He could breathe again.

  But that didn’t come close to solving all of his problems. He still couldn’t see past the controls directly in front of him. Or hear anything but a loud rumbling—a concoction of engine, thunder, rain, wind...

  Then he saw everything. For a split second, the world around him was a stage of light, showing him the emptiness outside and the drenched land below. A loud crack sounded, like a gun going off next to his head. The plane rocked.

  And he knew he’d been hit.

  Not by opposing weaponry but by lightning. He was going down.

  But he still had some control of the plane.

  The plane. His salvation. He had to save his plane. That surety brought a new measure of calm, a deeper level of focus, and he visualized the brief glimpse of ground the flash of damaging light had given him.

  Knew exactly where he was from the dozens of times he’d flown the route. Knew he couldn’t reach his private landing strip near Hendrix, which was still several miles away, but there was another option—one that just might work. He calculated his speed with miles on the ground, and it just came to him where he had to land. An abandoned drive-in movie theater not far from Spring Forest. The place had a long driveway for moviegoers to wait in line to pay the entrance fee. The speakers and screens had long since been taken down, stolen, destroyed or salvaged, but that driveway was still there.

  Without further consideration or question, he watched his gauges, determining how quickly he was losing height and how far he had to push to get himself in place. When he and his plane were alone in the air, people on the ground were his first concern, always. And then the plane.

  The movie theater provided a way to save both.

  So he would make it happen.

  His neck jolted as the small aircraft hit turbulence and he rode the rough air like a motorboat on waves. Facing his challenge head-on. Sitting tightly as his small craft tossed violently.

  Fully focused on the end in mind.

  Had he not been watching the dials in front of him, he’d have been shocked at the first sight of the ground coming up to greet him out of the gloom—less than ten feet away. He missed the drive, clipped a tree he didn’t remember being there, damaged a wing on a lone metal pole left standing and, as he touched down hard, slammed on the brakes in just enough time to prevent himself from sliding into the woods. The plane lurched hard, and his head cracked into the side panel beside him.

  Greg’s body bumped and slammed against the seat restraints holding him in place, his ears rang with internal sirens and then...everything was still.

  Chapter Two

  She was not going to text Greg Martin. He was a big boy. A professional pilot who’d been flying without her worry, or knowledge, long before he’d started volunteering to transport her dogs.

  Thunder cracked and followed with a rumble that seemed to shake her house. Still, if Greg was in the air, it was because he was doing a favor for her. If he’d been caught in the storm...she couldn’t help feeling like she was largely to blame.

  Wasn’t it just responsible of her to text and make sure he’d landed safely? Or had stayed up north for the night?

  Had he ever flown through such bad weather on her behalf before? Looking back over the three years or more that he’d been flying her Pets for Vets animals around the region, who could remember for sure?

  She was positive she’d never texted before to make sure he’d landed safely.

  And there was her answer.

  She’d had a bad morning—made better by a few minutes of seeing him. Teasing with him. The flirtation meant nothing. Greg, a man women drooled over, was a confirmed bachelor. Which made flirting with him safe. Fun, even.

  But more than that, being with him that morning had helped put her world in perspective. Her father represented the child she’d been. Greg was a part of the life of the woman she’d become. A friend. Being with him for those few minutes that morning had turned her rotten mood completely around. Helping her realize that she was in the right place doing the right things for her.

  Of course Greg was on her mind. He’d been the brightest part of her day.

  But that was no cause to suddenly turn into a ninny and call him. He didn’t know he’d helped her feel good about her life and her choices. Didn’t need to know he’d helped.

  Him knowing would ruin things, and she liked them exactly as they were.

  Unspoken friends for however long they happened to be in each other’s spheres.

  No pressure.

  No built-up expectations that could lead to letting each other down.

  A text would have been an intrusion...certainly a massive protocol change...maybe even one requiring explanation.

  Good call not to text.

  Solidly decided.

  No more contemplation.

  Feeling calmer with her choice-making firmly behind her, Wendy slipped her phone into the back pocket of her lightweight chinos and headed down the hall to her home office and the satchel of files she’d brought from work.

  But then her phone started ringing. That in itself wasn’t strange. She might live by herself, but she rarely spent an entire evening in her own company. But when she pulled the cell from her pocket and got a glimpse at the caller ID, her heart started to pound.

  Greg.

  “Hello?”

  She should have texted. She should have texted. She should have texted. Why hadn’t she trusted her judgment?

  “Hey.”

  Some of the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots eased after hearing his voice. He was obviously on the ground.

  And sounded fine.

  So wait—why the hell was he calling?

  Did he want to screw things up between them?

  Horror of horrors, had he somehow read more into her teasing that morning than had been there?

  Trying to breathe while running a rapid and somewhat sketchy replay of the morning’s conversation through her brain, she barely deciphered him saying, “You busy?” Did something about him sound off? Or was it just her who was flipping out over a phone call?

  “Just home working. What’s up?”

  Maybe the call was related to their shared volunteer work. If he’d heard of another dog in need of help during his drop-off, she’d gladly help place him. Or her.

  “I’m stranded,” he told her. “You’re the only person I know nearby.” She’d been right about him not sounding quite right.

  She swallowed with difficulty. “Stranded?”

  Her intuition had been screaming at her. Why in the hell hadn’t she listened?

  “You know the old drive-in outside of town?”

  “Town? My town? Spring Forest?” He’d only touched down at the local private airpark to pick up the Lab he’d been delivering for her. He’d have no reason to be in Spring Forest that night...

  “I got struck by lightning and had to bring her down. I’m fine, but the plane’s got some damage. I’ve already called air traffic control and local police. They told me that the plane’s fine where it is until tomorrow, but I need a ride, and you’re the only one I know in the area...”

  He knew Birdie and Bunny, unlikely matriarchs in Spring Forest and the founders of the Furever Paws Animal Rescue that provided most of the animals that he transported; they were old friends of his mother’s. But Wendy was his friend. She made the silent translation with growing warmth, in conjunction with the frown that was getting more pronounced.

  “You don’t sound fine. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive. I’m a trained fighter pilot, I know how to self-triage. I just need a ride. Unless you’re occupied, I can...”

  “...I’m on my way,” she interrupted, already on her way out the door, keys in hand. “And you can self-triage to know if your eyes are dilated?” She wasn’t a medical person, wasn’t completely sure what signs to look for. “Seriously, I can call an ambulance. I do their books, and the EMT on duty tonight is the best—”

  She heard him curse under his breath before he spoke again. “I don’t need a damned ambulance, and if you call one, I’ll call a cab. Which, you know, is what I should have done in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking, and I apologize for bothering you—”

  “No! It’s no bother. I’m glad you called, and I’m already headed your way.” As she climbed into the car, she switched to the vehicle’s Bluetooth system.

  No cabs. The man had enough money to take one all the way to Hendrix. And then, without being checked out, he’d be rambling about, all alone on that big wooded property he talked about. He might claim that he didn’t need an ambulance, but she couldn’t imagine landing a plane after a lightning strike—without a proper runway—had been totally smooth and consequence-free. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, she was sure he’d acquired some injuries. If nothing else, it sounded like the kind of terrifying experience that could mentally and emotionally rattle even the steadiest of men. She didn’t like the thought of him being alone after something like that.

  And when he’d needed someone, he’d called her.

  Which sent unfamiliar warm jolts through her.

  Food for thought.

  But first, she had to make sure Greg Martin was safe and as fine as he claimed he was.

  If not for her—the errand he’d been running for her—he wouldn’t have been up in the storm.

  She owed him.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Greg had the words ready and was delivering them as he opened the passenger door of Wendy’s SUV and slid onto the roomy—even with his broad shoulders—seat. She’d barely brought the vehicle to a stop. The rain had stopped for the moment, and he’d jumped down out of the plane’s cockpit the second he’d seen her headlights coming up the drive.

  “You were holding your head all the way to the car. What’s wrong?”

  “Your headlights were blinding me.” He could hear that he sounded a little defensive, but he didn’t like the evaluating tone in her voice. He was fine. He just maybe had the beginnings of a tension headache. He wasn’t a headache kind of guy, thank God, but he could feel the tightness coming up through his neck. Nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix.

  He could see starlike glints in her eyes as she studied him in a darkness lit only by the vehicle’s interior dashboard. “They weren’t shining directly on you. Did you hit your head?”

  The way she was peering at him, like she was looking for signs of something wrong, had him turning his head away and sitting up straight as he said, “I bumped a lot of things,” in a lackadaisical tone. “You don’t bring a craft down in a major storm without significant turbulence.” There was nothing to worry about. He knew what serious injury felt like, and what he was experiencing wasn’t it. Not even close.

  “Greg, come on. Did you bump your head?”

  The emphatic tone to her voice, coupled with the lack of her foot on the gas needed to power the vehicle, had him thinking back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “When I landed. It bumped the side panel—but not very hard.” He felt the spot. “There’s not even a lump.”

  She continued to watch him.

  “You want to feel?” he asked, not flirting, but close, hoping that would rattle her enough to get her to back off. He knew she liked the playful, flirtatious vibe between the two of them, but only if he kept it very light. Anything that smacked of real intimacy she tended to avoid.

  The question worked. She put the vehicle in motion. Turned toward town, not the highway and thirty-plus miles down the road where his own vehicle awaited in the garage on his property. Exactly as he’d expected. He didn’t mind: he’d never had any intention of asking her to drive him all the way home. No way he wanted to be responsible for her driving back from Hendrix alone late at night in the rain.

  “If you just drop me at the nearest gas station, I’ll call a cab where I can wait inside out of the rain.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  The night had pretty much sucked. He wasn’t in a mood for bargaining. “I’m not aware that I’m in need of any deal.” He was a free man who’d called a friend for a ride. Period. He had other options.

  “I’ll quit worrying about whether or not my favor inadvertently caused you physical damage and quit trying to figure out a way to get you medical attention if you’ll agree to bed down at my place tonight.”

  A night in Wendy Alvarez’s home? He was a little intrigued. Enough to give her deal some consideration.

  Right up until he thought about the nightmares—the number one reason he never spent an entire night with a woman. Never let himself fall asleep after sex.

  “I’d hate to cause you worry,” he said slowly.

  “You could have a concussion, Greg. I’m just being practical here.”

  His head didn’t really hurt. Not badly. “I didn’t lose consciousness.”

  “You think I have cooties or something?”

  More like he did. “No.”

  “You called me, remember?”

  Yeah, why had he done that? He’d still been on an adrenaline rush. Not a high. Just...a bit het up. And he’d thought of Wendy.

  Because she was the only person nearby he considered a personal friend.

  He’d reached out to a friend.

  Completely atypical.

  Still...he’d done it.

  “Do you even have a guest room?”

  “I have a really nice couch. And it’s all yours for the night. Along with a wake-up call every two hours, house rules.”

  He didn’t have a concussion. But if it would ease her worry...and more, if it would convince her to continue to call him every time she had a dog to transport up north...

  “I left my go bag in the plane.”

  She pulled a quick U-turn and headed back down the road to the drive-in. And he didn’t argue.

  Chapter Three

  Wendy didn’t entertain at home. She was one person, so it usually ended up being much easier for others to have her over, especially her friends who had kids or pets they needed to be home with. Her house was on the outskirts of Spring Forest, kind of out of everyone’s way, and she didn’t mind being the one who did the driving back and forth. And her office in town was an open door with people stopping in often just to say hello.

  The additional benefit of this was that her home got to feel like a private sanctuary. Peaceful and quiet and all hers.

  And now, she’d invited Greg Martin to spend the night.

  Because he’d flirted with her for a couple of minutes that morning and had inadvertently given her understanding that made her feel validated about her life?

  Because Pets for Vets was the most important part of her life and he’d been hurt while working for them?

  Whatever the reason, he was in her home now, and it was...weird. Those first hugely awkward moments of having Greg’s six-foot-one broad-shouldered body taking up space in her private sphere unhinged her a bit. Made her nervous. Not in a scared way. In an extra-energy, clumsy way.

  She told him to make himself at home but didn’t show him past the kitchen door they’d come through from the garage.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she offered, opening the refrigerator. Her mother had always offered refreshment; she had been a great hostess. “And maybe something to eat? Did you get a chance to have dinner?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I was planning to eat when I got home. But I don’t want you to go to any trouble—”

  “No trouble at all,” she insisted. “I have some leftover grilled chicken. It should make a pretty good sandwich.” Without waiting for him to agree or argue, she pulled out the meat along with a loaf of bread, lettuce, tomato and condiments and began assembling a sandwich.

  “I forget—did you say yes to something to drink?” she asked. She had beer, but she wasn’t about to offer that to someone who had just hit his head. So nonalcoholic beverages it was. “I have water, orange juice, milk, soda, water, of course... Oh, I said that already, didn’t I?”

  Wendy knew she probably sounded silly, but she so badly wanted her place to seem comfortable and welcoming to Greg. She wanted him to want to be there.

  “A glass of water would be great, thanks,” he said, standing awkwardly by her counter.

  “Feel free to sit down,” she gestured toward the kitchen table and chairs, mentally wincing as she took in how plain and dinged-up the set looked. She’d bought them secondhand at a great price, figuring she hardly needed anything fancy or new when no one would be seeing her kitchen but her. And now Greg was here.

  She knew there was no way on earth her house could even halfway live up to his own elegant home. Not that she’d ever been there. But Bunny and Birdie had told her that he’d inherited a lot of money from his grandparents and that his home was huge and lovely.

  And that he rarely, if ever, had visitors. Like her.

  “Here you go,” she announced, bringing over the plated sandwich along with the water.

  “Thank you.” He didn’t look at her, just grabbed the sandwich.

  Leaving her with nothing to do but stand there watching him eat. She immediately started fidgeting. “I’ll just...um...go set up the couch for you,” she announced, scurrying out of the room like some kind of scared rabbit.

  As she went to pull sheets out of the hall closet to cover the beige tweed couch she’d also purchased used, it occurred to her that she should have offered to take him home and insisted on keeping watch there.

  It wouldn’t have been nearly as...invasive...as that athletically perfect body taking up the entire expanse of cushion that she’d been known to sleep on herself when she wanted the television for company.

  She could have watched over him at his house.