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Now, I’d work hard to stay clear of ever falling in love again—treat it like a pond of blood-sucking leeches.
Randall startled when I opened the cockpit door. I plopped on the co-pilot’s seat and pulled on the extra headset. “Scare much?”
“Have you thought about the ramifications of frightening your pilot into suffering a heart attack?”
“There’s autopilot.”
“This tin can still needs to land.” He fiddled with a dial before giving me a once-over. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not when I’m being bounced all over the place.”
“There’s been no turbulence. Except maybe in your head. How’re you doing?”
Randall and I were dorm room buddies during our freshman year at Stanford. We became inseparable until he signed up for the Air Force. After he finished an eight year military stint, I hired him to be my pilot. Other than my family, I trusted no one else with my life.
So of course, he knew about the Hannah blunder.
“I’m doing great now that I’m sitting by you.”
“Ah, gee. Thanks, buddy.” He punched my shoulder. “It’s okay if you want to deflect my question. Save up your answers for your family.”
Since my family consisted of five siblings and my parents, I’d be drowning in Q & A.
“How far are we from Pleasant Valley?”
Before he answered, static came over the headsets. An air traffic controller gave information to land in fifteen minutes.
A cloudless blue sky reached out in front of us, and I drew a relaxing breath. Going home to my birthplace, a sprawling horse ranch set at the foot of majestic rolling hills always soothed me. January in the small town of Pleasant Valley, Vermont, equated to fun winter activities like skiing, ice skating, and sledding. While I was too old for the last two events, getting lost in the wonder of a downhill ski was a terrific way to forget about Hannah.
First I had to run the gamut my family would put me through with their well-wishes or atta-boy platitudes. Although I was a grown man, and I hated to upchuck my public humiliation, my childhood home offered sanctuary. There, I could be me.
Randall lowered the wheels which reduced his speed. “Sure you don’t want me to stick around? What if you can’t find a certified pilot to fly this jet?”
“Then I’ll drive to the other offices. Randall, go see your family. Enjoy your time off.”
“What if you need to go back early?”
I laughed. “Please. We both know Skye has the New York office handled.”
Boy how we knew that. Skye Ownsby was the third wheel during our college days. After grad school, I hired her to be my vice president because she had the smarts and the courage to grow a company like no other person alive.
“Right. She won’t need you.” Randall’s words had a double meaning. He was sweet on our friend, but her one-track business mind didn’t include dating.
“Keep trying. She’ll come around.”
“Stop talking. I need to land this puppy.”
“Now who’s dodging?”
Randall gently touched the tarmac like a mother’s kiss to her baby’s forehead.
The mid-sized airport had added another landing strip since I was a kid. Usually, I drove up to my parents’ place, but I wanted the use of the jet to travel to the bordering states where I had satellite offices. Even if there was no pilot certified to fly, the storage fee was cheaper than what I paid in Manhattan.
We taxied along the tarmac. An impressively tall aircraft marshaller expertly used orange signaling cones to guide Randall over to a large hangar where he cut the engines. The marshaller removed her goggles, hopped on a tractor tug, and backed it up to the front wheels.
While she worked on hooking up the jet, I took note of her ball cap and brown ponytail pulled through the back hole. An orange vest covered a puffy jacket. Her skin tight jeans, which looked like they were painted on, tucked down into sherpa-lined suede boots.
A bit different from the expensive outfits New York women liked to wear.
