STARTING OVER Read Online Free Page B
Author: Kathy Clark
we need him. I want to stay home with you and not have to worry about the business for at least a couple of weeks after you're born. Now, if only I can find him and..."
The clatter of metal against concrete drew her attention, and she walked around the end of the office building. Rusty had climbed up the rungs on the side of the old helicopter and was peering inside the open engine cowl.
"Morning, ma'am," he called down to her, his voice entirely too cheerful for so early in the day. "Would you mind handing me that wrench? I'm up to my elbows in gunk. This engine is a mess."
Kate squinted up at him. With the sun glinting on the red highlights in his medium brown hair, it was easy to see where he had gotten his nickname. In the artificial lights of the office, she hadn't noticed how young he looked with the front section of hair falling casually across his forehead and the back long enough to curl over the top of his collar.
His short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, its tails flapping in the wind, revealing, when the sides blew open, an expanse of tanned, muscular chest. His jeans rode low, seeming to be barely held up by his slim hips.
It occurred to Kate that Rusty was a very attractive man, and he was probably used to being surrounded by beautiful women. Perhaps if he was to have something other than work to capture his interest, he might be tempted to stick around longer. Mentally, she ran through a list of her single female friends. At twenty-nine, he was several years younger than most of them. But there were two or three who just might make his stay in Lake Jackson more exciting. It was a project she could work on in her spare time.
She picked up the wrench and handed it up to him. "How bad is it?" she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. "How bad is what?"
"The helicopter. It didn't get much air time after we bought the new one. Doug was planning to hire another pilot, but when things got tight, he couldn't find enough work to keep himself busy, much less the second helicopter."
"Hopefully we can change that," Rusty replied as he loosened a fitting and pulled a piece of black tubing out of the engine.
"Does that mean you haven't had a change of heart or a return to your senses overnight?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't reflect how anxious she was to hear his answer.
He backed down the rungs until he was standing on the concrete helipad in front of her. Bright mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes and reflected a distorted image of her own face back at her.
"Does that mean my references were okay?" he countered, the tilt of his lips revealing that he hadn't doubted for a moment that they were.
"Your references were fine. In fact, they raved about you so much I was beginning to wonder if they were all relatives."
Her comment brought a quick chuckle. "God forbid!" he exclaimed. "Relatives are something I avoid like the plague. I have three older sisters who are all married and have eight children between them. You can't imagine what a madhouse it is at my grandmother's every holiday. It's enough to make a confirmed bachelor out of any guy."
Drawing in a deep, bracing breath of salt-scented air that was blowing inland from the Gulf, she admitted, "The job's yours if you want it. But last night I had an attack of conscience because I didn't tell you everything."
A dark eyebrow arched quizzically over the wire rim of his sunglasses, and he cocked his head to one side expectantly, encouraging her to continue.
"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure how long I can keep this business going. Because of the circumstances, I need someone who will be more like a partner than merely an employee . . . someone who will be able to take over and keep the business running when I'm recovering . . . someone who will take a special interest in C-Breeze."
She paused, wishing she had a more promising prospectus. "This won't be an eight to five job. People probably think C-Breeze died with Doug, and they've found other
The clatter of metal against concrete drew her attention, and she walked around the end of the office building. Rusty had climbed up the rungs on the side of the old helicopter and was peering inside the open engine cowl.
"Morning, ma'am," he called down to her, his voice entirely too cheerful for so early in the day. "Would you mind handing me that wrench? I'm up to my elbows in gunk. This engine is a mess."
Kate squinted up at him. With the sun glinting on the red highlights in his medium brown hair, it was easy to see where he had gotten his nickname. In the artificial lights of the office, she hadn't noticed how young he looked with the front section of hair falling casually across his forehead and the back long enough to curl over the top of his collar.
His short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned, its tails flapping in the wind, revealing, when the sides blew open, an expanse of tanned, muscular chest. His jeans rode low, seeming to be barely held up by his slim hips.
It occurred to Kate that Rusty was a very attractive man, and he was probably used to being surrounded by beautiful women. Perhaps if he was to have something other than work to capture his interest, he might be tempted to stick around longer. Mentally, she ran through a list of her single female friends. At twenty-nine, he was several years younger than most of them. But there were two or three who just might make his stay in Lake Jackson more exciting. It was a project she could work on in her spare time.
She picked up the wrench and handed it up to him. "How bad is it?" she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. "How bad is what?"
"The helicopter. It didn't get much air time after we bought the new one. Doug was planning to hire another pilot, but when things got tight, he couldn't find enough work to keep himself busy, much less the second helicopter."
"Hopefully we can change that," Rusty replied as he loosened a fitting and pulled a piece of black tubing out of the engine.
"Does that mean you haven't had a change of heart or a return to your senses overnight?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't reflect how anxious she was to hear his answer.
He backed down the rungs until he was standing on the concrete helipad in front of her. Bright mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes and reflected a distorted image of her own face back at her.
"Does that mean my references were okay?" he countered, the tilt of his lips revealing that he hadn't doubted for a moment that they were.
"Your references were fine. In fact, they raved about you so much I was beginning to wonder if they were all relatives."
Her comment brought a quick chuckle. "God forbid!" he exclaimed. "Relatives are something I avoid like the plague. I have three older sisters who are all married and have eight children between them. You can't imagine what a madhouse it is at my grandmother's every holiday. It's enough to make a confirmed bachelor out of any guy."
Drawing in a deep, bracing breath of salt-scented air that was blowing inland from the Gulf, she admitted, "The job's yours if you want it. But last night I had an attack of conscience because I didn't tell you everything."
A dark eyebrow arched quizzically over the wire rim of his sunglasses, and he cocked his head to one side expectantly, encouraging her to continue.
"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure how long I can keep this business going. Because of the circumstances, I need someone who will be more like a partner than merely an employee . . . someone who will be able to take over and keep the business running when I'm recovering . . . someone who will take a special interest in C-Breeze."
She paused, wishing she had a more promising prospectus. "This won't be an eight to five job. People probably think C-Breeze died with Doug, and they've found other