Page 30 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

Chief hired her to be part of the “air attack” group but shit happened and it was important that we could all do everyone’s jobs. I didn’t see her taking my job, but I wanted her to be ready to handle all of it.

I started the simulation and stepped back. The screens darkened and it was just like being in the cockpit. Her job as one of the air attack coordinators meant she was the eyes and ears for the whole operation. She’d be surveying all the little details of fire behavior and the lines. Between her and the person that would be with her, they’d tell me where to drop the water. They’d be dropping the smoke bombs. It was a big job, which was why I was making damn sure she knew what the hell she was doing. If she couldn’t do it, I would not hesitate to tell Chief to pull her. Put her in another job.

The simulated sound of the plane’s engines filled the room. The radio crackled from ground control and she held on to the yoke like she was out for a Sunday drive. The run was damn near flawless.

She skimmed through the artificial canyon without jerking or getting that claustrophobic feeling that so many people did. There weren’t any last-minute corrections. She didn’t even clip the ridgeline I’d intentionally rendered trickier than necessary. She kept her altitude low but smooth, handled sudden wind shear like it was nothing, and spotted the lead plane without needing a second prompt.

Smoke bomb deployed. Bullseye on the drop zone.

Perfect.

I didn’t say anything. It could be beginner’s luck. Or just luck in general.

“Scenario two,” I said and quickly used the tablet to pull up the next simulation I had put together. I had run it myself a few times. “Fire’s jumped the ridge. Winds shifted. You’re coming in hot and blind. No visual on the lead plane until the last second. I’ll give verbal instructions only. No screen prompts.”

“Copy that,” she mumbled. She didn’t even look at me. The woman was focused. I had seen pilots under the influence of a hangover. Usually they were slow to react. But not her. She looked like a different person than the woman who walked in there, calm and cool.

The simulation started and even I jerked and winced a couple of times at some close calls. She flew the simulation pretty well. It wasn’t perfect, but damn close. I tried to rattle her but she was cool as a cucumber.

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or pissed off that she’d improved so fast. She didn’t make the same mistake twice. She learned quickly and that was not something that could be trained. That was rare. She had natural-born instinct.

Janna had what it took to be a damn good pilot. If I wasn’t such a cocky bastard, I would admit she might even be better than me.

All she needed was focus. She was young and wasn’t used to the setup we had here. I was guessing she had lived a pretty sheltered life in Alaska.

“Alright,” I said and turned off the simulator. The screens all went blue. I walked over and flipped on the lights.

She blinked, squinting up at me. “What? Did I crash and not notice?”

“You’re done for today.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded. “You showed me what I needed to see. Go eat something greasy before you pass out in that chair.”

She sagged with relief. “Thank god.”

She stood up a little too fast. I caught her elbow reflexively, steadying her.

She looked up at me and once again I felt that same tension from yesterday. That invisible pull that made it feel like she was running her hands over my naked body.

“Go,” I said, dropping my hand and stepping back. “Before I change my mind.”

She gave me a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

I watched her pick up her coffee.

“Princess?”

She sighed and turned to look at me. “Really? Princess? Laser is Laser and Pickle’s name is even cool. And Wild Bill. And I have to be Princess?”

I hadn’t meant to dub her Princess. It was just… well, she reminded me of a princess. All pretty and dainty and put together.

Instead of explaining the name, I ignored her comment. “Last night was your one chance to fuck up. Don’t do it again. You can’t afford to be hungover. When it’s the active fire season, we don’t drink. Period. You never know when you’re going to get called out.”

“You drank,” she shot back.

“I had a couple beers. Judging by the way you smell, you drowned yourself in whiskey.”