did you want to?”
“We were constantly uprooted. The air force reassigned my stepfather to lots and lots of places in this country and Europe,” she explained. “A year here, a year there, and no real home.” She grimaced slightly. “I hated it. Some people would love to roam the world, but all I wanted was some place to call home.”
His choice would have been the roaming, going where he wanted to, exactly as he did with his business. “So, you returned to Wolf Lake?”
“Yes. When I graduated with a degree in Child Psychology, I did some clinical work, and met a lady who had a clinic in Arizona for Native children. It fascinated me, really making a difference and not being in an office setting.”
She hadn’t glanced out the front window for a few minutes, and Gage saw that as a positive step in keeping her calm. Especially since the clouds were starting to show signs of high wind, and he could feel the tugging at the plane.
“I’m certified to work with developmentally delayed children, and put in for several grants. Fate stepped in and I got an offer from The Family Center to work with the Native children and anyone else local in Wolf Lake.”
“So you took the grant offer?” Gage asked a bit distractedly as he felt another tug at the plane and he checked the control panel. The sky around them was steel gray and darkening while the wind was gaining speed and changing direction. He flipped off the autopilot and took control again just as snow began to show up in the wind that was driving at them.
“Yes, I did, and moved back to town about six months ago.”
“I was there when they put in The Family Center,” he murmured, keeping a close eye on the sky in front of them. He flipped on the radio, got an update through his earpiece, and felt a bit uneasy when he heard that the storm, predicted to curve to the east and go south, had changed course to the west, almost curling around to get ahead of them in their flight path.
“Moses told me that when I arrived, he supervises the grant, as I told you before. I’m there for two years to study the effects of certain therapies that are being developed. There are about ten kids right now in the program and...”
Gage adjusted their speed and banked slightly away from the wind. He didn’t realize that Merry had stopped speaking and was staring at him until she touched his arm.
“What’s wrong?” she asked tightly.
CHAPTER THREE
GAGE FELT THE pressure from her fingers through the denim of his jacket. “Nothing, it’s just a shift in the wind.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
He glanced at her fingers on his jacket sleeve, then over to her green eyes growing wide with concern. “The wind shifts in direction, and that’s what’s happened. I have to compensate for it.”
“And?”
“I’m compensating for it,” he repeated, feeling her touch disappear from his arm.
“Didn’t they tell you this could happen at the airport?”
“I was more worried about my plane,” he admitted and immediately regretted that statement.
“What was—or is—wrong with it?” she asked, her low voice belying her growing panic. She laced her fingers tightly in her lap, but never took her eyes off of him.
“I had to check a few things,” he said evasively. He wasn’t about to tell her about the minor electrical problem that had been corrected. He could only imagine what she’d do if she heard that right now.
“What things?”
The plane was flying smoothly now, more at ease with the wind, but the clouds were getting thicker toward the south, and the heavy darkness that warned about coming snow, was ominous. “It was an easy fix. I was only down for a few hours.”
She didn’t respond, just wrapped her arms around herself again and closed her eyes. The counting started again.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something...”
The counting stopped and then she opened her eyes and turned toward him. “What is it?”
“Well, I was wondering why you keep counting the bubbles when it doesn’t seem to be working for you?”
“Because I never mastered yoga or meditation. A therapist I trained with used it in therapy, and suggested it to me. Plain old diversion.” She was rocking a bit now. “Count something that is beautiful and gentle and calming to you, and match the counting to your breathing, and...” She sighed. “It’s supposed to work. It did work on the commercial flight today, but...it did work, it can work, but it’s not working now.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, having no idea what it would be like to be scared of something as incredible as flying.
“Now, can I ask you a question?” she said almost in a whisper.
“Go ahead.”
“Why did you buy such a small plane when you’ve obviously got money and could get one of those big silver corporate jets?”
He wanted to laugh at her question, but he bit it back, instinctively knowing that really wouldn’t go over well with her at that moment. “It’s what I wanted,” he said, not about to start discussing runway length and the fact that he liked it smaller so he could fly alone as much as possible.
“Why?”
He stared at her. “It’s green. My favorite color,” he said, referring to the panel again. The storm was approaching faster than he’d anticipated, but worse than that, he could feel a catch in the rhythm of the plane. A blip of some sort.
The plane shook against resistance then, and she exhaled on a long sigh. “I feel a bit green myself,” she muttered, eyes shut again, and he just bet those bubbles were being counted, too.
“Listen, I’ve flown this route many times with no trouble. I know it so well I could close my eyes and land us safely at the landing strip on the ranch. I’ve done it before.”
“You what?”
“I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “It’s just a joke. I’m wide awake, always am when I’m flying, and we’ll be in Wolf Lake before you know it.” Platitudes, he admitted to himself, but he was at a loss to figure out anything he could say that would put her at ease. That didn’t mean that he’d stop trying, however. “We have radar, a flight tracker, GPS.” He tapped the screen in front of him. “Every gadget we need to get there is in this panel and on this plane, so don’t worry. It’s all good.”
The wind buffeted the plane to one side and she gasped, “What about that?” She pointed an unsteady finger at the storm clearly gathering in the distance. “That looks horrible.”
He scanned the screen and said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, “It’s not pretty, but it won’t get to us before we get to where we want to be. If worse comes to worst, we’ll fly around it and take a bit more time to get home, or if it gets
