On Wings of Love. Kim Watters

      Noah had come for her.

      Ruth stepped toward the plane and the man standing near the doorway. She gazed at Noah, at his muscular chest, at his firm lips. The cold, remote look etched across his features signaled that his attitude about her profession hadn’t changed.

      Sighing, Ruth grabbed the plane’s railing and pulled her tired body up the steps. At the top, she held out her hand to his waiting one. “Thanks for coming, Noah. I didn’t think anyone would be able to get through in that storm.”

      Her fingers tingled as they remained connected with his. Without his sunglasses on, Ruth noticed his blue irises deepened to the color of the clearing sky before they darkened like the receding monsoon clouds.

      Her need to soothe away his anguish intensified, but somehow she sensed that Noah wouldn’t appreciate her attempt.

      KIM WATTERS

      At twelve years old, Kim fell in love with romance after she borrowed Harlequin Romance from her older sister’s bookshelf. An avid reader, she was soon hooked on the happily-ever-after endings. For years she dreamt of writing her own romance novel, but after she graduated from college with a bachelor of science degree in business administration, she moved to Chicago to pursue another dream of working as an actress and model. After six years of hustle and bustle, she left the city for the wide-open spaces of Arizona, bought a home computer and began to write.

      Kim calls a small town north of Phoenix home, where she lives with her own hero husband, two wonderful children, two energetic dogs and two high-strung hamsters.

      On Wings of Love

      Kim Watters

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      In his heart a man plans his course,

      but the Lord determines his steps.

      —Proverbs 16:9

      Acknowledgments

      For my sister-in-law Susan Clancy.

      Big kudos to my critique partners Carol Webb, Linda Andrews and Kerrie Droban. I couldn’t have done it without you wonderful ladies. Thank you.

      To my last-minute readers, Karin Roepel and Donna Delgrosso, thanks for the extra sets of eyes.

      Thanks to my editor Emily Rodmell who believed in me and my story and made it the best it could be.

      And special thanks to the following individuals for their generous assistance:

      Tracey Knotts, RN, CPTC

      Charity Dycus Hagemeier, RN, BSN, CPTC

      Paul (da pilot) Dykhuis

      Tim Hermesdorf with Aerocare

      Any inaccuracies contained within are the sole responsibility of the author.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.

      —Proverbs 16:9

      Ruth Fontaine dodged another puddle as she scurried toward the small group of people waiting to board the outgoing flight at the Scottsdale airport. Her gaze settled on the unfamiliar airplane parked on the tarmac. She skidded to a halt, dreading the impending flight more than usual. Getting acclimated to new pilots and planes was never easy for her. This plane had to be from the new charter airline contracted by AeroFlight, the company that supplied the Arizona Organ Donor Network with transportation to and from hospitals to retrieve organs.

      “Everyone here?” Out of breath, Ruth surveyed her teammates. Besides herself, Dr. Cavanaugh, Nancy Tillman, the first assistant, and two med students were going on the fly out to retrieve the heart.

      “Yes. We’re it,” the first assistant replied. Everyone else was oddly quiet.

      In the background, Ruth heard the sound of raised voices coming from the interior of the plane. “Vultures. Every last one of them. I don’t want them on my plane.”

      “Keep your voice down. The medical team should be here any minute.” An equally angry voice retorted.

      “Just once. No more. And this conversation is far from over.”

      Then silence.

      “Okay then.” Raising her eyebrows, Ruth twisted her lips and shrugged her shoulders and looked at the assembled group. “So what are we waiting for? I don’t think we’ll be getting the red-carpet treatment on this flight. I hope you don’t mind.”

      She grabbed the railing and stomped her foot on the bottom step to signal their arrival. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and Ruth shivered. Aside from the mid-afternoon monsoon, no more rain had been forecast for the day unless the storm came from inside the plane. Not good morale for the team, but none of them seemed to be bothered with what had just transpired.

      As she climbed the stairs, Ruth eyed the two men now standing by the entrance. Both wore matching dark blue polo shirts with their company logo embroidered on the pocket and khaki pants instead of the traditional pilot attire, but even without benefit of overhearing part of their conversation, there was no mistaking the tension between the pilots. She could cut it with one of Dr. Cavanaugh’s scalpels.

      What the pilots chose to wear or their argument was not her problem as long as they got them to and from their destination safer than she’d managed to get her newly smudged bright red manicured toenails to the airport. At the top of the steps, she smiled and held out her hand to the more welcoming man on the right.

      “Hi, I’m the donation coordinator, Ruth Fontaine.”

      “Hi, Ruth. I’m your copilot, Bradford Westberry. Please call me Brad.”

      “Pleased to meet you, Brad.”

      “Likewise, Ruth.” The tall, stocky, blond man grinned at her, turning on the charm that would make some women swoon.

      Ruth preferred the dark, brooding Heathcliff type, like the dark-haired man to her left who commanded her attention. Her gaze transferred to the other pilot, and her stomach turned over as if it hit some heavy turbulence.

      His skin was lightly tanned and his face strong and angular. A five o’clock shadow defined his jawline, while a hint of silver touched the dark hair at his temples. Only a crooked nose and a small scar by his left ear marred what she would consider the perfect face.

      “Noah Barton. Your pilot.” The man’s voice held a trace of disapproval as he tried to tilt the corners of his mouth up into a half smile.

      Ruth shook his hand and noticed he didn’t extend the invitation to use his first name. She felt a slight tremor all the way to the bottom of her feet despite her sleep-deprived stupor from being up most of the last twenty-four hours. She noticed the pilot’s jaw slacken