There was no need to make a bad first impression on the person who was blessing him with a hopeful treasure-trove of gear.
Once his truck was clean, signs for BHB eventually led him off the main road and onto a slightly smaller venue, where he finally spotted the airport.
Pulling in, he quickly located the tie-down area for smaller planes, and searched for the craft whose tail number he’d been given, but he didn’t see it.
Trask checked his watch. He was still a few minutes earlier than what he’d been told, so he pulled on his shearling coat, got out of the truck, and leaned against the chassis while watching planes land.
It was a beautiful day to be alive.
He’d only been squinting at the sky—behind his dark, aviator sunglasses—for a few minutes when he saw a likely looking aircraft headed in. It was the right size, its gear down, but also equipped with pontoons that he hadn’t been expecting. It was steady in the crosswind as it made its final approach. Trask noted that the tail numbers were correct. He couldn’t see the pilot from where he stood, but whoever it was, proved to be more than competent, making a seamlessly smooth landing.
Trask visually followed the Cessna’s progress as it headed toward the visitor tie-down area, and once the plane came to a halt and the prop stopped spinning, he jogged over to stand ten feet or so away, not rushing the pilot whose head was down, perhaps logging hours, or powering off some instruments.
The door eventually opened, and…
Trask blinked.
Out jumped a spectacular looking, lithe blonde—afemaleblonde—with legs that didn’t quit.
He couldn’t take his eyes off those lower extremities, picturing her jumping up to wrap them around his waist.
As she turned to grab something, Trask swallowed at the added sight of the woman’s pert little ass, encased in jeans that clung to her like a second skin.
Damn.So good. But…
He was being pervy.
He forced his eyes off that compelling posterior.
His insta-lust, however, didn’t let up as he caught his first good look at her hair; a riot of bright golden curls that gave the appearance of an out-of-control halo, brandishing itself in the vivid sunlight.
He brought his gaze to her face.
She had a strong, square chin, and her aviator sunglasses—matching the ones he wore—were perched on a pert, freckled nose.
She walked toward him with a natural swing to her hips.
“Trask Sothard, I assume?” she questioned in a warm, lilting voice. She stuck out her hand, then moved her sunglasses, pushing them up to sit amongst her curls.
“Uh. That’s me.” He shook her hand almost without it registering because...
Trask, hardly ever at a loss, had trouble find his voice.
Wow. He swallowed his amazement. The woman had one lash-framed emerald green eye, and the other…was azure blue.
She didn’t look bothered by his scrutiny at all. She actually appeared delightedly amused.
“Hi Trask. I’m Jett. Jett DeLuca. And yeah. I know,” she emoted with a hearty giggle, although he hadn’t actually posed a question.
“If you’re wondering, it’s called complete heterochromia.”
CHAPTER 3
“Heterochromia,”the lovely man repeated, staring, and Jett wasn’t surprised. It was par for the course where her eyes were concerned, and she’d learned a long time ago to roll with the punches.
“Yup,” she answered cheerily. “Born and raised with two different colored eyes.” She forced herself to change to a serious look, impishly enjoying her purposeful juxtaposition. “It barely even shocks me anymore when I look in the mirror.”
Trask seemed taken aback for about one second, before she snickered, and he shook his gorgeous, dark head. “Okay. You got me. I’m sorry for…fixating.”
