Page 21 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)
C harlie Grace checked her reflection in the side mirror of her truck, ran a hand through her curls, then laughed at herself. “It’s not that big of a deal—only a date,” she murmured, though her heart clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.
While their original plan got delayed by a surprise wedding, Nick had adjusted with ease and rescheduled. “Dress comfortable,” he’d added with that maddening half-grin that always made her suspicious. And intrigued.
She pulled into the gravel driveway leading to Nick’s place—a log-sided home tucked near the tree line on the west side of Jackson, where the valley floor met the rise of lodgepole and fir.
The house looked like something out of a Robert Redford film—sturdy and handsome, with a front porch strung in market lights and a stack of firewood piled with precision.
Before she could knock, the front door opened and Nick stepped out, coffee in one hand, a red-checkered bandana in the other.
He wore dark jeans and a lightweight, zip-up canvas jacket over a white T-shirt, the kind that looked like it had seen a few adventures.
His boots were broken-in leather, clean but clearly lived-in.
The morning breeze ruffled his hair, and the glint of aviator sunglasses tucked into his jacket pocket was the only nod to anything out of the ordinary—except for the goofy expression that said he was far too pleased with himself.
“Well,” he said, handing her the bandana, “you’re right on time.”
She raised a brow. “On time for what?”
Nick grinned. “We’ve got an adventure to chase.”
Her pulse skipped. “Are you finally going to show me how to use your Leica M3?”
“Tempting,” he said. “But no—no cameras today. We’re heading somewhere. Come on.”
They climbed into his truck, and Nick wouldn’t say a word about their destination. Just fiddled with the radio, humming along to old country tunes and occasionally glancing her way like a man carrying a secret in his chest.
After thirty minutes and a winding drive up a forest road, they came to a spot where Nick shut off the engine, climbed out, and came around to open her door.
“Ready?”
She gave him a slow smile. “I’m not sure.”
The sound of gravel crunching under her boots echoed in the silence as she followed Nick down a narrow path through the trees.
They emerged into a sun-drenched clearing—and there it was.
A small silver aircraft sat on a makeshift airstrip of mown grass, its polished nose gleaming in the morning light like something out of an old postcard.
Charlie Grace stopped in her tracks. “Nick…”
He glanced back at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Surprise.”
“A plane? You weren’t kidding about an adventure.”
“I never kid,” he said, pushing up the sleeves of his jacket. “Well, almost never.”
He led her around the plane with a quiet reverence, his hand skimming the edge of the wing.
“It’s a 1959 Cessna 172. She belonged to my grandfather.
I’ve been restoring her for years. Had her flown from California and I’ve been taking her out on occasion in secret.
Figured it was time to take her up again—and I wanted to share the flight with you. ”
Charlie Grace stared at the plane, emotions rising like tidewater. She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected him to remember the offhand comment she’d made weeks ago about wondering what the Tetons looked like from a bird’s eye view.
He opened the passenger-side door and offered his hand. “Come on, cowgirl. Let’s go see your mountains.”
The cockpit was small and smelled faintly of aged leather, oil, and the subtle tang of metal warmed by the sun. She settled into the seat, strapping in as Nick climbed in beside her, adjusting the dials with a calm competence that settled something inside her she hadn’t even realized was frayed.
He handed her a headset. “You’ll want this once we’re in the air. It’s noisy.”
She put it on, her pulse drumming in her ears—not from fear, but from the swell of anticipation. The canopy of trees seemed to bow low around them, holding its breath.
Nick looked over at her. “Ready?”
She nodded.
The propeller whirred to life with a shuddering growl that quickly smoothed into a steady, throaty purr. Nick’s hands moved with confidence—throttle, yoke, foot pedals—all second nature. As they taxied forward, her heart thudded in sync with the hum of the engine.
And then, the wheels lifted.
They were flying.
The air beneath them cradled the plane like invisible silk.
Below, the valley surrounding Jackson Hole unrolled like a living map—rivers glinting in the morning sun, aspen groves flashing golden leaves, and soon she spotted her Teton Trails Ranch, a patchwork of fences and pasture that made her heart twist with affection.
As they climbed, the Tetons rose to meet them—knife-edged and majestic, snow dusting the highest peaks signaling fall’s advance. The sky above was a perfect western blue, clear and endless.
Nick’s voice crackled in her headset. “That’s Grand Teton coming up off the right wing.”
She turned her head and gasped. The mountain towered above the range, proud and solemn, its glacier-scored face catching the light in angles of silver and stone.
“It’s like looking into a bit of heaven placed on earth,” she said softly.
“Exactly,” he replied.
They soared past Cascade Canyon, its deep V carved into the range like a secret. Below, Jenny Lake mirrored the sky, cupped gently in the cradle of ancient rock.
The world fell away.
She forgot the guest ranch. The endless list of to-dos.
The worry about her father’s health. Even the lingering need to fix things—horses, broken fences, jammed camera shutters—but her truest habit was mending the people she loved, stitching up their heartaches with steady hands and never once asking who would mend hers.
Up here, there was only wind, sun, sky—and Nick.
She glanced over at him. He wasn’t watching the mountains. He was watching her.
Her breath caught.
“What?” she asked, her voice barely audible even through the headset.
Nick’s mouth curved just slightly. “Just wanted to see that look on your face.”
She looked away, blinking fast. Could it be that sometimes you find your true direction reflected in someone else’s eyes?
They flew for nearly an hour, tracing the spine of the range, dipping slightly to circle over the Snake River where a herd of elk meandered like slow-moving shadows in the morning light.
The air grew cooler as they climbed higher, and she caught the faint smell of pine resin on the breeze creeping through a vent.
Finally, Nick turned the plane gently east, toward a remote valley dotted with lodgepole and a grassy landing strip near an alpine lake. He brought them down with smooth precision, the tires touching the ground with barely a bump.
She exhaled only then, realizing how long she’d been holding her breath.
Nick climbed out and opened her door. “Come on,” he said, offering a hand. “I packed lunch.”
The sun had climbed high by now, and the scent of wild sage mingled with damp earth. Birds called from the trees. A chipmunk darted across their path as they walked to a shady spot near the lake’s edge, where Nick had already set out a blanket, a basket, and—of course—a thermos of coffee.
“You really thought of everything,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the blanket.
“I thought of you,” he said, handing her a sandwich.
They ate in quiet for a while, watching the sunlight dance on the ripples of the water. A butterfly landed on the corner of the blanket and stayed a while, flapping its wings like it had nowhere better to be.
After a long pause, Nick said, “You don’t always have to carry everything, you know. You can put it down sometimes.”
She looked at him, startled.
“I mean it,” he continued. “You take care of everybody, Charlie Grace. But it’s okay to let someone take care of you.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment.
“I don’t know how to,” she admitted.
Nick reached for her hand, his voice low. “Then let me be the one who helps.”
Her heart twisted at that—and in the stillness of the mountains, in the hush that followed, she realized something. She felt light. Not just lighter. But free.
Not because her problems were gone. But because someone was quietly willing to hold the weight with her.