Flying Home Read online

  “Where are your manners, son?” Stan stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “I’m Stan Berk, and the guy with the cat in his mouth is my son, Matt.”

  As the young woman shook the older man’s hand, her laughter rang through the still, damp air. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Berk. I’m Sergeant—” the woman paused, “—correction, I’m Colleen McLachlan.”

  Stan nodded. “Pleased to meet you. Ex-military?”

  “Recently retired.” Colleen winked. “I’m still not used to being a civilian.”

  Matt crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the exchange. She looked innocent enough, with the bright pearly whites flashing, and the wide gray-green eyes the color of almond leaves in the spring. He opened his mouth to begin the interrogation.

  “This is what they call a Pacer, isn’t it?” Stan strolled around the plane, and then turned an eye on Colleen. “Is it Miss or Mrs.?”

  “I’ve been Senior Master Sergeant McLachlan for a long time but now I guess I’m just Miss McLachlan,” Colleen responded. “Please call me Colleen. Actually, since there is a nose-wheel instead of a tail-wheel, it’s called a Tri-Pacer.”

  Matt narrowed his eyes and watched as the woman patted the fabric-covered wing like a well-loved pet dog. His gaze traveled up the lean frame from the running shoes over the snug T-shirt to the opal studs in her ears. She was certainly in good enough shape to have been in the military.

  “Colleen, that’s a pretty name—it suits you.” Stan bestowed a broad smile on the young lady and smoothed down what little hair remained on top of his head.

  Matt stifled a groan. His father was obviously taken in by the pretty face. Well, a lot more than a drop-dead smile and a killer body was needed to win him over.

  He cleared his throat. Not only did the cat have his tongue, a giant frog had taken up residence in his throat. “Why don’t we get this plane under cover before the rain gets worse?” Matt’s gaze flickered across Colleen’s damp T-shirt. He jerked his chin toward the cockpit. “Do you have a jacket?”

  Colleen turned to where Matt stood at the open door of the aircraft and leaned toward him.

  The sweet scent teased his nostrils again—peaches—she smelled like peaches. He pressed himself back against the fuselage, unable to tear his gaze from hers.

  “Excuse me.” One corner of her mouth tilted up. “My jacket is hanging on the back of the seat. I am a bit chilly.”

  “Oh, allow me.” Matt leaned into the cockpit to retrieve a soft brown corduroy jacket. Allow me. I sound like some hero out of a historical romance novel. Get hold of yourself, man! He turned back and held the jacket open for the woman to slip into.

  “Thank you.” She dipped her chin and caught his gaze before pushing her arms into the sleeves.

  Her soft hair tickled his cheek. As his arms dropped to his sides, he caught his father studying him with raised eyebrows. “What?” Matt snapped.

  “I said that’s a good idea. Let’s push the plane into the equipment shed so it doesn’t get coated with ice overnight. Pretty obvious to me she won’t be taking off in this fog.”

  Colleen pressed her hands together and tipped her head. “You read my mind. Thanks, Stan.”

  After a brief discussion leaving no doubt Matt didn’t want his father pushing the aircraft, Matt and Colleen each got behind a wing while Stan opened the doors into the nearest building. The two maneuvered the lightweight aircraft under the roof. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt watched Colleen check out her plane while conversing with his father.

  Not until his father invited her back to the house did Matt come to attention. “Dad,” he whispered, “we don’t know this woman.”

  Head tilted to one side, his father remained silent as he considered Matt’s comment. Finally, he draped his arm around Matt’s shoulders and responded, “Don’t worry, son, I’ll protect you.”

  Chapter Two

  The son was cute—in a rumpled, scholarly kind of way—and as tall as she, a welcome change. And those dark eyes…yum-yum. An unfamiliar warm feeling spread through her middle. She placed a hand over her belly and sighed.

  Despite Matt’s somewhat hostile attitude, Colleen figured she could bring him around. Years of living in foreign countries and throughout the United States had given her a knack for putting people at ease.

  The mirror image of each other, both men stood tall and sported blond hair, although the older man’s hair had lightened to a silvery blond, thinning on top. He seemed genuinely glad to have company no matter how they arrived. As she crawled to the back of the plane, Colleen glanced out the rear window. She retrieved her overnight bag and then paused, absorbed in watching the two similar-looking men.

  Next to his tanned and robust son, however, Stan Berk appeared pale and much thinner, almost frail. She perched on the edge of the back seat and propped her chin in her hands, absorbed in the heated discussion between the two men. At least, the son appeared heated. The father stared, lips pressed together as if biting his tongue.

  She reflected on the relative ease of her landing. Lady Luck was watching out for her when she spied the long, straight road between the almond grove and the equipment sheds. The layout made for a perfect impromptu runway. Most of the other flat areas she considered for landing were fenced in and too short.

  If she hadn’t let Captain Rogers talk her into a late lunch at the San Diego Airport, she would have made Mineta Airport before the fog moved into the valley. But getting stuck above a cloud bank was not something she wanted to do in unfamiliar territory with an unfamiliar aircraft.

  The older man wrapped his arm tightly around his son’s neck and they both chuckled. Colleen smiled. They seemed like nice people. After traveling all over the world, she could sense when people were good…and Matt certainly was easy on the eyes.

  “Whew.” Colleen blew a puff of air between her lips and tore her gaze away from Matt’s lean, muscular frame. “Like I haven’t seen plenty of good-looking surfer dudes in my life,” she muttered as she grabbed her overnight bag and purse. She looked around the interior of the plane for anything else she might need.

  Her reading glasses lay atop the aeronautical map on the floor. Colleen shook her head, annoyed at the mere sight. She should be glad she didn’t need glasses for distance, but the reading glasses were an unwelcome reminder of her age. She still ran the same distances in the same times she did at thirty. Even some of the younger men in the JAG unit couldn’t keep up with her during their early morning runs.

  Colleen’s thoughts wandered to the attorney who had been assigned to the office shortly before her retirement.

  “How can you have that much endurance at your age?” The slightly overweight young man frowned with frustration.

  She leaned back in her office chair and smiled sweetly. “Must be good genes.”

  The rest of the office chuckled quietly. Everyone knew Colleen McLachlan worked hard to maintain her physique. She was famous for early morning runs through all kinds of weather, no matter where she was stationed. Her hair, however, was thanks to her mother’s genes. At forty-three, not a hint of gray appeared in her deep auburn hair.

  The betrayal came from her perfect vision green eyes. Shortly after her forty-second birthday, she noticed trouble reading documents. With great reluctance, she carried the reading glasses.

  With a quick move, she grabbed the glasses and dropped them into her purse. She backed out onto the wing and straightened, one arm on the open door and the other on the fuselage. The father had disappeared. The younger man stood next to the wing, his fingers outstretched, and inches away from her jean-clad thigh. She jerked backward and bumped her head on the door frame.

  “Ouch!” She rubbed the top of her head as she scrutinized the handsome farm worker in the open yellow slicker. Mud coated the faded green T-shirt he wore underneath but did nothing to hide his broad chest. Dark blond hair stuck to his scalp. The sudden panic that flickered behind her breastbone as her breath caught in her throat took her by
complete surprise. This is ridiculous. She watched a drop of water trickle down the side of a sculptured jaw with a pronounced five o’clock shadow.

  “You know, if you snapped your slicker shut and used the hood, you would be a lot drier.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Colleen bit her tongue, instantly annoyed with herself. A lifetime of directing younger enlisted personnel to pass uniform inspections was hard to eliminate. She should have just accepted the outstretched hand. To be helped off an airplane wing would have been a breath of fresh air. The act didn’t have to mean anything.

  The man’s hand dropped to his side. A flicker of annoyance sparked in deep brown eyes.

  Colleen jumped lightly to the ground.

  “This way,” Matt directed, his lips tight. He turned without waiting for a response.

  She followed the tall man around a large tractor and nearly tripped over the long prongs protruding from the front.

  Matt stopped to rinse off his glasses at a sink next to a door.

  Colleen propped an arm on a nearby wagon and waited as he pulled a cloth from his jeans and methodically dried them. Not a word passed between them as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket, replaced the glasses, and continued toward an open door.

  Outside, Stan waited next to an old black Ford pickup truck parked under an overhang. He opened the passenger door and bowed low. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

  Colleen climbed into the cab. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  Stan jumped in and pulled the door shut with a loud screech. “She’s old, not real pretty to look at, but she’s reliable.” He patted the dashboard much like Colleen had patted the wing of her plane.

  Matt got in behind the wheel and slammed the door with yet another ear-piercing shriek of metal. As he reached for the shifter protruding up out of the middle of the floor, he grabbed Colleen’s knee, then jerked away his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered. He stared at the shifter, before he grasped the knob at the top. Pushing in the clutch, he eased into first and pulled out onto the road.

  Colleen bit her lip to hide a smile. Apparently, Matt wasn’t used to having three passengers in the pickup truck. “What kind of orchard is this?” She looked around at the bare trees lining both sides of the lane.

  “You landed right in the middle of the Berk Family Almond Grove.” Stan pointed to the small trees on their left. “We just planted that section two years ago. Business has been so good we wanted to increase our acreage.”

  As Colleen looked out the driver’s side window at the trees, she noticed a fresh scratch on Matt’s jaw. She lifted her hand to dab at it with her sleeve before she caught herself, fingers inches from Matt’s clenched jaw. She dropped her hand in her lap and turned back to Stan. “So this is your place, then?”

  Stan’s head bobbed as he studied the trees along the lane. “This orchard has been home to the Berks for many, many years.”

  As Matt reached for the shifter to down shift for a right turn onto another lane, Colleen gave him a quick smile.

  In return, he grimaced. As they drove past a collection of metal buildings, he cleared his throat. “So you had no idea where you were landing, Colleen?”

  “I knew I was somewhere south of Mineta Airport.” She shrugged. “I’ve always flown commercial into San Jose International.”

  Matt slowed as he approached a large brick house then put the old truck in neutral, pressed the emergency brake to the floor with a screech, and turned off the ignition.

  “This is your home?” She stared out the windshield of the truck, unable to move as her gaze traveled from the brick chimneys on either end of the mansion to the massive oak front door.

  “Yep.” Stan’s face glowed as he gazed up at the house. “Home to four generations of the Berk family.” He held the truck door as Colleen slid across the vinyl seat and jumped to the ground, all the while staring at the beautiful home.

  The terra cotta tile roof contrasted brightly with the white brick. High, narrow windows topped with arched woodwork lined the first and second stories. Evergreen shrubs flanked wide, wooden steps leading up to a long front porch. Pine Christmas wreathes adorned the double oak front door, lending a come-in-and-sit-a-spell atmosphere to the old house.

  As Colleen studied the home, she caught a flash of movement coming around the corner of the house. Muscles tensed, she whirled just as a ball of black fur hurtled toward her.

  “Watch out!” Matt jumped out of the truck.

  Colleen relaxed as she sized up the animal racing toward her and skidded to a stop in front of her. “Sit.” Colleen held out a closed hand to the massive head.

  The dog sniffed, then sat and raised a large, furry paw.

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” Stan propped his hands on his hips. “I didn’t know that dog could sit.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Colleen saw Matt cross his arms.

  “Well, of course he can sit, Dad.” He uncrossed his arms and propped his hands on his hips.

  “No, I mean, when you want him to.” Stan chuckled as he turned and went up the porch steps.

  Colleen shook the Newfoundland’s paw and scratched his ears.

  He rolled over, four feet limply in the air, pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

  She knelt and rubbed his belly. The dog wriggled happily beneath her palm. Colleen looked up at Stan, waiting by the front door. “What’s his name?”

  “Tiny,” Stan replied, a twinkle in his eye.

  “He’s adorable.” Colleen rubbed a silky ear between her fingers. A distant memory of another black dog surfaced in her mind as the Newfoundland rested one paw against her arm.

  “You’re just like Midnight,” Colleen murmured to the squirming dog, “just lovin’ the belly rubs.” Her thoughts wandered to the many temporary duty assignments she’d completed during her first four years in the Air Force. So many, the black lab finally ended up with her parents, living to the ripe old age of sixteen.

  “Come in out of the cold, Colleen.” Stan beckoned with a wave of his hand. “Matt, get her bag.”

  Colleen glanced up at Matt who stood nearby, studying her with an intense look. “I used to have a big dog,” she explained as she rose, her gaze lingering on the dog. “I can get my bag.”

  “No, go on in.” Matt motioned her to the porch, where his father waited, the front door opened wide.

  Colleen mounted the broad steps to a large front porch, the dog close to her side. Three white platform rockers sat next to the white railing. On the other side a swing hung, immobile in the still air.

  The sudden warmth as they entered the house erased the damp chill outside. Delicious aromas wafted through the hallway where Stan hung her coat. As she remembered the light lunch with Captain Rogers, her stomach growled. The meal seemed ages ago. Stan led her down a long hall into a roomy bright kitchen.

  “We have company, Olivia.” Stan went over to a small woman about to lift a large roaster out of a wall oven. He pecked her on the cheek before he took the roaster from her hands and set it on the nearby stove.

  An attractive, older woman turned to face Colleen. She smiled as she removed her steam-covered glasses, revealing a pair of bright, blue eyes. Soft, pale blond, almost-white curls surrounded a gentle face. She wiped her hands on a flowered apron before reaching for Colleen’s hand. “I’m Olivia Berk. How nice you could join us for dinner. Are you a friend of Matt’s?” She looked at her son, who had pulled out a chair at the end of the kitchen table and sat.

  “No, Mom, she…” He removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “She just dropped in.”

  Butterflies fluttered in Colleen’s stomach at the faint smile he sent in her direction. The son had a sense of humor after all, and the heat in the kitchen appeared to thaw his frozen personality.

  She turned to Mrs. Berk, whose warm hands clasped hers tightly. “I’m Colleen McLachlan. This morning I picked up a plane in San Diego and planned to make it to Mineta Airport before dark. When I saw the fog
moving in, I got a bit concerned about getting stuck on top. I landed at the first opportunity and here I am.” Colleen smiled down at the little woman.

  “Goodness, what an adventure, but you made it here safe and sound.” Olivia patted her hands. “Your hands are cold, child. You must be frozen, being out in that damp air.” She pulled out the chair next to Matt. “Have a seat. Matt, put that afghan around her shoulders.” She motioned toward a colorful throw tossed on an antique rocking chair in the corner and turned back to the counter. “As soon as the table’s set we’ll have dinner.” Her voice rose in a squeak. “I found a new recipe for pot roast.”

  For a moment, Colleen thought Matt would ignore his mother’s request as she caught what looked to be annoyance in his eyes.

  He unfolded his lanky frame from the kitchen chair, grabbed the throw and walked toward her without once taking his gaze off of her face.

  As he approached, Colleen shivered. Whether from the damp air outside or the look in Matt’s eyes, she couldn’t tell. Olivia and Stan had their backs to them as they worked at the kitchen counter.

  Matt placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently forward as he draped the throw around her. His hands smoothed the bulky afghan between the small of her back and the chair. She tilted back her head and saw his face, just inches above hers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Matt’s voice was gruff as his face colored. He patted her shoulders then lowered himself back in his seat. He stared at the brass lamp hanging over the middle of the table.

  “Matt, would you get out the placemats?” Olivia moved the roast to a platter.

  “Sure, Mom.” Matt leaned his chair back on two legs and pulled out a drawer from an antique dry sink. He removed a set of cloth placemats and tossed one in Colleen’s direction. The second one he lobbed toward his father’s place at the opposite end of the table.

  Olivia turned just in time to see the placemat slide off the end of the table and land in his father’s chair. “Matt!”