She flicked her glance down at her watch. She’d taken off from just west of Abilene over an hour ago, on her way to her home outside of San Marcos, a trip of just over two hundred miles.
That put her midway between, and in the middle of freaking nowhere, judging by all the open range below her. Brow furrowed, she scanned the instrument panel. Nothing indicated any problem, so—
The Piper’s engine coughed again, followed by a series of sputters and rumbles. And then the engine died completely.
“Damn it!” Tamara’s heart raced. The red stall light sure as hell was shining now. Great. Just great. She’d hoped to sneak this plane home, under the radar, because Uncle Goodwin didn’t have all the paperwork for the deal yet. All she needed was to ditch the plane and bring the FAA down on her head for not filing a flight plan.
Of course, if I crash I’ll likely be dead, so what am I worried about?
Tamara pushed away the morbid thought and focused on looking for a smooth piece of pasture to land on. Something long and gray caught her attention. She blinked, wondering if her panicking mind had conjured just what she needed, just when she needed it. But no, that really was an airstrip ahead and to the southeast.
She adjusted her course and willed herself to stay calm. Flicking her gaze between the altimeter, air speed, and attitude gages, she gripped the stick with both hands and aimed for that runway.
The Piper wasn’t very big, and it really was in better shape than some planes she’d flown.
Soo not true. Hello? The engine has stalled. Major splat imminent.
Tamara sought to override the smart-ass portion of her brain with logic. The single-engine plane weighed less than a ton, empty. She kept reminding herself that meant with the help of some wind currents, gliding this bitch to the ground was absolutely possible. Even if that was something she’d never done before.
Time slowed, a surreal sensation she’d heard about but never experienced. She didn’t think. She simply reacted. Nose up to slow the plane, check altitude. Attitude good, level on the horizon. Hold it steady, yeah, watch the numbers drop, that’s it, a bit more, reduce speed, reduce speed. Glance up at gauges, check altitude, attitude, verify approach to landing strip, check gauges again. Good. All is good. Closer, closer now, come on, baby, reduce speed.
The plane was going a little faster than she’d like, but then time ran out.
Grass whizzed past in her peripheral vision as she brought the Piper down that last little bit. The tires bumped the edge of the runway, sending the small plane aloft on a gentle bounce that put her heart in her throat. One iota more pressure on the stick, and the tires bumped the tarmac again, this time staying down. Tamara braked slowly, resisting the urge to jump on the binders with both feet, an action that could conceivably send her and the plane toppling ass-over-teakettle.
The plane slowed, and then finally came to a silent stop.
“Thank God.” Tamara closed her eyes and let her head fall forward to rest on her hands that still gripped the controls. The tidal wave of relief left her momentarily drained and unable to move. Spots swam behind her closed eyes, and she realized she was holding her breath. The thought she might actually faint kicked her into action.
No way in hell I’m going to do anything so predictably female as faint. Tamara inhaled deeply. A slight acrid smell stung her nostrils. She looked but could see no sign of smoke rising around her.
In one jerk she disengaged her seat belt, and then pushed open the cockpit door. Since the plane had a total height of just over seven feet, she easily slipped out of the pilot’s seat to the ground.
Terra firma. She felt so giddy she nearly got to her knees to kiss the ground. That last spurt of relief galvanized her. Slamming the door, she rounded the wing and headed toward the engine compartment. The Piper either had some massively clogged fuel lines or it had suffered a major engine malfunction. Either way, Tamara had a potential mess on her hands.
She took in the area around her, including the hangars and one building under construction about a quarter mile or so to the south. As she watched, a couple of people ran toward a Jeep parked beside one of the hangars.
Tamara shook her head. “Okay, let’s see what we have happening under your hood, you bitch.” Relief had given way to anger and anxiety.
She had no doubt whatsoever that Jeep would be heading her way. She just hoped whoever the hell those folks were, they didn’t work for the FAA.
* * * *
Morgan took in the progress they’d made in two short days. Since the concrete pad they’d had poured last week had cured, they’d spent the past Sunday and Monday erecting some of the walls. The smell of fresh lumber filled his senses. It gripped him for just a moment, the realization that, by the end of the month, their brand-new business, Kendall Aviation, would have a permanent home and, hopefully, be up and running.
“It’s really taking shape.” He turned to his brother Henry.
“It is. I didn’t know how I’d actually feel, returning to civilian life after so long in the Air Force. But you know what? On a day like today, brilliant sunshine and a mild autumn breeze, and our new hangar starting to take shape, I finally feel as if everything is going to work out for us.”
Morgan felt one eyebrow go up. “Now that confession of self-doubt surprises me. You’re usually always so glib.”
Henry grinned. “What can I say? It’s a gift. But I do have my moments of self-doubt.”
Morgan snorted. “Yeah, like once every decade?” Then he turned his attention back to the partially constructed hangar. “Jordan called
