Breakaway

He spent some of his downtime getting to know Spruce Bay. It wasn’t a big town and in a lot of ways it had let progress pull out into the fast lane and speed on by, leaving it puttering along contentedly at its own slow pace.

One thing soon became clear. He needed a vehicle if he was going to spend any time at all here. He got a ride into town with Will Runningbear, a younger pilot. “I need to buy a truck, Will. Where do you suggest?”

“You got two choices. Spruce Bay Motors if you want a new vehicle or if you want to get ripped off on a used one. Or you can go to Tough Beans and look at the notice board. Most everything gets posted there.”

“What about Craigslist?”

Will shrugged large shoulders. “You can try.”

So, Max got Will to drop him off at Tough Beans. As promised, there was a big cork notice board offering apartment rentals, jobs, massage therapists, financial planners and guys to clean out your gutters or remove snow. And there was a section where people were advertising goods for sale from property to bowling shoes. There were three trucks on offer. One was fifteen years old and so full of rust he figured it would need to be towed, not driven. The second truck was too new and shiny. Truck number three was a five-year-old F-150. Mileage looked reasonable and the condition was listed as good. He called the number on his cell phone.

Within hours he was the proud owner of a Ford truck. He drove it back to the property and parked behind the small house they’d given him.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING he walked into the office at six-thirty and headed straight for the coffee machine. Claire was already there, sitting behind one of the desks, tapping at a computer. “Morning, Claire.”

“Morning, Max.”

She rose, and walked over to stand beside him. She seemed ill at ease.

“Everything all right?”

“I don’t know. Look, I’m not one to pry into other people’s business but I’m wondering how you managed to pay cash for a truck yesterday. That’s a lot of money on a bush pilot’s salary.”

He cursed himself for a fool. Of course this was a town where gossiping was as common as breathing. He could imagine the speculation going on behind her pretty eyes. Knew he’d be doing the same if their positions were reversed.

He stirred cream into his coffee, added two sugars. Then he leaned back against the counter, took a sip of the brew. “I had some money sitting in an account.” It was true enough. “I came by that money honestly. Don’t worry, I’m not another Frank Carmondy.”

She gazed at him searchingly. “Okay.”

He felt twitchy inside. He didn’t like hiding things from Claire. He didn’t want to mislead a woman he liked, especially one who was suffering because of a crooked employee. He couldn’t raise false hopes though, not until he was sure Polar Air was a sensible acquisition for his company. And the fact that he had a crush on the owner’s granddaughter was not a sound reason to rush into this deal. Not for his management team or for himself.

She turned to go back to her computer but he felt her unease. She deserved to know more. “I’m not a poor man.” He shrugged his shoulders. “In fact, I’m pretty good with money. Okay? My family raised me to be careful. They never had any debt apart from their mortgage, which they paid off as soon as they could by hard work and saving. Those habits are hard to break. In fact, no matter how much money I had, I wouldn’t want to.”

His reward for telling her a little of the truth was seeing her relief. “Your parents sound like my grandparents. They only ever borrowed money for land and equipment. They worked so hard to build this airline.” He saw her hand clench into a fist and knew she was thinking of the man who had stolen so much of that hard-earned wealth. The man who had put the entire company’s future into jeopardy, if Leslie’s sources were to be believed.

Of course, Claire had no idea how much he already knew.

“Is it bad?” he asked gently, wanting her to trust him.

For a second he thought she might blurt it all out. There was a moment of vulnerability on her face and she opened her lips. Then, she must have reconsidered. As he watched emotions flit across her face, he was fairly certain he could tell what she was thinking. He was only a new hire, after all. They’d enjoyed dinner together and some hot, steamy kissing in the old Yukon, but could she really trust him?

She gave a firm shake of her head. “Not too bad. I promise your paycheck won’t bounce.”

A wise man would nod, make a wisecrack and back away. But he couldn’t let it go at that. He thought he understood how much the financial difficulty was hurting her. Since her grandparents and his folks obviously shared a loathing of debt he could only imagine how he’d feel if somebody swindled his mom and dad and he felt helpless to fix it.

He put his two hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “You can trust me, Claire. That I promise.”

When she looked at him like that he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her, to tell her he was her knight in shining armor, here to save her airline, make sure there was enough money for Lynette to enjoy her retirement in comfort and for Polar Air to continue to operate with its books balanced and its reputation restored.

The moment hovered, he moved a tiny bit closer, she tilted her head in his direction. He could already taste her lips.

The bell on the door jangled, pulling them both sharply back to reality. What was he thinking? He didn’t make business decisions based on a pair of big hazel eyes and the sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. He needed to get a grip.

They both greeted Will, also headed for the coffee machine. Claire gave Max his schedule for the day. He was doing a food-and-supply drop-off for a group of hikers. He understood that she was giving him the least challenging runs until she felt confident that he could handle more.

It was a funny thing to realize he wanted to prove to her that he could handle more.

How long had it been since he’d been forced to prove himself?

Max wondered if he’d grown soft, too accustomed to having people agree with him and suck up to him because of his wealth. He suspected the experience of showing Claire and the rest of the Polar Air team that he was good enough to fly their toughest routes would be good for him.

Whatever ended up happening with Polar Air he knew one thing.

He was no longer bored.

5

WHEN TUESDAY EVENING arrived, Max pulled together his hockey bag, threw it in the back of his new truck and headed for the town rink. He was early, so he had a few minutes to watch the tail end of a figure skating class. The eight girls and two boys were at all ages and levels but he watched a few moves that impressed the hell out of him. He supposed in a town where winter dominated, ice sports were the best way to keep kids out of trouble.

After the skaters left the ice the Zamboni rolled onto the surface and he headed to the men’s change room to get suited up.

When he emerged onto the empty rink, he wondered how the Hunter Hurricanes were doing without him. He knew he was going to have to get back for a few games or he’d lose his spot on the team. Much as Dylan, Adam and he were the best front line the Hurricanes had ever had, he knew they’d replace him if he didn’t get down there regularly.

He decided right then what he needed to do, and before he could forget or change his mind, he pulled out his cell phone and sent a text to Dylan and Adam. Need you guys to come practice with me in Spruce Bay. See if you can work it into your schedules. You know you’ll never win BOI without me.

He sent the text and wondered if they’d come. Knew he had to entice them with more than a rink in Alaska. Sent a second text. Really hot women here. He thought of Claire and smiled.

He stepped onto the ice, warmed up a little and then practiced power skating. He turned to his left, turned to his right. He was stronger on his right side, could shoot much tighter.

He could buttonhook around on the right, but going to the left took thought and effort so he practiced both. He practiced crossovers. He’d start on the goal line, skate to the blue line, back to goal then past blue to center, then back to the goal line in figure eights that grew increasingly fast. He slowed down when he became aware of another person entering the rink.

He slowed and glanced up, wondering who the other guy was and if they’d be able to practice together. Then he realized it was a woman. And she was wearing a pink helmet. Ted Lowenbrau had made him think he’d be practicing with another guy.

She stilled when she saw him. He noticed her compact, curvy body and as she began coming toward him he realized it was a very familiar shape.

“Claire?” he said when she skated closer. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. I always practice at this time.”

“Ted Lowenbrau, the guy who runs the rink, told me I could practice Tuesdays and Thursdays. He said there’d be somebody else to do drills with. He didn’t mention it was you.”

She made a frustrated sound. “You’d think you were the only man in Spruce Bay and I was a desperate spinster,” she snapped. “In fact, there are far more men here than women. I happen to be particular, that’s all.”

Since she’d seen fit to have dinner with him and do some seriously nice kissing and fondling, he decided that this was a compliment.

* * *