by Kathryn Shay
“James Bond is your father?” Jamie asked, scrutinizing Judd’s face.
“Jamie.” This from her mother.
Jeff laughed aloud. “I always thought that, too.”
“What?” Spence and Judd asked simultaneously.
“That you look like Sean Connery, Grandpa.”
Spence examined his father as if for the first time. “Maybe a little.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Judd nodded to the girl. “Nice to meet you, Jamie.” He shook Alexis Castle’s hand and added, “I know your father, Ms. Castle.”
“Really?”
“We belong to the same golf club.”
Alexis’s brows rose. “I’m a member of Pine Hill, also.”
“I’m surprised.” His grandpa was all charm now. “I would have noticed you.”
“Bill Gates here’s too busy to play golf, or even socialize,” Jamie put in archly.
For a moment, Judd’s eyes flickered with disapproval at Jamie’s impertinence. “Ah, now I remember. You’re Austin’s right-hand man, or rather, woman.”
“Well,” Spence said, tightly, “you and Jeff have something in common, Alexis. He’s Judd’s VP and regular boy Friday.”
Jeff couldn’t miss the edge in his father’s voice and neither could the Castles. His grandpa, of course, pretended to ignore it.
“Would you like to come to the house for supper, Jeff?” Spence asked him. The omission of Judd in the invitation was obvious.
“Um, Grandpa and I are having dinner at the Catasaga Inn with clients.”
“Yeah, sure, I should have known.” Spence’s tone was now granite-edged.
“You could join us,” Judd offered.
With the barely veiled sarcasm Jeff hated, Spence nodded toward their clothes. “I don’t own a suit. Thanks anyway.”
Jeff started to speak, but Spence cut him off. “It was nice seein’ you both. Stop over sometime, son. I miss you.”
A stab of longing shot through Jeff. He struggled to quell it, although, as usual, he couldn’t. “Sure, Dad.”
Spence nodded to Alexis and Jamie and headed back to the boat. The Castles said quick goodbyes and followed.
Feeling bereft, Jeff watched his father leave as he had done so many times in the past—peeking out from curtained windows or standing alone on the dock. Gone was the glib sailor of a few moments ago. Gone, too, was the father elated to see his son.
Darting a quick look next to him, Jeff recognized similar emotions on Judd’s face. He was just as unhappy.
And, as always, Jeff was caught in the middle.
CHAPTER THREE
GUARDIAN FLIGHT Base was a nondescript, aluminum-sided gray building outside of the Catasaga City limits. A small sign, sporting a red helicopter and the Guardian logo in big, blue, block letters identified it. The base itself rose unobtrusively from the surrounding farmland. As Alexis pulled her little, silver, BMW sports convertible into the parking lot, she could feel the crisp early summer air through the open windows. Bright geraniums blossomed at the front of the building, and their sweet scent drifted to her as she shut off the engine and scanned the grounds.
Shifting in her seat, she tugged on the jacket of her lightweight peach suit, already unaccustomed to stockings, heels and fitted waistbands after only five days out of office clothes. Even her hair felt uncomfortable, arranged tightly in its chic knot. She checked her slim gold watch and saw it was only six forty-five. She’d wait a few minutes and let the day shift begin before she invaded their territory.
There were several cars in the parking lot. She knew none of them belonged to Spence Keagan because she’d purposely scheduled her visit to coincide with his week off. She wasn’t sure why. But somehow in the intervening six days since her last visit to the base, he’d begun to make her feel uneasy. It wasn’t just his initial dislike. Spence Keagan had seen her at her worst—as an unsuccessful mother and a sick sailor. The damn psychedelic clothes she wore to please Jamie didn’t help.
She frowned at the thought of Jamie. Her daughter had pouted like a five-year-old when she heard Alexis was going to work, even though Alexis had chosen a day when Jamie would be at the shop with Portia. Jamie claimed to be worried that Alexis’s ulcer would start acting up again—it had been fine since their boat trip—but Alexis knew Jamie was also jealous of her work.
She’s right to feel that, an inner voice taunted her. Lexy’s voice?
Correction—she had been right at one time. Alexis was desperately trying to change her life-style, although after working fourteen-hour days, six days a week, being idle at the lake was...difficult. When she’d been ill in hospital, she hadn’t felt the urge to work, yet she’d been restless in the last week, and found herself at her laptop computer, doing Foundation business when Jamie wasn’t around. Alexis knew she needed to relax and to act on her priorities—the highest of which had always been Jamie. She hoped to God it wasn’t too late to change. She’d even discussed the topic with Spence Keagan after they’d left the marina, though she’d regretted her decision later.
Jamie and Max had been at the stem of the boat, watching the water crash against the hull, when Alexis had made her way to the bow. Spence sat in the captain’s chair, his hat low over his eyes, gripping the wheel like a sixteen-year-old at his driver’s test. She heard him mumble, “Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink…”
“I like that poem,” she said, taking the seat next to him.
He looked surprised to see her, his mind clearly elsewhere. “Huh?”
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Is that where you got the name for your boat?”
“Uh-huh.” He glanced in the direction the marina. “I like what the poem says. What you need can be right around you and you can’t make it work.”
Automatically, she’d peered over her shoulder at Jamie. “Tell me about it.”
“Want some advice?”
She stiffened.
“Hey, I’m not bein’ critical. I made mistakes with Jeff. But I wish to hell he was fourteen like Jamie so I could change some things.”
“What would you do differently?” she asked, her pique, in light of his honesty, evaporating like mist on the morning lake.
“Spend more time with him. Get interested in the things he likes even though they’re alien concepts to me.” He shrugged. “Try to interest him—or at least acquaint him—with what starts my motor.”
Alexis nodded. “I’ve tried.”
Spence chuckled. “Neon’s not really your thing, is it?”
“I let Jamie pick out my lake clothes.”
“A brave decision,” he said lightly.
She’d laughed then and so had he. It had felt good to laugh out loud, with the sun hot and the air cool on her face as their boat cut through the water.
But when she tapped her hand on the bow and asked, “Why isn’t this a KeagCraft?” the mood was ruined.
In a flash, the whole atmosphere changed. Spence Keagan had said, curtly, that he didn’t want to discuss the family business, then he’d shut down completely. She’d seen her father do the same thing a thousand times, particularly when Brody’s name was mentioned. Spence had withdrawn so completely that Alexis had retreated to the stern with the kids for the remainder of the trip.
Later, he’d disappeared for a few days. Portia said he wouldn’t be working on Clare’s room and his slip had been vacant for a while. Alexis pictured him brooding somewhere on a lake with a cooler full of beer and a stack of Playboy magazines, or maybe holed up in his cabin cruiser with a woman for a marathon of sex. For some reason, the latter image bothered her.
He’d been back by Saturday, working diligently—if morosely—on Clare’s room every morning until it got too hot, then going out on the lake again. Once, though, he’d shown Jamie how to fly-fish, and Alexis had seen him reading to Clare a couple of times on her deck. But he’d refused Portia’s invitation to join them for a picnic or a late-night campfire; there’d been no more quiet talks betw
een him and Alexis and she was relieved. She knew, better than anyone, not to become friendly with business associates. Her one experiment had resulted in...Jamie.
Banishing the painful memories, she checked her watch again, grabbed her briefcase and headed for the base, thinking about Jamie and the fun they’d shared during the week—shopping for groceries, going to the movies, waterskiing on Portia’s boat—well, Jamie and Max had skied—and she had just come along for the ride with Clare.
Despite her itchiness for work, Alexis had basked in the time with her daughter and family.
As she pulled open the front door, Alexis heard Guardian Flight Base humming with activity. A phone rang in the distance, a copy machine spit out paper, and the faint strains of classical music drifted from an office. The aroma of strong coffee permeated the air. Betty Thomas sat at the receptionist’s desk, chatting amiably with one of the paramedics. Like last time, Alexis noticed that the staff dressed informally. Though the pilots and paramedics wore navy flight suits, the others donned casual slacks and shirts, or even jeans and the Guardian Flight T-shirt that Betty wore today. The woman’s hands fluttered to her throat when she spotted Alexis. “Ms. Castle! I didn’t know you’d be in today.”
“I wasn’t sure when I’d be back,” she said casually. “Besides, I don’t want anyone to go out of their way for me.” And she’d wanted to see how the business operated when they weren’t trying to impress her.
“Oh.” Betty Thomas’s eyes grew more anxious.
Alexis knew how to assert her authority, and a dozen quips to take control of the situation came to mind. But behind Betty hung a corkboard of photographs—apparently a record of successful rescues: a small girl in a leg cast holding the hand of owner Grant Richards; the entire staff with two women in arm-slings and a man on crutches; and a little boy clinging to Spence’s neck, burying his face away from the camera. Alexis thought about the humanitarian efforts of the staff and sensed that the people who chose to work at Guardian, like Betty, did so for other than monetary reasons. So she smiled and asked, “Will my presence be a problem? I don’t have to stay.”
“Of course you’re staying,” a male voice protested behind her.
Alexis turned to find Grant, calm and cool, peering down at her. He wore a striped golf shirt and casual khakis. “We operate the same way, whether you’re here or not, Alexis.”
She noticed the use of her first name. “That’s good to hear, Mr. Richards.”
“Grant, please. And is it all right if everyone uses your first name? We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
Alexis hid a grin at his maneuvering. Her dad would like him. “Of course, Grant.”
“Where should we start? Or do you want coffee first?”
“No thanks. I’d prefer a tour of the base, if you don’t mind.”
The owner smiled. “Fine. I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. I’ve got meetings with town officials about the Fourth of July Balloon Fest, but there are plenty of other staff available to give you information about our operation.”
The Guardian Balloon Fest, Alexis knew, was an outdoor carnival with helicopter and balloon rides, food and crafts vendors, and live entertainment. Along with their gala black-tie affair, the two events made up Guardian’s biggest fund-raising activities.
Grant led her to the back corner of the building, where he pushed open a door. “This is the operations center. It houses our weather computers—to see if we fly—the radio equipment and phones. It’s the hub of the base.
From the doorway, Alexis peered into the room. It wasn’t Houston Control Center, but well-outfitted. Long and narrow, with a huge rectangular window at the end, the space was taken up with desks and the computers, printers, radios and telephones. Several people sat behind computers, including two men in flight suits with Guardian Flight Base printed in large white block letters across their backs. One was probably the pilot but she couldn’t see his insignia, and the other was the paramedic who’d been at reception.
Grant announced, “Hi everybody, we’ve got company. Alexis Castle is here today.”
Four people pivoted to face her. And one of them was Spence Keagan. His hair fell boyishly in his eyes and he seemed bigger than he had on the boat.
“Hi.” A man seated at a computer stood and casually walked toward them. “Carl Danner, in charge of operations. I was on vacation last week when you came.”
“Nice to meet you, Carl.”
“Jim Wolinski,” the tall paramedic said. He had the build of a trained athlete, a little-boy smile and big brown eyes. “I heard you were checking us out.”
“Yes.” She matched his light tone. “I am.”
“And you’ve met Keag.” Grant beamed fondly at Spence.
Spence Keagan’s smile was forced, as if he wouldn’t have chosen to meet her, either. He probably felt some of the same embarrassment at their social connection. “Hello, Miss Castle. This is a surprise.”
“Yes, it is. I thought you were off for a week.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at her. “Jack Smith came down with a bad case of poison ivy, so I’m filling in.”
A young black woman stepped forward. Alexis had seen her the last time and was stunned once again by her exotic beauty. Big wide-spaced eyes. Skeins of gently-curling black hair. Curves that Alexis envied. “Hello. I’m Sally Summers—a dispatcher.”
“Long, tall Sally,” Jim commented, and everybody laughed.
A big guy in mechanic’s overalls came to the doorway. “That loose wheel’s all fixed, Spence. Come and check it.” He noticed Alexis. “Oh, hi.”
“Mike Brewster—the best mechanic in the city—meet Alexis Castle.” Grant smiled again. “We stole Mike away from another medevac unit.”
“We met last week,” she said. “Hello, Mike.”
“Carl, Alexis wants a tour of the base. Would you brief her?”
“I’d love to.”
Grant left, and Spence and Jim turned back to the computers. Carl Danner smiled openly at her. His short blond hair had a few touches of gray at the temples, but he appeared to be in his late thirties. He had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Want to start here?”
“It looks like this is where it all begins.”
“Yes, it is.” He pointed to where Spence and Jim stood. “Those are the weather computers. Our lives revolve around Mother Nature, so we’re glued to the computers.”
Jim stepped aside. “Come and see.”
Crossing the room, Alexis inched between the two men. Both seemed to dwarf her. One wore a strong, woodsy cologne. It was nice—masculine.
“The green and yellow on the screen means we can launch,” Carl explained from behind her. “Red means we’re grounded.”
“Are you grounded often?”
“Given upstate New York winters, more often than we’d like. During spring, wind and rain can keep us out of the air, too. But May through October, we’re busy as bees.”
“What does Sally’s computer do?”
“It’s a mapping device called a GPS—global positioning system, which can pinpoint any place we need to fly to.”
Sally asked, “Where do you live, Alexis?” At her surprise, Sally added, “I’ll find you on the map.”
“Oh. Right now we’re at 43 East Lake Road.”
“Hey, a couple of doors down from Spence,” Jim commented.
Sipping his coffee, Spence stared at the computer and grunted. Sally’s long red-tipped fingers flew on the keyboard. “Here you are.” Alexis peered over the woman’s shoulder and saw the precise location of her aunt’s cottage on a screen map. “I’m impressed. I assume you need this for locating victims.”
“Uh-huh.”
Carl explained, “When a call comes in on the bat phone, we plug in the street name and get the latitude and longitude for the ship. If the weather computer says go, we go.”
“The bat phone?”
Grinning boyishly, he pointed to a red phone on a shelf. “On
ly rescue calls come in on that phone.”
“I see. So when it rings, everyone jumps through hoops.”
“Everybody except Keag,” Jim said, clapping Spence on the back. “He don’t jump through hoops for nobody.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise Alexis. And she suspected it was the root of his problem with Judd Keagan.
“I’m off to check the ship,” Spence said, easily. “Don’t besmirch my reputation anymore than you already have, buddy.” He socked Jim on the arm, nodded to Alexis and left the room.
Alexis spent the rest of the morning with Sally and Carl, examining incident forms, analyzing the computer printouts and checking the number of calls they’d had in past years. For a small outfit, they’d flown a significant number of rescues—321 flights in 2008, 394 in 2009 and 447 in 2010. She found an interesting statistic in the records. “Mmm. In 2008, there were 860 requests but only 321 transports.” She turned to Carl. “Why?”
Sitting down, he called up a pie chart on his computer and Alexis came to stand behind him. “Thirty-five percent were origin cancel, which means they didn’t need us after the initial call.” He shrugged. “For many, we were put on ground standby, or airborne standby, where we crank up, and may even head to the scene. The site rescuers either misread the seriousness of the situation, or realized they could transport the victim themselves.”
She looked at the pie chart over his shoulder while he continued.
“Four percent because the ship was in use—we were out of the area on PR runs, or on drills, which are required by the FCC. Nine percent precluded by weather. Eight percent out of service for repairs. Four percent, the patient expired before we got to the site. Five percent, we were on another call. Two percent mechanical problems.”
Carl’s eyes twinkled as he made his sales pitch. “We can conjecture that if we had another ship we could have gone out on almost twenty percent more calls.”
Alexis matched his grin. “Yes, I can see that.”
“We do need a second aircraft, Alexis.”
Smoothly, she nodded. “I can see that, too.”
