Come Fly With Me (3 page)

Mick had known the man for a long time. Jack had about eight years on him, but from the first summer Mick had worked for him in high school, they’d been like brothers. He’d seen Jack through his marriage
to Molly, standing up for him in the ceremony. They’d built a business together, and Mick had been there when Jack’s world came crumbling down with Molly’s cancer diagnosis and subsequent losing battle with the disease.

And now he had had the great good fortune of seeing his friend smile again since he started officially seeing Jessica McFarland.

“You’re a crafty bastard, O’Shaughnessy. You don’t miss a thing.”

Mick took a long drag on his Coke. “So, what’s up?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’ve talked to Jess about it a bit.”

Mick simply waited and took another sip.

“And I’d like to spend more time with her. I was so busy building the business when Molly and I were first starting out that I missed out on a lot. And I don’t want that to happen again, you know?”

Mick did know. He also knew that Jack had tirelessly taken on a substantial workload to expand their clientele, followed by an even more grueling one to buffer the loneliness after his wife died.

The man deserved a break. And it was time to start thinking about ways to expand their business that didn’t take the two of them killing themselves.

“Funny you should mention it since I’ve been thinking similar things.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Are you telling me you’re never getting into a plane again?”

“Hell no.” Mick almost laughed at the affronted
look on his friend’s face, but he also knew that shadow of horror in Jack’s clenched jaw was the proof he needed that all would be well.

Once a pilot, always a pilot.

The love of flying got to a man—it gripped the gut like a living thing and refused to let go. He’d had it his whole life, so he knew the symptoms.

“All I’m saying is I’d like to slow down a bit. Maybe bring in another pilot or two. Or one pilot and someone to handle the books.”

“Seriously, lover boy, you’re preaching to the choir. I’m sick of being the one ordering fuel.” Mick pointed to the clipboard he’d laid on the counter when he’d gotten the Cokes earlier. “And I’d love nothing more than to make a list of what I need and have an office manager who ordered them instead of making the calls myself.”

Jack took the ribbing in stride. “I’m not the only one around here who’s got a woman on the brain. It’s not a very large secret that you’re leaving in a few minutes to pick up Grier.”

Mick shrugged. Although he knew as well as the next person small towns thrived on gossip, the endless chatter had grown abrasive over the holidays. “Walker and Sloan are on the plane, too.”

“A minor detail no one’s interested in.”

“Funny how quickly the town’s favorite son is old news.”

Jack stood and pulled out a large pair of heavy work gloves. “You’re a favorite son, too, Mick. It’s amazing how often you choose to ignore that fact.”

Mick didn’t move until he heard the hangar door slam shut on a gust of wind. Only then did he stand and cross to the recycle bin and drop his empty can.

Getting all riled up about the fuel that kept Indigo running through the winter—and spring, summer and fall, for that matter—was useless. If his neighbors wanted to gossip about his interest in Grier, he couldn’t stop them. Besides, he had far bigger things on his mind.

Like the woman who waited for him at the end of his next flight.

Grier stared out her window at the bright lights of Anchorage as the plane did a hard bank to the right. After miles of darkness, the lights were a welcoming beacon.

She was home.

Or at least what passed for home for another month. Six weeks, tops.

That had been Walker’s latest estimate of how much longer it would take to clear up Jonas Winston’s last will and testament.

Walker had been kind enough to give her an out the week before, suggesting she could stay in New York and allow him to handle the majority of the proceedings, with her presence necessary only once everything was finalized, but she had refused.

It was bad enough her half sister, Kate, had been the recipient of their father’s love and affection for the first twenty-six years of her life. She’d be damned if she’d let the woman have easy access to Jonas’s things while Grier sat four thousand miles away waiting for news.

The funny thing was, she acknowledged to herself
as she reached beneath her seat for her tote, it wasn’t even Jonas’s possessions she really cared about. She had a home; she certainly didn’t need his.

What she did need were answers.

And some small piece of him she could keep.

Sloan smiled a groggy half grin from across the aisle. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Walker helped her collect her suitcase from the overhead and, as if time were on fast-forward, before she could blink she was filing out of the plane’s side door.

The jet bridge was a short walk, but her gaze caught on one of the many tourism posters framed along the corrugated walls:
INDIGO TRAVEL AND TRANSPORT
.

Mick’s company.

As if to simply reinforce the connection, the photo showed Mick and his partner, Jack, bookending the front propeller of one of their planes, broad smiles on their faces. Each sported shoulders like a football player, but where Jack had the heavier build of a grizzly bear, Mick was lean and rangy.

Not for the first time, Grier tried to grasp exactly what it was that made the men up here quite so appealing. It had struck her from the first moments she entered the small town of Indigo, Alaska. She’d assumed the men of Alaska would be hale and hearty. She hadn’t counted on their being quite so lovable.

A couple of women behind her giggled and Grier tuned in to their conversation, pulling her attention from the poster as she continued moving down the jet bridge.

“Rachel said the men up here were good-looking.”

“She didn’t say they looked like Greek gods.” Another giggle floated up. “I think we need to kick off our visit by supporting the local economy.”

“Indigo Travel and Transport,” her friend replied, and Grier didn’t miss the light slap of a high five.

Sloan turned from where she walked a few paces ahead and reached for her hand.

“Come on,” she whispered on a tight squeeze. “It’ll be fine.”

Grier took comfort in the support her friend always seemed to share with such simple, effortless ease.

And then the jet bridge ended and Grier suddenly realized she had a far bigger problem than misplaced jealousy over giggling singletons.

Mick O’Shaughnessy was waiting for her.

Mick fought the wave of nerves that dive-bombed his stomach as he waited for Grier to come out of the door to gate seven. He’d played the conversation in his head about fifty different ways since walking into the airport an hour ago and hadn’t settled on anything.

“Hi.”
Yeah, a real smooth opener.

“Good to see you.”
What was he, a talk show host?

“Happy New Year.”
Only if he were Dick Fucking Clark.

And then there were no words, save one, as Grier walked through the door with Sloan and Walker.

Wow.

Mick lifted his hand in a wave to catch her attention and the rest of the airport faded away.

How had this happened?

He loved women. He loved their perspective and the way their take on the world around them was just…different from his. And unlike a lot of men he knew, he loved their company in bed or out.

But Grier Thompson was different.

She was…
so much more
, somehow. More interesting. More enticing. More compelling than anyone he’d ever met.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He leaned down before he could stop himself and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. The light scent of her filled his nose and the nerves flooding his stomach shifted into something a great deal more interesting.

Need. Desire.
And hunger
.

Walker slapped him on the shoulder and reached for his hand, the moment shattered in the wake of his friend’s exuberance. Mick didn’t miss the frustration that crossed Sloan’s gorgeous cheekbones, and it was that slight acknowledgment that had him smiling and slapping Walker on the back as they embraced.

Damn, but he’d missed his friend—even if he was about as subtle as a freight train.

He reached for Sloan next, not surprised to hear the lightly whispered “sorry” as she hugged him.

“Good flight?”

A round of murmured “yes’s” and they were off.

Mick reached for the handle of Grier’s suitcase and pointed toward the herd of people heading down the corridor. “Baggage claim’s that way.”

“This is all I have.”

Mick glanced down at the small roll-aboard in his grip and the large bag that sat on top of it. “But you were gone more than a week.”

“I packed light.”

“Oh.”

The first smile he’d seen lit up her face. “You were expecting six pieces of matched Louis Vuitton?”

He couldn’t hold back the grin, the last vestiges of nervous energy fading in the bright light of her smile. “Maybe only four.”

Grier’s smile brightened even further as something suspiciously like mischief alighted in the depths of her gray gaze. “Ask Sloan how many bags she brought.”

Mick had spent far too many years with Walker and their other best friend, Roman, to ask a question so deliberately posed. With a broad smile for Sloan, he pointed in the direction of the claim area.

“I’m sure every piece is full of well-needed items.”

“Ass kisser,” Grier muttered as Sloan gifted him with a broad smile.

“Nope.” Feeling lighter than he had in days, he draped a casual arm around Grier’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m just very, very smart.”

G
rier tamped down on the rush of joy that assaulted her in waves from the base of her neck straight down her spine the moment Mick wrapped his arm around her. Although he had dropped his arm when they’d arrived in the baggage area, she could still feel the heavy weight of where his body had rested against hers. She could still smell his delicious scent—a mix of leather and fresh air that had her body reacting in needy hunger.

“That’s quite a welcome,” Sloan whispered as the men moved off to grab her bags. “And I’m suddenly quite pleased I packed half my apartment since it gives us a few extra minutes to talk.”

“Oh please.” Grier waved a hand. “That’s not even half your closet.”

“Shhh—that’s our secret.”

“And now you’re just a liar as I know damn well Walker has actually seen your apartment.”

“The apartment, yes. I won’t let him within ten feet of my closet. And you’re stalling.”

“And you’re making too much of this. Whatever else Mick O’Shaughnessy is to me, he is my friend.”

“That man had his arm wrapped around you in a rather possessive grasp. It was way more than friendly. And those women from the plane who ogled his photo on the jet bridge”—Sloan pointed at them standing at the far side of the claim area—“haven’t stopped giving you the evil eye. Even they can see there’s something between you.”

“He’s a toucher.”

“Not to me.”

“Walker would beat him senseless.”

“Grier, you know what I mean.”

“I’m actually trying to ignore what you mean.”

Sloan moved so Grier was forced to look at her and not the slow-moving baggage belt. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Hello, pot?”

“Grier, I’m serious.”

“I’m serious, too, Sloan. I appreciate the concern, but there’s nothing between Mick and me.” Before her friend could object or call her on her bullshit, Grier clarified. “Nothing that can be acted on.”

The men had Sloan’s luggage and were headed back in their direction. “Now let’s go collect your treasure trove of clothing and get going.”

Before she could drag her own bag behind her, Sloan laid a hand on her arm. “Please, wait a sec. Look. I’ll cut out the pushy shit if you’ll promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Give him a chance. The two of you might surprise yourselves.”

“Maybe it just looks like we fit on the surface.”

“Or maybe it’s real.”

She’d never been very good at keeping things from Sloan and she was getting tired of defending a position she knew was rather flimsy, so Grier opted for the truth. “What if it’s just a matter of history repeating itself?”

“He’s not like Jason. He’s nothing like him.”

“Actually, I was talking about my mother and father.”

The light that dawned brightly in Sloan’s blue eyes let Grier know she’d finally gotten through.

“Some things just aren’t meant to be, Sloan. And I’m living proof of that reality.”

The flight to Indigo was short, and before Mick knew it, he was helping Walker drag Sloan’s bags to the house while the women stayed in the warmth of his SUV.

“She wanted to bring six,” Walker said on a heavy huff of air as he dropped one of the largest suitcases at his front door before digging in his pockets for his keys.

“Six suitcases? No shit?”

“Scout’s honor.” The keys jingled from the tip of Walker’s fingers as he got the key in the lock. “You sure you don’t want to come with us tonight? My grandmother said the more, the merrier.”

“You guys enjoy. I know Sophie’s eager to see you.”

“You’re practically her second grandson and you’re definitely her favorite. Truth be told, I think she likes you more than she likes me.”

Mick was surprised by how closely Walker’s words matched Jack’s earlier.

“Favorite son.”

Brushing it off along with the painful reminder that his own father certainly didn’t see him that way, Mick lifted his two bags and followed Walker into the entranceway. “Of course she does—she’s got outstanding taste. But seeing as how my grandmother did her typical feast for Christmas and how Maggie out at the airstrip cooked her New Year’s Day spread, all I can say is that it’s your turn, buddy.”