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 can’t take the altitude anymore. Some days I miss it worse ’n not having a woman around.”
Audrey listened to the two men talking and caught some of their enthusiasm. For the first time since she’d risen at such an ungodly hour, she felt terrific, even invigorated. It had a lot to do with the day, which had fulfilled its early-morning promise by whisking the last of the clouds away beyond the mountain range. The sun was burning off the morning chill and the azure sky was a postcard-perfect backdrop for the bright yellows, reds, greens and blues that were billowing to the height of tall buildings as they filled with cool air. Her exhilaration also had just a little to do with the man who’d been working side by side with her and John Harley. Blake’s instructions had been crisp and precise, but after his initial sternness he’d flashed her a few unexpected and thoroughly devastating smiles that had made her pulse skip erratically.
Now he hopped over the edge of the gondola and began checking the equipment for a second time, sending a stream of fire upward to heat the air in the balloon, which tugged against the tethers holding it to the ground. His concentration was intense, his finely chiseled mouth was set in a line of determination.
Audrey had never met a man who seemed to thrive so on what she considered such a frivolous challenge. She’d met ambitious men, who viewed success as the ultimate achievement with money as the only measurement. She’d met womanizers who thrilled only to the chase and left behind a wake of broken-hearted lovers. She supposed she’d even met a few men who took their games—tennis, golf, even poker—seriously. But there was a fierce, single-minded edge to Blake Marshall’s drive to win that was a bit frightening in its intensity.
It also piqued her curiosity. What made such a man tick? Why wasn’t he satisfied with the professional acclaim, the growing wealth, the well-publicized social whirl?
“Are you all set?” he was asking her now, his voice still rough with an early-morning huskiness that strummed across her nerves.
“Yes. I think I have everything I need.”
“Okay, then, why don’t you hop in?”
Audrey’s delicately arched brows shot up and her mouth dropped open.
“Hop in?” she repeated blankly.
Blake acted as though he hadn’t heard the note of horror in her voice or noticed that her complexion was turning an interesting shade of green. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
Before she could voice a violent protest, one exceptionally strong arm snagged her around her waist and the other caught her behind the knees. She felt herself being effortlessly lifted high in the air,