Her hand hesitated over the control. “What if—”
“Engine might get rougher for about ten seconds while the ice melts out,” I interrupted gently. “That’s completely normal. Trust the protocol, sweetheart.”
Her shoulders settled slightly as she took a deliberate breath. Then she gripped the red knob and pulled it out.
The engine immediately got rougher, RPM dropping another fifty as warm air flooded the carburetor. Alex’s grip tightened on the yoke.
“That’s exactly what’s supposed to happen,” I reassured her quickly. “Ice is melting. Give it a few more seconds.”
Five seconds. Ten. Then the engine smoothed out, RPM climbing back toward normal as the ice cleared and proper airflow resumed.
“There,” I smiled. “Good as new.”
Alex exhaled slowly. “That actually worked.”
“Always does. Aviation’s got procedures for everything,including weather trying to mess with our day,” I scanned the clouds ahead—still building, still moving our direction, but we should have time. “Good lesson on in-flight mechanics, but let’s head home ahead of this weather. Always better to be on the ground wishing you were flying.”
“Than flying and wishing you were on the ground,” she finished, some of the tension leaving her voice.
I gave her a new heading to take us around the worst of the building storm. “Turn left to two-four-zero. We’ll skirt around the south edge of this system.”
Alex banked gently into the turn, her movements more confident now that the engine was running smoothly again. But the weather wasn’t done with us yet. The clouds continued building as we flew, their bases darkening from gray to charcoal, as sheets of rain began to fall in the distance.
“Is that rain?” she asked, looking toward the dark streaks ahead of us.
“Virga—rain that evaporates before it hits the ground. Common in dry air,” I kept my tone instructional, but I was already calculating alternatives. The weather was changing faster than I’d expected. Growing cells and shifting winds narrowing our options—our route home was going to take us closer to the storm than I’d like. I swallowed against my guilt. I had no business taking her up when my depth perception was too shot to assess weather patterns in the air.
Another bump of turbulence rocked us sideways, stronger this time. Alex corrected smoothly, but I could see her shoulders moving toward her ears again.
“You’re handlin’ everything great, darlin’,” I assured her. “Small corrections, don’t fight her.”
“It feels like the sky is trying to shake us apart.”
“Just the atmosphere moving around. The Cub’s built for this.” I scanned ahead, looking for smoother air. “See that clear patch at two o’clock? Let’s head for that.”
She adjusted our course without hesitation, trusting my guidance. The confidence in her response surprised me—thirty minutes ago she’d been gripping the controls like they might escape. Now she was flying us through deteriorating weather like it was almost nothing.
The wind continued shifting, gusting from different directions as the storm pulled air toward itself. I felt each push in my shoulders, the constant corrections wearing at my focus in a way they wouldn’t have before the accident—the mental effort of staying ahead of the weather while keeping Alex calm was adding up.
“How much further?” she asked.
I checked our position against the landmarks below. “Maybe fifteen minutes if we can maintain this track.”
But even as I said it, I watched more cells swelling ahead of us, the clear air becoming scarce. We were going to have to thread the needle between black thunderheads, and with each passing minute, that eye was getting smaller.
As if reading my thoughts, Alex glanced back at me. “Are we going to make it home before this gets really bad?”
I met her eyes briefly, seeing trust there instead of the panic from earlier.
“We’ll make it,” I nodded, then added with more confidence than I felt, “but it’s going to be a more interesting ride than we planned.”
The ranch’s airstrip came into view ten minutes later, a welcome sight against the darkening landscape. But the windsock was dancing wildly, shifting directions as gusts swept across the field.
“Look at the windsock,” she breathed. “It’s all over the place.”
“Gusty conditions. We’ll just have to stay alert on approach,” I leaned forward, checking our airspeed and position. “You’re going to fly this landing, but I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“In this wind?” Uncertainty was creeping back in.
