Blue Skies

by Robyn Carr

  She crossed her arms over her chest and there was a definite scowl on her pretty face. “Well, no, I’m not, but I’m gonna be if you don’t stop this nonsense.”

  He just had to think this through, because the explanations, which were all logical, were not coming to his lips. “I gotta think,” he said. And he turned and practically ran out of her house.

  He was all the way to the car before the front door opened and she yelled, “Danny!”

  “I gotta think,” he yelled back.

  As he drove out of her neighborhood, he had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting a dog walker because he was so out of it. “Sorry,” he called out his open window.

  “Slow down!” the man yelled at him.

  “Yes, sorry,” he said. He went maybe a half mile before he came upon a small, well-lit dog park. He pulled into the parking lot and stopped. It might be best if he didn’t do a whole lot of driving while he wrestled with this.

  What am I going to do? he asked himself. He’d been so certain that this relationship with Dixie could never evolve, so sure she’d let him down nicely but firmly as soon as she found a man she wanted to get involved with, that he had never imagined she could be developing feelings for him.

  You’re always so hard on yourself, his mother’s voice said.

  “Go away. You’re dead.”

  You love her. She loves you. What’s so strange?

  “What’s so strange is my dead mother talking to me about my love life. My ridiculous love life. Can’t you see what a mistake she’d be making?”

  I’m not worried about her mistakes. I’m worried about yours.

  He was never quite sure whether it was the many years of his mother’s wisdom reverberating in his subconscious, or whether she was really not so very far away and still butting in, but as always, he felt the calming effect of her words. Yes, he thought, I need to worry about me.

  He looked at his watch. It had only been a few minutes. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, slowly and carefully.

  It had been wrong of him to spend so much time with her and not allow for the possibility that she might have expectations. He’d seen the fancy place settings and candles when he came to dinner. He’d brought her flowers, she’d stocked his wine. If she was shortsighted enough to fall for a guy for whom “ordinary-looking” was a compliment, when she could have anyone she wanted, that was her problem. For his part, it was wrong to lead her on and then hurt her.

  When he got to her door, he tapped lightly.

  “Just go away,” she yelled from within.

  “Dixie, I’m sorry,” he called back. Dixie’s next-door neighbor came outside in his bathrobe and slippers with his little dog in his arms and looked over at Danny suspiciously. Danny lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she yelled. “Sorry I was so stupid!”

  He could tell she was crying. The neighbor was scowling at him. He tried the door and it opened. There she was, her legs curled under her on the living room couch, sniffing into a tissue.

  Danny threw off his jacket and went to her. He sat as close as he could and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was shocked. I just couldn’t believe it.”

  “Couldn’t believe what?” she asked with a sniff.

  “That you’d be…You know…Interested in me.”

  “Well, why ever not? We’ve been together as much as possible for about three months.” She blew her nose. “I thought you’d noticed that.”

  He nuzzled her neck. Funny, now that he was this close, all his nervousness was gone. “I noticed,” he said. “But I thought you’d eventually come to your senses.”

  “And I thought you’d come to yours.” She turned to him, her nose right on his nose. “By three months, I usually have a tennis bracelet and a whole bunch of lies to get me into bed.” She nibbled on his lip, and a shudder of fierce desire shot through him.

  “Can I pick up the tennis bracelet tomorrow?” he asked, nibbling back.

  Her arms went around his neck. “If you do, you’re history.” She gave him a very serious, very deep kiss. Her tongue played on his; her hands roamed up the back of his neck where there was hair. “I thought I made it clear—that wasn’t the life I wanted.”

  Yes, she had told him about all the men, all the gifts and come-ons and lies; she had told him what it felt like to put your trust in a future with a man, call it love, and come away feeling used. She had told him all that. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said, and meant it.

  She pulled away from him just enough to look into his eyes. “Did you know I sold all the tennis bracelets and necklaces and all that meaningless fodder to buy new living-room and bedroom furniture? And I gave all the teddies and peignoirs away. I have nothing sexy to wear when you finally get around to taking me to bed.”

  He moaned deeply and emotionally, his hands seriously caressing her back, sides and, yes, breasts. He claimed her mouth again, unconcerned about her lack of nighties. “You’ll have to take me,” he said. “All the blood has rushed out of my head.”

  She giggled the little-girl giggle.

  “Is this really happening to me?” he asked as he pulled her to her feet.

  Slowly and deliberately she unbuttoned his shirt and slid her cool, soft hands inside. “You bet, bronco. And you just wait. You’re gonna be so glad you came back tonight.”

  “Dixie,” he said weakly, “I’m pretty sure I’m not very good in bed.”

  “That’s okay, sport. I am.”

  Sixteen

  It was predawn and chilly in the room. Danny reached down and pulled the comforter over them, then took Dixie back into his arms. She snuggled close, letting him spoon her. He nuzzled the nape of her neck and she purred.

  “Hmm. You said you weren’t very good,” she whispered. “If you were any better, we’d both be dead.”

  He chuckled. “Naked Couple Found Dead, Screwed to Death.”

  She giggled and wiggled her butt closer. “Uh-oh.”

  “I know,” he said in a tone both prideful and embarrassed. “I guess I just can’t get enough of you.” He pulled her over, onto her back. Lifting the comforter, he dived underneath so he could suckle her breast, kiss her flat belly, spread her legs. Her moans and wriggles brought his lips to her mouth and the most important part of him inside her. He’d lost count hours ago, but it was safe to say he’d never had this much sex in his life.

  Holding one wrist in each hand, he stretched her arms up over her head as far as they would go. Her legs came around his waist and she rocked with him while his mouth covered hers and their tongues played. It didn’t take long for the gentle but strong thrusting to bring them both to yet another climax.

  “Oh, Dixie,” he whispered against her neck.

  “You’re going to be so exhausted today,” she said, tickling his back with a long fingernail.

  “I don’t think so,” he returned, again with a deep, secretive laugh. He rose above her. “I still can’t believe it. You and me.”

  She held his face in her hands so he would focus and listen, despite the fact that he was still inside her. Soft now, but still inside, where she wanted him to be forever. “Danny Adams, I don’t ever want to hear that again. You can say you’re grateful if you want, because so am I. But you can’t say anything ever, ever again that gives a question to why I’d want you. I’ve been waiting for a man like you forever. An honest and good man who wants only me. And you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever loved.”

  “Dixie, you’re such a liar,” he said, but he grinned. “I always think of myself as a funny-looking little guy—”

  She whopped him on his left cheek, the lower one. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing: You’re not a little guy where it counts.”

  Her arms went around him and she wiggled her hips. He was still a moment. “Oh-oh,” he said.

  And she giggled.

  Nikki was headed for the airport long before the sun came
up. Sleep had come hard the night before. Bob Riddle’s little adventure in hiring had so blatantly undermined her authority, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d just come out and admitted he was gunning for her. Two of the three Aries pilots were known to Nikki and Danny Adams; they were highly visible malcontents with a long history of causing problems. And the third was Branch Darnell. Riddle knew Nikki would never hire him, and his presence would greatly disturb the chief pilot’s office.

  She went to the maintenance base where their newest airplane, which was also their oldest airplane, was undergoing an engine change. Since it was a new lease with an insured engine, the cost of this operation would be moderate, but the liability of having an aircraft that worked twelve hours a day out of service was inevitably a hit in the pocketbook. The plane was grounded while the problem was diagnosed, and a new engine found, and then the engine had to be installed.

  Floodlights lit the 757. The engine cowling was raised and the old engine sat on a cradle that had been pulled away from the plane. A tug had pushed the new engine under the opened cowling and winches lifted it into place. About six maintenance techs were at work under the lights, and the Wrench stood at the edge of the action, watching.

  It was a cold November morning and Nikki pulled her coat tighter. She wore her ID badge on the outside of her coat. As she went to stand next to Mark Shows, he turned his head and looked down at her, raising his eyebrows. “Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey,” she advised, repeating Buck’s childhood instructions for tightening screws.

  “Thanks,” he said, which sounded like “tanks” around his cigar.

  “How long is she going to be out?”

  “We’ll have her back on the line by noon. Maybe. But don’t get used to it.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Maybe?” he asked mockingly.

  Mark had kicked the tires on this one and advised Riordan to pass up what looked like a good deal on paper. He’d have opted for a slightly higher lease payment on a newer, better-maintained plane. In the long run he believed that to be more cost effective, as did Nikki. Especially when the post 9/11 economy was keeping the cost of planes low.

  But the price, availability and support had been irresistible.

  “I heard Bob Riddle found this plane,” she said.

  “That’s right. He knows someone at every leasing company, airline and manufacturer. Probably because at one time or another, he’s worked for them all.”

  “He’s out to get me,” she said.

  “Of course he is, Nick.”

  “Before we certified, while I was in Phoenix at the sim, he handed my manuals in to the FAA. And he took the credit.”

  He took the cigar out of his mouth. “You gotta look out for yourself better than that.”

  “Is he going to take credit for his plane?” she asked.

  Mark put the cigar back in his mouth. “God, I hope so. Piece of shit.”

  “Got any advice for me, Wrench?”

  “Yeah. Get better intelligence on the guy. ’Cause he’s got it in for you.”

  “See, that’s the thing, when you’re busy working, you don’t have time to go gathering dirt.”

  “I don’t make the rules, Nick. I just get whacked by ’em every now and again.” He pointed his cigar stub at the plane.

  “Yeah,” she said. She slapped a hand on his back. “Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.”

  “Thanks.”

  She went to her office. At 5:00 a.m. it was barely coming to life; most of the office staff came in after seven or eight or even nine. She liked the quiet; she even liked the dark. Signing in online, she did a quick Internet search of Bob Riddle. There were a few quotes from local papers and magazines and even a couple of national aviation periodicals. Bob Riddle, who is spearheading the certification effort at New Century Air…The operation of the new carrier is headed by Robert A. Riddle, who brings to the company years of seasoned executive experience…. “We’re on schedule with certification,” said Riddle, senior VP of Operations. “I’ve assembled a powerful team to get this done on time.” There was that senior VP again. Nikki couldn’t help but wonder if Joe asked him about it, would Bob claim it was just a newspaper misprint?

  The references to articles and interviews were so numerous that Nikki found herself thinking, not for the first time, that this guy must have a press agent. She then went to the Department of Transportation Web site and looked at their active-dockets link. This was where the filing for NCA’s Certificate of Public Convenience could be accessed. She had never looked at the whole document, more than two hundred pages in length, but the résumés of all the corporate officers were filed in its pages. She pulled up Riddle’s. He cited years of management experience at smaller and, conveniently, defunct airlines. He’d certified a number of different aircraft types, set up training programs, introduced policy and been a senior vice president a half dozen times. Hundreds of start-ups had come and gone since deregulation in ’78; there was no way to check with nonexistent companies to see what kind of job he’d done, but…He had graduated sigma cum laude from the University of Michigan with his MBA. Hmm. Interesting that with all that education, they hadn’t taught him how to say myriad.

  It was too early to call Ann Arbor, so Nikki printed his résumé and stored the copy under her desk blotter.

  Looking back at the Internet search engine, she saw a reference to a “pilot’s forum” bulletin board for New Century Air. She hadn’t known anything about this. Upon closer inspection, it appeared the site had only recently been established. It was less than two weeks old and about ten of their now forty pilots had expressed opinions under handles like LiftOff, SkiMagnet22, LoneStar, GNnTNIK, QBall, Rocketman, Spoiler and Wings69. Boys and their toys, she thought.

  She read through some of the postings and became reacquainted with pilots when they were at their best—whining. They complained about the pay, the schedule, the hotels, the meals, the leadership. And then she saw,

  How’d we end up with a box office where a cockpit should be?

  If you check out her résumé, you’ll see that she must have pictures of Riordan in compromising positions with animals to get the job.

  The only thing that will bring a union in here faster than a chick chief pilot is one who is dangerous in the cockpit, too.

  Is she at least hot?

  Hot? No, she’s a dyke.

  Have any of you dipsticks actually flown with her? Because I have, and there aren’t many men I’ve flown with in the last twenty years who are even close to that skilled. I almost had to throw a towel in my lap.

  That had come from LoneStar, but the others weren’t about to let him get away with it.

  I heard she’s after Riddle’s job, and her first step was to get him to give up the cockpit, which put her in the #1 seniority position.

  Lotsa luck, babe—Riddle’s next in line for the CEO position! And when Riordan’s gone, pay is up and dykes are history.

  And to that, LoneStar asked:

  What does Riddle do again?

  She hit the print button. Dyke? She started to laugh.

  “Nothing can be that funny at six in the morning.”

  She turned to see Sam standing in the doorway. He wore his uniform and held his hat, obviously on his way to a flight.

  “It’s really not funny, but it just struck me as so…so predictable.” She handed him a page. He looked at it, looked at her. She laughed again. “Dyke? How unimaginative.”

  Sam gave her back the page. “Want breakfast?”

  “What time’s your flight?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said. “I’ll be on time.”

  “Do I do that?” she asked him. “Do I mother people?”

  “Only me that I know of. Come on.”

  The printer spit out the last page and she flipped the switch, turning it off. Grabbing her purse and coat, she preceded him out the door. “You drive,” she said.

  “Wow, this is quite a turnar
ound—you willing to be seen in the same car with me.”

  “Well, obviously my reputation is out of my hands. It appears there would be more gossip if I’m seen out with another woman. Besides, I’m starving, and it’s going to be a horrible morning.” It wasn’t until they were in his car that she asked, “How did you know to find me at the office?”

  “I’m stalking you,” he said.

  “No, really?”

  “I wanted to get breakfast on the way to work and I took a side trip through the NCA parking lot. I saw your car. I got a crazy notion. I went wild with longing…to see you bent over a plate of sausage and eggs.”

  Temptation is good for me, she thought. She felt lighter, less burdened, a little more alive.

  “Did you know about that site, Sam?”

  “I just heard about it. Sounds like a bunch of typical pilot pontificating to me. Plus, it could be one guy, you know, signed on with ten handles—talking to himself, salting the mine, so to speak.”

  “Hmm. Hadn’t thought of that,” she lied. She had thought of it, but the one person she suspected wasn’t savvy enough to even send an anonymous e-mail. “I wish I could say it didn’t bother me.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s that tough. But listen, you have a lot of fans out there. You do a good job, Nick. Just keep doing a good job and things will work out.”