STARTING OVER (5 page)

The spicy fragrance of pizza filled the small room. "Good, you cleaned off the top of those desks," Rusty stated as he stepped forward and put the box on the wooden surface of one of them. "I wasn't sure if mothers-to-be should eat pizza, but then I remembered that my sisters ate their share right up to the day their kids were born. It didn't seem to hurt any of them, except maybe to make the kids rowdier."

He opened the lid, then reached into a paper bag and pulled out a package of paper plates. "I got half with pepperoni, mushrooms and olives, and half with onions and jalapeños. Which do you prefer?"

Kate opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't hungry. But, to her surprise, she discovered that wasn't true. The pizza looked delicious and the smell stirred an appetite she had forgotten she had. "One of each," she replied, feeling her taste buds dancing in anticipation.

Once again he reached into the bag and brought out two cartons of milk and handed one to Kate.

"Now you're reminding me of my mother," she informed him wryly. But she couldn't help but be touched by his thoughtfulness.

As the pizza disappeared piece by piece, Kate told him of her plans to redecorate the office. He agreed to help her load the boxes into her car, but he insisted that he follow her home to unload them for her. Kate hadn't considered how she would get them from her car to her house, so she gratefully accepted his offer.

After lunch, Rusty went back outside to install the new fuel line in the helicopter while Kate attacked the pile of magazines. Every time the telephone rang, she eagerly stopped her work to answer it but was disappointed when all of the calls were solicitors or creditors rather than customers. She knew she had better find some money somewhere to catch up on the bills she had let slide for the past few months when they had been the furthest things from her mind. But to get money, C-Breeze needed customers, and to get customers, they needed to get that helicopter off the ground.

When she heard the engine choke to life a half hour later, she anxiously, if a little awkwardly, moved to the window and watched as the helicopter lifted off the ground. The sound of the rotor blades slicing through the air made Kate's heart twist in an emotion close to panic. Although she hadn't been in the office, standing at the window, watching Doug take off on his last flight, seeing this chopper disappear into the sky flashed vivid images across her mind's eye.

She had always been aware of the risk. Doug had downplayed it, telling her that if he could survive flying choppers in Iraq, where he had been forced to take chances with his life to save countless others, then zipping back and forth to the oil rigs was little more than a day at the beach. As most people do, they had assumed an accident wouldn't happen to them. But Doug had made it back from Iraq, and he hadn't made it back from what should have been a routine pickup run.

It wasn't until the helicopter came back into her line of vision, circled the building, then settled smoothly back onto its pad that she began to breathe normally. Looking down at her hands, she saw she had been gripping the windowsill so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"She's working well," Rusty announced cheerfully when he returned to the office. "That's a fine piece of machinery you have out there."

Kate had collapsed onto one of the desk chairs but forced herself to straighten up and not show how terrified she had been. "Are you sure it's okay? Don't feel you have to fly it until it's in tip-top shape."

He took off his mirrored sunglasses and flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'm a great pilot, but I don't take chances. I wouldn't take that baby off the ground if I didn't think she was in perfect condition."

She tried to return his smile, but hers was a little shaky. "Just remember that it's not worth risking your life for."

Rusty was standing in front of her desk, and the strength of his gaze compelled her to lift her face until she was looking directly into his eyes. There was compassion and understanding shimmering in their blue depths. "You lost your husband in a crash, but that was a freak accident. Granted, there are no guarantees in life. We could have a car accident on the way home tonight. But you've got to relax and learn to trust in a higher power to take care of you until it's your time to go."

'That's easier said than done."

"I realize that," he agreed. "But if you can't hear the roar of a helicopter without falling apart, then maybe you should let this business go."

"No!" she exclaimed abruptly,
then added with a quieter, "C-Breeze has got to make it. I won't fall apart. It's just this first time that bothered me so much."

He studied her for a moment longer, his expression skeptical. But he must have decided that she was either telling the truth or that she was old enough to handle her own phobias, because
he said, "Well, then, it's time to let everyone know we're open for business. Unless you want to talk to them, I'll call the oil companies and see what we can line up."

A wave of gratitude washed over her that she wouldn't have to field a barrage of questions about Doug. "No, I'd rather not make the calls. If you're sure you don't mind..."

He shook his head and reached for the address index. "No problem. It's my job."

But Kate knew it was above and beyond the call of duty as he spent hours on the phone, repeating to every prospective client his own qualifications as well as assurances that C-Breeze was operational and not accident
-prone. Oilmen could be a little superstitious when it came to making choices, whether it was what color hat to wear when drilling began or which company to choose to carry a crew.

Through it all Rusty remained calm and charming, reiterating that C-Breeze had a long and spotless record with the old helicopter and that his own experience made it worth giving the company another chance.

Kate pretended to be deeply involved in the ledger, but the figures blurred in front of her eyes as she listened . . . and prayed the person on the other end of the telephone line was listening. She couldn't help but be impressed by Rusty's professionalism and gentle persistence. When he finally hung up after speaking to the last company listed in the index, she gave up trying to fake interest in the books and looked up at him.

"Well? How bad is it?" she dared to ask.

Rusty stood up and flexed his cramped shoulders. He dropped his pen onto the desk next to the pad of paper on which he had been taking notes. "You're going to have to start thinking positively," he instructed, not directly answering her question. "You should ask, 'How many jobs did we get?' instead of asking how bad it is."

"Okay," she agreed rather impatiently before mimicking his question. "How many jobs did we get?"

"No firm commitments," he admitted, but continued optimistically, "However, there was quite a bit of interest. I think we'll start getting calls tomorrow or the next day."

Kate's shoulders slumped. She had been hoping for a more positive response, perhaps even a couple of pickups or deliveries.

"Now don't get discouraged. Considering the fact that there was a crash and a fatality, even though there were no passengers, you can understand their caution." Reaching out, he lifted her chin with the edge of his bent index finger, "They'll come back. There's a shortage of transport companies in the area, and they need us. Pretty soon we'll be so busy you'll be begging me for a vacation."

Her eyes widened at the ironic twist of his statement. "I'll be begging you for a vacation?"

His gaze was steady and calm. "We're in this together, remember partner?"

She realized he was trying to get her mind off the bleakness of her situation, and she accepted his light touch of humor with a smile. "I'd rather be too busy than be in bankruptcy court."

"Worrying is one of those dangerous jobs that you should be letting me do. Everything's going to be just fine. I have every confidence in us. We make a good team. I'll work and worry while you cash the checks and pay the bills."

"There are enough bills to keep both of us busy worrying full-time," she murmured.

Chapter Three

Several times Kate glanced in her rearview mirror, even though she knew he would still be there. It was strangely comforting to have someone following her home. At least she wouldn't have to walk into the dark house alone.

She turned into the driveway and he parked beside her, then waited patiently, two boxes stacked in his arms, while she unlocked the front door and turned on the lights.

"Just put them against the wall," she instructed, pointing toward an empty space in the living room. "I can go through them while I'm watching television."

Rusty placed the boxes where she indicated. As he straightened and looked around the room, he frowned.

"You really should leave your television or radio on all day while you're gone," he stated. "Anyone who considers breaking in might think someone is at home. I don't mean to scare you, but it would be awful if you walked in while a burglar . . . or someone worse . . . was in here."

That thought had occurred to Kate, too, but now, as always before, she had shrugged it off. "We don't have that sort of thing in this area. This neighborhood is about as safe as a neighborhood can be."

His skeptical look told her he didn't believe there was any area that was absolutely safe, but he didn't argue his point. Instead, he changed tactics.

"I used to leave the television on so I wouldn't have to come home to a quiet house," he said. "That's one of the times I'd rather not be alone."

"One of the times?" she asked, amazed to discover that such a strong, self-sufficient man should have any
vulnerabilities. He had made such a point of letting her know that he didn't need anyone.

A hint of color washed across his tanned cheeks as if he regretted bringing the subject up. "Okay, so it gets boring to eat alone night after night. And I'm not too crazy about waking up without a warm body in my bed. But I've found a satisfactory solution."

Now it was Kate's turn to be embarrassed. Even though they were both adults, the direction this conversation had turned made her uncomfortable. As his employer, it didn't matter to her what he did after he left work each evening. She definitely didn't want to hear the details of his sex life, either. She turned her head away and was trying to think of a smooth way to move to a safer subject when he went on to explain.

"While I was in New Orleans last year, I went to an animal shelter with a friend. She was looking for her cat, which was missing. I wandered down one of the ro
ws of dog kennels and found a scruffy-looking puppy that seemed to be begging for me to take him home. Now Rebel shares all my meals and sleeps at the foot of my bed. I don't leave the TV on to keep away burglars anymore, but because that crazy dog loves to watch soap operas and talk shows."

"You adopted a dog?"

"Rebel's not just a dog," Rusty replied with mock horror that she should suggest such a thing. "He's my best friend. He likes to move around as much as I do. He doesn't bury his bones, he keeps them by the front gate in a pile, just in case he has to pack in a hurry."

Kate couldn't help but laugh at the silly image
Rusty's explanation evoked.

"Maybe you should get a dog," he suggested seriously. "Not only would it provide you with companionship, but it would offer a certain amount of protection. I understand burglars avoid houses with barking dogs."

"I don't think it would be a good idea to get a dog now, not with the baby almost here. Besides, Doug didn't like animals."

Rusty leveled a measuring look at her. "What about you?" he asked.

Kate sensed his question had more to do with her having an independent opinion rather than whether or not she liked animals. But she chose to answer the easier of the two. "I've always like animals, all animals, but especially dogs and horses. I had all sorts of pets when I was a kid. My parents owned a few acres of land just outside Austin, but civilization eventually caught up with us. The population explosion helped their business—they own a barbecue restaurant—but it sure gobbled up the rural areas."

"So, I can assume your barbecues are not to be missed. Now I'm even more pleased to accept your invitation for Saturday."

"Actually, I can't cook nearly as well as my parents. You wouldn't believe how delicious my mother's pies are. The meringue is three inches thick on her lemon and cream pies, and her crust just melts in your mouth."

His grin was mischievous. "Then maybe we should drive to Austin on Saturday instead of hanging around here."

"Hey, I didn't say I was a bad cook," she retorted in good humor. "I'll bet my ribs will knock your socks off. And I might even whip up a dewberry cobbler."

"Well, I'll try to keep an open mind. Maybe I'll let you cook for me tonight as a sort of warm-up," he teased.

"Let me. There you go again, doing favors for me."

"Okay," he said, ducking as if he expected her to throw a pillow at him. "Would you be happy if I helped you cook?"

She tossed her hair back from where it had draped across her forehead. "I won't know until I taste it. But I guess if Rebel can eat
your cooking, it won't poison me."