Star-Crossed Lovers. Zena Valentine. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Zena Valentine
Издательство: HarperCollins
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Жанр произведения: Современные любовные романы
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lowered her eyes to the desktop. “Someone from the past. A reminder of a family tragedy.”

      “You mean the car accident that made Charlotte bonkers?”

      She turned on him swiftly. “Charlotte was not bonkers,” she snapped. “And I want to know what Kale Noble said to you. His brother died in that accident and none of us has been the same since. I want to know exactly what he said, or didn’t say, and how he did or didn’t say it.”

      She glared at him.

      He withered. “He was looking around while I made out the rental car form, and he saw the picture on the wall of you and Rollie when Rollie gave you your wings. I noticed he was staring at it. He asked me who you were.”

      Ah, yes, the color photo Rollie had enlarged to 11x17 and framed with “Congratulations, Jessi” screaming from its plaque. It was still displayed where he had hung it nearly ten years ago, like an eyesore, she thought, but so endearingly placed she couldn’t bear to remove it.

      Kale wouldn’t know that Rollie was her late husband, unless Chaz had told him.

      Chaz continued, “I said ‘the boss lady.’ He said, ‘it figures.’ If looks could burn, that photograph of you and Rollie would be ashes.”

      As if in afterthought, Chaz added, “I told him about Rollie’s plane going down. And about your sister.”

      So Kale knew she was a widow, and that Charlotte was dead. “And what did you find out about him?”

      “President of Noble Engineering. They designed the Point Six bridge across the swamp.”

      She lowered her face and rubbed her forehead. Damn! It meant he would be a fixture around Kenross for a while, maybe months. Why hadn’t she noticed his company name before this?

      The bridge had been in the news for the last couple of years. It was an experiment in road building to preserve the environment. Purportedly, the bridge was of a revolutionary design, the first of its kind. Why hadn’t she noticed his name before? Or seen him?

      All these years he had simply been a hundred and fifty miles away in Minneapolis.

      “They just bought it,” he said, eyeing the plane. “The boss decided he was wasting too much time on the highway.”

      “I suppose I can manage to keep out of his sight,” she murmured.

      “What’s he got against you? Charlotte was driving the car,” he said.

      “There’s more to it than that, Chaz. It got very messy.” She looked up at him, understanding but resenting his morbid curiosity. “Both our families got involved.”

      He didn’t move.

      “That’s all, Chaz,” she told him.

      “Hell, I’ve been hearing about ‘Charlotte’s accident’ since before she married Frank. Every time she got tanked up or did something crazy, people said it was because she caused some guy to die in a car accident. Nobody ever knew the details. Nobody dared to ask you or Charlotte about it. Sounds to me like there was a lot more to it than just a car accident and some guy ending up dead.”

      “It got complicated,” she replied, flinching at his insensitive rendition. “But it was a long time ago, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it now. How long is he using the car?”

      “He’s at a special city council meeting. Coupla’ hours or so.”

      She looked out to see her twelve-year-old niece Amanda walking across the parking lot from the highway, kicking stones with the toes of her battered Nikes, her backpack flung over one shoulder. She looked a lot like Charlotte used to look, except she had a stockier build, bigger bones, and an oval face. Still, she reminded Jessi of Charlotte years ago, when she walked, lost in thought, absently kicking stones in front of her.

      “Here comes Amanda,” she said.

      Chaz glanced at his watch. “Right on time,” he replied. “What’s she doing today?”

      “Mowing around the east hangars,” she said. “Will you help her get the mower out of the shed?”

      “Sure thing,” he replied and moved to the doorway.

      She was relieved when he disappeared down the stairs. She refused to share something so painful and intensely personal with Chaz, who had been a part of the airport for most of his thirty-five years, an employee of Rollie’s since he was twenty, and now her chief pilot.

      Jessi had accumulated a wealth of knowledge over the last year, not the least of which was that she was capable of running the business she had inherited when Rollie died. He had trained her well by encouraging her to take on responsibility a little at a time, gradually teaching her nearly everything she needed to know, as if sensing he wouldn’t be around forever.

      Forever? He had only lived to forty-six. And at twentyeight, she was now the boss.

      She missed Rollie, for even though their relationship had lacked intimacy and passion, he had become her best friend over the years. It had been so sudden. Rollie, Frank and Charlotte had taken the float plane on a fishing trip and crashed at a remote lake in Canada. In seconds they were all three gone, the plane sunken into several feet of mud at the bottom of a lake without a name. It had taken days to find them and bring them out.

      It had been a catastrophic loss for Amanda, Chaz and Jessi. Jessi had lost her husband, her sister and her brother-in-law; Amanda had lost both her parents; Chaz had lost lifelong friends. They had been close, their lives revolving around the airfield.

      But the tragedy had left Jessi little time for mourning. The business wasn’t something she could set aside even for a short time in the name of grief. You didn’t shut down the only paved runway in a sixty-mile radius, or ignore the growing dependence of local industry on the air traffic she provided. A new part-time pilot was needed immediately. And Frank and Charlotte’s house had to be sold, and the money placed in a trust for Amanda, who now lived with her full-time.

      It hadn’t been a major move for Amanda, considering Charlotte had often enlisted Jessi’s help with her daughter, and so Amanda already felt at home in Jessi’s cottage in the trees. Amanda had had her own bedroom in the cottage since she was three years old.

      Amanda settled in, though, initially in silent bitterness and depression, but eventually responding to the nurturing and love Jessi showered on her.

      Jessi was thankful that Amanda loved airplanes and flying and wanted to spend her time where her father had spent his waking hours. Her niece was gradually healing.

      She heard Amanda’s heavy sneakers stomping up the stairs, and she turned her chair, rose to her feet and swept her arms wide to pull the hot, disheveled twelve-year-old into a long embrace. It was a ritual, and it seemed to offer as much comfort to the child as it did to the woman, for Jessi rocked her for several minutes while Amanda blurted out things that she had experienced during the afternoon at her summer school computer class. And when they’d had their afternoon fix, Amanda set her backpack on the chair by the file cabinet and looked out the windows on all four sides, checking out the field, the hangars and the restaurant across the parking lot.

      “Whose twin engine?” she asked, studying the Noble plane.

      “Engineering business in Minneapolis,” Jessi replied. “They’re designing the Point Six bridge.”

      Amanda’s eyes flew to the parking lot. “And renting the car?”

      “And the pilot’s having a late lunch,” Jessi added. Amanda didn’t miss much.

      “What am I doing today?” she asked.

      “Mowing by the east hangars? Chaz will get the mower out.”

      “Good. I like that,” Amanda said. “Pelly’s doing a 500 on Oliver’s new plane. I want to stop by and watch.” There didn’t seem to be any part of the aviation business Amanda wasn’t interested in, even a routine 500-mile inspection