Tailspin. Cara Summers

to occupy his after school and weekend hours at the center, and if it hadn’t been for the friends he’d made there, well…she doubted he’d be a captain in the Air Force today. And that had been his goal ever since he’d lost his father in the Gulf War.

      That had been a terrible time for them both. Within a year, she’d lost a husband and a son. She’d had to take over the running of Fortune Enterprises and at the same time raise a seven-year-old boy who was a magnet for trouble.

      Not that Nash was ever a bad boy. But he was impatient, impulsive and pretty damn creative when it came to getting into mischief. Qualities he’d probably inherited from her.

      When his pranks had gotten him kicked out of two private schools in a year, she’d become desperate. And guilt ridden. She owed Father Mike big time. And the center. Okay, perhaps she owed St. Francis, too.

      The priest rose and turned to face her just as she stepped to the foot of the altar. He hadn’t changed much at all in the time she’d known him. The eyes with their kindness and twinkle of mischief were still the same. Okay, the hair was definitely whiter, but his smile was just as brilliant as ever. And the aura of holiness was there as it always had been.

      “Maggie, you look amazing.”

      “I was just thinking the same about you.” When he held out his arms, she walked right into them and returned his hug. Her tension eased just a little.

      Stepping back, he held on to her hands and studied her for a moment. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something. Is it your health?”

      “No. I’m fine.” She’d had a recent bout of breast cancer, but so far she was on the winning end of that battle.

      He gestured her toward the front row of pews and sat beside her. “What brings you to St. Francis?”

      “The short answer is the same person who brought me to you and St. Francis eleven years ago.”

      “Bianca Quinn?”

      “Yes. I need your advice.”

      “You’re always welcome to that—for what it’s worth.”

      Maggie flicked a glance toward the statue, then met his eyes again. “Is it possible to reverse a prayer?”

      “Reverse?” He asked the question in a musing tone and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Prayers aren’t like spells or curses. But you could certainly say a new one and tell St. Francis just what you want.”

      “You remember what I asked him to help me with eleven years ago.”

      “I do. You asked me to help you also. And you succeeded in persuading Bianca Quinn not to elope with your grandson, Nash. I was there in the room when she signed the agreement.”

      Maggie studied him for a moment. She’d asked him to come that day because Bianca had thought so highly of him, and she’d known that his presence would add weight to her argument. But she’d never been sure that he’d entirely approved of what she’d done. She lifted her chin. “I did the right thing. I haven’t changed my mind about that. And,” she gestured toward the statue, “he answered that prayer better than I could have imagined. He filled in blanks I couldn’t have foreseen. Nash not only graduated from the Air Force Academy, he’s earned a medal of honor for his courage and is an exceptional pilot. And now Bianca is a published writer. She’s at the start of a wonderful career. If they’d gone through with their plans to marry, I doubt they’d be where they are today.”

      “Then what’s troubling you, Maggie?”

      She waved a hand. “I didn’t think to pray for all of that to happen. I only prayed that I could convince her to go away.”

      “But you wanted them both to succeed in their careers and to be happy, didn’t you?”

      “Yes, I suppose.” She wasn’t aware until Father Mike put his hand over hers that she’d clasped them tightly together in her lap. Why in the world was she still so nervous? She’d gotten through board meetings and negotiated deals without batting an eye. And all she had to deal with here was a saint and a statue that had so far answered all her prayers with regard to her grandson.

      “What do you want now, Maggie?”

      “I want them to find again the kind of happiness that they found with each other when they were younger. I think they might belong together, the way I belonged with my Thad. He was it for me. I knew it the first time I looked at him. I think it may have been the same for Nash and Bianca.”

      “Why do you think that?”

      “Well, they haven’t found anyone else. In spite of the fact that the Denver Post chose Nash as one of the area’s most eligible bachelors. He’s not even bringing a date to my birthday party tonight. And Bianca has been totally focused on building her career.”

      He smiled at her. “You want St. Francis to bring them back together. There’s your prayer. Just say it.”

      “I don’t need to ask for that part. I’m already making sure their paths will cross again. They’ll meet again at my birthday party tonight.” She jerked her head at the statue. “I’d just like a little backup support. Because this time I want them to have what I took away from them the last time they parted. I want the happily ever after.” She paused. Sighed. “But I have a stake in this. It’s not just their happiness I want. It’s mine, too. I want family. I want Nash to have a family, too. I want grandchildren. I want more Fortune heirs.”

      With a smile, Father Mike patted her hands. “Just ask St. Francis. The exact words don’t matter. He’ll know what’s in your mind just as he did the last time. Come.” He drew her to her feet and up the steps to the altar.

      Perhaps it was that simple after all. But she was still tense even after she’d knelt in front of the statue and said her prayer.

      Father Mike knelt down beside her. “Now, why don’t you ask him for the rest of what you came here for?”

      When she turned to stare at him, he continued, “You said the short answer to why you’d come here today was Bianca Quinn. What’s the long answer? You might as well give St. Francis all of it.”

      Maggie realized that was really what she’d come here to do. So she told Father Mike and St. Francis the rest.

      1

      SUN BEAT DOWN on the tarmac as Nash Fortune impatiently stopped his small plane just short of the runway. There was still one aircraft ahead of him, and it was filled with both eager and not so eager Air Force Academy cadets who were going up to practice their parachuting skills. The memory of his first jump from a plane had him grinning. That feeling of free-falling through space was the next best thing to flying.

      Which was what he was here to do. If the plane ahead of him ever took off.

      He figured he had about three hours until he was due at his grandmother’s birthday party bash. And each minute that ticked by cut short his flight time.

      The morning he’d just put in had made him yearn for some time in the sky. The wind had picked up steadily all day, and more than once he’d found himself looking out of his classroom window. Teaching strategic flight maneuvers in a simulation lab appealed to him on an intellectual level, and it did provide the occasional adrenaline rush. But it wasn’t the same as the real thing.

      This morning five of his students had asked him to open the lab and give them some extra practice time. He’d had to talk several young pilots in training into and then out of a tailspin. As he had, he’d known exactly what the kids were feeling—the initial helplessness, followed by the flash of panic. And through it all the excitement of the challenge. Life and death hung on whether or not your reflexes were quick enough, your control strong enough to bring that plane out of a fatal spin. The thrill of meeting that kind of challenge and the ability to handle it was what made him become a pilot.

      He’d managed to get all five of his students