The Sweetest Gift. Jillian Hart

back door and sat on the top porch step, head in his hands, his heart in pieces. The memory had sunk deep claws into him. He was still hooked, still haunted, unable to keep his mind in the present.

      He could hear the beat of the blades as he fought the controls. He’d taken a hit and the radio was suddenly full of chatter, a mission gone wrong, injured SEALs at the LZ, under fire and in need. He was their only ticket to safety and he was going down….

      Why was this haunting him tonight?

      He let the temperate night air cool the sweat on his brow, and he knew why—the reason lived right next door.

      She’d made him think of Carla, of his mistakes, of wrongs that could never be righted. Failings that could only be forgiven and handed over to the Lord.

      He saw goodness in Kirby.

      When he didn’t believe in real goodness. Not anymore.

      The phone rang, a sharp blast of sound that saved him. He hauled his tired carcass up off the step and snared the receiver on the third ring. It was someone in need. A sick child needing a lifesaving flight to the hospital in Seattle, the nearest medical facility with the emergency care she required.

      He was the pilot who’d volunteered to fly anyone who needed it.

      He slammed down the phone, renewed, energized. With a purpose. Thanks, Father.

      A mission was exactly what he needed. To focus his thoughts and give him a sense of purpose. Sam grabbed his keys, his shoes and his jeans and was out the door in ten seconds flat.

      The local private airport was dark and still in the early-morning hours as Kirby pulled off the two-lane road and into the paved parking lot. Lord, You know I hate to fly. Give me strength. Please.

      There was no time to waste. She hauled her medical bag out of the trunk. Who was going to pilot the flight? Chet always piloted the flights she volunteered for, but he’d up and sold the airfield two weeks ago. Retired to Lake Havasu, Arizona, where there were no cold winters to trouble his worsening arthritis.

      She hadn’t heard who’d replaced him as a volunteer. Would it be the new owner of the airport? There were a few chopper pilots around. Maybe it would be Ed, who flew with the county search and rescue.

      Her sneakers crunched on the gravel. The airfield was still this time of night. Everything was dark. The modest tower, the hangars lined in tiny rows off to the side, the mown fields that smelled of sweet bunchgrass and wildflowers. A wild rabbit scampered out of her way as she followed the path toward a helicopter set out in the middle of the tarmac.

      Not a chopper she recognized. Newer than many she’d flown in. Whoever was flying tonight, he couldn’t be too bad of a man. To donate a flight and all that went with it spoke of deep pockets and a generous spirit.

      Wait. Was that him? She caught a brief movement. A man’s tall form, all but shadow, circled out from behind the chopper, a clipboard in hand. Doing his preflight check. Kirby knew she couldn’t be heard over the beat of the blades and the whine of the engines, so she tried to catch his attention with a wave.

      He lifted his clipboard in recognition, a dark stranger of a man who remained faceless and formless in the shadows.

      Since he’d seen her, she ducked, climbed aboard and settled in. She’d done this probably a hundred times. Chet’s medical equipment was up against the bulkhead. He’d probably donated it, knowing him, and she made sure the defibrillator and monitors were in working order.

      She was belting into the jump seat in back when the pilot’s words, muffled by the noise of the helicopter, told her he was ready to go. Before Kirby could wonder if the pilot was going to introduce himself or she should go up front, another man’s shadow appeared.

      “Hey, Kirby.” Jeremiah Clark, anesthesiologist, slammed the hatch behind him. “Looks like we’ve got a great new pilot. I have a lot of confidence in him. Have you met him?”

      “No, I haven’t had the chance to.”

      “He has a lot of combat flying experience. I always feel better with a veteran at the controls.” Once a marine, the doc dropped his gear and eased onto the seat next to her. “I’m glad Chet left us with a good replacement. Sam seems like a great guy. Once we’re airborne, you oughta go up and—”

      “Sam?”

      “Yep. Sam Gardner. He’s Ruth Gardner’s nephew. Ruth and my mom are in the gardening club together….”

      Sam Gardner is the new pilot? The blood rushed from her head, leaving her dazed. She felt the faint movements and sounds of him up front, out of sight behind the panel of metal.

      Sam, a pilot? She tried to picture it. She could. Sam’s confidence, the competence.

      But he’s a plumber. Isn’t that what he’d said?

      “He doesn’t own the airfield, too, does he?”

      Jeremiah nodded. “Of course he does. Didn’t you hear?”

      No, she hadn’t heard anything. That’s why she’d assumed he was a plumber. Not a pilot and a businessman with deep pockets and his own helicopter.

      “Hope you’re strapped in, par’ners.” Sam’s voice boomed in her earpiece. “Let’s get this bird in the air.”

      It was him. No doubt about it. Kirby couldn’t believe it.

      But it did seem to fit. He was larger than life. Why not be a local Good Samaritan?

      “Good having you at the controls, Sam,” Jeremiah said into his mouthpiece. “I don’t like flying, so take it easy on me, man.”

      “I’ll do my best, Doc. Hold on tight, Kirby. We’re good to go.” Sam sounded confident, unshakable as the chopper’s blades whipped harder. “NASA, we have liftoff.”

      They rose in a swinging bump that felt as if the earth had fallen out beneath them and they were rising straight up in a breathless sweep.

      Jeremiah covered the mouthpiece. “We’ll miss Chet, but Sam’s good.”

      She was better off not thinking about Sam right now. She was thinking about staying alive. Once she had a patient to care for, she’d be all right. But until then, she had entirely too much time on her hands to imagine the engine exploding. A blade breaking. Pieces of steel peeling off the side of the helicopter.