Quiet Angel (7 page)

Layla squeezed her blue eyes shut, the clerk’s words conjuring words from just hours earlier, words from her own mother, words that ran a chill down her spine and cut open her long-scarred soul.
He’s got as much right to be here as you. Your father would’ve wanted him here.
Her father’s funeral already had been awful, uncomfortable, cold. And her mother, as always, managed to make things even worse.

The clerk saw a line forming at the counter. “Miss Tanner, what would you like to do?”

Layla kept her eyes shut. She was never sure if her mother intended to be a bitch or if the woman was just so primitive, so backwards, that she just couldn’t help but say stupid things. Either way, as far as Layla was concerned, there was nothing motherly about the woman, and there hadn’t been for a very long time.

An earthy voice called out from the line, “Excuse me, ma’am, is there a problem?”

Layla popped open her eyes, all five senses recognizing the voice, one she hadn’t heard in forever. She didn’t dare turn around to face him. She hoped his question was for the autobot and not her, not wanting him to see her so frazzled, if he even remembered who she was. She heard footsteps coming up behind her, and suddenly he was standing next to her at the counter. Layla leaned her head down, letting her brown hair cover the side of her face.

The clerk shuffled her feet and stood a bit taller. “I’m sorry, sir, but we overbooked, and her seat was reassigned.”

The man frowned and looked down at the boarding pass on the counter, recognizing the first name but not the last. He turned to the woman beside him. “Angel?” he asked softly, uncertainly.

Layla nodded slightly, the name tugging at her heart.
Only he calls me that
. “It’s good to see you, Gage. It’s been a long time.”

They exchanged an awkward hug then stared at each other, both in shock. Layla took the chance to study him. She figured he must be about 30 now. His face looked the same as before—the same strong jaw, the same sandy blond hair, the same deep blue eyes. He was dressed in navy slacks and a white-collared shirt, and his body seemed even better now—broader, more intense. She chuckled inside thinking back to their summer, unable to recall Gage wearing anything other than swim trunks and t-shirts. Perhaps the biggest change was his voice; it retained only a hint of his sweet Southern accent, though she could still hear it loud and clear.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, a rush of memories flooding his mind.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to get home to Savannah.”

“That’s where you live?” he asked. “I’m there a lot.”

The clerk cleared her throat, and Gage flicked his eyes towards her. “Find her a seat,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk said and looked down at her computer.

“Gage, it’s OK. I’ll work something out.”

“We’ll get it fixed,” he said.

Layla saw the clerk typing like her life depended on it. “You have some kind of pull around here?”

“If my airline makes a mistake, then we. . . .”

“
Your
airline?”

He pointed to the sign for Southern Wings. “Since my dad died a few years ago.”

“You run the whole company?”

“I try to,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s not just a little commuter airline anymore.” He flagged another clerk to open a second station behind the counter, and an army of weary travelers shifted to another line.

“So you became a pilot?”

“Just like we used to talk about,” Gage said. “I went to the Naval Academy, became a pilot. When I got out, I took over for my dad, more of the business end. I’m licensed to fly commercially but don’t do it very often.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. I always liked him.”

Gage offered a tight smile then turned to the clerk. “What do we have available for Miss. . . .” He stopped and looked at Layla, recalling the unfamiliar last name on the boarding pass. “Is it Miss or Mrs.?”

“Miss,” Layla said.
He’s still smooth
.

“But not Baxter anymore?”

“I changed it to Tanner.”

“You got married?”

“No, I just changed it.”

Gage nodded as if it made perfect sense, though he had no idea why she’d change her name if she wasn’t married. He tried to steady his heart, remembering her in sundresses and now seeing her in a simple black dress.
She still looks like an Angel.
It was crazy to see her again, though he’d wanted to for years. He had so many questions—like whether she still had dimples and, more importantly, what the hell happened. As good as she still looked, a part of him wanted to yell and demand answers.

“How about you?” she asked. “Married? Kids?”

“No.” He looked back at the clerk, her fingers moving at the speed of light. “What do we have available for Miss Layla Tanner?”

“Nothing in coach,” the clerk said hesitantly.

“Then put her in first class,” Gage instructed. “Charge it as a company expense.”

“Yes, Mr. Montgomery,” the clerk said quickly.

“Gage, I can’t let you do that.”

“You’d rather hang out in Houston another night?”

His question snapped her back to reality. “Charge it,” Layla told the clerk, who nodded and printed a new boarding pass. Layla turned to Gage and thanked him.

“Not at all,” he said and took the pass from the clerk. “I should be thanking you. You’ll be keeping me company on the flight.”

Layla’s eyes bulged. “Wait, what?”

*

Gage peeked into
the cockpit with Layla by his side. “G-man!” the pilot cried, gripping his friend with a firm handshake.

“Dash, this is Layla,” Gage said, placing a hand on the small of her back.

Layla trembled at his touch but managed a smile for the pilot, taking in his piercing brown eyes and long lashes. The man looked like he could be Denzel Washington’s son.
Are all pilots hot?

Dash looked Gage and Layla up and down. “No mile high club on my aircraft, OK?”

Layla turned a bright red, as Gage punched his friend in the shoulder. “You have to ignore him,” he said, leading Layla to their seats. “That’s why his call sign is Dash.”

“Not because he’s fast?” she wondered and took the window seat.

Gage chuckled and placed her bag in the overhead compartment. “It stands for Dumb As Shit.”

“And you let him fly your planes?”

“It’s the one thing he’s good at. I can’t take that away from him.” Gage took a seat beside her. “Dash got so drunk one time at a party that he threw up on a captain’s shoes.”

“He’s not drinking today, I hope?”

“Of course not.”

She pulled down the window shade and buckled up. “Were you in Houston on business?”

“The Houston-Savannah flights have been running late,” he said, rolling up his sleeves and undoing a button on his shirt. “I wanted to check it out, to see how we can improve things.”

“Maybe Dash is to blame?”

“Too busy cracking jokes with the passengers.”

“Or maybe the helpful clerk with the dagger in her hair?”

Gage sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t a big deal—at least not anymore,” she said. “Don’t you have people to check out the flights for you?”

“Yes, I have
people
,” he said with a laugh, “a whole team of executives around the country, and they have their own personnel teams, too. But I don’t want to lose touch with the hassles our customers have to put up with. And I really don’t mind doing this particular run. My mom, sister, and her kids live in Savannah, so I’m there most weekends anyway. Nice change from running the company in Atlanta.”

A flight attendant came over, as the plane started to taxi. “Can I get you anything pre-flight?” she asked.

Gage saw Layla gripping the armrest. “I forgot you hate to fly.”

“Just the take-off,” Layla said hopefully. “I’ll be fine.”

Gage turned to the attendant. “Can you bring one of those kits for uneasy flyers?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Layla turned to him. “There’s a kit for people afraid to fly?”

“There is on
my
airline.”

She relaxed her grip a little. “What’s in it?”

“Chewing gum, earbuds, ginger tablets for nausea.”

“You still like to go around saving women, huh?”

Gage gave her a polite smile, not wanting to remember “saving” the pretty girl in the floppy white sunhat and long periwinkle blue sundress—and then losing her, if that was even the right word. “What were you doing in Houston?”

“Flew in for my father’s funeral this morning and now heading back,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Gage said then waited for something more, perhaps a detail or two about how he died, when he died, whether it was sudden or not, why her trip was so short. But she gave him nothing, and her blank stare at the tray table indicated she wasn’t about to. He knew so very little about her family. “Why such a quick trip?”

“It’s better that way. I don’t get along well with my mother and half-brother.”

The flight attendant returned with the kit and raised an eyebrow at her boss. “We’re about to take off, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Of course,” he said and reached for his seatbelt, brushing Layla’s arm along the way, her fair skin as soft and smooth as before, her familiar lavender smell hitting him.
God help me! She even smells the same.
He quickly got the belt in his hand and moved to fasten it on the opposite side.

Dash greeted the passengers over the intercom. “We know you have choices and want to thank you for choosing to fly Southern Wings today. There are clear skies to the East. We’ll be flying at an altitude of 35,000 feet. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you we have the privilege of having the President and CEO of Southern Wings on our flight today, Mr. Gage Montgomery.”

“I’m surprised he said ‘remiss,’” Gage whispered to Layla. “That’s a big word for him.”

“G-man, excuse me,
Mr. Montgomery
,” Dash continued, “has been a great leader for the company. He’s a pilot himself, too. But I will have you know the best thing Mr. Montgomery does is make coffee, so he will be taking your drink orders during the flight.”

Gage rolled his eyes, and the passengers laughed. Layla caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. It was amazing the charming guy who picked her flowers and kept his bedroom window open for her was now the head of a huge national company.

“And I’m happy to report that Mr. Montgomery will be taking
my
drink order, too,” Dash said. “A little payback for the recent round of collective bargaining negotiations between the pilots union and Southern Wings. Got that, Gage? And folks, if he doesn’t, I will regale you. . . .”

“‘Regale’?” Gage whispered.

“. . . with stories about G-man back when we were in flight school together. There are so many good ones. Ah, so many good times. I may just have to tell you some, whether or not he takes my drink order.” Dash paused for a moment, as the passengers laughed again. “So, welcome aboard. We are expecting a smooth flight all the way to Savannah. And, Mr. Montgomery, cream and sugar, please.”

Gage shook his head. “He’s quite the character.”

“I hope he tells some stories,” Layla said. “Why’d he call you ‘G-man’? Your name?”

“No. In flight school, they compared the number of G’s we sustained in flight. Mine were always the best, even when they didn’t have to be. So G-man stuck. My name was tame compared to most.”

“Who had the worst?”

“Probably this guy Firecrotch. He was the horniest guy and a red head, so it fit.”

Layla laughed. “Makes sense.”

“We are clear for takeoff,” Dash announced. “Enjoy the flight.”

Gage saw Layla squeeze the armrests with her eyes closed, her mouth mumbling words in a whisper. “Which angel are you talking to today?”

Layla turned to face him, shocked he’d remember. “Just saying the Guardian Angel prayer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who knows more about angels than you,” he said with a smile. “You are like an angel encyclopedia. By the way, we’re up.”

Layla relaxed her hands then pulled up the window shade just slightly, seeing the plane climb into the late afternoon sky. “Thanks for distracting me.”

“Probably the angels more than me,” he said. “You live in Savannah?”

“Yeah, I own a bookstore in the Historic District.”

“Just like you always wanted.” His eyes caught hers, then he forced himself to look away.

“It’s in this great old building we converted. My friend from college, Poppy, runs the adult side, and I run the children’s side.”

“
Adult
side?”

“Not like that.” Layla rolled her eyes. “Fiction and non-fiction. Usual stuff. The two sides are connected in the middle by a cafe.”

“What’s it called?”

“Story Wings,” she said and twisted her brown hair into a messy bun.

Gage couldn’t help but smile, her bookstore with such a similar name to his airline. His eyes lingered on the curve of her neck. He shook his head to get hold of himself, remembering she once left him heartbroken. “I’ve got a little work to handle,” he said, reaching for his phone. “You good now?”