Page 3 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

I get to the private airport where my bush plane is stored in a hangar and check the weather. A storm is coming in, but I should be able to get my client to her destination and get back to Fairbanks before it hits. It’ll be close, but I can do it.

I go through my pre-flight checks and wait.

And then wait some more.

My patience is wearing thin. I check my watch again, irritation simmering. My client is forty minutes late. People think that because we’re in Alaska and they aren’t dealing with a major airline, they can show up when they want. I’m tempted to cancel the charter. She can find another way.

Just when I’m ready to throw in the towel, I see her approaching. She’s dragging a large suitcase with a smaller one balanced on top. She looks flustered, her face red from exertion or maybe embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says breathlessly. “My flight into Fairbanks was delayed. I got here as quickly as I could.”

I nod, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “It’s fine. Let’s get your bags loaded up. We need to get going if we want to stay on schedule.”

She isn’t what I expected. Young. Pretty. Tiny. Most of my clients are hunters or survivalist types. She looks like a strong breeze might blow her away.

I reach for her suitcase, but she snatches it back. “I need the top one.”

“It’s not a big plane,” I remind her. “It’s not going far.”

“I’ll keep this one with me.”

My little spidey senses go off. I am not about to get myself into another illegal situation. “Look, if you’re carrying drugs or guns or anything else that’s illegal, you’re not getting on my plane.”

She frowns at me. “Illegal? It’s my camera.”

“Let me see.”

“No!”

“Then you’re not bringing it onboard,” I snap.

Her eyes narrow. I can see she’s getting pissed, but I don’t budge. I’ve learned my lesson. The DEA will not let me off the hook again. It won’t matter how innocent I am.

Finally, she jerks the zipper and opens the bag. “Camera. See? Happy now?”

“I was happy forty minutes ago,” I mutter, dragging her suitcase onto the plane. “Let’s go!”

She climbs aboard. I hand her the headset and quickly settle into the cockpit. She takes the seat next to mine instead of the one in the back.

“Ever flown in a bush plane before?” I ask as I start the engines.

“Lots of times.”

I can’t tell if she’s joking. Most of my clients have never flown in a small plane—except the locals with cabins off the grid. She seems at ease and knows exactly what to do with the headset. It’s not long before we’re climbing into the air. Once we’re at a safe altitude, I relax a little. But I’m not liking what I’m seeing. The storm is coming in fast—much faster than the radar indicated.

“I’m Mia,” she says, her voice coming over the comms. “I am sorry I was late.”

“It’s fine. I’m Noah.”

She looks out the window, completely comfortable. I’ve grown accustomed to nervous chatter or overzealous excitement from my passengers. Her calmness is a surprising contrast. We glide through the sky, the expanse of snow and pristine forests spread out below. The view is something I never truly get used to.

The wind begins to pick up as we get further from Fairbanks. The thick clouds I saw earlier have started to catch up with us, making my already frayed nerves jump.

“Storm’s picking up,” I mutter, more to myself than Mia. “Things might get a little bumpy.”

“I thought it wasn’t due to hit this far north.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to let the weather service know.”

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