More Than a Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 3) Page 4

  Eva scowled at him. “Come on. I know you have your reasons for not liking the guy, but Gideon Tate is not Stalin. Don’t make Sierra feel bad for helping out a friend.”

  Casey shifted in his chair and looked like he was ready to argue the point. Sierra glanced at Jed, who hadn’t said a word.

  “You wouldn’t have to make do. I spoke to Cara, and her younger brother, Davey, is looking for ranch work. He’s twenty, keen for the experience, and he said he’d be happy to take whatever hours we’ve got to offer,” she said.

  “Get me his number and I’ll have a word with him,” Jed said, his expression giving nothing away.

  Sierra waited for him to say more but he didn’t. She scanned his face, nonplussed, trying to decide if he was holding anything back. This was not the way she’d imagined this conversation going. Casey’s reaction, yes. But Jed was not sticking to the script she’d written in her mind.

  “You’re not pissed with me?”

  “I’m pissed with you,” Casey piped up. “The Tates are entitled assholes. It’s not our job to make their lives easy.”

  “I heard you the first time, Casey,” Sierra snapped. “For the record, they have been nothing but nice to me. And yeah, I know it’s probably out of guilt because of Mom and Dad, but would you prefer they’d treated us like dirt for thirteen years instead?”

  Casey glared at her, and she knew he was working hard to hold on to his temper. She figured she could thank Eva’s presence for the fact they weren’t already yelling at each other at a million decibels.

  Eva deliberately changed the subject then, asking Casey when he was expecting the cover art for The Whiskey Shots’ debut album, and slowly the tension drained out of the room.

  Sierra could tell Casey was still stewing, but it was Jed she was worried about and when he slipped out to check on the horses after dinner, she waited a few minutes and then followed him.

  She found him feeding Pedro half an apple, his palm flat as the horse lipped up the treat.

  “You are such a softie,” Sierra said, leaning against the stall door.

  “He’s a good horse,” he said simply.

  “You didn’t say much back there.”

  “Not much to say. Like you said, you’re helping out a friend.”

  She forced herself to give voice to her real fear, the fear that was always attached to her accepting anything from the Tates. “You don’t think I’m being disloyal to Mom and Dad?”

  Jed’s brow furrowed. “It was an accident.”

  “Sure, but you and Casey and Jesse still hate the Tates.”

  “I don’t hate anyone.” He wiped his hand on the side of his jeans. “I don’t like feeling beholden to the Tates. I didn’t like it when Gideon offered to buy this place out of charity, and it never sat comfortably with me that he gave you free use of his helicopter so you could get your hours up. We don’t need handouts.”

  “But you’re okay with me filling in for Jack?”

  Jed shrugged. “He’s your friend and he’s been good to you. And like Eva said, Gideon Tate is not Stalin. He’s just lucky his car could take a hit better than Dad’s old pickup.” He ran a hand down Pedro’s neck, his expression unreadable. “Can’t keep letting the past dictate the present. That night has caused more than enough misery.”

  She guessed he was thinking about Jesse’s estrangement, how he’d kept his distance from the family for years because he blamed himself for their parents being on the road that night. Then Jed shifted and the light hit his face and she saw something else in his eyes, something sadder and more private. She understood suddenly that he was thinking about Mae, the girlfriend he’d cut loose in order to take on the responsibility of being the head of the family.

  It had been thirteen years and he’d never so much as looked at another woman. Not seriously, anyway.

  “Why don’t you call her?” she asked impulsively.

  Jed’s brow furrowed as he shot her a look. “She’s getting married.”

  Pretty revealing that he didn’t bother to ask who she was referring to.

  “I’m not telling you to elope with her. Just have a coffee. Let it go. Look into her eyes and say goodbye, finally.”

  Jed was already shaking his head.

  “Then let me set you up with one of my friends.”

  “Pass.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m too busy with this place.”

  “Bullshit. Casey’s got time for Eva and his music. I’ve got time for my flying. Jesse’s got time for the rodeo, CJ, and this place. You’ve got to have more in your life than work, Jed.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay. I’ll make a note to take up a hobby.”

  He moved to go but she refused to stand back from the stall door so he could exit.

  “What are you going to do when we’ve all got our own places, our own families? What are you going to be left with when we’ve all flown the nest that you kept safe for us?”

  Jed stared at her, and for a moment she could see the regret and resignation in his eyes.

  “You want to move so I can get out of here?” he asked, gesturing for her to step back.

  “You can run but you can’t hide from this stuff, Jed,” she warned him as she stepped out of the way.

  “How about you concentrate on the favor you’ve agreed to, and I’ll concentrate on this place,” Jed said, his tone a warning that further forays into his personal life would not be welcome.

  Sierra weighed the wisdom of persisting for a heartbeat, then decided to let it go—for now.

  “I’m not giving up on you,” she told her brother as he headed for the house.

  True to form, Jed didn’t say a word in response.

  *

  Sierra rolled out of bed a whole twenty minutes before she needed to the following morning, she was so amped for the day. It was impossible to pretend she wasn’t excited about the next six weeks now she’d gotten the messy business of talking to her brothers over and done with.

  She was going to fly every single day, give or take, for six weeks. It didn’t get better than that.

  She’d never talked about it openly with anyone, but her long-term dream was to be a full-time pilot. She wasn’t quite sure what that might look like yet—working for one of the tour guide operators based out of the Big Sky ski resort perhaps, or doing charter flights out of Billings or Bozeman. Maybe even air rescue, if that was an option.

  Of course, a job like Jack’s would be amazing, too, but private pilot gigs were as rare as unicorns. Maybe even rarer. Which was one reason why Jack was moving heaven and earth to ensure the Tates weren’t inconvenienced by his illness.

  Anyway, whatever flying full-time might look like for her, it was still a long way off. Until the ranch was well and truly out of the red and Casey was more established with his music career, her family couldn’t afford for her to go chasing her dream. In the meantime, this gig covering for Jack would look great on her CV as well as getting her flight hours up. As a newly qualified pilot, every hour she clocked up helped increase her bona fides and employability, not to mention improving her knowledge and experience.

  She’d laid out clothes for herself the previous night, a uniform of sorts that roughly approximated what Jack typically wore—chinos, navy polo shirt, tan belt, lace-up boots, and a navy ball cap—and she checked the weather on her phone as she dressed. They were forecasting perfect flying conditions—clear skies, low wind—so there was no need to adjust Jack’s usual flight path to Helena.

  Jed was in the kitchen when she entered and he poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter toward her.

  “I made oatmeal,” he said, and she blinked at him.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard properly.

  Jed was notorious for not having the patience to make oatmeal, which happened to be her favorite breakfast food.

  “Wanted to say I was sorry for not being more supportive last night. I should have hosed Casey
down at dinner. You’re doing the right thing, helping Jack out.”

  It was so typical of her thoroughly decent older brother that he’d felt the need to address a perceived wrong.

  Sierra smiled at him. “Thanks, bro-daddy, but I can handle Casey.”

  “Thought we agreed we never needed to hear those words again,” Jed said, filling a bowl with steaming oatmeal.

  She’d coined bro-daddy in junior high as a joke and he’d always hated it.

  “It felt like a special occasion.”

  He gave her a dry look and she laughed, buoyed by his support. Casey would come around, too, she knew. He’d never been able to hang on to a bad mood for long.

  She added honey and milk to her bowl and made short work of her oatmeal before finishing her coffee and hitting the bathroom to brush her teeth. Ten minutes later, she was heading for the front door.

  The Tates’ spread was just ten minutes’ drive from the Carmody ranch and it wasn’t long before she was pulling alongside the hangar set off to one side of the Tates’ sprawling house. Originally a humble ranch-style home similar to the one her parents had built, it had been extended over the years and embellished with feature timber porch supports and impressive landscaping. She’d heard the Tates owned a place in Helena as well, but this was Gideon and Nancy’s original home, the house they’d started their hugely successful transport business from all those years ago, and Gideon obviously considered it his true home base even though his company headquarters was in Helena.

  It took her ten minutes to move the Bell out onto the landing pad using the battery-operated tow cart. By the time she’d untied the rotor the sky was a soft apricot color as the sun made its first appearance over the horizon.

  She did a visual check, walking around the aircraft, looking for the usual—oil, water, or fuel leaks, and any cracking or signs of fatigue in the rotors and skids. As Jack had taken pains to explain to her last night when he called, the helicopter had a full tank, so she didn’t have to worry about refueling. Instead, she inspected the passenger cabin to ensure it was ready, leaving the flask of coffee she’d made at home there for Garret, as per Jack’s instructions. She checked the weather report one last time—still clear—and was just pocketing her phone when she heard the distant sound of a door closing.

  Her stomach gave an odd, unsettling little jump at the prospect of seeing Garret Tate again. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about him too much once she’d agreed to take over Jack’s job, but there was no denying the buzz of anticipation in her belly as she climbed out of the cockpit.

  He was walking toward her from the house, and she adjusted her ball cap nervously as she drank in the sight of him. He’d been wearing casual clothes Friday night, but this morning he was all clean lines and crisp edges in a navy suit with a white shirt and navy-and-red-striped tie. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven. The cut of his suit jacket highlighted the width of his shoulders and the slimness of his hips, while his pants hinted at muscular thighs.

  The whole effect was more than a little overwhelming and Sierra felt blind-sided.

  This man was not just easy on the eyes—he was inordinately, disturbingly hot.

  Definitely a thirteen. Maybe even a fourteen.

  “Morning,” Garret said as he stepped onto the helipad.

  “Morning,” she said, offering him what she hoped was a cool, professional smile and nod.

  As though that would make up for all the highly unprofessional mental ogling she’d just indulged in.

  He paused in front of her and she was treated to a waft of his insanely delicious aftershave.

  “Thanks for covering for Jack at such short notice. I appreciate it,” he said.

  “Not a problem. Happy to help out. And I promise I’ll get you to Helena in one piece as an added bonus.”

  He laughed. “Very reassuring, thanks.”

  She opened the passenger door for him. “There’s coffee in the thermos flask. We should be in Helena by seven thirty.”

  “Thanks, Sierra.”

  He climbed into the cabin and set down his briefcase, a sleek, modern take on the traditional businessman’s accessory. She waited until he’d clipped his belt on before shutting the door and climbing into the cockpit. She put her headset on and checked he’d done the same using the mirror. He hadn’t, and when he glanced up and met her eyes she mimed him doing so. He gave her a small acknowledging smile before sliding his headset on. She rewarded him with a thumbs-up, then turned her attention to the Bell.

  Okay, here we go. Don’t fuck it up, Carmody.

  Taking a deep breath, she started running through her preflight checklist.

  *

  Garret felt the mechanical vibration of the motor starting up, followed by the rising whir of the rotors engaging. Even though he had plenty of work to get through, he waited until the Bell lifted gently from the helipad before opening his briefcase, watching Sierra’s face via the mirror.

  There was an intensity to her expression that told him she was taking this temporary job very seriously. Jack had assured him she was one of the best pilots he knew when he called Garret to apprise him of the situation last night. She certainly looked like she knew what she was doing as she deftly operated the pedals and cyclic with quiet confidence.

  He frowned as it occurred to him that he was paying her a lot more attention than if she was Jack. Not the smartest way to kick off their professional relationship.

  He switched his focus to his computer and didn’t look up again until Sierra announced they were approaching Helena airport. She landed the Bell with the gentlest of bumps and when he glanced at the mirror he saw she was smiling, clearly pleased with herself. A minute later she climbed out of the cockpit and came to open the passenger cabin door, letting a wash of cool air into the cabin.

  “Right on time,” he said as he stepped down onto the tarmac.

  “Helps when the wind is in our favor,” she said with a modest shrug.

  “What’s the latest we can leave for Marietta this evening?” he asked.

  Sierra pushed the door shut and secured the latch. “We start losing light at seven thirty, so six thirty would be our latest possible departure time at this end.”

  “Then I’ll be here by six thirty,” he assured her before giving her a nod goodbye.

  He crossed to where his father’s car was parked next to the hangar, shrugging out of his suit jacket for the short drive into Tate headquarters. He slid it onto the coat hook behind the driver’s seat, glancing idly toward the helipad as he pushed the door closed.

  Sierra was inspecting the main engine compartment, and he paused to admire her easy, agile athleticism as she stepped down off the skid.

  And, yes, her ass, because it looked nothing short of sensational in her slim-fit chinos.

  A gust of wind caught the end of his tie, making it dance in front of his face, and Garret realized he was staring inappropriately. Again.

  He turned away abruptly. No matter how attractive he found Sierra Carmody—and, clearly, it was pointless to deny he found her very attractive—the moment she’d stepped into Jack’s shoes she’d become off-limits. She was a Tate employee now, and that was a hard line he would never cross.

  He had no place noticing how she moved or how nice her ass was. In fact, it kind of made him a creep. She was here to fly him from A to B, and how she looked while doing so had nothing to do with anything.

  He was frowning again as he started the car and steered it away from the hangar. Apparently his subconscious—or, more accurately, his libido—had decided his life wasn’t messy enough at the moment.

  Perfect. Just what he needed, another complication.

  Chapter Four

  It was a short drive into the office and when Garret cruised into the underground garage he noticed with interest that while a half dozen spots were occupied, the one reserved for his father’s general manager was notably empty.

  It was still relatively early, but
Garret had hoped he and Ron could get straight into it this morning. Garret had a lot of questions and a lot of background to catch up on, and he was keen to hit the ground running. But apparently his general manager was not an early bird.

  Not today, anyway.

  He made his way to the fifth level and headed for his father’s office, where he found a neatly dressed woman with salt-and-pepper hair and clear gray eyes stationed at a desk outside the door. She was a new face to him, which meant she must have joined Tate Transport within the last seven years.

  “Mr. Tate. Good Morning. I’m Mandy. We spoke last week,” the woman said, standing and offering him her hand.

  “Hi, Mandy. Good to put a face to the name,” he said.

  “For me too,” she said with a tight smile. “I didn’t get a chance to say so last week, but I’m very sorry for your father’s illness. It was a huge shock to all of us.”

  “Thanks, Mandy. We got lucky—he’s still with us. I’m concentrating on that part at the moment.”

  Her smile was more relaxed this time. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  He glanced into his father’s office. “I might as well dive right in.”

  “Of course.”

  Conscious of his father’s assistant watching him, Garret stepped over the threshold and into his father’s most prized domain. This was the place where Gideon Tate had always been at his happiest, his sharpest, his best.

  A huge polished walnut desk stood in pride of place, wide and deep and imposing. A well-used leather chair sat behind it, positioned to take advantage of the view across the rooftops of downtown Helena. The opposite wall was covered with photo frames of various sizes, the pictures depicting his father laughing and shaking hands with various local and national luminaries. Golfing heroes, politicians, even the occasional B-list celebrity smiled out at the world alongside his father, assuring visitors that Gideon Tate was a man who knew all the right people.

  The last time Garret had been in this room, he’d told his father he was moving to Seattle to start a business with his college roommates. It had been . . . unpleasant, to say the least.