Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Christian, what are you doing?” Ace asked.
“Just come look at her,” Christian muttered.
Ace parked and cut the engine. The ticking of cooling metal filled the brief silence. Christian hopped out and opened the back door for Tika, who leapt down and shook once before trotting ahead, claws clicking on the planks.
Dread pooled low in Ace’s gut. He slid out of the truck and followed his brother over the rough rocks and onto the dock.
Up close, she was even more impressive. “She’s a Cessna 208 Caravan on amphibious floats,” he murmured, more to himself than his brother. The high wing stretched broad and confident overhead. The windows were large and tinted, the nose clean and aerodynamic. The cockpit glass was modern with the digital panels visible through the windshield. “What are we doing?” Ace asked.
“This is Solomon Torrington’s plane,” Christian said.
“I know that. I saw him fly it last week.” Torrington was a retired lawyer from Phoenix who had decided Alaska would be his second act.
Christian tugged a pair of sunglasses out of his back pocket to slide into place. “Yeah, well, he’s moving back to Arizona.”
Ace paused. “He is?”
Christian nodded. “Yep. His daughter just had twin boys and he wants to be closer to his grandkids. They’re not leaving Arizona, so he’s selling the plane.”
Ace stared at the Caravan again. The lines were clean and the rivets tight. No rust streaks showed along the seams. “I’m not buying a plane.” His blood felt hotter inside his veins and not in a good way.
“Maybe I’ll buy her.” Christian stepped toward the cabin door. “Just sit in her.”
“You’re such a fucker,” Ace snapped.
Christian only smiled and pulled the door open.
Ace drew in a slow breath and stepped forward. The metal rung felt solid beneath his boot. He ducked into the cockpit and lowered himself into the pilot’s seat. The leather was firm, not yet broken in. The yoke sat centered and waiting. The digital display screens were dark but clean, with the switches lined in neat rows.
Memories hit him fast, bringing back the weight of the throttle in his palm, the steady hum of the engine before liftoff, and the split second when the wheels left the ground and gravity seemed to lose its claim. His hands began to tremble as sweat gathered at his temples, and his vision narrowed around the instrument panel in front of him.
“All right,” Christian said, reaching in and gripping his shoulder. He pulled him gently back out and shut the door.
Ace shrugged him off. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” Christian said calmly. “That was long enough for the first time, don’t you think?”
Ace swallowed hard. The dock seemed to tilt under his boots.
“Do you need to puke?” Christian asked.
“No.” The word scraped out, and Ace forced air into his lungs.
Christian clapped him once on the back and steered him down the dock. “That’s a lot for one day. Your night with May, probably a morning when you acted like a dork with her, meeting with Smitty, and sitting in the plane.” He grinned. “Good on you, Ace.”
“I may have to hit you,” Ace noted.
“That’s okay. Feel free.”
Ace swallowed again, fighting the wave of nausea. It had been quite the morning. His body wanted a drink. Bad.
“What are you thinking?” Christian asked as they neared the truck.
“I’m thinking I want a drink.”
Christian pushed the glasses up his head, his gaze mellow. “Do you want to go get one?”
Ace looked at his brother. The river rushed by the cove behind him, while the gorgeous plane sat quiet on its floats. Decisions lined up in his head. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t need alcohol.”
Christian’s smile was slow and satisfied. “There you go.”
Chapter Nineteen
Amka finished wiping down the bar, the scent of lemon cleaner mixing with lingering fryer grease and coffee. The lunch rush had thinned to two fishermen arguing quietly over salmon prices and an older couple splitting a piece of pie at the far table. The windows along the front wall were thrown open to let in fresh summer air. Daisy was restocking napkin holders with her usual efficiency, humming under her breath.
The place felt settled now. Warm and lived-in.
Senator Mercer smiled from his place down the bar as he finished fish and chips, flanked by his two staffers. For some reason, she didn’t much like his smile. Yeah, she knew he used to date May, and if he’d lost her, there was something wrong with him. His chief of staff waved.
She moved toward him, noting his pressed blue polo shirt. “Yes, Peter?” The stately man had introduced himself the other day and kept looking at her. All day. But more with interest and nothing salacious.
Peter handed over his empty basket. He looked smooth and polished, and he’d been complimentary about the drinks earlier. “I just wanted to say that your food is the best I’ve had in eons. Your chef is absolutely amazing.” His eyes glimmered and then his gaze caught on her left hand. “I was going to ask you out, but I see you’re engaged?”