Chapter Three

Early the next morning, Sky took off in Bully Boy, the old Tiger Moth Pops had inherited from his dad. Pops drove the trailer out of the hangar right after she lifted off. She had a short flight to Reno in clear weather. The annual air show should have a record breaking turnout. She put everything out of her mind but the flight. The cloudless sky closed around her. In the open cockpit, she could smell the scent of pine oil wafting off the mountains. She saw a black bear fishing out of a tumbling river and a small herd of mule deer grazing in an upper meadow, as she flew over the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Reno was a short hop, fifty miles northeast. By the time she landed, parked, and handled the paperwork, Pops had arrived at the airstrip. All around airplanes of every type and description prepared for the two-day show. After checking in with the event planner in the main office and getting her flight time, Sky and Pops drove back to the trailer. Until Sky’s performance late in the afternoon, they were free agents and spent the time socializing with friends from across the country, who they had met at various shows. The trailer camp was overflowing, and a dozen different people called out to them, urging them over for a cold drink and a chat.

Sky enjoyed the freedom; at least here, Adam couldn’t invade her territory. She’d grown up in this world, traveling with Pops and her mom on the flying circuit—a daredevil conceived by a daredevil. Many of the people she’d known all her life. She wondered if any of them knew she wasn’t Pops’ daughter. They’d spent a lot of time with her mother. Had she kept her secret until she died? These pilots might be too old to fly now, or like Pops have lost their medical for health reasons, but they still watched the next generation take to the skies, reliving their own stories. Was she one of those stories?

Midafternoon, she climbed onto the roof of one of the hangars, and using her field glasses, scoped the terrain. She looked for any structure, signal tower, electric line, or tree growth that was new from the last time she’d flown in the show. As her view passed over the trailer park, a silver Airstream caught the sun. All of forty-feet long, the luxury home on wheels looked a little out of place amongst the homemade rigs and mid-range motorhomes around it. Her glasses moved on, then jerked back.

On artificial turf, laid at the side of the trailer, Adam Hamilton worked his abs in a series of crunches. Bare from the waist up, wearing only jogging shorts, he raised his upper body, over and over. His hands rested at the back of his head, exposing his flat abdomen and chest. Muscles rippled and flexed across a six-pack that led into well-toned pecs any man could boast on. His clothes had hidden much of his beautiful body, because they were too big on him. He stood and the shorts slid down until they hung on his hipbones.

She realized he’d lost considerable weight. Of course, months in the hospital would have done that, whittling away his muscles. She thought of him limping across the hangar after her, dropping into a chair, and realized he must have been in terrible pain, never mind exhausted from the physical workout after being bedridden for months. Yet, he hadn’t complained, or used the “have some compassion” card once. She ratcheted her respect for the man up another notch.

He started on a series of deep lunges. She focused the field glasses on his face and saw the strain there. His teeth were gritted, his jaw tight, but he persisted. A sheen of sweat covered his body, and his legs had a slight tremor when he stopped. Turning, he caught up a towel, giving her an excellent view of his wide shoulders and narrow waist. She admired his butt for several seconds, before she noticed the raw red scars emerging from the waistband of his shorts and down his thigh. She wondered if they were surgical scars, or if he’d torn himself up when he’d crashed into the earth, his parachute opening only seconds before he hit.

Without warning, he turned, looked up at the building where she lay, and squinted his eyes. With a lazy lift of his hand, he waved at her. She dropped below the ridgeline of the roof and scuttled to the outside ladder, her face hot with shame. Jelly beans and marshmallows, what must he think of her, ogling him like he was a Chippendale stripper and she a lascivious woman with a hand full of bills.

She stayed far away and out of sight until a half hour before her performance. Pops drove her back to the landing strip, and together, they completed the walk around on the Tiger Moth.

“Bully Boy’s looking good, raring to go.” Pops stood back rubbing his hands. Sky knew he longed to pilot the Tiger Moth, but he’d accepted his fate without complaining and thrown himself into helping her meet her dreams. With a last hug, she climbed into the cockpit and waited while he wound the propeller.

The engine caught with the first turn of the prop. Pops kept their aircraft in meticulous condition, especially vigilant when she piloted. With a thumbs-up, he stepped to the side.

“N3TM ready for taxi,” she informed the tower.

Given the go ahead, she taxied toward the strip, stopping short of runway six as a huge C130 lumbered down it after completing its aerial display.

“N3TM, wind 030 at 10, caution turbulence from landed C130, cleared for take-off.”

Sky felt the adrenaline building in her system. Excitement mixed with the challenge of meticulous technique in a heady cocktail. She soared upward. Below, thousands of people craned their necks, following her progression. Making sure she stayed within the invisible airshow box, she shot over them at two hundred feet, turned upside down, and flew over again. Then righting the Tiger Moth, she climbed until Bully Boy was a black speck in the blue sky, then tipping the nose she plummeted toward the earth, while she rolled the bi-plane three times clockwise and three times counter-clockwise.

The crowd roared when she straightened out and started climbing again. She leveled out and went into a barrel roll, recovered, slipped sideways, walked on her tail, and slid into another barrel roll. Next, she went for altitude, climbing to five thousand feet, before she dropped her nose straight down, closer and closer, racing toward the earth at one hundred and forty knots. She cut back on the throttle, lifted Bully Boy’s nose, and stalled out. The sudden silence was always a shock, giving her another jolt of adrenaline. She kept falling, her propeller aimed straight at the ground. At the last second, with the spectators on their feet and holding their breaths, she applied power and pulled back on the yoke with all her strength. If Bully Boy didn’t respond, she’d plant them both in the ground. At this speed and degree of incline, she was pulling two Gs. But Bully Boy muscled through as always.

Flipping the plane, she flew down the length of the runway inverted. She waved at the spectators before she began a steep climbing bank, gaining the altitude she needed for her last tricks. Hitting her smoke ejector, she did a loop de loop; the red smoke streamed out like blood, tracing the pattern she’d executed across the blue face of the sky. She went into a controlled spin, rotating counter-clockwise at speed, descending lower and lower, until she could make out faces in the crowd with open mouth expressions of horror. She pulled out of the spin using her right rudder, at the last possible second stipulated by the safety regulations, and with a smile of sheer pleasure lighting her face, brought the plane to a halt in the center of the runway, directly in front of the spectators.

Leaving the engine running, she set the brakes and stood up on her seat, a slender figure dressed in a black flight suit, a black leather flight hat with ear covers, and old-fashioned goggles. Bully Boy was painted black to show up against the light background of the sky, and together, they made a striking picture. Standing inside the World War II fighter, she took her bow, while the MC introduced her and spoke about some of her exploits. Sky waved as the MC finished, dropped into her seat, and taxied the plane to its parking spot at the side of the hangar. She thanked the ground crew who helped her pivot it into place, and turning, walked right into her nemesis. His arms closed around her strong and firm, as she fought for balance.

“I know…” His teeth flashed white against his tanned face. “What the banana split am I doing here?”

****

Adam kept pace with Sky, only because she hadn’t rabbited off the minute she’d seen him. She’d turned, walking toward the parking lot holding all the trailers, but without realizing it, she slowed her speed, accommodating his limp. It lifted his spirits, made him feel he’d made some progress in one area of his life at least. Watching the Thunderbirds fly their precision formations across the sky would remind him of everything he’d had; everything that was now missing from his life. They were scheduled to fly soon. He could picture them in the last stage of their flight to Reno, talking on their coms, going over their routine. In contrast, his progress was plodding, and he wondered when he’d ever be ready to take his medical.

Watching Sky challenge the vast blue dome had hit him in a different way. He’d been scared shitless. His heart had leapt into his throat and threatened to choke him, as she dared death a half dozen times. She was skilled, no doubt about it, but there was a reckless edge that pushed her into waiting one second longer, going two feet higher than the limits other aerobatic pilots flew. The old Tiger Moth responded as if an extension of Sky, completing the maneuvers she’d asked of it, but it had nowhere near the performance level of her Storm-2B.

“Why don’t you sideline Bully Boy and fly these shows in Sky Dancer?” he asked as they neared the trailers. Remembering her performance, once again accelerated his heart rate. She lived on the knife edge of danger—just like her father. The thought popped into his head, before he could stop it. He shook it away. Sky wasn’t her father. She liked the adrenaline rush, but she hadn’t sacrificed everything else for a few minute’s thrill. She held a responsible position, took care of Max, in her own subtle way, and ran a prosperous business. She had the values of her adopted dad, not Erik.

“They book me to fly the bi-plane, because it’s popular, and there aren’t a lot of them left on the circuit. Like Max, most of the owners are retired. There’s a sense of nostalgia, around the plane. People remember the dog fights and romanticize the pilots who sacrificed their lives. Though why people attach romance to a war, where planes fell out of the sky faster than leaves from a tree, I can’t figure.” Having stated her opinion, she turned the conversation back on him.

“So, why are you in Reno?” Sky stopped in front of a mid-size, mid-price trailer. Two trailers back, Max sat amongst a group of friends, binoculars slung around his neck, as they watched a stunt pilot take his modern plane through a routine similar to Sky’s.

Adam noted this pilot had all the newest technology and design but flew just short of the regulations, pulling out or up sooner. His rolls weren’t as crisp, his snap was missing. Sky would take him in a competition.

He stood watching for a few seconds before answering her question. She’d left his side and ducked into the trailer. She returned with two long neck beers in her hands. Condensation beaded the bottles, and hop vapors still leaked from the opening.

“I heard the bird watching was good,” he teased her, enjoying her blush. “Wasn’t that what you were doing?”

“I was scoping the field for obstructions, as you very well know. And I found one,” she muttered under her breath. “So why did you come?” She pressed him.

A roar came from the crowds and was echoed by the six Fighting Falcons, as they arced across the sky in perfect formation. The members of the team must have finished their choreographic drill and the F-16Cs had taken to the air. “Testing myself, I guess,” he mused, before he could call back the words. “I did a two-year tour with the Thunderbirds and flew for a lot of these air shows.”

“One of the solo acts, no doubt,” she jibed.

He shrugged.

“We piloted planes at the same airshows, and yet, we never met,” Sky pointed out, looking for more ammo against him. “And you say you’re not elitist.”

“The Thunderbirds always flew in and out of the nearest military base. We didn’t get to mix with the other pilots.” He gave her a hard look, before returning his scrutiny to the close formation of six jets above.

She colored up but didn’t apologize. Bothered by her hostility, he focused on the routine, noting the changes and similarities from when he’d flown with them.

A soloist broke out, and his eyes slanted in Sky’s direction.

She gave him a long study. “You’re worried you won’t get back up again.” She nodded. “I felt like that after one of my accidents.”

The idea of Sky in an accident, caught in the wreckage of a downed plane, tightened Adam’s throat. “How many have you had, for God’s sake?”

“A few.” She sat down in a lawn chair positioned in the shade from the trailer awning. He settled into the second one and exhaled when she didn’t object.

“When I was eighteen, I hit a powerline and flipped. Landed on my nose in a field, broke my clavicle. When I was twenty-two, my engine flamed out. I crashed onto the landing strip, went out of control, and hit a shed. The plane went up, but they got me out with broken ribs and a broken leg. There have been a few others but taking out the shed was the worst. First, I worried I wouldn’t get to fly again, lose my medical. Then I wondered if I’d have the courage to fly, if I got it back.”

“What happened?” Adam sat forward, his elbows on his knees, dangling the bottle between them, as he gave her every iota of his attention. She’d just described how he felt.

“Max put me in the back of his friend’s tandem and flew me up into the clouds. The minute I felt the air rushing by, the lightness and speed, my heart grasped hold of it again. Fear didn’t have a chance against the love I felt. It happens every time I go up.”

He sat back nursing his bottle, processing what she said. “Wonder if that would work for me?” He wasn’t certain he’d said it aloud. He hoped he hadn’t sounded like he wanted sympathy. She’d made it clear she didn’t like him, had given him only polite indifference since she’d been stuck with his sponsorship.

“Why don’t we find out? Just happens one of the guys Pops is chatting with is the friend who lent him his Pitts. He flies out of this airport. I’m sure he’ll let me use the Pitts, no question. I’ll take you up, tandem,” she offered without hesitation.

He jolted from the surprise of her answer. He would never figure her out. “Why would you do that when you hate my guts?” He leaned back, lifted the bottle to his mouth, and pretended to her, as well as to himself, that her answer didn’t matter.

She made a scoffing noise in her throat. “I don’t have the energy to hate anyone’s guts. I don’t like what you stand for—or who you stand for. If I was so important to this woman, why wouldn’t she come and find me herself? And I don’t like you manipulating me by talking Pops into taking you on as sponsor, just so you can continue to mount your attack. I guess that’s why you’re here, so you can have another go at me.”

“No, I came because I had some news. And I am on holiday and wanted to test myself by attending the show.”

“Fine. What’s the news?” She leaned back, stretched her slender legs straight, crossed her ankles, and rested her bottle on her flat stomach.

Adam couldn’t remember the question, couldn’t think of anything but the perfection of her body and how her slightest movement turned him on. He hardened under his jeans and hunched forward, hoping the fall of his light jacket would hide his arousal from Sky. Her gaze sharpened, changing from disinterest to curiosity, while she waited for his answer. He had better distract her fast.

“I checked in with the sheriff’s office. He said they’d caught Daniel with the same brand of bottle and same exact gasoline in his trunk. Daniel’s father is asking for leniency for a first-time offense. The kid was locked up yesterday and will spend the night in jail waiting to go before a judge, unless you don’t lay charges. His dad says if you will drop the charges, he’ll cover the cost of damage, enroll Daniel in a military academy in the East, and make sure he doesn’t act out again.”

“Poor kid. All he wants is his parents’ attention, and their solution is sending him away. Some people shouldn’t have kids.”

“As a slightly rebellious teen myself, I see some merit in the structure of the military. It did wonders for me. You form friendships and become part of a worldwide camaraderie you never lose. I have friends all over the world from my time in the military. Daniel might benefit, in the long run.”

Sky flipped her phone out of the back pocket of her coverall, scrolled through for the number, and called the sheriff. “I’m willing to drop the charges on Daniel, if his dad keeps his end of the bargain. He pays my costs, and Daniel attends military school. All right, I’ll let you pass that on to the family. Tell Daniel from me, I wish him luck. If he buckles down and matures, he’ll be a good pilot in a few years. Tell his dad to keep paying for his flying lessons out East.” She listened a few more seconds. “Thanks, Sheriff. I agree with you, this is the best solution for the kid. Juvie time will just send him into a faster tail spin. Good bye.” She pocketed her phone and finished her beer, just as Max called over, having noticed them.

“Six sharp tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in front of the hangar. The Pitts is yellow with blue striping, call letters N12C.”

Adam was still processing the fact he’d influenced her decision over Daniel. If asked, he would have said she’d go in the exact opposite direction, just to defy him.

He stood as Max approached, shook the man’s hand, and watched Sky disappear into the trailer. The more he saw of her, the more confused he became. His emotions were as convoluted and mystical as the smoke rings Sky had painted in the heavens.

****

When Adam’s phone rang late that night, he was just finishing his fifteen-mile stint on the treadmill he’d had moved into the spare room of the Airstream. He lurched sideways, half falling as he grabbed the phone off a nearby ledge, and didn’t check the panel for caller I.D.

“Hamilton,” he snapped, wiping his sweating face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

“Adam, sorry, did I wake you? I know it’s late.” Sky’s cool tone ramped up his body temperature.

“No. Is there a problem?”

“I just had a call from the sky boss. It seems a couple of big planes are coming in early for the show, and he’s closing the runway for them. That means I can’t take you up in the morning, sorry.”

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had changed her mind and was backing out.

“I can take you up around nineteen hundred, though. All the traffic from the airshow will have cleared, and the airport will be back to normal. I can give you a spin right before I take off for Tahoe, if that works for you.”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” Adam lied, as he watched the fine tremor in the hand holding his phone.

“All right then. See you tomorrow.” She severed the call, leaving him with a shopping bag full of emotions. Attraction, gratitude, conflict, and fear all juggled together, his control over them as flimsy as a brown paper bag. With an impatient shrug, aimed at his fear, he collected his water bottle and headed for his room.

Trepidation still dogged him in the morning, when he headed out of the Airstream to take in the show. With his reputation as a top-notch test pilot and a mover in Hamilton Aeronautics, Adam’s network was wide and willing. The airport manager, an acquaintance of his dad, was eager for a catch-up chat with Adam, so he signed a pass allowing Adam into the inner world of the air traffic controllers. He sat in the tower, talking with the controllers and waiting for Sky’s routine with avid interest.

Sitting in a swivel chair, with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, he enjoyed the events lined up for thousands of airplane enthusiasts. Again, the Thunderbirds flew by; he could walk through the steps of the maneuvers as they performed them. Black dread hung like a mantle over his heart. Would he ever again feel the thrill of spinning toward the earth?

When Bully Boy climbed skyward, Adam swung his feet to the ground and sat forward. The lightweight Tiger Moth moved in slow motion after the speed of the F18s. He remembered much of her routine and followed the maneuvers in his mind. As she climbed for her top altitude, Bully Boy shuddered. Inside the tower, he couldn’t hear the engine, but he imagined the sputter, choke, and catch. Suddenly, he was back in his F18 testing the new firing system that would allow them to lock onto an enemy plane with more speed and accuracy. The jet had shuddered. The engine hitching, coughing, before it flamed out. Seconds seemed like hours as he held the jet in the air, until he was over empty land, while trying to restart the engine. Finally, arid land stretched beneath him, but huge boulders and shrubs prevented a safe landing. Still fighting to save the multimillion dollar plane, and knowing he’d waited too long and crashing was inevitable, he let his survival instinct take over. He’d leveled out, aiming the plane at a set of low hills, and ejected at two hundred feet.

Adam gasped and blinked the sweat out of his eyes. His shirt was soaked; his chilled body was saturated in sweat.

“Something’s wrong.” One of the controllers stood and grabbed a pair of binoculars. “She’s not pulling out.”

Adam moved a nose width from the glass. Sky had started her vertical spin, and Bully Boy was rotating counter-clockwise toward the earth nose first. By now, she should have stopped the spin and pulled out of her dive, instead she kept coming like a Kamikaze pilot intent on death. Adam’s heart slammed against his rib cage; his lungs seized. A feeling of dread froze him in place. Seconds from crashing, she stopped the spin by banking sharp to the right.

“Not part of her routine,” said the air boss, who’d taken over the airspace while the show ran.

“She’s in trouble,” a second controller said. He was talking fast on the mike, ordering the next performer who was holding short of the runway to clear it fast, and then calling for emergency equipment.

Adam saw the wings of the Tiger Moth waver. Instead of pulling up and leveling off, she turned clockwise in a large circle, losing altitude as she approached the airfield. She landed smoothly, spinning into a ground loop which stopped the plane as it slid toward the paved strip separating the audience from the landing area.

Sky killed the engine, another anomaly to her act, stood on her seat, and took her bow before walking off the field.

As the controller instructed ground crew to move the disabled plane, Adam skidded down the steps of the tower.

Max already had his arms around Sky when Adam limped up. “Lost her left rudder,” he said over Sky’s head.

Adam couldn’t focus on the problem for a second, because he was dealing with another more shocking. He wished he’d reached Sky first and was the man holding her now.

“It didn’t show up in her walk around?”

“No. Everything was good.” Sky pulled back. “I couldn’t turn out of my spin like I should have when the pedal went soft.”

“That was a great maneuver you came up with. Pulling out with a right rudder when you’re spinning left isn’t easy.”

“But now I know I can do it, I can put it in my competition sequence and get some high points.”

Adam shuddered. He’d expected to find her quivering, her nerves shot. Instead, he needed the reassurance of holding her, while Sky was already thinking of repeating the dangerous maneuver.

“I’d like a look at the control cable,” he said, following the progress of the plane as a tractor pulled it off the field toward a hangar.

“Good idea. Let’s see what went wrong.” Max was already moving Sky in the direction of Bully Boy. “I can’t believe there was any technical failure on a plane I maintain.”