Crash Landing

by Lori Wilde

  With all the flying he’d done in his life, he’d grown lackadaisical. Taken it for granted that any plane he was on would stay airborne. Statistics bore him out. The chances of being killed in a plane crash were miniscule, but planes did go down. Small, old planes more so than others.

  Hubris. He was full of hubris thinking he was immune. When had this sense of entitlement overtaken him? That he was somehow too special for any plane he was flying in to experience a mishap? He hadn’t been born that way. In fact, when he was a kid, he’d felt anything but special. Maybe that was the reason why he’d worked so hard to be rich—the need to be special.

  Where had that flash of insight come from? He wasn’t particularly self-aware. He had, in fact, on more than one occasion, been accused of being oblivious in regard to his inner motivations. C’mon, who sat around and thought about stuff like that?

  Apparently, during an emergency landing, he did.

  The wheels touched down hard.

  Gibb’s head snapped back, his teeth clacked together. Had they hit the ground or something else? Hell, he had his eyes squeezed closed and every muscle in his body was coiled tight as new box springs.

  The plane jolted, shuddered, stopped.

  “We’re okay,” Sophia said.

  Gibb wiped his sweaty palms over his knees and pried his eyes open.

  The plane was tilting to the left. The late-afternoon sun shining through the windshield illuminated drifting dust motes on a shaft of light. Everything was

  eerily silent.

  Then the back end of the plane dropped a few inches.

  They both jumped. Laughed nervously.

  “Best crash landing I’ve ever had,” he said.

  “How many crash landings have you had?”

  “First one.”

  “So you’re really experienced.”

  He shouldn’t be smiling in this situation, or teasing, but he couldn’t help it. “Seen it all.”

  “Aren’t I lucky to be with the most experienced passenger in the world.”

  Hey, she was teasing back. Why not? “How about you?” he asked. “How many times have you crash landed?”

  Her cute little chin hardened. “I’m not in the habit of crashing planes if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Oops, he’d gone too far. He raised both palms and surrendered. “I wasn’t taking potshots at your flying abilities.”

  “It sounded like you were.”

  “Now your mechanic’s abilities...” He shrugged, gave her a deadpan expression. “Maybe.”

  She looked as if she’d just bitten into a lemon when she was expecting an orange. “I’m my own mechanic.”

  Great. Open mouth insert foot yet again. “Joke. I was joking.”

  “I overhauled the engine this year in mechanic school. With the teacher’s supervision, I might add.”

  “You just finished mechanic school?” Ouch. He had to stop stepping on her toes.

  “I’m a good mechanic,” she bristled. “Top in my class.”

  “I’m sure you were.”

  “I was the only woman in the class.”

  Anything he said at this point was bound to backfire. Go with an honest compliment. “Really, that landing was amazing.”

  “You’re just trying to placate me.”

  He was. “Look, I have a tendency to spout stuff off the top of my head. Ignore me.”

  “I did a thorough flight check before we took off and two weeks ago I did routine maintenance, changed the oil and spark plugs. Sometimes things just happen in spite of excellent maintenance.”

  “You’re feeling guilty. Don’t feel guilty. I was joking. You’re easygoing. I thought you would get the joke.”

  “Easygoing about life, not about my plane.”

  “Duly noted. No more plane jokes.”

  “But what if it’s my fault?” she fretted. “What if I didn’t tighten a loose wire or—”

  “Listen, if it was your fault, then you can feel guilty, but even if the malfunction was somehow your fault, you did land us safely. You get props for that.” This was odd. He was the customer. He should be the one obsessing about the crash, not trying to make her feel better. But the poor woman looked so woebegone.

  “I should have known ahead of time about that stack of cumulus clouds. I should have—”

  “Spilled milk,” he said. “Let it go. No point wringing your hands over something that’s already happened. Let’s just get a towel and mop up that milk.”

  Problem solver. That was his M.O. If you could fix a problem, then just fix it. If not, figure out how to move on. No point wallowing in recrimination or pointing fingers. Deal with the situation as it was. The plan had worked for him so far.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Gibb unbuckled his seat belt. “Don’t apologize. Find out what happened to the plane and repair it so we can be on our way again.”

  “That sounds good,” she said. “And of course I will try to do that, but it might not be as easy as it sounds. Complications have a way of arising.”

  “We find a complication, we’ll deal with it.”

  She unbuckled her own seat belt, looked around at the debris littering the cockpit and sighed deeply. “Like the majority of North Americans, you’re extremely goal oriented. If there is a ball, you must kick it. If there is food, you must eat it. If there is a mountain you must climb it.”

  “Costa Ricans don’t care about goals?” Actually, this was part of the problem he’d encountered while trying to get things done in Costa Rica. People moved at a snail’s pace compared to life in the U.S.

  “Ticos are generally more interested in relationships than outcomes,” she said. “We would rather enjoy our family and friends than rush around chasing some meaningless goal,” she said.

  “Meaningless? You call making money meaningless?”

  “Do you have more than you can spend?”

  “More money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.”

  “Then why does making more money matter?”

  The question stopped him cold. He had no answer. “I’m going to Key West because of a relationship,” he said. “If my purpose was a goal, I would let my friend make a big mistake and I’d stay focused on my project.”

  “Instead you are in neither place. I am sorry, Mr. Martin.”

  “Stop apologizing. I’m cool with the fact we had to crash land. Things happen. I get that. Let’s just get a move on and get things repaired so we can fly out of here ASAP.”

  She looked dubious. “It would be a good idea to manage your expectations. I will try my best, but there might not be a quick fix.”

  “You said you were part American, now’s the time to draw on that Yankee ingenuity and kick the lamentations to the curb.” He pounded his fist into his palm in a gesture he used to get his employees fired up.

  “This is why people find some Americans off-putting. They tend to think that their way is always the best way.”

  He straightened the lapels of his jacket. So what if he thought his way was the best way? Didn’t everyone? You did what worked for you. That’s why it was your way. “I put you off?”

  “I didn’t say me. I was simply pointing out cultural differences. I get to do that since I have roots in both cultures.”

  “I understand your point, but can we save the cultural sensitivity discussion for later? I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

  She shook her head and he could have sworn she mumbled, “Impossible.”

  He decided to let it go, pulled the latch on the door, and tried to shove it open. It moved, but no more than an inch before it hit something and wouldn’t budge any farther. “What the...?”

  “One of those expectations that requires management,” she said lightly.

  He huffed. Okay, he was in another country. There was always some culture shock involved. He could handle it. Just as long as she got this heap running in time to get him on his way to Florida to stop Scott’s 4:00 p.m. wedding on Saturday.
>
  Sophia tried her door and it opened with ease. She crooked a finger at him. “This way.”

  He climbed out, following her.

  She stood on the beach at the front of the plane, surveying their situation, her delicate hands resting on her curvy hips.

  He imagined her in a red string bikini and his heart rate kicked up a notch. Down, boy. Not the time, nor the place. Think of something else.

  The plane wasn’t level. The tire on the pilot’s side of the plane was sunk into the sand. The other tire was parked on a large fallen tree. Jungle vines were whipped around the door handle. That’s what had prevented him from getting out. But other than the imbalanced landing position, the plane didn’t look too bad.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “I have to find out what made the engine sputter. If it’s something repairable, I’ll repair it. Then we have to figure out how to get the plane on even ground so that we can take off from the beach.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. The sea was only a couple of yards behind them. There certainly didn’t seem to be enough of a makeshift runway to achieve liftoff, not that he knew much about it. He had to find another way off this island as quickly as he could. No offense against Sophia Cruz’s mechanical skills or her flying abilities, but Gibb felt insecure without a backup plan.

  “I’ll get my tools,” she said and crawled back inside the plane.

  Gibb pulled his cell phone from his pocket and walked a short distance away. To the left of the plane lay a thicket of jungle trees, much like those found in the rain forest of Costa Rica. The island might not be big, probably no more than five miles long and three miles across, but it was high. Rocky outcroppings in the middle of the island jutted a good thousand feet into the air. He tried the phone.

  No service.

  Well, what did you expect way out here in the middle of nowhere? Certainly not cell phone reception. Grunting, he pocketed the device.

  Sophia emerged from the plane with a red canvas tool bag. She had her pink cowboy hat fixed firmly on her head. “You’re not going to get cell phone reception.”

  “So I figured. Show me how to use the radio. I want to call for help.”

  “We’re probably out of range from an air tower,” she said. “And besides, by the time we could get someone out here, I could have the plane repaired.”

  “In time to take off tonight?” He eyed the sun dipping toward the horizon.

  “Probably not,” she said. “I’m not taking off in the dark. Not from here.”

  “What if it’s not an easy fix?”

  “Let us cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Humor me. Let me try the radio.”

  “If you insist, but even if you did manage to raise someone on the radio, they’re not going to helicopter Navy SEALs in here to rescue you. They’ll send a boat, but not until daylight. We’ll be here for the night, so chill.”

  “I don’t do that very well,” Gibb growled.

  “Then make yourself useful.”

  “How’s that?”

  Her critical gaze skated over him, as she took in his suit. Fine. It wasn’t beachwear, but he hadn’t known he was going to end up on the beach.

  “You could help me, hand me tools as I need them, or...”

  He didn’t much like the sound of that. Too passive. “Or what?”

  “Go gather some driftwood and make a fire.”

  He stared at her. “A fire?”

  “You do know how to make a fire, don’t you?” She made rubbing motions as if she were using kindling. “Just rub two sticks together and glow.”

  Gibb grinned. “Nice riff on Lauren Bacall’s character in Key Largo.”

  “To Have and Have Not.”

  “To have what?”

  “The movie. The line isn’t from Key Largo. It’s from To Have and Have Not.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know you.”

  She drew herself up to her full five foot two. “I am not a liar, Mr. Martin.”

  He was putting her off again. “I’ll take your word for it. From now on I’ll assume you’re telling the truth. How do you know so much about old movies?”

  “My mother was a movie buff. Sometimes when I’m feeling sentimental, I watch the classics.”

  “I wouldn’t have suspected you had a sentimental bone in your body, Amelia.”

  “Why? Because I’m a pilot?”

  “Because you’re so grounded.”

  She laughed. “You missed the part about me being a pilot?”

  “I’m not talking about your profession, but rather your personality.”

  “Thanks. I think.” She turned and walked away.

  He hadn’t made a campfire in so long. When, and if, he ever found himself in need of a fire, he paid someone to make it for him. “What do we need a fire for?”

  She stopped and looked at him over the shoulder as if he were the dumbest creature to ever roam the earth. “Light. Heat. Keep the mosquitoes away. To cook dinner.”

  “Dinner? Where are we going to get food? Beyond those junk food snacks in the plane.”

  She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “If you’re going to start the fire, I suggest you collect driftwood before it gets too dark to see where you’re walking.”

  “I can gather all the driftwood in the world, but how am I supposed to light it without a match or lighter?”

  “If you ask nicely, I’ll let you use the matches in my emergency kit.” She gave him a dazzling smile.

  The smile did something to him. Lit him up inside in a way that left him feeling decidedly unsettled. “I’ll just get at it, then.”

  “You do that,” she said. “Now that you have a goal, I’m sure you feel better.”

  Dazzled and dazed, Gibb left her to gather wood. He was out of sorts from the crash landing, that’s all this attraction was, nothing more. Yeah, okay, she was gorgeous and her legs in those skimpy cutoffs made him feel as if he’d just swallowed his own tongue, but it was nothing more than lust with an element of added danger.

  With any luck, they’d be on their way by morning. As long as he kept his hands to himself, he ought to be fine.

  Gibb swiveled around for another look.

  Sophia was bent over, examining the plane’s fixed landing gear, her delectable little fanny in the air. The pockets of her cutoff jeans stretched tight.

  His tongue was notably plastered to the roof of his mouth and he instantly grew as stiff as an ironing board. Ignoring the sand filling his dress shoes, he turned and started picking up driftwood before he did something drastic that he could not undo.

  Like seduce her.

  * * *

  SOPHIA TOED HER sneakers off—her mind worked better when her feet were bare—and set about inspecting the plane. Her toes sank into the sand, anchoring her to the earth. Grounded. A reminder to focus on what she was doing and keep her mind off how absurdly sexy Gibb looked standing on the beach in his fancy clothes. She half expected a men’s fashion photographer to pop up and start snapping pictures of him.

  Here was the thing. Gibb aroused her in a way no man ever had. That passion she’d told Josie about. Every time Gibb’s hot-eyed gaze landed on her, she felt as if she would burst into flames.

  Simmer down. She didn’t have to act on her feelings. Except she and Gibb were stuck on an isolated island in the Caribbean Sea with nothing to do but either fix the plane or wait to be rescued. As of yet, she didn’t know what was wrong with El Diablo.

  Maybe she could repair it, maybe not.

  She had taken off without doing anything more than filing a flight plan. They were out of radio contact range from any air tower. Her family had no idea where she was and when she’d gone to make those phone calls, one of them had been to Emilio breaking their date so he wouldn’t be expecting her, either. The flight plan of a small plane flying into Key West could easily get overlooked in the shuffle. It might be d
ays before either she or Gibb were missed.

  Days spent alone together on a deserted island with a sizzling sexual energy surging between them.

  C’mon. What’s wrong with a little sexual thrill? A fling? A hot encounter meant to go absolutely nowhere but give them complete pleasure?

  Yeah, it sounded good on the surface, but Sophia had a sneaking suspicion that a few wild days with Gibb would never be enough. Even now, just thinking about making out with him caused her body to tingle in all the right places.

  She grabbed a tool. Must find out what’s wrong with the plane. Must get this flying devil back in the air, pronto. Not just to get the impatient Mr. Martin to Key West on time to ruin his buddy’s wedding, but to save her own skin. She was not going to, would not, could not have a sexual tryst with him.

  A few minutes later, she discovered what had caused the engine to sputter. Whew, it was a minor fix. But her relief was short-lived as she soon stumbled across a bigger problem created by the bumpy touchdown. A problem not so easily resolved. Totally disheartening. Shoulders slumping, she took a step backward and ran smack dab into Gibb.

  “Easy.” His hand closed around her elbow.

  She sucked in air. His body heat surrounded her along with his manly scent. She wrenched away from his grip and scuttled to one side.

  Hallelujah, he’d finally taken off his tie and suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. About time.

  Except now, his honed biceps were clearly visible and his muscles were even more impressive than she imagined they would be. He’d also taken off his shoes and rolled his pant legs up to his knees. Sand dusted his toes. On anyone else, it would have looked dorky. But somehow, he managed to still look both stylish and rakishly handsome. Business executive cool 101 or how to dress when crashed on a deserted island.

  Seriously, he was too perfect.

  An orange sun faded into the dusk as royal-blue twilight crowded the sky overhead. A mosquito buzzed at her ear and she batted it away.

  His eyes never left her face.

  “What is it?” she asked, unnerved.

  He dazzled her with a toothy smile set to “stun” and nodded down the beach at a surprisingly large pile of driftwood with rocks ringed around it to create a fire pit.