Chapter Four

ERIN

“Good news or bad news first?” Henry, my boss, asked.

The cup of coffee he pressed into my hand hinted at bad . I took a quick sip and shut my eyes, reminding myself I could cope with anything — such as idiots lecturing me about who I kept company with, like that jerk from last night. Oh, or a ten-foot tear in the balloon I was scheduled to pilot that morning — that would be really bad news.

I jerked my eyes to check the colorful bundle on the trailer before me. God, please, no. Not the balloon. Nothing that would disrupt my flight.

“The balloon’s fine,” Henry said quickly.

“Then what’s the bad news?”

Henry had parked in our launch area — a clearing a few miles out of town on national forest land — and sleepy guests were piling out of the van, rubbing their hands and stomping their feet to keep warm. Henry maneuvered me away from them to speak privately. Another bad sign.

“Kenny won’t be coming in today.” His breath crystallized in the cold winter air and hung there, motionless.

I jutted my jaw, waiting, because something in Henry’s expression said that wasn’t all.

“Kenny won’t be coming tomorrow either,” Henry continued after a significant pause. “Or the rest of the week. Not for the rest of the month, actually. He’s got some…issues to deal with.”

I scowled. Kenny, like so much of the casual help in the balloon business, always seemed to be hampered by issues — man-talk for problems with one’s ex, run-ins with the law, or four-digit sums owed to the wrong kind of “business associate.”

Henry heaved a sigh that said Poor guy , but I felt no such mercy.

“Issues? What kind this time?” I started, then stuck up a hand. “Forget it.” It was probably better not to get on a rant, though I still rattled through one in my mind.

Wanda, the receptionist for the balloon company, had three kids, zero alimony, and a crushing mortgage. But did she complain about issues?

No, she did not.

Deirdre, Henry’s accountant, had a mother with dementia, a Honda that ran on fumes, and a Schnauzer with heartworm. Yet, did she fail to turn up at work due to issues?

No, she did not.

In fact, I knew very few women who complained about issues . They just struggled on, because they had no choice. But when the going got tough, big-talking guys like Kenny got going and escaped their problems. Or worse, leaving those problems for other people to solve.

People like me, who found themselves at five a.m. with a short-handed ground crew, twenty-plus guests, and a job to do.

For the record, I am not a man-hater. I loved and appreciated Henry, who’d given me a chance when no one else would. I had many male friends — some with, er, benefits I’d thoroughly enjoyed. I loved my father dearly and would be eternally grateful for all the sacrifices he’d made for me.

It was just Kenny’s type that got me riled, especially at o-dark-thirty.

I folded my arms and stared Henry down. “The good news better be that you found a replacement.”

“I did!” He grinned then turned and hollered toward one of the men. “Come on over, son.”

I glanced into the darkness, prepared to be let down.

“Can he drive?”

Yes, my expectations were that low. At least I didn’t start with, Does he have a pulse?

Henry’s laugh sent condensation swirling through the air. “Of course he can drive.”

“I mean, does he know the back roads? Can he drive the way we need our ground crew to?”

That meant one eye on the road, one eye on the sky, and both ears tuned to the radio that allowed the ground crew to communicate with the pilot.

“He’s a fast learner. Especially with you as his teacher.” Henry grinned.

“Henry…” I growled.

“I know it’s not what you hoped for,” he admitted.

I snorted. Being my mother’s daughter had taught me that life didn’t deliver what you hoped for. But this was different.

“It’s not what we agreed on,” I pointed out, then lowered my voice to plead. “I need this flight, Henry.”

“I know, I know. I promise we’ll find you that hour soon,” Henry swore.

I balled my hands into fists. I’d worked for Desert Skies Balloon Adventures for over a year, grabbing every rare opportunity to go aloft with Henry or his second pilot, Madden. But that depended on the balloon having a free spot — and having a competent ground crew chief to chase the balloons wherever the wind brought them on any given day.

Today, Desert Skies One had several free spots. But without Kenny to head the ground crew…

“I need this flight,” I repeated, clenching my teeth before I begged.

I really needed it, and not just to be able to pilot solo. My whole life, I’d felt a primal, inner itch to get off the ground and defy gravity, at least for a while. But lately, that itch had intensified to an all-out craving.

The faint morning breeze toyed with my hair, teasing me.

“You’ll get that hour. Soon,” Henry promised. Then he grinned and raised his voice. “There you are, son. Meet Erin, our ground crew chief. She’ll teach you the ropes.”

The new guy moved through the predawn darkness the way a panther prowled through a forest, more shadow than substance. He stuck out his hand, and murmured a gruff, “Hello.”

I reached out, then froze, spotting his jacket — a fleece-lined denim jacket with a tear in one sleeve.

When I raised my eyes higher, my hands formed fists. Him?

Strong jaw. Strong shoulders. Strong everything, all looming a few inches over me, just like the previous evening.

Our eyes collided like a couple of storm fronts.

You, I nearly hissed.

His expression hardened, echoing the sentiment.

“Erin, this is Nash, Kenny’s replacement.” Henry looked at me, then him. “Oh. Do you know each other?”

“No,” I grunted, dropping my hand.

I did not know him, and I did not want to know him. Not after what he’d done last night.

John, one of the ground crew, walked by just then, chuckling. “Hey, Erin. I heard your father’s back in town.”

I shot a pointed look at the new guy. “Yes, he is. Word travels fast.”

John laughed. “It does when you rock into town at the head of a motorcycle gang.”

“Club,” I growled.

John laughed. “Right. Club.” He twisted his wrist, miming a vroom-vroom sound effect. “Too bad I missed him. Did you have a good time?”

I glared at Nash. “Yes, I did. With my father .” I emphasized the last word.

His eyes went wide. His cheeks flushed. Did he have that I want to crawl into a hole and die feeling? Good. He deserved it.

“Your father, huh?” he murmured, clenching his fists.

“Yep,” I gloated.

Henry’s confused expression said, Are you sure you don’t know each other?

Out loud, he asked, “How long is your father in town for?”

“He’s leaving later today. Just passing through this time.”

All too short a visit, but I could forgive him that. My dad had sacrificed his Easy Rider lifestyle to raise me alone. The custom bike shop he started to support us had been wildly successful too. But the moment I’d turned eighteen and started my first steady job, Dad had hit the road. He stopped by regularly, though, and every time he said goodbye, he spent a long time wiping his eyes — from dust, or so he claimed.

So proud of you, honey.

I’m proud of you too, Dad.

I truly was — proud and grateful. My dad was the best. Unconventional, maybe, but definitely the best.

I shot Nash another killer look. If you ever insult my father again…

His brownish-green eyes briefly met mine, then dropped to the ground.

Too embarrassed to face me? Good.

“You’ll have to pass on my regards to your father,” Henry said amiably.

“I will,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Well, back to work…” John said, ambling away.

Henry smacked Nash on the shoulder like a prize bull and picked up where he left off. “Nash has quite a resumé. This man is a pilot with years of experience.” Henry beamed at his fine catch. “Was that Army or Marines?”

“Marines,” Nash grunted, looking at no one in particular.

“Ten years,” Henry announced, smacking Nash’s shoulder again. A good thing the guy was built to take it.

“Marine pilot, huh?” Madden, Henry’s second pilot, came over, attracted like a bug to a testosterone-fueled light. “My father was in the Marines.”

I rolled my eyes, barely holding back, And you were not .

“Nice,” Nash mumbled.

“Ten years piloting, huh? Heck, we should get you to fly one of our balloons,” Madden crowed.

One of Henry’s balloons, I wanted to snap. And anyway, no, because those flight hours are mine, not his.

“Happy to contribute any way I can,” Nash murmured in that low, rumbly tone.

“Attaboy.” Madden added his own firm smack of approval to the newcomer’s back.

I was tempted to chip in with my own, just aimed at a different location. Ugh! What was it with men and their gorilla rituals?

“I bet you have war stories to tell,” Madden went on eagerly. “Hey, the guests would love that.”

I shook my head. What if Nash had actual war stories? What if he didn’t want to share them?

That didn’t stop Madden from enthusing, “What do you think, Henry? We have a free spot in the balloon today.”

I glared at Henry. If he said yes, I would scream.

To his credit, Henry shook his head. “We need Nash to learn the ropes with the ground crew.”

Madden scoffed as if that were beneath a real man.

My fingers twitched. Lucky for him, I had no talent for magic. Maybe I could hire someone who did and have him turned into a toad.

That was the thing with supernaturals in Sedona, though. It was hard to tell the wannabes from the real thing.

“Happy to contribute any way I can,” Nash repeated in that same, measured tone.

But, shoot. I could see the bromance flourish already. Madden chumming up to Nash. Nash completing a fast-track ballooning certificate and using his thousands of hours of flight time to edge me out for a piloting spot — if he stuck around long enough.

Either way, my dreams would be grounded. Literally.

I slapped my work gloves against my jeans. Time to get to work. And I didn’t have to like my new colleague to do that.

I pointed Nash to the bundled balloon. “We need to unroll this. Get that side. I’ll take this one.” Then I called Chico and John, our ground crew. Neither of whom aspired to fly, God bless them. “Ready, everyone? On three…”