Page 1 of A Shifter Disaster Thanksgiving

Prologue

If Diane Garrick was ever asked to make a list of her biggest fears, flying would be at the very top of that list. Hairy spiders and birthday clowns with those creepy smiles and red noses would be a close second and third.

For the thousandth time that afternoon, she forced out a sigh and clutched the armrest, wondering why the hell she’d picked the window seat. The view of the clouds below was magnificent, granted, but it was magnificent in the same way that the ocean and outer space were—a terrifying grandness that promised every possible danger her unsettled mind could imagine.

And, boy, was her mind great at imagining things. It was awesome when you were an author hoping to secure neat publishing deals. Terrible when you were flying thirty-five thousand feet over Nebraska.

Or was it forty? Forty-five? Just the thought was enough to make her queasy.

The plane hit a patch of turbulence, and her insides went into overdrive, squirming and pounding madly. She shut her eyes, trying to get herself to calm down. She’d already been to the lavatory a couple of times for a tinkle and then to throw up but had given up the idea once the possibility of her spiraling to theearth below with her bottom bared for the entire world to see crept into her mind.

“First time?”

Her eyes flickered open at the sound of the voice, and her gaze swept about, taking in the sea of heads and headrests in the cabin before landing on the man seated right next to her.

“Huh?”

“It’s your first time flying, isn’t it?” he repeated.

His lips curved into a smile that was too wide for the rest of his face. The man looked like he was in his late thirties, with a trimmed beard and a small mustache, but he was already balding. He wore a blue suit that looked a little too big for his body. Between that and his receding hairline, his appearance was that of any businessman. At least, that was how she would describe him if he were a character in one of her novels.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve flown before.”

“You could’ve fooled me. This whole time, you’ve been acting like you can’t wait for us to land. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights.”

Diane couldn’t help the surge of irritation that swept through her. She relaxed her grip on the armrest, momentarily considering clutching his throat instead but held off, deciding that his tie was already strangling him enough.

“Ding, ding, ding,” she muttered, nodding.

He was right, of course. But she hadn’t always hated flying. Not until six years ago, when her husband, Walter, died in that plane crash. He’d kissed her goodbye that morning at the airport, and then she’d turned on the TV only a couple of hours later to see the report of the accident.

She’d completely avoided flying since then. For years, she’d opted to take trains instead. She wouldn’t be on Daystar’s Flight 18 right now if her agent hadn’t held her at gunpoint and forced her onto the plane.

Okay, that was an overstatement. But he’d been pretty particular about her need to get to Chicago on time, and taking a train or a bus would’ve defeated that purpose. He had a point, but Diane had promised to haunt him for the rest of his life if anything happened to her on the flight.

She’d chosen a seat near the back of the cabin because of its proximity to the lavatory, but its location also afforded her a view of most of the cabin. The people in business class certainly looked the part. There were men in suits or wrinkled shirts and a few women who looked like they’d rather be elsewhere. A few children watched cartoons, and beyond them, a man who had been arguing with his seatmate stalked down the aisle in search of a flight attendant.

“Where are you headed?”

It was the man seated next to her again. She’d noticed him watching her intermittently since they’d taken off. No doubt, he’d been hoping to strike up a conversation with her and now he’d done it.

“Chicago,” she replied.

He rolled his eyes. “We’re all headed for Chicago. Got a relative expecting you for Thanksgiving? A boyfriend, maybe?”

At his words, she almost snorted. Was hehittingon her?

The plane shuddered slightly again, and she clutched the armrest, muttering a silent prayer until it stopped. Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she returned her attention to the man seated next to her. It wasn’t her first time being hit on, of course. In the past six years, she’d been hit on by all kinds of guys, even while waiting for the subway. She’d gotten used to it. That is, she’d gotten used to turning those men down. In the six years since Walter’s accident, despite her willingness to move on, she hadn’t met a single man whom she’d consider dating more than a couple of times. Because of that, she felt pretty lonely sometimes.

“I don’t even know you,” she told the man candidly.

He looked slightly taken aback, but the smile returned quickly. “I’m Tom,” he told her. “Tom Baxter. What’s your name?”

Tom Baxter. Businessman. Workaholic. Socially inept. Probably a virgin.

Definitely not protagonist material.

Shelving the thought, she blinked at him, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. “I’m Diane Garrick.”

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