loving him was too deep in her, embedded in her soul by hurricane winds, then cultivated with the clumsy caresses of an uncertain father, the painful integrity of an honest man and the determination of an unrelenting lover.
“I have a question for you, Daniel.”
He eyed her with wary intensity. “Yeah?”
“You said this was routine. Did you mean that? All your search and rescue missions are going to be like this?”
One side of his mouth lifted a fraction. “No, I wouldn’t call this routine.”
“Good. Because even though I want to be with you when it’s the last day of my life – or the last day of your life – I truly
don’t think I could take watching my husband do this on a regular basis.”
“Your husband.” A muscle in his cheek twitched, but that was his only movement.
“Yes. If that’s all right with you.”
“I’m not going to ask you if you’re sure.” His voice was low and rough with warning. He’d hold her to this. Give no quarter. Allow no backing out.
“I’m sure.”
He looked into her eyes for another long moment, then took her face between his two large palms and kissed her until they both had to gasp for air.
“There you go, Kendra.”
Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he started toward the door that led to the stairs to his room, and his bed. And then he let her know exactly how all right it was.
Epilogue
“Tell us the story, Marti.”
The drought was long over. Snow had broken the dry season, finally blanketing the fires on the mountainside. Here on the overlook, the snow was fine enough to be stirred by the horses’ hooves, as the people of Far Hills Ranch gazed down on their home.
Two days ago, Marti had announced her resolve to go up to the overlook on the November day her research had shown Leaping Star died. Luke had been just as adamant that she wasn’t going alone. If only in the name of research, Ellyn and Kendra wanted to visit the spot. Daniel expressed an interest, too. After that, Meg and Ben Sinclair insisted on coming. With a warm day, gentle pace and layers of protective clothing, Matthew and Emily had been allowed to complete the group.
Now, even the little ones seemed to feel a sense of solemnity.
Marti silently laid a spray of dried flowers in a protected area between two rocks, then stepped back to the group.
That’s when Kendra urged her to tell the Susland Legend.
“It happened right here, in 1878. The campfire burned for four days and four nights...”
As the familiar words flowed from her aunt, Kendra felt Daniel’s arm tighten around her waist, and she leaned into him. His other arm balanced Matthew, perched on his jacketed shoulders.
He’d been right from the start. They had known each other during those days in the hurricane. Known each other in a way neither had been known before. Stripped of the identities that had been her protection and his burden. Those days sheltering from the hurricane had been like the pencil sketch of their love. Now they were beginning the oil painting.
They were going to spend the week after next in Florida with the Delligattis – Daniel’s family, Matthew’s grandparents, and her soon-to-be in-laws.
The wedding was set for January, at the Far Hills home ranch, because she couldn’t imagine being married anywhere else.
Marti’s voice lightened, and she smiled faintly at Daniel, Kendra and Matthew. “ ‘You turn away from your children, so your blood will be alone.’ ”
Kendra wasn’t alone anymore.
She knew Marti thought it had something to do with Daniel’s refusal to turn away from his child releasing part of Leaping Star’s curse by righting Charles Susland’s old wrong. But Kendra knew it was because he’d never given up on her. Now she would never give up on making him see how much she loved him.
She smiled to herself, remembering his expression the first time Matthew called him Daddy.
The silence when Marti finished the tale didn’t last long.
“Wow, five generations, so time’s running out or the ranch will be cursed forever,” said Ben Sinclair with ghoulish delight.
“You missed the point.” His sister’s disgust was complete. “It has to be true love.”
“You’re both right.” Ellyn put an arm around each set of shoulders. “ ‘Only when someone loves enough to undo your wrongs will the laughter of children live beyond its echo in Far Hills.’ ”
“The laughter of children sounds pretty good,” Daniel said, close to Kendra’s ear. “How long after the wedding until we start working on giving Matthew a little brother or sister?”
His tongue flicked against her earlobe. She stretched up to kiss him, parting her lips, and his tongue slid in, then out as a tempting promise of more.
“Who says we have to wait until after the wedding?”
The fire in his eyes was an immediate and unmistakable answer. Without another word, they started toward their horses, as Daniel hoisted Matthew down from his shoulders.
“You two leaving?” Luke asked.
“We thought we’d get a head start,” Kendra said. “We’ve, uh, got a project we want to work on back at the house.”
From the adults’ smiles, they knew exactly how she and Daniel intended to contribute to the laughter of children at Far Hills.
* * * * * *
Read more about Far Hills Ranch and the “A Place Called Home” series:
AT THE HEART’S COMMAND http://www.patriciamclinn.com/patricias-books/a-place-called-home/at-the hearts-command/
HIDDEN IN A HEARTBEAT http://www.patriciamclinn.com/patricias-books/a-place-called-home/hidden-in-a-heartbeat
Somebody’s Dad
Judith Arnold
Chapter One
“I don’t want to do this,” Brett muttered.
“Am I supposed to care?” Janet adjusted his necktie, giving it what seemed like a gratuitous tug, as if she wanted to strangle him into silence. “You don’t have a choice, Brett.”
“Who’s the boss here?” he asked.
Her response was a snort. On paper, he was the boss. But in reality, Janet ruled the office with brutal precision. Short and lean, her silver hair brushed straight back from her face and her nose curved like a beak, she reminded him of a hawk—one that wouldn’t hesitate to use her talons if necessary. As an assistant she was invaluable. As a colleague, she was a pain in the ass.
He sighed, not an easy thing to do with the knot of his tie jammed so snugly against his throat. She smoothed the collar of his jacket, then studied his hair with obvious disapproval. “You’ve got to do this. Stockton Financial Services needs a human face in its annual report. You’re human and you’ve got a face. So—as my grandson would say—get over it.”
“Get over what?” he argued. “I pose for a picture every damned year. No law says I’ve got to like it.”
“I know you didn’t like it last year,” Janet conceded. “You weren’t happy with the photographer.”
“He made me look like Mr. Potato-Head’s mutant half-brother.”
“You didn’t look that bad.”
“I looked bad.”
“Well, I hired a different photographer for this year,” Janet told him. “I met her when she arrived, and she seems very nice.”
“Great.” Just what Brett needed: a nice photographer. It didn’t matter how nice she was; he hated posing for photos. They always seemed so... posed. In his high school yearbook photo, he looked as if he were suffering from terminal hay fever. In his college yearbook photo, he looked as if his ailment had descended from his sinuses to his gastrointestinal system; his grimace in the picture could as easily have arisen from acute heartburn as from his discomfort in sitting for a photographic portrait.
And now, as the founder and president of Stockton Financial Services, Brett had to pose for a photograph for the annual report every year. He didn’t need Janet to explain to him that investors felt better when they knew what the man they were entrusting with their money looked like—but for the life of him, he didn’t know how year after year of awkward, self-conscious photos of him in the report could reassure anyone he was worthy of their trust. It was a miracle his clients didn’t take one look at his pained smile and anguished eyes and withdraw every last cent they had invested in his funds.
“You know what I should have done?” he asked as Janet whipped a comb from a pocket in her skirt and started fussing with his hair. “I should have hired a model to stand in for me. Someone rugged and confident.”
“Rare is the male model who looks rugged and confident.” She clicked her tongue, pocketed her comb and turned to inspect his desk. “Th
e folder has to go,” she declared.
“I need that folder. I’m working.” At least, he’d been working until five minutes ago, when Janet had invaded his office to announce that the photographer had arrived and was currently taking pictures of assorted members of the Stockton Financial Services team.
“Your desk should look neat. Clients don’t want to think they’re handing their money over to someone whose desk is messy.”
Brett’s desk was anything but messy. The onyx pen stand, the modern, geometrically shaped lamp, the teak “in” and “out” boxes and sleek computer were arranged with enough flair to resemble a layout from some high-end office-supply catalogue. The open folder was the only indication that someone actually worked at that desk. “Maybe the photo should show me working. That would inspire confidence.”
“I’ve seen you working, and the sight doesn’t inspire confidence. You look like a slob when you work. You’ve always got your sleeves rolled up unevenly and your tie hanging loose and your hair all messy.”
“The work I do is brilliant.”
“I’m not arguing,” Janet said, gliding around his desk and shutting the folder. “But you don’t look like you’re working when you’re working.”
“Okay. I get it. I’m supposed to look nothing like the way I look when I’m actually working, so people who see my photo will think I’m working.”
“Exactly.” She slid the folder into the top drawer of his desk. “Sit,” she ordered him, gesturing toward his chair. “I’ll go find that photographer and tell her you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready,” Brett protested, but Janet ignored him, marching toward the door like a raptor in search of fresh prey. “Tell her I’m in a lousy mood!” he shouted after Janet.
Janet mumbled something unintelligible and probably profane as she disappeared down the hall.
Brett sighed again, then wedged his index finger beneath the knot of his tie and eased it down a couple of centimeters. Maybe if he could be photographed in a sweatshirt and jeans, sitting for a photographer wouldn’t bother him so much.
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