A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(82)

“I’m waiting,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. To say that Reed and I didn’t have the best relationship would have been the understatement of the century. I loved him, but I also really fucking loathed the load he’d left me to carry.

“We need a way to bring in high-end clientele while we’re building the condo development. A new income stream since we’re spending some major dollars right now.”

“Not my problem. You’re the one that decided to go back and work with Dad. Not me.” I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, telling myself I shouldn’t care as I fought the pang in my heart that told me I most definitely did.

“I know that,” he ground out. “And Dad is never around. It’s just me and Ava running this.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have that fancy new lift open by November?” That was the typical opening month for Madigan Mountain.

“So you do read my emails. You just don’t respond to them.”

“Get to the point, Reed. My job doesn’t take kindly to being late.” It was one of the reasons I loved the army. I thrived on order and discipline.

“Okay. I’d like Madigan to start up its own heli-skiing operation. It would take the resort to an entirely new level, which is what we’re looking to do with the expansion.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, the possibilities whirring through my mind with the force of a hurricane. The higher peaks and ridges just behind the resort were perfect for that kind of operation. Nothing compared to Telluride or even Steamboat, but we could hold our own.

Not we. They.

“There’s only one guy I can think of who knows the backcountry around here like it’s his personal playground and already happens to know how to fly a helicopter.”

Silence stretched between us as I forced air through my lungs. There was no way he was asking this of me. No. Fucking. Way.

“West?”

“Ask someone else.” The door to the locker room opened, and I turned to see Theo Harris, my oldest friend and senior pilot, walk in, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face and waving a piece of paper in his hand.

“I don’t want to ask someone else.” Reed’s tone took on a desperate edge. “You’re family. This is our family’s business, Weston. Our family’s resort. Our family’s—”

“I swear to God, if you say legacy, I’m going to hang up.” I clenched my jaw.

Theo’s dark brows lifted skyward, and he lowered the paper.

Reed sighed. “You’d have full control of your own operation. You’d just operate under the Madigan logo.”

This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. But as long he just wanted and didn’t need, then I could turn him down. There were plenty of other pilots he could hire. Plenty of guides too. Just none that could do both sides of it like me. I can’t seriously be contemplating this.

“What’s up?” I asked Theo, needing to cling to something in my real world and not the pretend one Reed was spinning.

“You made the promotion list! Below the zone!” He held out the paper.

Holy shit. I did it.

“Don’t you get what I’m saying?” Reed asked, apparently thinking I was talking to him. “I need you to come home, Weston.”

Fuck. Me.





CHAPTER ONE


Weston


Nine Months Later Helicopters were my happy place. They were power, and lift, and drive—all without the constraints of runways. They weren’t confined to roads, and they didn’t require space to accelerate for takeoff. They simply launched into the sky from wherever they happened to be. They were freedom. At least they used to be. The shiny red slice of liberty I was currently signing for felt about as liberating as handcuffs. Because that’s exactly what it was.

It was a three-million-dollar leash.

The office clock in the steel building just off the tarmac in Leadville, Colorado, showed seven a.m., and my stomach churned as I debated my life choices for the millionth time since Reed called. But I signed, and signed, and signed, each signature tying me to the one place I’d spent eleven years avoiding like a prostate exam.

“You know, if I wanted to do dash-eighteen inspections at dawn, I would have stayed in the army,” Theo said from the doorway, clipboard in hand, the brown skin of his forehead crinkling as he raised his brows at me. He’d been my best friend for the better part of a decade, so I knew it wasn’t going to be the last time he looked at me like that.

“At least you’re not in A2CU’s.” Personally, I would have traded my jeans and Henley for my uniform in a second, but Theo had been ready to get out, which was the only reason I’d been able to talk him into coming with me. I handed over another stack of paperwork to the broker, stretching as I stood. We’d sent Maria’s husband and Theo’s family ahead to Penny Ridge yesterday, then driven into Leadville late last night, and my body ached from spending hours behind the wheel. I needed a run to loosen up after two straight days of travel, but this had been the only time the seller had been able to meet us for delivery.

“Everything in order?” the broker asked Theo.

“Serial numbers match up on everything,” Theo said with a nod, handing over the clipboard. “Ramos is still doing her once-over.”