Redwood Bend (Virgin River #18)(32)

“It was,” she said. “A lot like morning sickness. One minute you’re going to die, then it’s over and you feel like you could eat a side of beef.”

“Tea and noodles,” he said. “And if it was morning sickness, it had nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, stop complaining.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “At least you pronounced it a date.”

Dylan took her to a quaint bar; they had to walk up a flight of stairs to the second floor and, given it was still afternoon, they were among just a few diners. The view was of the marshy headlands; the birds were flying low over the tall grasses, the Pacific shining beyond. It was beautiful and so serene. “It looks so harmless out there, doesn’t it?” Katie said. “Some of us know it can really pack a punch. What got you into flying?”

“My grandmother moved us to Montana, where I had no friends or connections and, long story short, out of boredom I was hanging out at the nearest small airport. I started driving my little truck out there and did my homework while watching planes take off and land. Pretty soon I got the courage to wander into the building and asked them how much a ride would cost and they said, ‘Ride in what?’ I wanted to go up in their Lear, but I could afford thirty minutes in a little Cherokee.” He gave a shrug. “I fell in love.”

“I guess you didn’t get sick…”

He shook his head. “Never. I love to do loops and spins and all kinds of crazy stuff. I think I could rock as a test pilot. I was about sixteen when I told my grandmother I wanted to take lessons, get my pilot license, and she said she’d be on board with that if I brought home straight A’s. And did my chores—a lot of which were really crappy chores, pun intended. She bought a place on a lot of land with a barn, a couple of horses, a chicken coop, a couple of cows. Most of my chores involved a shovel and a lot of shit. By the time I was seventeen, I had my license and was instrument qualified. And then I went to Embry-Riddle and majored in aviation.”

“And started a company?” she asked,

“Does that seem ambitious?” he asked her. “It wasn’t. We couldn’t get hired by the major airlines—not enough hours in the cockpit and no hours in a heavy jet. We couldn’t even get on at the smaller regionals. Lots of training in all things aviation, but without the hours…”

“We?”

“My friend Lang and I. He was with me when we rode through Virgin River. We went to college together and he came back to Montana with me. We started real small and grew, but now…” He shook his head.

“Now?”

“The economy is kicking our ass.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “What will you do?”

“We’ll make changes, probably drastic changes. One of the things I’m supposed to be doing while I’m taking this break in the action is having meetings with airport managers, picking their brains about survival skills. And if possible, picking up charter work. Meanwhile, Lang is running things, beginning to downsize the operation, scheduling and probably operating any charters that come our way. We have to think out of the box now—might be time to consider other work options.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I have other ways of earning money, but—”

“Other ways?” she asked.

“We have a snowplow,” he said with a grin. “To keep the runway clear. Maybe we can start plowing roads and driveways in Payne. There are flying jobs all over the place…not always convenient ones, but they’re out there. Contract labor—all over the world. That would be hard on Lang—he’s married and has five kids and usually international jobs take you away for a month or more at a time, at least. He’s pretty committed to Montana—sees it as a good place to bring up the kids. Last year one of our pilots left for Nigeria—it was a one-year contract and it was good money. But it was a long way from home. And we like that little airport. We built it.”

She leaned her chin on her hand. “This must be very tough for you.”

“It’s a challenge, that’s for sure. Pretty soon we’re going to have to let people go. I hate to do that. They’re all good, loyal people. In most cases, my neighbors.”

She smiled at him. “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye,” she said.

He also leaned his chin on his hand. “And what meets the eye, Katie Malone?”

“Hoodlum,” she said. “Biker bum. Ne’er do well. Notorious flirt. Opportunist…”

“Hey! I’m only an opportunist in the best possible way—the kind who will start a company that puts a few people to work.”

Her expression softened and grew serious. “I do know how it is to have your own company and to have it mean the world. I had a hardware store with my brother, remember. It was doing well when some jackass burned it down and sent us into hiding. Conner talks about maybe rebuilding. Maybe around Virgin River. But…”

“But…?” he prompted.

“But it took the store burning down for him to see that he needed a little more balance in his life, that he’d been working too hard and wanted more time to relax, more time with the boys and with his woman.” She shook her head. “I’ve never really seen Conner like this. He’s mellowed out a lot.”