reluctantly volunteered, after Harvey had told her that they were desperate—“really desperate”—for one more player to substitute in emergencies. He’d spent the first three games patiently trying to explain the rules. Fortunately she’d never had to go to bat.
“You’re late,” Blake announced as she strode slowly toward him, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline that had nothing at all to do with the coffee. She wasn’t wild about his attitude, but that smoldering look in his eyes was something else. “I wanted the crew here at six.”
There was something wrong with that sentence, but she was too sleepy to put her finger on it. “I was here at six. I stopped to get some coffee. Is there something in particular you’d like me to do for you, Mr. Marshall?” She was deliberately cheerful and cooperative. The man was her boss, after all. There was no point in antagonizing him. Harvey had warned her he took this balloon race nonsense seriously. Maybe the media had been bothering him and he was looking for someone to act as a buffer. She wasn’t sure she was alert enough to fend off flies, much less a pesky reporter, but she was willing to try.
“You can start by opening the envelope,” he said briskly. “John will help you, if you need him.” Then he turned his back on her and went back to doing whatever mysterious task he’d been doing before he spotted her.
“I beg your pardon.” Maybe this envelope of his contained important instructions, but she didn’t see one lying around. Nor did she have the vaguest idea who John was.
He glanced over his shoulder and regarded her quizzically. “You do know how to unroll it, don’t you?”
“Not exactly.” She still didn’t even know what it was, but saw no point in giving away too much about her ignorance. It was bad enough that she was having to delve through mental mush to come up with words that made sense.
Blake shot a disgusted gaze heavenward, then grabbed the balloon—so that’s what it was—and began demonstrating. “That’s all there is to it. Even a novice should be able to do it. Where the hell did you take your lessons?”
Audrey shot him a horrified look. “But that’s not what I’m here for.” What if the damn thing got all tangled up and crashed because of something she’d done? She’d be responsible for the death of the man Fortune had described as California’s brightest young entrepreneur, one of the men to watch in the coming decade. If the courts didn’t get her, Harvey surely would. “Wouldn’t you rather I go look for some of the media?”
“What do I need with the media? They’ll be crawling all over the place once the race is over. Now, let’s haul it, woman. We haven’t got all morning. We have to get the balloon launched and out of the way, so the next group can get into the area.”
Audrey looked at the dark burgundy bundle, then glanced around at the other workers. A grizzled old man shot her an encouraging, sympathetic smile. Audrey gave him a wobbly grin and shrugged her shoulders. If Blake Marshall wanted to entrust his life to the hands of an amateur, who was she to argue? Surely she could manage a simple task like unrolling this stupid thing.
The old man moved to her side and introduced himself as John Harley. “Don’t mind Blake, missy. He’s always a little jumpy before he takes off. Just follow his directions and you’ll do just fine. He’s one of the best around at this.” He winked at her. “But if he gets too pushy, tell him off. Won’t hurt him none to be put in his place, especially by a pretty young gal like you.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” It was advice she ought to hang on to. Blake Marshall had a definite arrogant streak that needed taming. Then again, she had no business being the one to try it. “Could you give me some clue about handling this thing?”
“I’d be happy to, missy.”
As Audrey set to work, fumbling over the routine task, Blake’s black eyebrows knit together in a puzzled frown. It wasn’t like his partner to send him an inexperienced crew member, not for a race as important as this one. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the name Cal had given him? Had it been Audrey? The woman had said she worked for him and she was wearing one of the company shirts, so she must be the one. Though he’d caught the tiniest glimmer of fear in her eyes when he’d assigned her the task of opening the envelope, while he went over the propane tanks and gondola.
As he completed his checks, he studied her. She was working gamely at the assigned task, and he noticed that John Harley had gone to her assistance and seemed to be giving her one of his special pep talks. No wonder. She had a helpless, if determined, look about her that appealed to something deep inside him that he’d thought had died long ago. Its sudden reawakening might have convinced him to get to know her better, if he’d met her on any other day.
Not this morning, though. Now he had to focus all his attention on getting the balloon into the air so he could judge the wind direction and speed at several altitudes. The first day’s competition was a distance race to Glenwood Springs and he wanted to win it. From the moment he had started ballooning seriously, he’d wanted to be the best. He was closing in on his goal now, but to reach it he needed a support team as skilled and intuitive as he was. This Audrey had better know what she was doing or he’d have Cal’s hide.
He shrugged and dismissed his concern as he began the task of hooking the balloon to the gondola, then turning on the fan’s generator to begin the slow inflation process. As cold air filled the huge balloon, it unfurled to reveal a graceful trail of grapes winding across the wide expanse as it might along an arbor. Grapes of Wrath was written in white, three-foot-high script around the base of the balloon. He had spent nearly twenty thousand dollars for the design and construction, and it still sent a thrill of pleasure through him when it was displayed in all its colorful majesty.
He glanced over and saw the woman was staring at the huge balloon with a spark of excitement in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d first joined him. With a jolt, it occurred to him that it was the expression of someone who’d never seen a balloon up close before. Dear God, surely that couldn’t be.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“It’s incredible,” she said with a satisfying note of awe. He told himself it was the admiration of another enthusiast for a beautifully designed, well-constructed balloon and, though he was still troubled, he dismissed his doubts again.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face quite so easily, though.
Wide-eyed, she was glancing around the meadow at the splash of vibrant colors that would soon fill the sky. For the first time, Blake noted the startling violet shade of her eyes, the fringe of thick dark lashes and the gamine face with its pert nose and surprisingly full, sensual lips. They were ripe lips that tempted and lured. He immediately experienced an unexpected and disturbing tightening in his loins. With a sheer effort of will, he determinedly turned his attention to the rest of his ground crew.
“Are we all set?”
“It looks good, boss,” John Harley said. “I’ve been scouting around a little, too, and there ain’t no reason I can see why you won’t walk away with this one.”
“It’s not walking I’ll be doing,” Blake reminded the older man, who’d taught him everything he knew about balloon competition. “We’ve got to make this baby soar if I’m going to beat Larry Hammond. According to the weather service there should be some terrific air currents. All I have to do is find ’em and then hang on for the ride.”
“I wish I weren’t too damn old or I’d be up there with you. This old ticker of mine
