Page 4 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

I hold onto the yoke a bit tighter, angling our nose down slightly, hoping the lower altitude will be a bit less choppy. The wind slams against the plane, tossing it sideways. I correct it, easing back on the throttle. Mia gasps and grips the armrests of her seat.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her, keeping my tone steady despite the tightening knot of anxiety in my gut. “I’ve flown in worse weather than this.”

The turbulence increases, causing our small plane to jostle and pitch. The winds grow stronger, as the storm advances. My heart jolts with adrenaline as I wrestle with the controls, trying to keep us level.

She grabs my arm, her nails digging into my wrist through the fabric of my sleeve. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Yes,” I insist into the mic. I can hear the sound of howling wind and the engine’s whine, even with my headset firmly in place. “We’re just hitting some rough air. We’ll be fine.”

Gritting my teeth and leaning into the controls, I push us forward. The plane lurches as another powerful gust hits us. My pulse spikes, blood thrumming loudly in my ears as I check my instruments and battle with the controls. The sky is slate-gray when the snow-filled clouds finally overtake us.

“We need to head back,” she shouts, her voice high and strained.

“No,” I snap. “That would point us directly into the blizzard. Besides, we are closer to our destination than to Fairbanks.”

I glance over at her. She stares at me with wide eyes before facing forward with a determined look. I’m grateful she’s silent because I need to focus. Flying through the snow squall is taking all my concentration, and I’m responsible for keeping us safe.

Fighting against the wind, I try shifting our course slightly northeast in an attempt to get out of the cloudburst. For a few tense moments, it seems like we might escape the worst of it. But then a gust of wind slams into us head-on, forcing the plane up and then sharply down. Mia lets out a squeal of fright. I nearly scream myself. Without looking away from the windshield, I reach over to pat her hand reassuringly.

“Are you strapped in tight?”

Her slim fingers fumble with the seatbelt and pull the strap tighter as we drop sharply into a pocket of blinding snow. The wind rattles the plane, making it shudder under the stress. I grit my teeth and wrestle the controls, fighting against every gust and squall.

“Hold on!” I order, knowing that this is far from over.

In the back of my mind, a little voice is berating me for even trying to beat the storm. But I am a good pilot. I’ve flown in rough weather before. Hell, I cut my teeth flying through snowstorms. I take a deep breath and do my best to find smoother air.

Finally, I find it. Things settle. I know it’s a momentary reprieve. The storm is a monster. This is why flying in the Alaskan outback is a crapshoot.

“Is it over?” she asks.

“No.”

I glance over and see her face pale. I take a second to really look at her. She might be the last face I see. In the grand scheme of things, I guess that’s not a bad thing. She’s beautiful. If I’m about to meet my maker, my last memory will be her hazel eyes staring back at me.

Chapter three

Mia

The worst is over.

Clearly, my pilot is good at his job. I send up a silent thanks for that. I have been in bush planes more times than I can count. My job requires me to go places that humans don’t usually visit. That means I get dropped into some of the most desolate territories in the world.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out slowly, calming my racing heart as the plane levels out. I look over at Noah, who has a death grip on the yoke. His knuckles are white, and his jaw is clenched. The chiseled lines of his face show his single-minded determination. When I first saw him, I didn’t think he was my pilot. He looked more like an underwear model, all tall, dark, and handsome.

Too bad he was such a jerk. I really didn’t like his attitude. If this were an Uber, I would definitely leave a bad review. Yes, he was a good pilot, but he wasn’t personable. I couldn’t imagine being stuck in a tiny plane with him for more than an hour.

The silence in the cabin does nothing to soothe my anxiety. I couldn’t even turn on the radio to distract myself.

“Where are you from?” I blurt out. Small talk might help to settle us both despite the mounting tension.

“Fairbanks,” he responds without looking at me. There isn’t a hint of warmth in his voice.

“Ever think about living anywhere else?” I prompt, leaning into the armrest to keep my balance as the plane shudders again.

“No,” he says flatly. “I like it here.”

His curt replies are starting to get annoying, but I force myself to continue the conversation. This is something I enjoy doing. I spend so much of my life in silent stillness, trying to avoid disturbing the wildlife I photograph. I am equally interested in people and how they live in their own little habitats. He isn’t a talker, but that just piques my curiosity.

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