Page 46 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

JANNA

I guided my horse toward the barn, my mind racing. The old crop duster had been sitting there for years, but I had checked out the engine and everything had been in order. I wasn’t sure if it was flyable but it was our only shot.

“Janna, what are you thinking?” Dalton called out behind me.

I slid off the horse, my legs shaky but holding me up. “The crop duster. It’s our ticket out of here.”

“Are you insane? That thing hasn’t flown in years. It’s probably held together with duct tape and prayers.”

“You were with me when I looked it over,” I said, pushing against the heavy barn door. “She’ll fly.”

Dalton dismounted and helped me wrestle the door open. The plane I had been admiring just a week ago was sitting there like an answer to all my prayers.

“Shit,” Dalton muttered. “This thing’s older than dirt.”

“Older than dirt but still our best option.” I started pulling tarps and equipment away from the aircraft.

While I worked to expose the plane, Dalton went back outside.

I could hear him unsaddling the horses. He carried Pickle to the corner in a fireman’s hold.

He gently put him down before returning to the horses.

The sound of running hooves told me he’d turned them loose.

They’d have a better chance of survival running free than trapped in a barn.

I climbed up onto the wing and peered into the cockpit. The instruments looked ancient but functional. Please work, I thought. Please just work.

I dropped into the pilot’s seat and started going through the startup sequence. The fuel gauge showed half full—not great, but enough to get us out of here. The battery was dead, but there was a hand crank for the prop.

“Dalton, I need you to spin the prop!”

“This is a terrible idea,” he shouted back, but he moved to the front of the plane.

“If you’ve got a better one, I’m all ears. If not, get cranking!”

I primed the engine and set the throttle. “Contact!”

The propeller turned once, twice, then caught. The engine coughed to life with a sound like a dying lawn mower, but it was running. Black smoke poured from the exhaust, but she was alive.

“Get Pickle!” I yelled over the engine noise.

This was it. This was how we were going to survive.

Dalton hauled Pickle’s limp form up into the tiny cockpit, maneuvering him into the back seat before climbing in behind him.

Pickle’s head lolled against Dalton’s shoulder.

He looked better. The almost-clean air was helping.

The cramped space meant Dalton had to wrap his arms around Pickle to keep him secure, like he was holding a very large, unconscious child.

“This is cozy,” Dalton grunted, adjusting his grip.

“Shut up and hold on,” I said, checking the engine temperature. Still running hot, but it would have to do.

I pushed the throttle forward and the old bird lurched toward the barn door. The engine wheezed and rattled, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. We bumped and bounced over the uneven barn floor.

The driveway stretched ahead of us, rough and potholed but straight enough for a takeoff run.

Thankfully, the old plane didn’t need a lot to get airborne.

I just hoped the wind didn’t blow us out of the sky.

I could see the fire line in the distance, a wall of orange and black.

The power of the beast was awesome and terrifying.

“Janna, this thing sounds like it’s going to fall apart!” Dalton shouted over the engine noise.

“She’s perfect!” I yelled back, grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.

The dial climbed. Thirty miles per hour. Forty. The plane shuddered and vibrated, but she was picking up speed. I could feel that familiar lightness in the controls, that moment when the wings wanted to lift us off the ground.

“Come on, baby,” I whispered to the old crop duster. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Fifty miles per hour. The wheels left the ground for a split second, then touched down again. Almost there.

“Come on,” I encouraged. “You can do this.”

We were quickly running out of roadway.

Sixty.

And then we were flying.

The sensation of leaving the earth behind, of breaking free from gravity, hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline. I whooped at the top of my lungs, my voice cracking with joy and relief and the absolute fucking euphoria of being alive.

“We did it!” I screamed, banking the plane away from the fire line. “We actually did it!”

Below us, the farm grew smaller. The horses were running free across the pasture, as they galloped away from the smoke. Dalton’s crashed plane sat twisted and broken in the cornfield, but I didn’t care. We were alive. We were flying. We were free.

I felt more alive in that moment than I had in my entire life. Every nerve ending was on fire; every breath was a celebration. The danger, the fear, the certainty that we were all going to die was all behind us now. We’d looked death in the face and said, “Not today.”

I knew the plane could very well fall out of the sky. The engine could die at any second. But I didn’t care. I’d glide the damn thing down and walk to base. I felt fucking invincible.

I was a hero. I was one of the few.

“You magnificent, crazy woman,” Dalton shouted. I could hear the smile in his voice even over the engine noise.

I laughed, wild and breathless. “I told you to trust me!”

My throat felt like I’d been gargling broken glass and my lungs were absolutely burning, but I didn’t care.

“Call us in!” I shouted to Dalton.

I didn’t want to get in the way of the firefighting operations. We weren’t able to get very high and I did not want to have water or retardant dumped on us.

“Laser. Coming in. Three survivors in a very old crop duster, requesting permission to land at Reddington.”

“Runway one is clear,” Chief’s voice came through.

“Have medical waiting,” Dalton said. “Pickle’s hurt.”

It was a small reminder that while we were alive, we were still in bad shape. Our lungs were damaged. And Pickle? I just hoped it wasn’t too serious.

But for now, I was flying. I felt wetness on my face and realized I was crying. I didn’t know if it was because I felt like absolute dogshit or if it was tears of joy.

Or maybe I was just losing my fucking mind.

I adjusted our heading toward the airfield, the old crop duster sputtering and threatening to quit, but I refused to let it happen.

We were going to make it. I would make sure of it.

“You good back there?” I shouted over the engine.

“Good.”

The wind tossed us around. The feeling sent a spark of fear through me, but I knew how to fly.

I knew how to counteract the turbulence.

I wasn’t afraid. Not really. I had trained for this.

I wrestled it back under control, still grinning.

The sky was a mess of smoke and heat, the air turbulent as hell, but I’d flown through worse.

The fire was a monster below, its glowing fingers stretching across the valley, but up here, we were free of it. The sun cut through the haze, painting everything in gold and orange. It was actually beautiful.

The winds fought us the whole way. The plane shuddered like it was being punched from every direction, and I had to adjust constantly, my arms burning from the effort. I knew I wasn’t entirely well. Dizziness washed over me in waves, making my vision blurry, but I powered through it.

I didn’t have a choice.

The radio crackled to life. “I see you,” Laser said. “Come home. Come in. We’re waiting for you.”

The landing strip came into view. I exhaled hard. Almost home. I had to stay conscious just a little longer.

“Hold on,” I warned.

Dalton braced, curling over Pickle. It wasn’t going to be a smooth landing. I just wanted down. My vision blurred again.

The wheels hit hard, waking me up. The plane bounced once, twice, I could feel the ground beneath us. We were down. Actually down. I killed the engine, and for a second, I didn’t move.

“You good?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Perfect.”

Then suddenly there were people surrounding the plane.

Hands reached for us, voices shouting. Paramedics swarmed, taking Pickle from Dalton’s arms. I saw Chief running across the tarmac.

I think I smiled but I couldn’t say for certain.

I wanted to. I told my face to do it, but that blessed darkness was right there.

I sank into it, hoping someone would take care of me.

I came to feeling myself floating. Not floating. I was being carried. I felt strong arms under my knees and behind my back. The world swayed and bounced with each step.

“Move! Get out of the way! She needs help now!”

Dalton .

His chest vibrated against my cheek as he shouted. I realized I was cradled against him, my head tucked into the curve of his neck. Even through the acrid smell of smoke that clung to both of us, I could smell him. That familiar scent of soap and something uniquely Dalton that made me feel safe.

He was running, his breathing labored, his arms tightening around me protectively. I tried to speak, to tell him I was okay, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed razor blades.

“Almost there, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, meant just for me. “Stay with me.”

Then I was being lowered onto something—a gurney mattress. The loss of his warmth hit me immediately, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. A woman’s face appeared above me looking way too serious for my comfort.

“Hello, sweetheart. I’m Sarah. I’m going to take care of you.”

I felt a sharp prick in my arm, then the blessed relief of an oxygen mask being placed over my face. The cool, clean air filled my lungs. I could breathe without feeling like I was drowning.

“Herc, I need you to move back,” Sarah said. “Let us work.”

“Is she—” Dalton’s voice was next to my head.

“She’s going to be fine, but I need space. Move.”

I forced my eyes open, searching for him through the chaos of medical personnel. He was right there, his face streaked with soot and sweat, his dark eyes wild with worry. When our gazes met, I saw the fear he was trying so hard to hide.

I couldn’t speak around the oxygen mask, couldn’t tell him with words that I was okay, that we’d made it. So I looked at him, really looked at him, trying to pour everything I felt into that one look. Relief. Gratitude. Something deeper that I wasn’t ready to name.

He nodded slightly, understanding passing between us without words. He got my message.

“Herc, you need oxygen too,” another voice said. “You’ve got significant smoke inhalation.”

Before Dalton could protest, someone was slapping an oxygen mask over his face and guiding him onto a gurney beside mine. He fought them for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine, but exhaustion and smoke inhalation were finally catching up with him too.

His hand reached out toward me. I managed to lift mine just enough for our fingers to brush before the medical team separated us.

I closed my eyes and let them do their thing. I was so damn tired. I didn’t even have the strength to open my eyes. I felt my suit being cut away and was glad I had on jeans and a shirt underneath. I could hear voices all around me. Someone was saying they had to get Pickle to the hospital.

And then I heard Cheryl demanding to go with him.

That gave me some relief. I didn’t want him to be alone.

“I’m here,” I heard Dalton say.

And then his big hand was on my arm.

“Rest,” he said. “You’re fine. You’re going to be okay.”