Spirit of a Champion (Sisters of Spirit #7) (3 page)

"And yours is...?" he added when she did not
reciprocate.

"Stormy."

She was that, all right. She would need to buy another purse
strap when they arrived if she kept twisting this one apart. At least she
wasn't a fingernail chewer, he thought, noticing her short, but well manicured
nails.

“Excuse me. You’re sitting in my seat.” An older man stood next
to him, looking at his ticket and then at the number above Kyle, then back
again. The seats were clearly marked, so he had reason to be puzzled.

Kyle jumped to his feet, moved out into the aisle with the man,
and turned so his back was towards Stormy. He pulled out his wallet, looked
inside, pulled out his ticket...and a fifty dollar bill. “No, see, this is my
seat,” he said, holding the ticket and the money out for the man to take. “If
you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I...I... “ The man looked at the money and for a moment
Kyle thought he wasn’t going to take it. “Oh, no. I don’t mind.” He grinned
broadly. “Good luck.” The man handed Kyle his ticket, took Kyle’s ticket and
the money and moved on up the aisle.

Kyle sat back down. The airplane alert chimed and he fastened
his seatbelt, glancing down to see if hers was fastened. It was.

She was wearing a teal blue, sleeveless blouse, and white
shorts, exposing a lot of golden-tanned arms and legs. The short nails probably
meant she was not a model, but she well could be.

"What do you do?" he asked, then hoped she didn't ask
him the same question. "I mean, what line of work are you in?"

"Work?" She paused, seemed to finally hear him. "Work.
Yes. I'm trying to decide at the moment."

That should not cause so much angst, should it?
"What are your
choices?"

"I've been offered four positions...." She stared off
into space.

"And...?" Kyle shifted in his seat. He refused to let
her stop there. Four positions sounded pretty good to him. She must be well
qualified. "What's so hard about them?"

She looked at him briefly, then away. "They're all the same
kind of job.”

“Then what’s the choice?”

“They’re in different parts of the country. I must decide on a
location."

Kyle beamed. "Maybe I can help. I've been all over the
States."

She didn’t reply.

This was harder than knocking out Pepper Jones. Stormy kept
looking straight ahead or out the window—not at him. It was as if she was
trying to tell him to get lost.

Should he take the hint?

He had set his goals; he was not one to give up.

"Uh, you on vacation?” he asked, at the same time mentally
kicking himself.  She didn't look like someone going on vacation. She
looked like someone with a big problem. Her eyes were dark with sorrow. Perhaps
he shouldn't have spoken. She might be reeling from the death of a parent or
something.

"No." Her answer confirmed it. Maybe he should shut
up. Then again, it might help her to talk.

"I'm sorry,” he said, determined to see if he could help
her. “This your first trip? You have friends down here?"

"Yes. And no, I've been here before."

He looked at her again. "You’re saying it's not a vacation.
It's a business trip, then, right?”

Her expression told him she wished he would move to another
seat. It was not the reaction Kyle usually got and it made him more determined
than ever.

"Business?" She rubbed one hand across her eyes and
looked at him blankly.

"Ah, yeah...your company's sending you there for some
reason."

"No, nothing like that. I just have people I have to...to
talk to.

It made Kyle even more curious He wanted to wipe away the stress
lines from her face.  "I don't mean to intrude, but—"

“It’s not anything I can talk about.” She clipped off the words,
sharply.

Well, that put you in your place, buddy.  One more try.
  "We can talk
about the weather if you like. I hope you packed light clothes. "

"I did."

That sounded more forthcoming. "Where are you from?"

"Idaho."

"Oh. "  He couldn't think of anyone he knew there
and drew a blank.

Her hair was cut in a short bob. He preferred women with long
flowing hair, but when Stormy moved her head, her hair swung and seemed to
beckon him.

She chewed on her lower lip as if she was thinking hard, and
twisted her purse strap into a tight ball. Twist, release. Twist,
release.  Busy fingers.

He looked past her out the window. Sometime during his struggle
to make conversation they had taken off. He glanced up. The seat belt sign was
out, and he removed his, angling his seat back to a more comfortable position.

An attendant stopped beside him, holding a bottle in his hand.
"Champagne?" he asked.

"Nothing, thanks." Liquor and championships didn't
mix. Kyle kept to a fitness regime that kept his strength up and the fat off.
It was embarrassing to see a fighter come out with a spare tire around his
waist.

"None for me,” Stormy said. "Do you have any soft
drinks?"

"They're on the next cart."

Kyle could have told her that sugar was no good for her either,
but refrained.

The steward moved the cart on down the aisle, and Kyle shifted
his long legs so that one stuck out partially into the aisle.

His trainer and manager had flown on ahead to set up his
temporary training facilities, while he had taken his week's vacation. It had
been over a year and a half since his last fight, and he had been doing some
serious training the last three months. He was now prepared to do the finish
work required to get ready.

Time to get back to his goals. Now that he had her attention, he
would start over again.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Stormy."

Stormy. Ah, yes. Now there was a name. It certainly fit. But he
bet it wasn't her given one.

"Nickname?"

"Uh huh." But she didn't elaborate any more.

“You have another name?”

She just looked at him, a look that said, “Go away.” She really
didn't want to talk, but Kyle would not give up. It wasn’t his nature.

Another attendant, another cart. Stormy asked for a can of apple
juice.

Kyle nodded in approval, took one too, then returned to the
subject he was pursuing. “Would you like to talk about what's bothering you?”
he said, opening his tiny can. “Sometimes it helps to talk things over with an
impartial bystander.”

“No.”

So much for that, Galahad. Strike one.
"Where are you
staying?"

"I don't know.”

"Don't you have reservations?"

"No. I figure a place as big as Vegas, you shouldn't need
reservations. Besides, I didn't have time.”

Strike two.

 “Most of the big hotels are pretty good,” Kyle said. “The
food is excellent.”

"You've been there before?"

"Yes. Every two or three years in fact." Whenever he
had a match. Otherwise, he preferred to work on his Texas ranch. His father
managed it, and managed it well—from his wheelchair. Kyle wasn't really
needed there.

He had been thinking of retiring from boxing and going into
politics, for one or two terms only. The money from this fight would pay for a
campaign without having to take from the ranch...or putting himself in
"debt" to any special interests. He wanted to stay free from such
connections. Any connections. He had seen the havoc that crooks could do, with
their mega riches earned from gambling.

He was doing great, and had avoided the mob entirely. Both his
trainer and manager had helped, of course.

Fortunately he hadn't had to do too many fights. Once you were
the world champion, the challengers had to work their way through the ranks in
order to prove themselves before they could challenge you. When one did come
his way, he had to retrain himself, although he always stayed very fit, wishing
to keep his good health.

"I usually go to Reno. That's where my brother and his wife
live," she said, actually volunteering the information.

He took heart. She sounded more willing to talk. "Uh...what
do you do...in Idaho?"

She smiled slightly, and Kyle's heart skipped.
Foul tip. Still
alive.

"Nothing right now,” she said. “I've got four job positions
open...and am trying to decide which one to take."

That could account for how worried she looked...although she
didn't look so strained right this minute.

"That's interesting. What are they? " He felt like he
was playing twenty questions. He had never met a woman so closed mouthed
before. Usually they chattered away and he was the one wishing the other person
would give it a rest.

“It's not the what. It's the where. And the who with.”

Well, that didn't tell him much.
“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Well, the better ones are across country and I don't know if I
really want to go there.”

“That sounds familiar. What will you be doing?”

“Teaching. At a university.”

A school marm. Not exactly. A professor.

It was a good thing he had avoided telling her his profession.
Even though he had a college degree, everyone thought a boxer was illiterate.
Well, some were, most weren't.

Kyle tried acting like a travel agent. “Where are the positions
located?"

“One's at Cornell. Minnesota. Miami. The fourth one's up at the
U-Dub...the University of Washington.”

"I see. Having never been to any of them, I really can't
offer any input." He had gone to the University of Texas, paying for his
tuition by boxing. He was good at it and had continued on as the prizes got
higher. He figured he could always use his education, but he couldn’t always be
a prize fighter.

It was better than bronc riding...which was what his dad had
done for many years. The pay was better and the injuries fewer. A bronc had
fallen on his dad during his last ride, permanently damaging his lower spine.

Prize fighting was more like being the rodeo horse. A short
amount of work, with a large amount of pay.

"These jobs you’re considering? Is there any difference in
salary?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Big ones."

"But that doesn't matter to you?"

"Not very much. I don't have anyone to spend it on,
particularly. Just myself. There's always the prestige of a big university of
course. But I don't know if I would fit in."

It didn't sound like she had much of the cutthroat desire for
riches that he had been running into in his profession...but then, you never
knew.  She was now more approachable, so he tried to keep her talking to
get more information.

He stretched his arms out in front of him. He hadn’t quite
gotten over the long airplane trip from Japan. “Guess I won't be of much help
to you. Especially since the colleges all have somewhat of a different culture
than the town.”

 “Yes. I'll probably have to fly to each of those places
and have an interview to make up my mind. I was hoping I could narrow it down
before I went anywhere.”

“Maybe you would want to stay in a place that is more familiar.
Have you lived in Idaho most of your life?”

“Yes. Except for college in Virginia, I’ve lived in the Idaho
mountains.”

“Stormy mountains. Is that where you got your nickname.”

“No. It’s because when I find a cause I believe in, I go all out
for it.”

“Like, ‘Save the Whales?’”

She smiled. She must get that a lot. “More like, ‘Save the
People.’”

“What from?”
And what people?

“The government.”

“That’s a cause?” He hadn’t heard of that one before.

“A big one. Over three quarters of our land is controlled by the
federal government.”

“That much?”

“Have you ever looked at a map of Idaho? Or of most of the
western lands, for that matter? Between the Bureau of Land Management, the
National Forests and the National Wildlife Refuge System, there isn't much
private land left.”

Kyle drew back. He'd hit a hornet's nest here. His aim had been
to lift her mind off her worries...and he had accomplished that. Also, he now
knew where she got her nickname. There was lightning in her eyes and fire in
her speech when she spoke of the Western lands. Maybe she was going to a convention,
to speak out about this. They had conventions in Las Vegas.

She continued on. “The politicians back east tie up so much of
our land. It prevents the private citizen from being able to use it
freely."

"Surely there can’t be that much land involved?"