Page 133 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“Come on,” I encouraged. “You can do this.”

We were quickly running out of roadway.

Sixty.

And then we were flying.

The sensation of leaving the earth behind, of breaking free from gravity, hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline. I whooped at the top of my lungs, my voice cracking with joy and relief and the absolute fucking euphoria of being alive.

“We did it!” I screamed, banking the plane away from the fire line. “We actually did it!”

Below us, the farm grew smaller. The horses were running free across the pasture, as they galloped away from the smoke. Dalton’s crashed plane sat twisted and broken in the cornfield, but I didn’t care. We were alive. We were flying. We were free.

I felt more alive in that moment than I had in my entire life. Every nerve ending was on fire; every breath was a celebration. The danger, the fear, the certainty that we were all going to die was all behind us now. We’d looked death in the face and said, “Not today.”

I knew the plane could very well fall out of the sky. The engine could die at any second. But I didn’t care. I’d glide the damn thing down and walk to base. I felt fucking invincible.

I was a hero. I was one of the few.

“You magnificent, crazy woman,” Dalton shouted. I could hear the smile in his voice even over the engine noise.

I laughed, wild and breathless. “I told you to trust me!”

My throat felt like I’d been gargling broken glass and my lungs were absolutely burning, but I didn’t care.

“Call us in!” I shouted to Dalton.

I didn’t want to get in the way of the firefighting operations. We weren’t able to get very high and I did not want to have water or retardant dumped on us.

“Laser. Coming in. Three survivors in a very old crop duster, requesting permission to land at Reddington.”

“Runway one is clear,” Chief’s voice came through.

“Have medical waiting,” Dalton said. “Pickle’s hurt.”

It was a small reminder that while we were alive, we were still in bad shape. Our lungs were damaged. And Pickle? I just hoped it wasn’t too serious.

But for now, I was flying. I felt wetness on my face and realized I was crying. I didn’t know if it was because I felt like absolute dogshit or if it was tears of joy.

Or maybe I was just losing my fucking mind.

I adjusted our heading toward the airfield, the old crop duster sputtering and threatening to quit, but I refused to let it happen.

We were going to make it. I would make sure of it.

“You good back there?” I shouted over the engine.

“Good.”

The wind tossed us around. The feeling sent a spark of fear through me, but I knew how to fly. I knew how to counteract the turbulence. I wasn’t afraid. Not really. I had trained for this. I wrestled it back under control, still grinning. The sky was a mess of smoke and heat, the air turbulent as hell, but I’d flown through worse.

The fire was a monster below, its glowing fingers stretching across the valley, but up here, we were free of it. The sun cut through the haze, painting everything in gold and orange. It was actually beautiful.

The winds fought us the whole way. The plane shuddered like it was being punched from every direction, and I had to adjust constantly, my arms burning from the effort. I knew I wasn’t entirely well. Dizziness washed over me in waves, making my vision blurry, but I powered through it.

I didn’t have a choice.

The radio crackled to life. “I see you,” Laser said. “Come home. Come in. We’re waiting for you.”