crew met them, asking about their bags. He squared everything away then crossed to where she stood.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to fly with me again, but…” She paused as if gathering her thoughts. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a lift home tomorrow. I promise you won’t have to sweet-talk me onto the plane.”
Despite the sun shining down on them, super-chilled air quickly found its way into the collar and sleeves of his leather jacket. He could do without the constant wind on the islands. Or the reminder of how his marriage had crashed and burned. Against his better judgment, he asked, “You sure?”
“Sure you won’t have to sweet-talk me?”
He shifted his weight, trying not to think about how he might like to do just that. “No, I meant are you sure you want me to fly you home? I was serious about hooking you up with an experienced pilot.”
Glancing at his face, she bumped him with her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “You’ve seen how I handle rough weather. Do you really want to foist that on some other unsuspecting soul?”
So she could laugh at herself. His shoulders lost some of their tension.
Actually, now that they were on the ground, she was charming and funny. “Well, since you put it that way, maybe it would be better for everyone if we stuck to our original arrangement. For this trip, anyway.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She wrapped the flapping ends of her jacket around herself and zipped it tight. The stiff breeze played with her hair, lifting the short strands up and away from her face, before allowing them to fall in delightful disarray. “Now, if you could point me in the direction of the nearest diner, I have two urgent needs.”
“Food?”
“That’s second on my list. The first is to find a heater that actually works. No offense, but my toes are still frozen from the flight.” She pursed her lips. “But I could go for a nice hot meal, now that my stomach’s starting to settle down. The cold is good for something, anyway.”
“I know where they make a mean crab cake. I could show you around the island afterward.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather coat, trying to keep the cold from encroaching any further. It was evidently disrupting his thought processes. “You’ve seriously never been here before?”
“Nope. First time, remember?”
Just like that flight out. Hard to believe she’d lived in Alaska all her life and had never visited the islands.
Sharon had called Unalaska “quaint” on her first visit. Until she’d realized there was no mall. No fashion boutiques. Just simple, hard-working folks. She’d quickly felt trapped—had run back home before six months had been up. He’d do well to keep that in mind before he went and did something stupid.
Like offer to eat lunch with Molly and show her the sights? Who knew how long she’d even stick around?
She was terrified of flying. Her mother was afraid of flying. If she had a dog, a cat, or a chipmunk, it would probably be petrified as well. It didn’t bode well for someone who’d be medevacing patients on a regular basis. Even as he told himself distance was his friend in a situation like this, he’d already committed himself as tour guide for a day.
Damn. No backing out now. But after lunch and a quick trip around the island, he’d put his pro-distance plan into motion.
Over a basket of crab cakes and fries, Molly grilled him about the islands. She already knew the obvious stuff, like the reality show dealing with the perils of deep-sea fishing that was filmed here, and that the island chain separated the Bering Sea from the Northern Pacific. But she seemed fascinated by some of the quirkier details. Dutch Harbor and Unalaska were essentially the same community separated by a short bridge, but the arguments about which name was correct continued unabated. Both names had stuck. Dutch Harbor was used for the port and business sections, while Unalaska was where everyone lived when the workday was through.
“So, if Aleutians comes from a native word for island, doesn’t that make it redundant to call them the Aleutian Islands?”
He took a sip of his soda, then leaned back in his seat. “I guess it does.”
“How long have you been flying this route?”
“Seven years, but I grew up here.”
“And you said my father helped train you?”
Setting his drink back on the table, he nodded. “Yes. I already had my pilot’s license, but decided I wanted something with a little more oomph.”
“Like Evel Knievel. I remember.” Her brows went up. “My mom never understood why my dad wanted to leave a relatively safe job as a commercial pilot in order to be a bush pilot.”
He tensed, hoping she wasn’t going to ask him if Wayne had talked about his family. Because, while Wayne had loved his wife and daughter, he’d given serious thought to ending his marriage and moving away. His mentor’s misgivings had echoed his own. It had taken Blake two years from the time of Wayne’s death to realize Sharon’s attitude wasn’t going to change. After forcing him to leave one job, she’d ended up hating its replacement just as much, more so once they’d moved to his old house on the islands.
The home where he’d been born and raised—given to him when his parents had retired and moved to Florida—had gone from a place of happy memories to a battle zone where no one had ever won. The happiness his parents had found with each other seemed to elude him. When Sharon had finally filed for divorce, he’d been secretly relieved.
“The weather’s not always as bad as it was today.” No. Not always. Sometimes it was much worse.
He motioned at her empty plate, ready to be done with this particular conversation. “If you’re finished, I can show you where the clinics—the two that are currently functioning, anyway—and the hotel are. Are you staying at the Grand Aleutian?”
“No, I’m at the UniSea.”
He’d expected her to spring for the pricier accommodations, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it was what Sharon would have done. “I have a house here, but I can drop you off at the hotel.”
“If I take the job, I may end up renting something.”
If I take the job.
Blake motioned for their check. “That flight didn’t scare you off?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. A lot of it depends on whether or not there are enough patients to make it a wise use of funds. Alaska Regional agreed to partner with the clinic for a year. After that…who knows? There’s plenty of need in Anchorage, if not.” Her lips tightened. “Or in one of the other big cities in the lower forty-eight.”
Big cities. Was that a prerequisite?
When the waitress came with the bill, he waved off Molly’s attempt to pay. “I’ll turn it in for reimbursement. No sense in each of us filling out an expense report.”
“Thanks. My turn next time.”
Next time.
Right. Like that was ever going to happen. He needed to bow out of this gig as soon as possible.
But as she moved from the booth and stretched her slender frame, his resolve seemed to dry up—along with his mouth.
The heavy jacket she’d shrugged out of while they were eating had done a thorough job of hiding her figure, as did the white lab coat she normally wore in the ER. But the creamy white sweater had no such problem. Soft and clingy, it skimmed over each and every curve all the way to the middle of her thighs, where dark jeans bridged the gap between the sweater and her knee-high leather boots.
Hell, she was gorgeous.
Maybe he should rethink this.
Crazy.