morning sunlight was slanting across his face through the plane’s windows, turning his brown eyes a lighter, amber shade. “You want to live in Thunder Canyon, you’d better get used to roughing it a little.”
Melanie thought she heard Mac cover up a laugh.
Her cheeks warmed. She could only imagine how spoiled both men seemed to think she was. “I wouldn’t term riding in any sort of plane as roughing it.” She didn’t need to lean forward to be heard, because the space between her row of seats and his was about the size of a postage stamp. “And this four-seater experience isn’t going to scare me into running back home, if that’s what you were hoping.”
His lips twisted. “You’ve stuck it out six months already. I gave up hoping after five.” He turned back around in his seat and pulled his headphones back into place.
Her imagination was really working overtime, because she could have sworn that there had been a hint of admiration in his voice.
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