A Wing And A Prayer: Truly Yours Digital Edition (Truly Yours Digital Editions)

by Tracie Peterson

  Cheryl laughed. “You certainly move fast, but you might as well save your time and energies. CJ is a wall of ice. She wants only to hide out in that apartment of hers and listen to classical music.”

  “Doesn’t she work?” Brad questioned. He finished with the door handle and stood to receive Cheryl’s answer.

  “She doesn’t have to,” Cheryl said with a coy smile. “Bet that makes her even more attractive, eh?”

  Brad didn’t take offense. He picked up his things and turned at the door. Matching Cheryl’s smile, he said, “Just let me know if you need anything else repaired. In the meantime, I’ll let the management know about the door.”

  Later that afternoon, a completely recovered CJ sat quietly reading while Cheryl rushed around the room and made at least fifty phone calls. When a knock sounded at the door, the two women exchanged glances.

  “I didn’t order anything!” Cheryl exclaimed with the telephone halfway to her ear.

  “Don’t worry about it,” CJ said. “You just work on getting to your hair appointment. I’ll get the door.”

  CJ opened the door and found a huge bouquet of red roses being thrust forward. She immediately noted the card addressed to Cheryl and presumed the flowers must be from the perfectly romantic Stratton McFarland. Taking the flowers in hand, CJ was surprised when the delivery boy didn’t wait for a tip but sauntered off down the hall.

  “Wow!” Cheryl exclaimed, hanging up the phone. “Who are they for?”

  “Well, who do you think?” CJ answered with a laugh. “This isn’t my room.”

  “I’ll bet they’re from Stratton!” Cheryl put the flowers on the coffee table and ripped open the envelope. “Well, I’ll be,” she muttered.

  “What?” CJ couldn’t resist asking.

  “We’ve been invited to dinner in the penthouse.”

  “I didn’t know Stratton was staying in the penthouse,” CJ said, retaking her seat.

  “He isn’t.” Cheryl glanced up from the letter, then handed it to her friend.

  CJ read the note, uncertain of what to expect:

  The management regrets the unfortunate accident that befell you this morning. Please accept this expression of our sincerest best wishes for your speedy recovery. We would also like to extend an invitation to both of you for dinner in the penthouse suite, this evening at seven o’clock.

  CJ looked up and met Cheryl’s bewildered expression. “A bit much for a broken door handle, don’t you think?”

  Cheryl laughed. “I can’t imagine receiving this kind of welcome. Especially after all the things I said downstairs in the lobby and on the telephone.”

  CJ grinned. “Gave them a bit of a hard time, did you?”

  Cheryl nodded. “I think dinner sounds like fun. Shall we go and let them make their apologies in person?”

  “I didn’t bring anything with me to change into,” CJ said, getting to her feet. “I hardly think this African safari getup would be appropriate, and there certainly isn’t time for me to get home and back before seven.”

  “You can wear something of mine,” Cheryl replied.

  “Your dresses are too short on me,” CJ protested.

  “Not my green tea-length,” Cheryl said, already planning the evening in her mind. “It’ll go perfectly with your hair, too.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. The best part is,” Cheryl said, pulling CJ to the bedroom, “it’ll get us out of here and give us a reason to dress up!”

  An hour later, CJ appraised herself in the dressing room mirror. Cheryl was right. The richness of the forest green material clung to her in all the right places.

  The sound of the telephone ringing caused CJ to abandon her examination. Cheryl was just hanging up the phone when CJ poked her head through the door. “Problems?” she questioned.

  “It seems my plans have changed. Stratton has just come back to town and wants to take me out to dinner. He’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, well,” CJ said. “So much for that.”

  “You’re still going to go, aren’t you?”

  “By myself?” CJ asked. “You expect me to go sit with some stuffy old hotel manager and listen to him drone on about the virtues of his resort, while you dine in the pleasant company of Mr. Perfect?”

  “But it’s too late for both of us to bow out gracefully,” Cheryl in-sisted. “Just go and stay for a short time, then excuse yourself and come back here. Here, take the extra key card and wait until I get back.”

  CJ shook her head. “It isn’t my style, Cheryl.”

  “Look, they’re really trying to make amends for what happened. I’ll bet that maintenance guy… What was his name?”

  “Brad,” CJ filled in absentmindedly.

  “Yes, Brad,” Cheryl confirmed with a nod. “He probably went back to his boss and told him how you lost it and now they’re worried that you’ll sue them or something. Just go and enjoy yourself and accept their gesture of apology.”

  CJ stared at Cheryl’s determined face. “Oh, all right,” she finally sighed in exasperation. “I’ll go.”

  two

  CJ took the elevator to the penthouse, but only because it was glassed-in on one side and allowed her to look out on the Denver skyline. It also helped to have the companionship of the elevator’s operator.

  “Penthouse suite,” the operator announced when the doors opened into a brass and glass vestibule.

  CJ stepped out of the elevator and glanced around hesitantly. The only way seemed to be down a short corridor to where double oak doors waited. Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly, with images of a martyr being led to her execution coming to mind. Smiling at her own misgivings, CJ refused to notice her surroundings. The sooner this is over, she thought, the better.

  CJ knocked on the door and smoothed the skirt of her already-perfect dress. She was still looking down when the door opened.

  “Feeling better, I see.”

  CJ’s head snapped up to meet Brad’s dark green eyes. He was dressed impeccably in a navy suit…a very expensive navy suit. Gone were the oil smudges and grease-monkey coveralls. His brown hair was neatly parted on the side and stylishly combed back, while the sweet musky scent of his cologne wafted a greeting.

  “I don’t understand,” CJ murmured.

  “Brad Aldersson III, hotel and resort owner,” he said with a charmingly boyish grin, “and occasional maintenance man.” He extended his well-manicured hand to take CJ’s slim arm. “Come inside, Miss CJ…” He purposefully fell silent and waited for her to fill in the rest.

  “O’Sullivan.”

  “Ahh,” he replied with a grin. “Irish and a redhead.”

  CJ couldn’t resist a smile. “Hotheaded, too. My father said it just went with the territory.”

  “That’s all right,” Brad said, pulling CJ gently into the suite. “I’m descended from stubborn Swedes, myself.”

  “Oh, really? Did it rub off?” CJ asked. Brad closed the door and shrugged.

  “I guess I’ll let you be the judge of that. By the way, where is Miss Fairchild?”

  “Her fiancé called at the last minute, so she had to cancel. I was going to beg off, too, but Cheryl said that would be unquestionably rude. So, here I am.”

  “I’m glad you came,” Brad said, offering her a seat in the spacious living room. “I feel very badly about what happened to you. I pride my resorts on being first-rate.”

  “You have others?” CJ asked, hoping to keep the conversation steered away from anything personal.

  “I have seven altogether,” Brad replied. “Six are here in Colorado and one is in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I hope to continue expanding in the future.”

  “How interesting.”

  “Oh, it can be,” Brad answered. “But it’s also a big headache at times. Good help is hard to get and keep. Up until two weeks ago, I had a fantastic executive assistant, but he hired on with a national chain and left me to handle my own problems.” />
  “So here you are, trying to fix broken doorknobs and entertain claustrophobics,” CJ said and laughed.

  “I guess you could say that, but enough about me. What about you?”

  “What about me?” CJ asked rather defensively.

  Brad sensed her withdrawing a bit. “Well, why don’t we start with your name. What does CJ stand for?”

  “Curtiss Jenny.” She said it in a matter-of-fact way that suggested everyone was named after aircraft.

  “You mean like the biplane?” Brad questioned curiously.

  “Exactly like it,” CJ said with a smile. “My father gave it to me. When I was little, I was called Jenny, but as I got older, CJ seemed to work better.”

  “I love it!” Brad exclaimed, surprising CJ. “I adore the Jenny biplane, and I think it a most unique name for a girl.”

  “Unique wasn’t quite the term my mother used. She used to say, ‘Doug, you’re saddling that girl with a terrible burden.’ But,” CJ paused, feeling a bittersweet pain at the memory of her parents, “as you can see, I fared just fine.”

  “I’ll definitely second that.” Brad couldn’t resist the compliment. “Where are your folks now?”

  “Dead. They were killed in a plane crash.” The pain it caused her to remember was evident in her expression.

  A sudden revelation dawned on Brad. “You said your father’s name was Doug?”

  “That’s right.” CJ grew apprehensive, wondering if she should have kept quiet.

  “Douglas O’Sullivan, the famous flyer?” Brad asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes.” CJ steeled her nerves for the assault that was bound to come. It was always the same. Whenever someone familiar with her father’s career found out that she was his daughter, they deluged her with questions about his life and death.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Brad sat back in genuine awe.

  CJ sat in silence. She fidgeted with the beaded cuff of her sleeve, waiting uncomfortably for Brad to say something.

  “The accident was five or six years ago, wasn’t it?” Brad more stated than questioned.

  “Yes,” CJ replied softly. “It was five.”

  “The world lost a truly great man when he died. I’m not ashamed to say he was my inspiration. I started flying after attending one of his air show performances.” Brad went on, but CJ barely heard him.

  The same things that always crossed her mind when people learned of her true identity began to play themselves out in her head. He knows now that I’m rich, CJ thought. It was a well-publicized fact that she was an heiress, having inherited, along with her older brother, millions of dollars and property.

  She tried to rationalize away her fears. Brad obviously had his own money or at least he had his investments in the resorts.

  “CJ?” Brad quietly spoke her name.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a start. “I don’t like to dwell on my parents. I was just sixteen when I lost them, and it’s still hard.”

  Brad nodded and tried to lighten the conversation. “So that would mean you’re twenty-one, right?”

  CJ nodded with a look somewhere between a smirk and a smile. “Think you’re pretty smart, eh?”

  “At least it got you smiling again. For a few minutes there, you looked too serious, almost worried.” Brad noticed her discomfort. “I told Miss Fairchild, in a roundabout way, that I’d like to get to know you better. You aren’t spoken for by anyone else, are you?”

  Surprise registered on CJ’s face. “That’s a pretty straightforward, if not old-fashioned, question to ask someone you just met. But, the answer is no. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Brad’s face lit up. “Good. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes.”

  CJ shook her head. “You are a most unusual man, Mr.

  Aldersson.”

  “You aren’t going to keep calling me that, are you?”

  “It is your name.”

  “So’s Brad, and I prefer we use it,” he replied. “I can’t imagine us getting very far using formalities like Mr. Aldersson.”

  “And just how far did you expect us to get, Brad?” she asked, sizing up the man before her.

  “I guess I’ll leave that up to you,” he answered with a sheepish grin. Strange feelings surfaced for just a moment, before CJ recovered from her surprise.

  “How about something to drink?” Brad offered, getting to his feet.

  CJ steadied herself once again. “I don’t drink.” She waited for the inevitable goody-two-shoes comments.

  “Not even water?” Brad questioned in mock sarcasm.

  His approach surprised CJ, but flipping her long curls over one shoulder, CJ faced the situation as she would any other battle. Sur-rounding herself with a wall of indifference, she spoke. “Look, I don’t want this to sound presumptuous, but I would just as soon put aside any misgivings you might have.”

  She paused and drew a deep breath. “I don’t drink liquor. I also don’t smoke, dance, do drugs, or believe in having sex before marriage.” She blurted the rhetoric out in the same routine fashion she’d used since finding herself on her own at sixteen.

  Lowering her eyes, CJ felt almost embarrassed by her declaration. Oh well, she thought, let him think me strange. I don’t need him or anyone else. Mustering her courage, CJ raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Instead of the disgust she expected, she was stunned to find his amused stare.

  “You’re different,” he finally said with a lightheartedness that put CJ on edge, wondering what he’d say next. “And I find you fascinating.”

  “Most people find heiresses to be so,” CJ said without thinking.

  This only served to broaden Brad’s smile. “Tell me, Heiress,” he said, with a roguishness that instantly put her off guard, “are you a Christian?”

  CJ hadn’t expected the question. Her mouth dropped open for a moment before she regained her composure. “Yes,” she finally replied, “I am.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Brad declared. “I am, too. Would you by any chance be interested in attending a Bible study with me? We have a great group going on at my church. We meet once a week and most everybody there is single.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve not been all that interested in starting new relationships. Besides, I really don’t know you,” CJ stated.

  Brad refused to let her withdraw. “I’ve never shared a more intimate moment with anyone than the one I shared with you earlier today.”

  CJ shook her head. “Holding someone’s head while they vomit can hardly constitute the foundation for a relationship.”

  Brad laughed out loud. “Why don’t we share dinner and stretch that meager foundation?” He extended his hand to help her to her feet. For a moment they stood facing each other, almost as if ready to step into a waltz.

  Brad smiled. “Don’t dance, huh?”

  CJ countered his grin. “Never learned how.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that,” Brad replied.

  CJ grew uncomfortable at the low, husky tone of his voice. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, hoping to break the spell.

  “How do you feel about Italian?”

  “Love it,” CJ admitted.

  “Good, then what we don’t eat tonight, we can take with us on our picnic tomorrow.”

  “What picnic?” CJ questioned. Forgetting the effect of looking into his eyes, she lifted her gaze to meet Brad’s.

  “The one I intended to suggest for our second date.”

  “I see.” CJ heard her voice tremor slightly. He was too close and too impressive. She wanted to draw back her hand, but he held it so possessively that CJ was certain he’d never willingly release it.

  “Does that mean you’ll say yes?”

  “Let me see how good the food is first,” CJ said with a grin. For some reason, it all seemed very right.

  Dinner proved to be wonderful, and even CJ had to admit that she was quite comfortable in Brad’s company. They took their tea with them to the balcony, and CJ enjoyed the warm summer br
eeze.

  “Do you live here in Denver?” Brad suddenly asked.

  “I have an apartment here,” CJ admitted. “My parents also left me a couple of cabins. One is in the Sangre de Cristo range near Westcliffe, Colorado. The other is just outside of Skagway, Alaska.”

  “I know Skagway quite well,” Brad replied. “Wonderful town! I flew for a commuter company out of Juneau when I was nineteen. One of my regular flights was in and out of Skagway.”

  “Daddy loved the challenge,” CJ remembered. “It used to scare me every time we made the final approach.”

  Brad nodded. “It was a thrill and a half, to be sure. There I was, coming down the passageway…” He began one of those infamous pilot stories that always began with the three words “There I was.” He used his hand to simulate his approach. “Mountains on both sides and a narrow harbor strip to land on.”

  “We hugged the mountain so close on the one side that I thought I could very nearly reach out and touch the trees,” CJ added. She was drawn into the story against her will. Dear God, don’t let me get sick again, she prayed silently.

  “There were times when I thought it would be necessary to do just that. You nearly had to embrace the mountain, then pull a one-eighty, turning completely back the way you’d come in, and head almost straight down,” Brad elaborated.

  CJ nodded. “Daddy called it wing-and-a-prayer flying.”

  “I remember reading that somewhere. I always liked that better than seat-of-your-pants flying. Seemed closer to God.”

  “True,” CJ admitted. “I think that was Daddy’s sentiment, as well.” Somehow, sharing the memory with Brad wasn’t quite as painful as she’d feared it might be. Nevertheless, the old apprehension was there, and CJ longed to change the subject. She had no desire to explain her inability to deal for very long with memories of her parents.

  “It’s getting late,” she began and took a final drink of tea. “I think I’d better go.” She started to move toward the sliding glass door when Brad reached out to stop her.

  “I’ve really enjoyed sharing this evening with you, CJ. Will you come with me tomorrow?”

  “On the picnic?”