Читать книгу: «Airman To The Rescue»

CHAPTER ONE

SARAH MCALLISTER’S EYES fluttered open and her gaze landed on the first items in her line of sight: several exposed wires crawling out of the socket in the ceiling above her bed like a spider’s creepy legs.

She hated spiders almost as much as she hated contractors.

Her brand-new ceiling fan and light fixture combination belonged where those wires were, but instead it sat in the as-yet-unopened home improvement store box. She had Gus “should be murdered in his sleep” Hinckle, her hired contractor, to thank for that.

Sarah sighed and rolled over on her side. She startled at the sight of Shackles, her shaggy rescue mutt, sitting on the floor near her bed staring up at her. Unblinking.

A month after adopting Shackles, Sarah and her rescue were still getting used to each other. He’d been through a great deal, she got it, but was it her fault he’d been flown to California by Paws and Pilots only to have his forever family change their mind? In the end, she’d agreed to adopt Shackles and had given him a name worthy of their mutual situation. He was unwittingly tied to her and she was tied to her father’s old house and the small town of Fortune, California, for reasons that didn’t seem to make sense any longer.

“Time to get up.”

Sarah fought with the white cotton sheets wound twice around her legs since she’d tossed and turned throughout the night. In other words, the usual.

First order of business today was to put in a call to Gus and ask him for the tenth time this week when he planned on getting his ass over here to finish the job she’d hired him to do. Paid him to do, in fact, with a nice little deposit for his troubles. She stumbled over the unfinished flooring in the hallway where the hardwood slats were propped against the wall, waiting.

The last time Gus had been here a week ago, he’d given her high hopes he might actually finish the job. What he’d done looked promising because, when she could get the man to work, he knew his stuff. Eventually her father’s old house, a relic of the sixties, would be updated to the twenty-first century. Then she’d be able to flip the house for a tidy profit and get out of dodge. Back to Fort Collins, Colorado, since there was nothing left for her here in Fortune.

She grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter and hit her speed dial for Satan. As had occurred every day for the past week, the call went immediately to Gus’s voice mail.

Blah blah blah I’m a contractor. Blah blah blah not just a contractor but an artist. Blah blah blah I’ll finish your project in time and under budget.

Oh yeah, that last one was hilarious.

“Get your ass over here and finish what you started or I swear I’m calling the cops! And I mean it this time.”

As if the cops cared about a shifty contractor. The jails would be overflowing if that were the case. “I’ll call the Better Business Bureau and file a complaint! Did I mention my brother is an Air Force pilot? He’s big and bad and he’ll kick your ass. Get over here!”

She hung up and threw the phone toward her couch. Her brother might be a badass but he was too busy running their late father’s flight school, Magnum Aviation, chartering flights through his new company and spending every other moment with the blonde who had tamed him. Sarah wasn’t going to ask him for any more help. He’d already done enough by installing the granite countertops after she’d bought him out of his half of the house.

Shackles stared from his empty dog bowl to her and back again. “All right, all right,” Sarah said, filling his bowl. Never let it be said he couldn’t communicate. In fact, he was better at communication than most men.

On the off chance he’d changed his routine, that he’d finally begun to trust her a teensy bit, she went back to the counter and started the coffee. But true to his idiosyncrasies, Shackles wouldn’t eat with anyone else in the room. He stood, guarding the bowl, less Sarah should suddenly be taken with the desire to start eating kibbles for breakfast. And he had still not touched the food.

“Where’s the trust?” Sarah grumbled and headed to hit the shower, grateful Gus had never even started on her bathroom project.

The small south county airport where Sarah worked was bustling with activity when she arrived for her morning shift at the Short Stop Snack Shack. Since her brother had started Mcallister’s Charters, he’d managed to infuse the struggling airport with a needed shot of adrenaline. Now they didn’t just have the aviation school and an air museum on site, but the Short Stop Snack Shack had been revamped into more of a coffee shop.

Their clients were now not only composed of adrenaline junkies seeking the thrill of skydiving or flying lessons, but Silicon Valley high-tech gurus who worked from home on their sprawling hilltop homes and were occasionally needed in San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Then there were the legal professionals. She’d heard Gerald Firestone was a tyrant in the San Francisco County civil courtroom where he’d recently been made a judge, but he’d never been anything but kind to Sarah. He had a ten-acre farm in Fortune he retreated to every evening, and he chartered a flight from her brother Stone’s company every morning and afternoon. She couldn’t even imagine how much that would cost a person, but by the looks of his Rolex watch, Judge could afford it.

The Shack was not much more than a countertop in the middle of the small converted hangar with bar stools circling it and one small makeshift wall. She’d talked the manager into an espresso machine, which made the passengers happy. However, the Shack was definitely still low-tech. But it was either their fresh-brewed coffee and shrink-wrapped pastries or a vending machine.

“How much would it cost to sue someone, Judge?” Sarah asked him, as she poured more coffee.

“That all depends.” Judge Firestone glanced at his watch. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

Even if it would only cost one hundred dollars to sue Gus—she didn’t have the money. She’d worked through most of her savings to buy Stone out, and then taken out a short-term adjustable-rate bank loan to help with renovations. If Gus didn’t materialize at some point, Sarah didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t want her brother to know about any of this. If Stone were to find out about the mess she’d gotten herself into, he’d only remind her he’d never thought it a great idea to remodel the place. No, the whole thing had been her idea and now she had to deal.

But surely Gus would show up. He had a reputation to protect. Besides, she’d recently decided to believe in the goodness of people. She was going to stop being so angry at the world and its inhabitants. Stop being antisocial and learn to be friendlier. Fake it till you make it. Judge was a big part of the change, and he made the chitchat easy. On the other hand, Gus reminded her that no matter what kind of magical fairy dust she wanted to sprinkle all over, people like him turned it into sparkly pollution.

She was a work in progress.

Judge opened his mouth, but the loud speaker squawked and Emily’s soft voice called out, “Chartered flight two-oh-three passengers, please come to the tarmac for boarding.”

“Guess you better go,” Sarah said.

Judge slapped his always excessive tip on the counter and smiled. “Wonder if she’s flying me today.”

“That happened once.”

“A man can dream.” He picked up his briefcase and waved to Sarah.

It didn’t surprise her that Judge carried a little torch for Emily Parker, soon to be Emily Mcallister. Most men crushed on Emily. And Sarah understood crushes. Unfortunately, she understood them far too well. Crushes didn’t go anywhere because at heart they were nothing more than fantasies. Judge had to realize he didn’t stand a chance with Emily. But the bald, sweet, fifty-something Judge probably loved a gratifying fantasy as much as the next person, and as long as the make-believe never converged with reality it was usually a safe and predictable situation.

The door leading to the tarmac opened and the object of her personal fantasies strode in, as always seemingly unaware of how he made Sarah break out in a spontaneous sweat. Matt Conner, Stone’s Air Force buddy and best friend, carried himself with his usual air of confidence and easy male swagger as he made his way inside, aviator shades covering his chocolate-brown eyes. He worked for Stone, one of a handful of pilots on staff. While Matt made his way to Magnum’s offices, where he occasionally taught a lesson or two, Sarah forced her gaze away and wiped the countertop. She hated this hyperawareness of him every time he walked into a room. If her eyes were blindfolded, she’d know his presence in the room by the absolute pull of her body in his direction.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, she forced herself to get with the program and stop daydreaming. She was here to fix a house, and fix her life if at all possible. Not to lust after a man, no matter how hunky.

“Hey, Sarah. Turn it up, would you?” One of their regulars pointed to the flat-screen TV anchored to the wall behind her.

She usually kept the set on mute, but she now turned up the volume. Yet another car chase broadcasted on national news. California, of course. Not exactly the image she wanted her mother back home in Colorado to see. Mom believed there were earthquakes every day in California, and that everyone was blond and beautiful. Coming out a month ago to meet Emily hadn’t done much to dispel that last myth. Now she’d believe car chases were the norm, too.

“Okay, this is ridiculous. Why doesn’t he just pull over? He’s going to hurt someone,” Sarah said as she, too, became entranced. Four police cars were chasing a red convertible Corvette down a closed-off freeway somewhere in San Diego. Someone had a death wish.

“Been a while since we had one of these chases.” Jedd straddled a stool. He worked for Stone as a mechanic, and was probably on his break.

The cops surrounded the car from all directions, and when the Corvette tried to pull over, they blocked it in.

“Let me have some coffee? Not your fancy machine. Just the stuff in the pot,” Jedd said.

“Coming right up.” While her back was turned, there was a little cheer from the small group.

“Yeah! They got him. Look at him surrendering like a wimp after putting up such a fight.” Jedd stuck out his office mug. “Yeah, that’s right, sucker. Hands up in the air.”

Sarah poured Jedd’s coffee and glanced up at the TV. The man they’d arrested looked an awful lot like... But no. It couldn’t be. Everybody had a doppelgänger in the world. Right?

“Ow! Sarah!”

Sarah yanked her attention away from the nightmare occurring on national TV. She’d kept pouring into Jedd’s cup and nearly all over his arm. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“I got a splash, but I’m fine. That coffee’s hot.”

She’d also spilled all over the counter and down the floor. She grabbed a rag and ran it under cold water. “Here, put this on your hand.”

She glanced back up at the screen to see that the man was now on the ground, cops blocking him in on every direction. Maybe she was seeing things. She’d been under so much stress lately, with her father’s death and coming out to Fortune to settle his estate, that something like that could happen. She might be hallucinating.

“D-did you hear them say what the guy’s name is? The one they arrested?”

“Nah, the news probably won’t release his name.” Jedd used the wet rag she’d given him to mop up the floor instead. “Hey now, Sarah, you don’t need to cry about this. I know it was an accident.”

But Sarah wanted to cry. She also wanted to scream and curse. The ticker tape across the screen read “Contractor on the run arrested.” And the man they’d just arrested sure looked an awful lot like Gus Hinckle.