Crash Landing. Becky Avella

eyes turned to watch a dark-haired cowboy rush inside. At the sight of him, Deanna’s face flushed and an old pang of guilt tightened her chest.

      “Sean?”

      He strode toward her, passing Blake without a second glance. Deanna’s mouth dropped open. Nobody ignored Blake like that.

      No one except Sean Loomis, apparently.

      Dressed for work in a black T-shirt and Wranglers, Sean didn’t look as if he’d taken any time to spit-shine himself for town like Blake had done. It looked instead like he’d left straight from horseback. His boots were still dusty and his hair was flat on top where a baseball cap must have sat minutes earlier.

      “I need to hire a pilot,” Sean demanded. “It’s an emergency.”

      Deanna closed her gaping mouth and pushed away the old high school memories. That was history; this was business.

      He ran a hand through his raven hair and cocked an eyebrow. “Can you help me?”

      Blake stepped beside Deanna and put a possessive hand on her elbow. “Actually, we were just leaving.”

      Sean balled his fists, his lips a straight, hard line. “I’m trying to save a horse, Deanna. I thought if anyone would understand that, it would be you. I’ll pay you cash. More if you come with me right now.”

      Deanna pulled her elbow free from Blake’s grip. She’d known Sean Loomis her whole life—they’d been in the same schools since kindergarten, had competed in rodeo and 4-H together—but she’d never known him to be this assertive. He looked different, too. Was he taller?

      It wasn’t just inches. His baby face had been replaced with a more chiseled version. The Native American features he’d inherited from his father were more recognizable than ever. How had she missed this change? She must have been blind, because this was not the skinny loner she remembered riding bareback around the rodeo grounds in high school. This was a man on a mission.

      “I think she made it clear that she’s not going anywhere with you today, Loomis,” Blake said. “Have you looked at the sky out there? How could you think of going up in those conditions?”

      “Where are we flying?” Deanna asked. The fires were far enough away for her to fly legally as long as she didn’t get in the way of the fire crews. This was her business, not Blake’s, and she didn’t appreciate his acting so territorial.

      “My ranch.” Sean’s shoulders slumped. “He’s a new stallion—I haven’t even had time to name him yet. I had him in the stables and somehow he got loose. Could have been a cougar or bear chased him up into the timberline. I’m not sure, but I’ve got to find him before the fire gets to my place, and I’m running out of time. Can you help me or not?”

      Blake stood up to his full height and faced her, his arms crossed. His eyes were cold, more navy blue now than cobalt. She and Sean hadn’t bowed down to the king’s wishes. Blake couldn’t be used to that.

      Deanna gnawed on her bottom lip again.

      “Gram?” she called over her shoulder. “Can you cover for me?”

      “Sure,” Gram said.

      “Wait!” Blake grabbed Deanna’s arm as she passed by him. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

      Deanna avoided looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a paying customer.”

      Then she followed Sean out the door without looking back.

      * * *

      “Are you going to survive, cowboy?”

      Sean exhaled and relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the door handle. He gritted his teeth. “I’m okay.”

      Sweat rolled down his spine. Deanna had the pilot-side window pushed open as far as it would go, and a small fan attached to the dashboard whirred at the heat. None of it did any good. It was hotter in the cramped cockpit than it had been on the ground. Shouldn’t it be cooler in the clouds?

      The blue-and-white Cessna dipped suddenly, and Sean’s stomach nose-dived along with it. He glared at Deanna.

      “Sorry.” Her melodic laughter rang through his headset. “You’re looking a little green, Sean.”

      He shifted in his seat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He was a rough-stock rider. It was common for him to ride a bull, a saddle bronc and a bareback bronc all in one night of rodeo. And during Roundup every year, he competed in the Ridge to River Run, riding a mustang straight down the side of a sharp hillside. He knew how to manage fear. But soaring through the air in a machine that felt less substantial than a breath-mint tin? That was a whole new experience.

      “Can’t be worse than riding a bull, can it?”

      He looked down at the rugged, high desert valley below him. “Just a lot farther to fall off.” He’d barely finished his sentence before they dropped elevation again. He sucked air through his teeth and glanced sideways, studying Deanna.

      She was dressed in faded jeans and a cotton blouse. Practical but feminine. Just his style. But what was new? Hadn’t Deanna Jackson always been just his style? It was the fact that he obviously wasn’t her style that had kept them apart.

      He looked away. As nice as it was to be alone with her—something he would have paid money for in high school—he had a job to do that was far more important than flirting with a pretty girl.

      Her voice crackled in his headset again. She pointed out the window to his right. “There’s one of the fires there—can you see it?”

      Sean spotted the orange lick of flame glowing behind the foothills that housed his ranch. Plumes of menacing black smoke billowed high above the eastern horizon. Unless the winds changed or some freak snowstorm fell in the middle of July, that fire was heading for his land. Seeing it from this perspective made it all the more real. He sighed. He should be down there getting ready for it.

      “We’re here,” Deanna said. “I’m going in closer.”

      Sean grabbed the binoculars at his feet and brought them to his eyes as Deanna flew low over Loomis and Callaghan Cattle Co. From this height, his home and all the outbuildings looked like tiny dollhouses.

      He lifted the binoculars toward the timberline. Somewhere hidden among those trees was the $50,000 horse he’d owned for less than a week.

      Sean massaged his forehead as his gut twisted into knots once again. It seemed like it was his lot in life to be searching for the lost. The disappearance of this horse was painfully similar to another unexplainable disappearance in Sean’s past, and he didn’t appreciate revisiting this level of helplessness and guilt. A weight pressed against his chest as he pictured the yellowing missing-person flyer pinned to the bulletin board in his office. The corners of the paper were beginning to curl with age, marking how long the mystery of his missing father had gone unsolved.

      The irony wasn’t lost on Sean. It was that same poster that had driven him to spend his life savings to buy the stallion in the first place. He’d had good intentions—diversify to include more than just cattle, build a breeding business that could help pay for a better private investigator. But none of his good intentions mattered if that horse stayed lost.

      Be anxious for nothing, he recalled from his Bible reading that morning. Easier said than done, but it was truth he needed all the same. Worry and guilt were getting him nowhere. They wouldn’t stop the approaching flames or help him find his horse.

      They wouldn’t bring Dad back, either.

      Deanna sat up straight, suddenly alert. “What was that?”

      She craned her neck to look over her shoulder behind them. Sean followed her gaze, goose bumps covering his arms. “Did you see the horse?”

      “No.” She looked back again and then flipped around to stare at Sean. “How come you have a landing strip up here?”

      “We