Love off the Leash
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Tara Taylor Quinn
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HarlequinChapter One
“Six months, Papa? The cruise is six months long?” Meaning he’d be gone for Thanksgiving? And maybe Christmas, too? Wendy Alvarez was used to her father not being present in her life all that often—but this seemed a little extreme, even for him.
“We’re going around the world...” As if that made his lengthy absence any less...impactful. It wasn’t like she expected much from him—or they expected much from each other. After their family had fallen apart years before, the two of them had struggled to connect. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close—in fact, she wanted nothing more than to feel that sense of love, support and belonging that she’d had as a child before everything had gone wrong. But there was no getting that back. Just like there was no getting her brother or her mother back.
In the aftermath of everything, she had chosen to leave Raleigh, where she’d been born and raised and her father still had a home, to set up her accounting practice in the smaller suburban town of Spring Forest on the outskirts of the metropolis. Meanwhile, her father had remarried and started taking cruises. Any cruise. All-the-time cruises, like he was searching for those missing parts of himself in every port he could find. She tried to respect his right to mourn as he saw fit. But the timing of this particular cruise still hurt. He was the only family she had left, and they’d always been together for at least a little bit on holidays.
Lifting her satchel to her shoulder, she locked up her one room rented office downtown and headed out to her vehicle.
“I’ve got an appointment...on my way now, actually...” she said as the hands-free system in her SUV picked up. “But I can leave right after that, meet you for dinner, at least, before you go.” Pushing him to make time for her was her role in their relationship. That, and choking back a boatload of hurt and insecurity.
Would she ever grow out of being the adolescent who’d felt like she wasn’t enough yet and who was trying to hold them all together?
“Ah, hija mia, I’d love to do that, but we’re meeting with the couple who’ll be staying at our place while we’re gone and then heading to an airport hotel room and a pre-cruise reception with a group of friends before an early night. We fly out to Florida before dawn.”
And if she hadn’t called to check in? Would he even have sent a text to let her know he was leaving the country?
Hija mia. Daughter mine. Toying with the tail of her braid pulled over her shoulder, she pulled out of the parking lot.
Of course, he would have sent a text. At some point along his journey. He’d send cool pictures now and then too, as he did on all of his cruises. He didn’t forget her, he just...didn’t remember her very often.
“How about a cup of coffee, then?” she asked. “I can be there by one thirty.”
“I’d be too rushed,” Steve Alvarez replied with his usual calm, steady manner. “No point in you dealing with all the city traffic, giving up your day, to see me for ten distracted minutes...”
She’d make the drive for a meeting of the eyes and a thirty-second hug. But, of course, she would never say so. The sense of connection she craved seemed to be something he actively avoided. In fact, it felt to her that he seemed to avoid feeling much of anything these days.
“We’ll do something when I get back,” Steve said, dropping into her silence.
The air in her car was the only audience to the nod she gave. If her father said they’d do something, they would.
And she was lucky to have him. Michael was gone. And then Mama...
“Be safe, Papa.”
“You, too, Princesa...”
Princess. A nickname she didn’t hear often. Hardly at all. One that had rolled off her father’s tongue daily, it seemed to her, before their close, perfect family had imploded.
Princess. She was no princess. More like a tall, curvy plain speaker who had more adopted family than she’d ever dreamed she could have. That was where she found her joy—and that was where she turned her thoughts when the pain of the past surged again.
Thinking of the dog she was about to pick up from Furever Paws Animal Rescue and deliver to the sexy Pilots for Paws pilot, Greg Martin, Wendy threw the tail of her dark French braid over her shoulder and signaled her turn.
While bookkeeping kept her bills paid, her real passion was her volunteer work with Pets for Vets, and it was always a good day when she had another dog ready to help a veteran in need. The fact that this dog was a rescue just made the sense of satisfaction that much stronger. It all went to reinforce her conviction that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was supposed to do.
Women weren’t meant to stay home with their parents and brothers forever. They were meant to grow up and make lives of their own.
It was high time she gave herself credit for doing just that.
Time she focused fully on the life she loved. The life she’d provided for herself, all on her own.
She wasn’t fourteen anymore, idolizing her strong and dependable older brother. Being coddled by parents who spoiled her.
She was thirty-three. An accountant and bookkeeper with her own successful business, in a town that had become dear to her. A town filled with people who knew her, who cared, who called and stopped by her office and needed her. A town filled with people she loved.
Her father leaving her to fend for herself over the holidays was a sign.
Moving on wasn’t enough. It was time to finally, fully let go of who she’d been. Maybe then, she’d finally feel complete.
Anticipation powered Greg Martin that late June Friday morning as he saw Wendy’s SUV pull into the drive of the private airport and head past the main lot toward his hangar. He might only be a volunteer with the completely volunteer-run Pilots for Paws program—transporting animals, free of charge, from shelters to their new homes—but the work was important, and a day with worthwhile reason to get up in the morning was a good day.
A day with flying on the schedule was even better. Greg was never happier than when he was in the air.
And a minute or two of meaningless flirting with the Pets for Vets volunteer as they did the potential new service-dog pass off was just...a welcome bonus.
“You party too hard last night, Martin?” she called out to him, the leashed Lab mix at her side keeping perfect pace with her, both of them making up for his slower pace that morning.
“You know it,” he called back. He’d curse his stiff lower-left limb, but all the swearing in the world wouldn’t get it back to what it once was. A surprise attack in Afghanistan had seen to that.
But he was alive. Doing what he loved most—flying.
“I get that that sexy butt of yours has the women chasing after you 24-7, but you could learn how to politely turn one or two of them down to keep them from running you quite so ragged, you know.” She was grinning, her light green eyes sparkling with sass as her long legs caught up to him.
He hadn’t had a date or been to any kind of real party in months. Just wasn’t feeling it. But there was no harm in pretending. Flirting with Wendy made him feel like the man he used to be, at least for a little while. “I could, but...why?” Holding her gaze, he dared her to offer to show him why.
Knew she wouldn’t.
Wished she would.
And wondered, not for the first time, if the tall, curvy accountant was seeing anyone.
Figuring that one for a definite yes.
Wendy, a gorgeous Latina, downplayed her looks with her serviceable clothes, braided hair and lack of makeup on that warm olive skin, but any heterosexual guy with blood in his veins would definitely look twice. At least.
He reached for the leash. She held on, saying, “I’ll walk her to the plane.”
If he’d had a better night, he probably would have held his tongue. But he hadn’t, and he didn’t. “What the hell for?”
“She’s never flown. She could refuse to jump up—”
“Then, I’ll lift her onto the plane. Put her in the kennel.” He’d done it a dozen times before. Usually with his leg having a better day.
Chin up, she met his gaze. “And if she gets away and runs off?” The question was challenging, not the least bit sympathetic.
“I’ll run after her,” he stated unequivocally, chin just as high. It would hurt like hell, but while he’d never win another track meet, he’d get the job done, same as always.
Her look assessed him for a long few seconds more, but then she silently handed over the leash.
As he watched her walk away, he mentally kicked himself for his stubbornness. What would have been so bad about having her walk the dog to the plane? It would have meant he could enjoy her company for a little longer, and that could only ever be a good thing. But no, his pride had to get involved at the idea that there was something about the situation that he couldn’t handle on his own, leading him to cut their moment short. Anything to avoid even a moment where she might look at him with pity.
He had no idea what, if anything, she’d heard about him—other than the fact that he was an army vet. His creds were part of his volunteer bio. But if she’d been exposed to hearsay originating from his mother or sisters, he didn’t want to know. There was such a thing as suffocating a guy with well-meaning nurturing.
And because suffocating wasn’t on his agenda for the day, Greg put thoughts of his mother and siblings, of his battle-fueled nightmares and subsequent aching leg, firmly out of mind as he took to the skies, heading north. As always, the open sky greeted him like the best friend it was, and with a lighter heart he delivered frequent trip updates to the sweet young canine riding nervously behind him, letting her know she wasn’t alone. Telling her, by the easy tone of his voice, that all was well.
He’d once thought the point of his life was to serve and protect in the military. A medical discharge had changed that plan.
And so he had found a new one.
To serve and comfort.
Not to be comforted. Or coddled. There were too many other people, far worse off than he was, who really needed that kind of thing.
Like the blinded soldier who was waiting for this particular young Lab who’d not only be a faithful companion to him but as a guide dog would give him back some measure of personal freedom, as well. The landing and delivery went well, filling him with a sense of satisfaction that buoyed him along as he started the preparations for the trip home. Unfortunately, that feeling didn’t last.
When he was busy and focused, he could manage to keep his nightmares at bay. But they always found him in the end. The previous night had been particularly bad, leaving him tired and out of sorts. So when he got the news that the weather report was predicting a storm in his returning flight path, it felt like just another kick when he was already down. This night of all nights, he did not want to have to deal with sleeping somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere where others nearby might hear him if he yelled.
And that meant staying up north to wait out a storm wasn’t an option he was willing to consider. He needed a good night’s rest, and the chances of that happening were much greater if he was in his own space. His own bed.
More importantly, if the horror flicks in his head continued a second night in a row, he’d be safely ensconced in his large home surrounded by his ten acres of wooded privacy, and no one would be the wiser.
He’d flown in major storms, was confident in his ability to handle the aircraft that was more family than personal possession to him. And did just fine right up until he was ten minutes from the private airport near Spring Forest. That was when the storm hit, with a much larger force than he had expected. The winds, rain and jagged lightning took on lives of their own. Not only did they blind and deafen him with their violent battering, they cut him off from nearby towers, destroying his ability to communicate with anyone who could guide him in.
Cut off and alone, the nightmares took hold of him, just as they did most nights. Imaginary voices, sometimes snippets from real people he’d known in the past, invaded his mind and turned his awareness into reels of torture.
Red haze blinded his gaze for a split second, followed by a gray that signaled nothingness. His chest constricted, stifling air intake while his stomach tightened to the point of pain. For a second. Until Greg took over.
“It’s only panic,” he said aloud. And the debilitating sense of doom dissipated, no opponent to his hard-won sense of self-control, to his determination to face his enemies head-on.
He could breathe again.
But that didn’t come close to solving all of his problems. He still couldn’t see past the controls directly in front of him. Or hear anything but a loud rumbling—a concoction of engine, thunder, rain, wind...
Then he saw everything. For a split second, the world around him was a stage of light, showing him the emptiness outside and the drenched land below. A loud crack sounded, like a gun going off next to his head. The plane rocked.
And he knew he’d been hit.
Not by opposing weaponry but by lightning. He was going down.
But he still had some control of the plane.
The plane. His salvation. He had to save his plane. That surety brought a new measure of calm, a deeper level of focus, and he visualized the brief glimpse of ground the flash of damaging light had given him.
Knew exactly where he was from the dozens of times he’d flown the route. Knew he couldn’t reach his private landing strip near Hendrix, which was still several miles away, but there was another option—one that just might work. He calculated his speed with miles on the ground, and it just came to him where he had to land. An abandoned drive-in movie theater not far from Spring Forest. The place had a long driveway for moviegoers to wait in line to pay the entrance fee. The speakers and screens had long since been taken down, stolen, destroyed or salvaged, but that driveway was still there.
Without further consideration or question, he watched his gauges, determining how quickly he was losing height and how far he had to push to get himself in place. When he and his plane were alone in the air, people on the ground were his first concern, always. And then the plane.
The movie theater provided a way to save both.
So he would make it happen.
His neck jolted as the small aircraft hit turbulence and he rode the rough air like a motorboat on waves. Facing his challenge head-on. Sitting tightly as his small craft tossed violently.
Fully focused on the end in mind.
Had he not been watching the dials in front of him, he’d have been shocked at the first sight of the ground coming up to greet him out of the gloom—less than ten feet away. He missed the drive, clipped a tree he didn’t remember being there, damaged a wing on a lone metal pole left standing and, as he touched down hard, slammed on the brakes in just enough time to prevent himself from sliding into the woods. The plane lurched hard, and his head cracked into the side panel beside him.
Greg’s body bumped and slammed against the seat restraints holding him in place, his ears rang with internal sirens and then...everything was still.
