into the Kachelak airfield, gravel spinning beneath the wheels of his Dodge Dakota. Across the airfield he saw the small Cessna, and two people still standing in the plane’s shadow.
A wry smile curved Mike’s mouth. It was fairly obvious the pilot was flirting with the woman, and the woman was flirting right back. He’d have to warn his sister that Donovan Masters was an infamous ladies’ man.
“Hey, sis!” he called, jumping from the Dakota and striding toward the couple. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up.”
But it wasn’t until Mike was within ten feet of the plane that he realized the diminutive female definitely wasn’t his sister…not unless she’d shrunk several inches and colored her hair to a riotous chestnut.
“Oh, hi,” the woman said, casually glancing at him as he approached. “Surprise. It’s me, Callie.”
Callie Webster? Mike shook his head. What was prim-and-proper Callie doing in Alaska? He circled around the wing…and suddenly his jaw dropped so hard it practically hit the airfield tarmac.
Prim-and-proper?
“Uh…Callie,” he said stupidly, staring at the skimpy red tube top barely confining her breasts. A whole lot of creamy skin was exposed above and below that narrow band of red—which only seemed to draw attention to the lush curves within.
“Yup.” She’d been leaning against the plane, but now she vaulted forward and threw her arms around his neck for a hug. “It’s great to see you. Gosh, it’s been a long while.”
Automatically his arms had risen to catch her, and almost as instinctively he pushed her away. “Why are you dressed like that?” he demanded, then realized it wasn’t any of his business. “The weather isn’t warm enough to…er…need something so…cool.”
“It’s summer.”
She shrugged her shoulders and he gulped. The tube top seemed glued in place, but that wasn’t reassuring. And he wasn’t the only one staring at Callie’s bustline. Donovan was looking, as well. Mike ground his teeth—business partner or not, Donovan had better watch it. Callie and his sister had been friends all through childhood and he felt the same protective instincts for Callie that Elaine would have aroused in him.
Mike peeled off his outer flannel shirt and handed it to Callie. “Here. You’ll be eaten by mosquitoes.”
She slung the shirt over her arm. “Thanks, but I never get bitten,” she said cheerfully.
His brown eyes narrowed in warning. “Callie, we have over twenty-five varieties of mosquitoes up here. Put the damn thing on.”
“Why, Mike,” she said, hurt tingeing her voice. “That isn’t polite. You haven’t even said hello.”
“Hello. What are you doing here?”
Callie glanced at Donovan and shrugged again. “Mike and I grew up together—he’s just like a brother. They’re never glad to see you, either.”
Donovan’s face gleamed with amusement. “Don’t pay him any attention. I’m delighted, and so is everyone else in the company. Mike doesn’t count.”
She grinned and a dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “You’re sweet.”
“Sure,” Mike muttered. Sweet wasn’t an appellation he would have attached to his partner, especially when it came to any female under ninety. As for Callie…He looked at her again, unable to believe his eyes. It wasn’t just her clothing, it was the way she acted—confident and sexy and pretty damned sure of herself.
And she still wasn’t wearing his shirt.
The last time he’d seen Callie Webster was over a year ago, on one of his rare trips home to Washington. Following their holiday tradition, the entire family had gone to the midnight candlelighting service on Christmas Eve. Callie had been playing the organ in a voluminous choir robe, with her long hair pulled into its customary braid.
The picture-perfect preacher’s daughter.
After the service he’d said “hello,” returned her quick hug, then promptly forgotten about her. After all, she was his sister’s friend, and they’d both been a terrible nuisance when he was growing up. The fact that he’d gotten a lot closer to Elaine since reaching adulthood didn’t change things.
“Callie,” Mike said insistently—he needed to get some control back into the situation. “Where is Elaine?”
“Oh…” She waved her hand. “I realize she offered to be your office manager for the summer, but she’s awfully busy. It isn’t easy for her to just pick up and leave like that, you know.”
“I know, but—”
“And since I didn’t have any special plans for the summer, she asked me to take her place,” Callie said, blithely disregarding the interruption.
“I see.” A hint of Mike’s reaction must have shown on his face, because she bristled.
“I’m perfectly capable of managing an office,” she snapped.
“I’m sure you are,” he said diplomatically. “But church work isn’t the same as handling clients and taking cargo orders—or coordinating flight schedules and following up on billings, for that matter.”
“I’ll consider it a challenge.” She tossed her head, sending her hair flying. Fiery strands covered her bare shoulders with a lacy pattern of light, and worse…it clung to her breasts, caught by static electricity to the red cotton knit. He groaned, hardly able to believe he was fixated—however briefly—on Callie Webster’s body.
She was an innocent. A sweet kid who took care of her saintly father and taught Sunday school. She wouldn’t be able to deal with their tough customers, or anything else in the air-transit business. Moreover, Alaska wasn’t an easy place to live, even in summer. He’d have to spend most of his time taking care of her.
Mike thought hard, trying to recall what Elaine had told him about Callie’s sheltered life in Crockett. “But what will your father do? I know how much he depends on your help. He probably can’t manage without you…or neither can the church, for that matter.”
She didn’t look concerned. “Pop is fine. And the church finally got enough money to renovate. With all the plaster dust and construction right now, they won’t even miss me.”
Besides, I don’t plan on going back, Callie added silently. And blinked.
She couldn’t tell Mike that she planned to stay in Alaska, could she? He’d run the opposite direction if he knew she wanted to get married. Of course, it wasn’t very honest not telling him the truth.
I don’t care, Callie told her conscience crossly.
If she couldn’t vamp Mike, then she’d find someone else. She was tired of being the quiet, dutiful preacher’s kid who behaved the way everyone expected. This was a new-and-improved Callie Webster. A woman of mystery. Bold. Provocative. Daring. A woman who knew what she wanted, and went out to get it.
Everybody knew Alaska was full of single men. It was an ideal place to change her image.
