Intercepting Daisy (2 page)

T
HE CHARTER FLIGHT
Daisy Spencer was working that afternoon had been smooth until they were an hour outside of Seattle. They bounced their way into the landing pattern for Sea-Tac Airport as the pilot's voice came over the intercom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this will be a rough one due to weather in the Seattle area. Everyone needs to sit down and buckle up, including the flight attendants. I'll let you know when you can get up again. Also, please stow all loose items such as electronics in your seat back or under the seat in front of you until we've landed. Thank you.”

Daisy would have liked to chalk this up to a typical day at work, but she'd received “sit down and buckle up” instructions with forty-five minutes left to go in flight only once before. That one had ended with the euphemistically termed “rough landing” and a quick evacuation via the emergency exit. The fire department had coated everything that moved in flame retardant due to leaking jet fuel.

The pilot had his hands full at the moment as the plane shimmied its way through strong winds and lashing rain while descending from cruising altitude. The jump seats were located behind the cockpit and facing the passengers; Daisy glanced around the half-partition that shielded the flight attendants from view. The Sharks' front office guys, who always sat in the front of the team plane, were clutching their armrests. One appeared to be praying. She saw a few of the players in the rear clasp hands across the aisle as the plane descended through a wall of dark clouds the last thousand feet to the runway.

Daisy's heart was pounding. Anyone who wasn't afraid in this situation was out of his or her mind. She had confidence in the pilots—she knew the captain wouldn't hesitate to abort the landing and divert elsewhere if he couldn't land safely—but she was still scared. She wasn't seeing her life pass before her eyes or anything. She remembered every emergency procedure she'd learned in her flight-attendant instruction. If they managed to deploy the emergency slide after landing, they'd have little time to evacuate the plane. Staying calm meant survival for everyone right now.

The silence was broken by the sound of dozens of men reciting the Lord's Prayer as the pilot fought to stabilize the wildly pitching jet. He was a thirty-year veteran of the airline and flew bush planes in Alaska previously. He was used to a lot worse conditions. The side winds still buffeting the plane were a big concern, however.

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing,” the copilot barked into the intercom.

Daisy's coworker Rachel reached out to grab her hand. “Almost there.” She'd been through worse too, but it would be a relief to arrive safely.

“Yeah,” Daisy said.

“We'll be fine,” Rachel said, her hand sweaty from nerves. “Breathe, Daisy.”

The wheels of the jet touched the runway beneath them and bounced. The plane shimmied again as the pilot applied the brakes; Daisy knew he was using every bit of experience and skill to get the plane to stop before he ran out of runway. They heard the whine of the brakes as the passengers were shoved back into their seats. She could feel the jet still moving side to side in the strong winds, but the pilot managed to slow the plane. A minute or so later, he turned onto the path to the area they'd be disembarking at.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Seattle. I'm leaving the seat-belt sign on because the weather has really deteriorated in the past hour or so. It's forty-five degrees here, raining hard with a pretty good side wind, but we made it.” His comments were interrupted by enthusiastic applause. “We may see some lightning in the next forty-five minutes, so we'll be exiting the plane as quickly as I can get it parked and then get you onto your buses.”

Daisy didn't have time to reflect on the fact they'd narrowly avoided the worst possible outcome. She let out a long breath and unclenched Rachel's hand.

“Time to get back to work,” Rachel said.

Daisy reached out to grab a plastic garbage bag from the galley. She and Rachel would have to set some kind of land-speed record cleaning up the cabin before they were told they could open the jet's doors, but it had to be done. The other two flight attendants in the back would help, but it would still have to happen in minutes. They hadn't been able to do the pre-cleaning of wrappers, plastic cups, milk and juice cartons, and other trash that collected when sixty-plus professional athletes, twenty-five coaches, support staff, and various others traveling on the Sharks' flight needed refreshments on their way home from Oakland. She saw the Sharks' head coach unbuckle his seat belt, scoot to the edge of his seat, and reach out one hand.

“Daisy, I can help. Let me have that.”

“You're not supposed to get up until the seat-belt sign is off, sir.”

He gave her the nod and wriggled his fingers. “Got it. I'll take that. And why don't you get me another one too?” He dumped a plastic cup full of wrappers in the bag, turned in his seat, and handed the bag behind his head to one of the assistant coaches. “Put your trash in this, and let's pass it to the back of the plane. Hopefully, the guys will get the message.”

Four empty plastic bags were handed back. She could hear the rustling of paper and plastic as the passengers cleaned up after themselves. As the plane continued its slow progress, Daisy could hear a few of the players talking and nervous laughter.

“Damn. I thought we were done for, bro.”

“Pretty bumpy. That pilot earned his money. The fucking wings were wobbling too. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Still want to learn to fly, Anderson?”

“Hell no. I want to go home and kiss my wife.”

This was greeted with a burst of loud laughter.

“I'll bet you're doing a lot more than kissing her,” another deep voice chimed in.

“Not discussing that with you right now, Collins.”

The plane came to a halt, and the pilot turned off the seat-belt sign. “I'd like to thank everyone aboard for flying with Pacifica Airlines. I still see lightning on my weather readout, so we'll make sure you're safely on the buses before it arrives. Please take extra care with the steps today due to the rain and wind. We look forward to flying with you again soon.”

“How about next Friday night?” one of the players called out. “We have a business trip to Green Bay.”

Daisy smiled as she picked up a few wrappers that had managed to escape the surprisingly tidy group. They might have had a scare, but they were ready to get back on a plane again. So was she.

“Thank you, guys, for cleaning up,” she said to nobody in particular. “We really appreciate the help.”

Matt Stephens, the owner of the Sharks, gave her a broad smile as she approached him. Daisy didn't spend a lot of time keeping up with football, but any woman with a pulse knew who the startlingly handsome Matt was. She also knew that he was married and, according to all reports, crazy about his wife, Amy.

“Thanks for getting us home safely.” Matt reached out to shake Daisy's hand.

“The pilot's your man for that, but thank you,” she said.

Daisy was a bit surprised that Matt never sat with the front office guys and coaching staff when he flew with the team. He seemed to prefer the sometimes-boisterous player seating. Matt's brother-in-law Brandon McKenna, who'd retired from the Sharks a few years back and took Matt's job on a nationally broadcast pre-game show, sat next to him.

“He saved our ass—butts today,” the tall, blond Brandon said. He reached out to loop his arm around Matt's shoulders. “Let's go home, bro.”

“You don't need to ask me twice,” Matt said. “I wasn't sure we were getting off this damn flight alive.”

“If I got killed in a plane crash, Sugar would kick my ass,” Brandon said. His dimple flashed as he impulsively kissed his brother-in-law on the forehead. “We're outta here.”

Daisy moved away from them and reached out for another full plastic bag from Grant Parker, the Sharks' backup quarterback. He looked into her eyes and raised an eyebrow—the universal guy signal for
Hey, how you doin'?

Grant wasn't hard on the eyes, either. His tousled, wavy, sun-streaked, chestnut-colored hair brushed his shoulders. His eyes were the color of melted dark chocolate and twinkled when he smiled. He had the required three-day scruff of whiskers most men under thirty sported these days. Instead of the bulked-up muscles of most of his teammates, Grant was tall and lean. He also bore a somewhat disconcerting facial resemblance to a major religious figure. This hadn't slowed the party in her panties down one bit.

Imagine what the pastor of her parents' church would have to say if she told him she had lust in her heart for a guy who looked like Our Lord.

She made an extra effort to remain somewhat professional while he was around, despite the fact that she wanted to squeal like a fourteen-year-old girl confronted with her favorite teen idol. She'd been working on the Sharks' charter flights for two seasons now. The other guys on the team, the coaching staff, and the Sharks announcing crew and other media—they were fun to fly with, and she enjoyed chatting and laughing with them, especially after the team won. Grant was another story. She'd like to toss herself in his lap and run her fingers through his hair, for starters.

He spent his flights listening to music on his headphones and working on his tablet. There might be an occasional conversation between him and his teammates, but for the most part, she'd noticed he kept to himself. Her interactions with him were limited to “What would you like to drink?” and “What would you like to eat?”

Of course, this hadn't stopped her from embroidering a rich fantasy life about Grant in her head. She would love to know what he was like when he wasn't at work, so to speak. She'd read stories about him in the Seattle papers and had seen him shown on the local sports reports. She wondered how much was true and how much was creative fiction.

He was a pastor's son. He spent most of his spare time during the season making charitable appearances on behalf of the team. He told reporters that he hadn't met the “right girl” yet, despite the fact that he'd been seen out to dinner at Seattle-area restaurants with more than a few women from the local Christian colleges over the past few years.

Mostly, he (or his representatives) wanted Grant to be seen as an asset to the Sharks, a great addition to the community, and Tom Reed's worthy successor. Daisy wondered if Grant was curious about what it might be like to be out with someone who'd be interested in a bit more than sharing a root beer float and seeing a G-rated Disney movie with him.

Grant glanced up at her again.

“Need some help with the rest of this?” he asked. “Just point me toward the Dumpster. One of my jobs growing up was taking out the garbage.”

“Thank you so much, but we'll let the cabin cleaners deal with it,” she said. “You need to get on the bus before the lightning storm starts.”

She heard the dull thump of the rolling stairs being shoved up against the side of the jet. The baggage guys were going to have a hell of a time unloading the jet in this weather, especially since she heard the boom of thunder from a few miles away.

The passengers grabbed backpacks, purses, and other items from the overhead bins and filed off the plane as she and Rachel stood at the jet's doorway and told each person good-bye. She got several hugs as the players filed past. One of the bigger guys reached into his backpack, pulled out several new Sharks-logo ball caps, and handed one to each flight attendant as he passed them.

“You ladies need some gear,” he said. “I'll bring more next week.”

“Is that a threat, Morrison?” one of his teammates asked.

“They're spending time with us. They need swag,” he insisted.

“My son will love this. Thank you so much,” Rachel said.

“Oh, no, ma'am. That's for you. I'll bring him something else.” He sauntered down the stairway leading to the tarmac, where a small group of airline employees stood in a covered area waving the Sharks' flag and calling out, “Go Sharks” and “Welcome home.”

Grant Parker was bringing up the rear. He stowed his headphones and tablet in his backpack and reached out to shake Daisy's hand.

“Nice to see you again,” he said. Maybe she imagined that he'd squeezed her hand. “Will I see you on Friday's flight?”

“Yes. I'll be here.” It was amazing she could get any words out at all.

“Good. I'll look forward to it,” he said. She saw his lips curve into a grin. He was still holding her hand, and the fact that her pulse sped up as a result had nothing to do with today's flying adventure. “I know this is pretty sudden, but I have a question.”

“Of . . . of course,” she managed to stammer out. “What can I do for you?”

He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket as he released her hand. Damn it. She'd like to stand there and hold his hand for an hour or so. That wasn't weird or anything.

“Can I get your cell number, Daisy?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah,” she said.

She rattled off the digits as he punched them into his phone. “Thanks,” he said.

He was halfway down the stairs before she realized he'd asked for her number and she'd never asked him why. It seemed a bit sudden, but truthfully, she was still so rattled from the flight he probably could have asked her for the password to her checking account, and she would have blurted it out. She leaned out of the doorway of the plane to see if he was still around. The players and coaches were sprinting across the tarmac as she heard another roll of thunder in the distance.

Daisy could still feel the imprint of Grant's hand clasping hers. Of course, she'd done a lot more than shake hands with him in her imagination.

And in the book currently burning up every digital retailer's best-seller lists.