Thousand Air Private Airport, Austin, Texas
As the little jet taxied off the runway toward the chain-link fence surrounding the small, private airport, Fisher slowly came awake and blinked blearily at the world outside his window.
The sun was beginning to show its face, the first golden rays peeking over the horizon and highlighting the Texas terrain. A stand of Mesquite trees was visible to the west. To the east he could see the Austin city skyline. And for some reason, that old James Taylor song, “Sweet Baby James,” came to mind.
His fingers drifted to the harmonica in his pocket. He could imagine how he’d fold his hands to get the right notes, how he’d position his mouth to play the tune.
He might’ve given in to the urge, but he heard Hannah moan and come awake across the aisle. Behind him, Eliza did the same.
The private jet was equipped to transport six passengers. It had two sets of side-by-side seats on the left side of the aircraft and two single seats on the right.
Sam and Hannah had chosen the side-by-side option. But upon boarding, Eliza had been quick to snag a single seat and he’d been left to either grab the only other single seat in front of her or plant his sorry ass in one of the two seats situated behind Sam and Hannah.
Since there’d have been no way to ignore the canoodling pair had he chosen option B, he’d gone with option A. But that meant, from the corner of his eye, he could still see the moment Sam brushed a strand of hair behind Hannah’s ear.
Sliding the couple a quick glance, he wasn’t surprised to find Sam’s eyes glued to Hannah’s face.
Despite Sam’s assertations to the contrary, it’d been obvious ever since Hannah had come back into his life, that Sam was smitten with her. Now, Fisher figured that infatuation had morphed into something more. Something bigger. Deeper.Finer.
Something that looked a lot like love.
Reckon we’ll be havin’ another weddin’ soon, he thought, noting only the slightest pinprick of jealousy.
He was glad for his friend. Truly he was. Samuel Harwood was as solid and true as an old oak tree. No matter how hard you leaned on him, he stayed firm and straight. And absolutelynoone deserved happiness more.
And yet…Fisher couldn’t help wondering when it would behisturn.
“Mac and Delilah are already here.” Eliza’s voice pulled him from his dark thoughts and he tilted his head so he could get a better look out the window.
Sure enough. There was Bryan “Mac” McMillan, the former FBI investigative specialist turned original Black Knight turned Texas cattleman. And there was his wife, the infamous Delilah, owner of the Knights’ favorite watering hole.
The pair split their time between their ranch there in the Lone Star State and Delilah’s biker bar back in Chi-Town. And it was lucky they’d been in Texas when Fisher had called asking if they could help secure transportation from the airport to the power plant.
The happy couple stood side by side beyond the chain link fence. Delilah looking as lovely as an old Hollywood starlet with her waves of shiny, auburn hair and her dramatic hourglass figure. And Mac was looking like the Marlboro Man in his cowboy hat and Carhartt coat.
Fisher quietly sang a few bars of “Sweet Baby James”—“There is a young cowboy who lives on the range”—as he watched Mac’s eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat, track their progress while their pilot parked the plane.
He must’ve made a sound or something, because Eliza poked her head around his seat. “Hey? You okay?”
“Mmm.” He nodded, pointing through the window. “Just thinkin’ how good those two look.”
“How good thosetwolook or how goodDelilahlooks?”
“I mean…” He let his sentence dangle and shrugged innocently. That’s what Eliza expected of him, after all.
And right on cue…
“You’re such a cad.” She rolled her eyes and unclasped her seat belt when the high-pitchedding-dongof the PA system told her it was safe to do so.
“Ya left out thelecherouspart,” he told her as he unhooked his own seat belt and stood to stretch his legs.
Flying in a private plane was a sight more comfy than flying coach on a commercial airline. But at nearly six and a half feet, there wasn’t an airplane built totrulyaccommodate him.
Except for maybe the back of a C-5.
“The lecherous part is understood,” she sniffed, pulling the strap of her oversized purse across her chest.
Dudded up in their black suits and with a pair of freshly shaved faces, both Fisher and Sam looked nothing like their usual selves. But Eliza? She was the same as always.
