Stranded with the Cowboy (Love Along Route 14 #4)

Chapter 1

ZENNIKA

" L adies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We're experiencing some unexpected turbulence."

I grip the armrests, knuckles white as the plane lurches. The perfectly chilled glass of champagne I'd been nursing splashes onto my cream silk blouse, leaving a constellation of pale gold stains across my chest.

Perfect. Just perfect.

This first-class ticket was supposed to be my treat to myself after landing the Henderson account. A smooth, luxurious journey from Seattle to Atlanta before I drive to Cusp Hollow, Georgia, where Abby, my best friend since third grade, is getting married in exactly seventy-two hours.

But instead of enjoying the plush accommodations, I'm white-knuckling through what feels like the world's most terrifying roller coaster ride.

The businessman beside me, who introduced himself as Brad or Chad or some other single-syllable name that screamed "I have a corner office," closes his laptop and gives me a tight smile.

"Happens all the time," he assures me, though the slight tremor in his voice suggests otherwise. "Just a little turbulence."

As if the universe wants to prove him wrong, the plane drops suddenly, and my stomach lurches into my throat. Overhead bins pop open. A carry-on tumbles out, barely missing a flight attendant who's rushing to secure it.

The cabin lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely, replaced seconds later by dim emergency lighting.

That can't be good.

The flight attendant's voice comes over the intercom, artificially calm in a way that only heightens my anxiety. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened. The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign."

No shit.

"Our aircraft is experiencing some mechanical difficulties, and we'll be making an unscheduled landing. Please follow all crew member instructions."

My heart pounds against my ribcage. Unscheduled landing? Where exactly are we supposed to land? Last I checked the map on my screen, we were flying over somewhere called Basic Plaines, Kansas, which sounds about as developed as its name suggests.

I fumble for my phone, hands shaking as I switch it off airplane mode.

I need to tell someone what's happening.

Mom would freak out. My brother Jason would immediately charter a private jet to come get me, assuming the worst as he always does, an instinct honed from raising me after our parents' divorce when I was twelve.

But who does that leave?

Abby is neck-deep in wedding preparations. The last thing she needs is to worry about me potentially plummeting from the sky somewhere over America's breadbasket. Her texts this morning were already stress-filled caps-lock declarations about flower arrangements and last-minute venue changes.

The plane shudders again. A baby starts crying two rows back.

Whatever calm I've been faking evaporates. My breaths come quick and shallow, and dark spots dance in my vision.

"Hey," Brad-Chad leans toward me. "Try this breathing technique. In for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight."

I want to tell him to mind his own damn business, but instead, I follow his instructions, if only to avoid passing out. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

My racing heart gradually slows.

"Thanks," I manage, my voice barely audible over the roar of the engines, which sound wrong now—strained and whining.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice fills the cabin, gravelly and tense. "We've been cleared for an emergency landing at Brookside Regional Airport. Please review the safety card in your seat pocket and prepare for landing. Crew, prepare the cabin."

Mechanically, I pull out the safety card, though the illustrations blur before my eyes. The flight attendants demonstrate the brace position, and I notice their professional masks slipping, revealing the tension underneath.

This is really happening.

My thoughts turn to Abby again. Three days until she marries Brick, the mountain who rescued her heart after an asshole catfished her into moving to Georgia. Three days until the happiest day of her life, a day I promised I wouldn't miss for the world.

I picture her face if I don't show up, disappointed yet understanding, because that's who Abby is. Always has been. It's why I was so fiercely protective when Jude Carson broke her heart senior year.

Jude Carson. My brother's best friend. The boy with the lazy smile and eyes that always lingered a beat too long on me when he thought no one was looking. The boy who dumped Abby two weeks before prom because she was "too childish."

The memory of Abby crying on my bed, mascara streaking her cheeks, still makes my blood boil twelve years later.

I never forgave him, even after Abby did. Even after Jason remained friends with him. Even after he grew up, bought that ranch outside of Seattle, and turned into the kind of successful man who graces the covers of "Most Eligible Bachelors of the Pacific Northwest" magazines.

The plane drops again, jolting me from my thoughts. The ground is rushing up to meet us. Fields of gold and green stretch in every direction, interrupted by the occasional cluster of buildings.

"Brace! Brace!" the flight attendants chant.

I fold forward, head against my knees, arms wrapped around my legs. The plane hits the runway hard, bouncing once, twice. Metal groans. The cabin rattles like it might shake apart. We're going too fast.

The brakes scream as we decelerate. My body strains against the seatbelt. And then, miraculously, we slow. The plane rolls to a stop.

For a moment, absolute silence fills the cabin.

Then, applause erupts. Nervous, relieved laughter follows. I uncurl from the brace position, my entire body trembling.

"Welcome to Brookside Regional Airport," the captain announces, his relief palpable even through the intercom. "Please remain seated while we assess the situation."

An hour later, I stand in what can only generously be called an "airport terminal". It’s a single-story building with one vending machine, two bathrooms, and a check-in counter currently swarmed by my fellow passengers.

My phone finally has signal, and the emails and texts start rolling in. Mostly work stuff. Nothing from Abby, which means she doesn't know about our emergency landing yet. Good.

I catch snippets of the airline representative's explanations: "Mechanical failure..." "Safety inspection required..." "Accommodations will be provided..." "Earliest rebooking possible is Monday..."

Monday.

Abby's wedding is on Saturday.

I push through the crowd, flashing my most authoritative smile at the haggard airline rep. "Excuse me, I need to get to Georgia by Friday afternoon at the latest. My best friend's wedding is Saturday."

She gives me a look of practiced sympathy. "I'm sorry, ma'am. There are no other commercial flights out of Brookside. We're arranging transportation to Kansas City for tomorrow morning, where you'll be rebooked on the first available flight."

"Which is Monday," I say flatly.

"Currently, yes. We have over two hundred passengers to rebook."

I tap my fingers against the counter, mind racing. "What about car rentals?"

"We don't have a rental desk here. The nearest is in Grand Junction, about forty miles east."

"Can you get me there?"

She hesitates. "We're prioritizing transportation to Kansas City. But I can add you to the list for a taxi service."

"When would that be?"

"Tomorrow, most likely. We have limited options in this area."

Frustration claws at my throat. I can't miss this wedding.

I promised Abby. After everything she did for me when Mom left and Dad checked out emotionally, the sleepovers when I couldn't bear the silence at home, the homework help when I couldn't focus, the shoulder to cry on when my first boyfriend cheated… I owe her this.

"Thank you," I say tightly, stepping away from the counter.

I dial Jason's number, pacing the small terminal as it rings.

"Zen?" He answers on the third ring. "Aren't you supposed to be in the air?"

"Emergency landing," I say without preamble. "I'm in Bumfuck, Kansas, and I can't get another flight until Monday."

"Shit. Are you okay? Was it a crash? Are you hurt?" The questions fire rapidly, his big brother instincts kicking into overdrive.

"I'm fine. The plane's not. But Abby's wedding is Saturday, and I need to get to Georgia."

"Can you rent a car?"

"Not until tomorrow, maybe. The nearest rental place is forty miles away."

He falls silent, thinking. I hear papers shuffling, like he's at his desk at the architectural firm where he's a partner.

"Hang on," he says finally. "Jude is in Kansas right now. Looking at a mare for his breeding program or something. Let me call him."

My stomach drops. "Jude? Absolutely not."

"Come on, Zen. It's been twelve years. You can't still be holding that grudge."

"Watch me."

"He's the only person I know anywhere near Kansas right now. Unless you want to miss Abby's wedding..."

He knows he has me there. I close my eyes, imagining Abby's face if I don't show. Then I imagine being trapped in a car with Jude Carson for over a thousand miles.

Both options make me want to scream.

"Fine," I grit out. "But I'm not happy about it."

"Never expected you to be." I can hear the smile in Jason's voice. "I'll call him now and text you details. Love you, sis."

He hangs up before I can change my mind.

I sink into one of the hard plastic chairs, ignoring the curious glances from my fellow stranded passengers.

Jude Carson. I haven't seen him in person in years, though I've caught glimpses of him in Jason's social media posts, always looking ruggedly handsome in that infuriating way of his, usually with some gorgeous woman on his arm.

My phone buzzes with a text from Jason.

Jude will be there in about an hour. He's already on his way. Says to meet him in the parking lot. You owe me, sis.