It Takes a Cowboy. GINA WILKINS
SIPPING STRONG airport coffee, Scott lounged in the metal building that comprised the office of the one-strip airport that served the private pilots of the Lightning Creek area. There weren’t many people around this morning—a couple of other pilots preparing for takeoff, a mechanic who’d been hired to work on someone’s two-seater, the airport owner, and his wife, who served as his partner and assistant. Scott enjoyed airports like this one and had visited dozens of them across the country, finding a bond with other flying enthusiasts who owned small aircraft.
He kept his eyes on the gravel road that approached the airport from town, watching for Blair’s car. Surely she would have sent word if she wasn’t going to show. He imagined she was a little annoyed with him for not calling her himself, but he’d been very busy since the auction. He’d had to leave most of the arrangements for this weekend to Carolyn, his invaluable, long-suffering assistant. And besides, he thought sheepishly, he hadn’t wanted to give Blair a chance to refuse. His ego had taken enough shots from her after the auction.
It was going to take an even bigger blow if she stood him up today. Had she decided he wasn’t qualified to talk to her nephew, after all?
But then he spotted a neat little white sedan bumping down the road toward the airport and he relaxed, somehow knowing it was Blair. It looked exactly like the kind of car she would drive, he mused with a smile, thinking of his own customized four-by-four. He glanced toward the green-and-white Cessna 172 waiting by the runway, already prepped for flight. He hoped neither Blair nor her nephew was a nervous flyer. Teenage boys usually liked flying, wouldn’t admit their fears even if they had them.
He was generally comfortable with teenagers—even the surly ones. He made it a point to hire several for afternoon and summer work at the ranch, believing that honest work was a boost to any kid’s self-confidence. He hoped he would get along well with Blair’s nephew, maybe even have a positive influence on the kid. It was too bad that he and Blair had been interrupted before they could talk more about Jeffrey. It would help if he knew more about their circumstances—how Blair had ended up with the kid, why the boy was so angry and rebellious, what she had done so far to get through to him.
He tossed his foam coffee cup in an overflowing trash can and headed outside to greet them as the car turned into the graveled parking lot. Maybe he’d give the boy a flying lesson, he thought, remembering when a kindly old pilot had given him his first lesson. Teenagers usually loved to be behind the wheel of anything that moved.
He stopped in his tracks when Blair and her nephew—her very short nephew—climbed out of the car. Her nephew was most definitely not a teenager, Scott realized immediately. He couldn’t be more than ten years old.
This was the boy Blair wanted to have buckle down and plan the course of his life? The one she worried wasn’t taking his studies and his future seriously enough? The kid didn’t look old enough to spell future, much less to blueprint it!
Rapidly revising several of the plans he’d made for the upcoming weekend, he turned his attention to Blair. She looked great, he noticed. She was dressed more casually than the last time he had seen her, in snug jeans and a forest-green camp shirt unbuttoned over a white T-shirt. Her feet were laced into a pair of hiking boots that looked small enough to fit her young nephew.
He was hit again with the attraction he’d felt for her when he’d met her after the auction. Whether dressed in her professional lawyer clothes or this outdoorsy outfit, she looked spectacular. But it was more than just her appearance that appealed to him; he was drawn to the intelligence in her eyes, the challenge in the tilt of her chin, the confident yet undeniably sexy way she walked. “Hi, Blair.”
“Good morning, Scott.” Her manner was briskly polite, as if she were greeting one of her legal clients rather than a weekend companion. “This is my nephew, Jeffrey. Jeffrey, this is Scott McKay.”
Jeffrey tossed his longish, center-parted hair out of his face and subjected Scott to an intense scrutiny. Scott had the sensation that the boy didn’t miss one detail of his appearance, from his breeze-tossed hair to his denim shirt, faded jeans and scuffed western boots. And he got the distinct feeling the kid wasn’t particularly impressed with what he saw.
“Hi, Jeff. How’s it going?” Scott said casually, careful not to be overly friendly.
The boy shrugged and mumbled something.
He looked so damned young, Scott thought again. So small in his oversize jersey and baggy jeans. So vulnerable behind the defiance in his snub-nosed face. Looking at this boy, Scott recognized emotions he had thought long since behind him.
He cleared his throat, determined to show the kid a good time this weekend—for Jeffrey’s sake, and not just because he wanted to impress the boy’s aunt. “Did you bring the stuff I suggested?” he asked Blair.
She nodded. “It’s in the car.”
“Great. Want to help me load the plane, Jeff?”
“The plane?” Blair repeated as the boy shrugged again. “We’re going in a plane?”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’re at an airport. Did you think we were going by submarine?”
Jeffrey chuckled, then looked rather surprised that he had done so. Blair glanced at him quickly, her expression softening. And then she turned toward Scott again. “I thought you flew in this morning and wanted to meet here for convenience.”
“No, we’re flying. You like flying, Jeff?”
“I’ve never been in a little plane,” the boy answered, glancing at the two-, four-and six-seaters parked nearby.
“I bet you’ll like it,” Scott predicted, then moved toward the back of Blair’s car. “The stuff’s in the trunk?”
In response, she opened the trunk, still looking a bit worried. “Have you chartered a plane? Who’s our pilot?”
“It’s my plane, and I’m the pilot.”
“You’re a, um, good pilot, I hope?”
Grinning at her, he quipped, “You bet. I’ve had my license for a whole week tomorrow. Bought it out of the back of a magazine. You know, one of those ads that begin, ‘You, too, can soar like an eagle....’”
“That’s not funny.”
“Jeff thought it was. He’s smiling.”
The boy immediately changed his expression to a scowl. “Am not.”
Scott knew better than to push it. “Whatever. Got all your stuff?”
Jeffrey pulled a grubby backpack out of the car and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”
Blair locked the car, slipped her purse beneath her arm and turned toward Scott with the general air of a turkey at Thanksgiving. “We’re ready.”
Scott grinned and slung an arm around her shoulders for a quick, bracing squeeze. “Trust me,” he said. “it’s going to be a very interesting weekend.”
* * *
BLAIR INSISTED that Jeffrey should take the copilot’s spot in the little four-seater Scott led them to. She explained that she would be much more comfortable in the back, though she was really hoping Jeffrey would find the ride more exciting in the front. She wanted so badly for him to take pleasure from the weekend, to show some excitement about anything. Maybe if he enjoyed being with Scott, he would be more likely to listen when Scott talked to him.
Buckled very tightly into the snug back seat, she watched as Scott matter-of-factly showed Jeffrey all the instruments and gave him a quick explanation of their purpose. After he started the noisy engine, she wasn’t able to hear much of what they were saying, but she noticed that Jeffrey seemed to be listening closely as Scott continued to talk.
She remembered the look of surprise on Scott’s face when she and Jeffrey had climbed out of her car. What was it about Jeffrey’s appearance that had startled Scott? Whatever