by Madelon Smid
“You are advised to lock yourself in and wait for the police. I’ll alert them. Please stay on the line,” the voice instructed.
Right, I’ll lock myself in a room while somebody destroys one of my planes. She grabbed the baseball bat she kept by the door, pocketed her phone, and stepped onto the landing. Light flooded the hangar, as she tripped the switches on the upper landing. Smoke billowed up from an object on the cement pad. Flames flared higher even as she leapt down the stairs. She grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall at the bottom and pulled the pin. There was no sign of an intruder, though the sickening smoke and the sturdy outlines of the four planes in the hangar offered a lot of hiding places. Sirens sounded in the distance. Sky aimed a high-pressure stream of fire retardant at the burning pile. With a hiss and another billow of smoke, the flames subsided, leaving her staring at a broken glass bottle with a burned-up cloth wick. She checked the periphery of the hangar. Glass littered the floor. She tracked it to a broken pane in the hangar door. Someone had thrown the bottle through the narrow window where it had rolled under the wing of her precious Storm-2B.
Max had given her the kit for her twentieth birthday, and they’d worked together for a year, customizing and tweaking the performance, once she was assembled. Sky had been saving for its customized exterior paint job, wanting to send it to the Canadian company sought by aircraft owners around the world. Pops had surprised her, while she was away at an air show. He’d flown the Storm to Peterborough, Ontario, returning not just with the fancy red paint job she’d dreamed of, but with Sky Rider written in bright silver down both sides.
The plane was Sky’s most prized possession, the vessel holding her wonderful memories of working with Pops, the source of her biggest thrills in flying, and worth a considerable amount because of the customization and reputation she’d gained with Sky flying her. If she’d been damaged, it would have knocked Sky out of the Grand Prix. Was that the intent? Did another pilot want her place in the prestigious event, a chance to build a reputation as the best? She shouldered open the first panel of the heavy doors and slid it along its track, providing access for the fire department and the sheriff.
Pops pulled in behind the sheriff’s cruiser, leapt out of his car, and strode toward her. Moving at a slower pace, Adam exited the passenger side. He stood back, observing everything around him, while Pops enveloped her in a bear hug and just held on. After he tightened his arms for a third time, he pushed back from her. “Are you all right?”
Sky felt Adam’s gaze run down her body and then up again, taking in every detail. Her sleep shirt hung half out of her jeans. She’s pulled up the zipper on her pants, thank goodness, but left the buttons undone. Her feet were bare, her hair a tousled mass hanging down her back.
His gaze passed over her lips, making them tingle, and locked on her eyes. For a second, she stood frozen, unable to remember the question. She shook herself. “Yes, I’m fine, Pops. And so is Sky Rider.”
The fire chief and sheriff’s deputy stood near the foam soaked mass on the floor, assessing the scene. The deputy took pictures of the broken window pane, while other fire fighters patrolled the hangar looking for any other sources of fire.
“A Molotov cocktail thrown through the window,” the chief stated his conclusion. “Amateurish. Anyone can go on the Internet and find out how to rig one.”
“Daniel goes to the top of my list, and I’ll be checking where he was tonight. He did threaten you,” Sheriff Anderson told her.
He indicated the bat Sky had dropped when she’d needed both hands for the extinguisher. “Yours?”
“Darn lucky breaking the window set off the security alarm. You could have lost the rest of your planes and hangar, if this one had exploded,” the chief pronounced.
“If the flames had trapped her in the loft, she could have lost her life.” Adam’s voice sounded deeper, gruffer than usual. “As it is, taking on an intruder with nothing but a baseball bat seems reckless in the extreme.”
Sky felt her back arch like a spitting cat. “I suppose you’d have us all carrying guns and shooting at each other like they do in Texas.” A light bite formed a brittle edge along the words, but for the most part, she sounded disinterested in his answer.
“Mr. Hamilton, what is your business here?” The sheriff interrupted, sensing the growing tension between them.
“I’m the sponsor of the plane in question. And, of course, I’m concerned for Sky’s safety.”
“Do you know anything about the situation that would help?”
“I know Sky has the top ranking in this year’s aeronautic competitions, and a purse of $250,000 is at stake. If this plane was destroyed, she’d be out of the running, and somebody else would score. Maybe you should look at the competitors closest to her in points.” Adam’s stern expression and commanding voice held everyone’s attention.
Sky wasn’t surprised he knew so much about her aeronautical flying. She’d adjusted her thinking from rich dilettante to ruthless businessman, when he’d talked Max into the contract. Adam didn’t just expect things would fall at his feet; he went after them like an eagle striking prey.
“I have the names in my office,” Max said with a wave. A deputy followed him.
“I don’t think you should live out here alone.” Adam’s deep voice drew Sky’s attention from the firefighters, once more mounting the truck. She realized they were isolated in the hangar and he’d moved within five feet of her. A shiver coursed through her body. Her toes curled. She looked down at the dust covering her feet, avoiding his gaze. Her mind did a quick inventory of her person. Her fingers flew to the snaps on her jeans. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the soft cotton sleep shirt clung. Even as she realized it, his gaze settled on her soft mounds. Sky’s nipples peaked.
“I’m cold,” she lied, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m going up.”
“If you point me in the direction of some scrap lumber and a hammer, I’ll cover the window pane for you.” He let her go, without the type of innuendo men usually uttered when they chased her.
“Ted’s tools are along the east wall, and there’s scrap lumber piled behind the hangar. Help yourself.” She bit her lip. Why was this so hard? “Thank you,” she hissed out, before aiming for the stairs. She took them two at a time and leaned her back against the door once she’d closed it. Why did the man have such an effect on her? She avoided his type, after a hard lesson she had no intention of re-learning. Adam, with a few redeeming features, was just the type she’d sworn she’d steer clear of—another rich, good looking guy.
Polite indifference, she reminded herself. Keep him an arm’s length away at all times.
She went into the bathroom and tidied up. When she arrived in the office, it was evident Adam had shared with Max his concern she was vulnerable living alone in the big hangar. Sky bit back her annoyance at this new intrusion into her affairs.
“I’m perfectly safe, Pops,” she argued. “I’ve lived here on my own for five years. This is a young guy’s attempt at revenge. It failed, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I can put you up in a hotel,” Adam offered.
Fire spit from her eyes when she turned on him, but she kept her voice quiet, her face calm. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need your help and don’t have any concerns about staying here alone. If you will both leave, I can lock up and get some sleep. I have an airshow in Reno, and an early start in the morning.”
“You’re more stubborn than your mother times three,” Pops muttered. He knew her well enough not to fight her decision.
Adam hesitated longer. “You won’t consider staying with Max, at least until the sheriff looks into this?” he asked.
“Good night Mr. Hamilton.” Sky thrust the door home the minute he was over the threshold.
A few minutes later, she heard Pops’ Cobra start with a throaty roar and pull away. She toured the building checking every door, approved the temporary fix Adam had done on the inside of the w
indow, and double-checked her own door. She’d put on a good face for the others, but the incident had shaken her. Imagining a fiery death trapped in the loft, she lay down on her bed. As was her habit, she tore her thoughts free of the web of fear, by focusing on something pleasant. In seconds Adam Hamilton’s face emerged like a snapshot. She remembered the flash of his smile, the unique scent of him, something mossy and warm, and the feeling of safety she’d had when he stood beside her in the hangar. Banana, jelly, peanut butter, crackers, she cursed. It didn’t help. The image of his face followed her into sleep.
Chapter Three
Early the next morning, Sky took off in Bully Boy, the old Tiger Moth Pops had inherited from his dad. Pops drove the trailer out of the hangar right after she lifted off. She had a short flight to Reno in clear weather. The annual air show should have a record breaking turnout. She put everything out of her mind but the flight. The cloudless sky closed around her. In the open cockpit, she could smell the scent of pine oil wafting off the mountains. She saw a black bear fishing out of a tumbling river and a small herd of mule deer grazing in an upper meadow, as she flew over the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Reno was a short hop, fifty miles northeast. By the time she landed, parked, and handled the paperwork, Pops had arrived at the airstrip. All around airplanes of every type and description prepared for the two-day show. After checking in with the event planner in the main office and getting her flight time, Sky and Pops drove back to the trailer. Until Sky’s performance late in the afternoon, they were free agents and spent the time socializing with friends from across the country, who they had met at various shows. The trailer camp was overflowing, and a dozen different people called out to them, urging them over for a cold drink and a chat.
Sky enjoyed the freedom; at least here, Adam couldn’t invade her territory. She’d grown up in this world, traveling with Pops and her mom on the flying circuit—a daredevil conceived by a daredevil. Many of the people she’d known all her life. She wondered if any of them knew she wasn’t Pops’ daughter. They’d spent a lot of time with her mother. Had she kept her secret until she died? These pilots might be too old to fly now, or like Pops have lost their medical for health reasons, but they still watched the next generation take to the skies, reliving their own stories. Was she one of those stories?
Midafternoon, she climbed onto the roof of one of the hangars, and using her field glasses, scoped the terrain. She looked for any structure, signal tower, electric line, or tree growth that was new from the last time she’d flown in the show. As her view passed over the trailer park, a silver Airstream caught the sun. All of forty-feet long, the luxury home on wheels looked a little out of place amongst the homemade rigs and mid-range motorhomes around it. Her glasses moved on, then jerked back.
On artificial turf, laid at the side of the trailer, Adam Hamilton worked his abs in a series of crunches. Bare from the waist up, wearing only jogging shorts, he raised his upper body, over and over. His hands rested at the back of his head, exposing his flat abdomen and chest. Muscles rippled and flexed across a six-pack that led into well-toned pecs any man could boast on. His clothes had hidden much of his beautiful body, because they were too big on him. He stood and the shorts slid down until they hung on his hipbones.
She realized he’d lost considerable weight. Of course, months in the hospital would have done that, whittling away his muscles. She thought of him limping across the hangar after her, dropping into a chair, and realized he must have been in terrible pain, never mind exhausted from the physical workout after being bedridden for months. Yet, he hadn’t complained, or used the “have some compassion” card once. She ratcheted her respect for the man up another notch.
He started on a series of deep lunges. She focused the field glasses on his face and saw the strain there. His teeth were gritted, his jaw tight, but he persisted. A sheen of sweat covered his body, and his legs had a slight tremor when he stopped. Turning, he caught up a towel, giving her an excellent view of his wide shoulders and narrow waist. She admired his butt for several seconds, before she noticed the raw red scars emerging from the waistband of his shorts and down his thigh. She wondered if they were surgical scars, or if he’d torn himself up when he’d crashed into the earth, his parachute opening only seconds before he hit.
Without warning, he turned, looked up at the building where she lay, and squinted his eyes. With a lazy lift of his hand, he waved at her. She dropped below the ridgeline of the roof and scuttled to the outside ladder, her face hot with shame. Jelly beans and marshmallows, what must he think of her, ogling him like he was a Chippendale stripper and she a lascivious woman with a hand full of bills.
She stayed far away and out of sight until a half hour before her performance. Pops drove her back to the landing strip, and together, they completed the walk around on the Tiger Moth.
“Bully Boy’s looking good, raring to go.” Pops stood back rubbing his hands. Sky knew he longed to pilot the Tiger Moth, but he’d accepted his fate without complaining and thrown himself into helping her meet her dreams. With a last hug, she climbed into the cockpit and waited while he wound the propeller.
The engine caught with the first turn of the prop. Pops kept their aircraft in meticulous condition, especially vigilant when she piloted. With a thumbs-up, he stepped to the side.
“N3TM ready for taxi,” she informed the tower.
Given the go ahead, she taxied toward the strip, stopping short of runway six as a huge C130 lumbered down it after completing its aerial display.
“N3TM, wind 030 at 10, caution turbulence from landed C130, cleared for take-off.”
Sky felt the adrenaline building in her system. Excitement mixed with the challenge of meticulous technique in a heady cocktail. She soared upward. Below, thousands of people craned their necks, following her progression. Making sure she stayed within the invisible airshow box, she shot over them at two hundred feet, turned upside down, and flew over again. Then righting the Tiger Moth, she climbed until Bully Boy was a black speck in the blue sky, then tipping the nose she plummeted toward the earth, while she rolled the bi-plane three times clockwise and three times counter-clockwise.
The crowd roared when she straightened out and started climbing again. She leveled out and went into a barrel roll, recovered, slipped sideways, walked on her tail, and slid into another barrel roll. Next, she went for altitude, climbing to five thousand feet, before she dropped her nose straight down, closer and closer, racing toward the earth at one hundred and forty knots. She cut back on the throttle, lifted Bully Boy’s nose, and stalled out. The sudden silence was always a shock, giving her another jolt of adrenaline. She kept falling, her propeller aimed straight at the ground. At the last second, with the spectators on their feet and holding their breaths, she applied power and pulled back on the yoke with all her strength. If Bully Boy didn’t respond, she’d plant them both in the ground. At this speed and degree of incline, she was pulling two Gs. But Bully Boy muscled through as always.
Flipping the plane, she flew down the length of the runway inverted. She waved at the spectators before she began a steep climbing bank, gaining the altitude she needed for her last tricks. Hitting her smoke ejector, she did a loop de loop; the red smoke streamed out like blood, tracing the pattern she’d executed across the blue face of the sky. She went into a controlled spin, rotating counter-clockwise at speed, descending lower and lower, until she could make out faces in the crowd with open mouth expressions of horror. She pulled out of the spin using her right rudder, at the last possible second stipulated by the safety regulations, and with a smile of sheer pleasure lighting her face, brought the plane to a halt in the center of the runway, directly in front of the spectators.
Leaving the engine running, she set the brakes and stood up on her seat, a slender figure dressed in a black flight suit, a black leather flight hat with ear covers, and old-fashioned goggles. Bully Boy was painted black to show up against the light background of the sky, and togeth
er, they made a striking picture. Standing inside the World War II fighter, she took her bow, while the MC introduced her and spoke about some of her exploits. Sky waved as the MC finished, dropped into her seat, and taxied the plane to its parking spot at the side of the hangar. She thanked the ground crew who helped her pivot it into place, and turning, walked right into her nemesis. His arms closed around her strong and firm, as she fought for balance.
“I know…” His teeth flashed white against his tanned face. “What the banana split am I doing here?”
****
Adam kept pace with Sky, only because she hadn’t rabbited off the minute she’d seen him. She’d turned, walking toward the parking lot holding all the trailers, but without realizing it, she slowed her speed, accommodating his limp. It lifted his spirits, made him feel he’d made some progress in one area of his life at least. Watching the Thunderbirds fly their precision formations across the sky would remind him of everything he’d had; everything that was now missing from his life. They were scheduled to fly soon. He could picture them in the last stage of their flight to Reno, talking on their coms, going over their routine. In contrast, his progress was plodding, and he wondered when he’d ever be ready to take his medical.
Watching Sky challenge the vast blue dome had hit him in a different way. He’d been scared shitless. His heart had leapt into his throat and threatened to choke him, as she dared death a half dozen times. She was skilled, no doubt about it, but there was a reckless edge that pushed her into waiting one second longer, going two feet higher than the limits other aerobatic pilots flew. The old Tiger Moth responded as if an extension of Sky, completing the maneuvers she’d asked of it, but it had nowhere near the performance level of her Storm-2B.
“Why don’t you sideline Bully Boy and fly these shows in Sky Dancer?” he asked as they neared the trailers. Remembering her performance, once again accelerated his heart rate. She lived on the knife edge of danger—just like her father. The thought popped into his head, before he could stop it. He shook it away. Sky wasn’t her father. She liked the adrenaline rush, but she hadn’t sacrificed everything else for a few minute’s thrill. She held a responsible position, took care of Max, in her own subtle way, and ran a prosperous business. She had the values of her adopted dad, not Erik.
