Chapter 10
TEN
KNOX
I wipe my hands on a rag, close the fuel cap, and pat the side of my old bush plane.
“That’s it, girl,” I say. “Topped off, checked out, and ready to fly. Just as soon as our woman gets here.”
Though I haven’t said it to her, that is how I’ve been thinking about Quincy with every passing day. I know she’s only here for a short time. I know that she has a life back home. I know there’s no way I’m leaving my mountain to chase after here. I know all the reasons why this isn’t going to last forever.
But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking of Quincy in the forever kind of way. Because even if she isn’t here—even if I never see her ever again—I know damn well I’m still going to feel this way about her.
That I’ll always love her.
I just haven’t worked out whether or not I should say anything. It seems so selfish to tell a woman who’s just had her world turned upside down that I want her to turn it inside out on top of that.
A familiar bush plane rolls into a space near mine. I shake my head as Boone flips off the engine and jumps out.
“As I live and breathe.” He shakes his head at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I brought my… guest to check in with customer service about her flight later this week.”
“Your guest, huh?” A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “This is a long way to come for a guest.”
My eyes narrow. “Stop it.”
“Don’t you think you might at least upgrade your ‘guest’ to ‘special friend’ status?”
“I still owe you an ass kicking.”
He gives me a knowing look. “Telling by the way you aren’t scowling up a storm like usual, I’d say this ‘friend’ of yours might be more than a friend.”
“You’d better not say anything like that when Quincy gets back here.” I narrow my eyes. “She’s been through enough without your bullshit.”
“I knew you’d thank me later.”
I grunt, unwilling to let him know that his little prank with the mail-order bride actually worked out well for me. Even if it’s only temporary.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He smirks. “I came to see about a special delivery.”
“Special delivery?” My brows knit. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“Nothing you need to worry about right now.”
The click of heels on the tarmac draws both of our attention. My heart leaps as I turn toward the sound. I expect to see my woman, wearing my flannel like she was born to wear it.
My heart takes a disappointed nosedive when she doesn’t appear.
Instead, a woman I’ve never seen before appears at the edge of the tarmac, dragging a bright pink suitcase and looking like she just stepped off a reality show. She’s decked out in fancy boots, a bright pink parka, and her hair has been curled and teased.
She’s exuding nervous energy.
I glance past her for Quincy, but it’s Boone who steps forward.
“So, uh—small thing.”
“Who’s?” I ask, frowning.
Boone grins, but it’s too guilty, too twitchy. “You’re gonna laugh.”
The woman beams and waves. “Hi! I’m Erica!”
I blink. “Hi…?”
“This is Erica,” Boone says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s about to confess to crashing my truck. “Your bride.”
“My what now?”
Erica blushes. “I know, I know—I got cold feet. But you were so sweet in your messages. I just knew I had to come.”
“My messages?” I ask. Then I narrow my eyes at Boone. “Did you keep writing her?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to! I just… the system auto-connected me when you never logged in and she messaged first, and it just kind of… happened.”
She turns to Boone. “You’re the one who’s been writing me?”
“Guilty.”
Here expression warms. “You’re even cuter in person.”
Boone coughs. “Uh, thanks. I mean—so are you.”
They smile at each other like teenagers at prom, and I might’ve rolled my eyes if my heart hadn’t just dropped out of my chest.
I look back at the airport.
“Where’s Quincy?” I ask.
Erica blinks. “Quincy?”
“She was inside—dark hair, big eyes, about this tall, wearing a flannel that looks better on her than it ever did on me.”
She tilts her head. “Oh. Her. She was here. I saw her before. I think she thought you were meeting me?”
I go still.
“She looked pretty upset,” Erica says gently. “She asks the agent if there was a flight heading out soon.”
No.
No, no, no.
I turn and run.
“Knox—!” Boone calls, but I’m already inside the airport.
I make a beeline for security and skid to a stop in front of the first agent I see. “I need to get through.”
“You’ll need a boarding pass,” she says coolly, not even looking up.
“I don’t care where it goes. Just give me something that gets me on the other side of that line.”
Ten minutes later, I’ve got a last-minute ticket to Fairbanks—where I don’t need to go—and a gate number that’s already boarding.
I race toward security.
That’s when things start going sideways.
“You can’t bring that,” the TSA agent says, pulling a hunting knife from my backpack.
“That’s for safety on the trail.”
He pulls out another item. “Sir?”
“And that’s a camp stove—see? It’s not even loaded with fuel.”
“Sir.”
“Oh come on. That’s a thermos. How is it dangerous?”
“You’ll need to remove your boots. And your belt. And your flannel.”
“What? Are we playing a game of strip poker here or something?”
“Rules are rules.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“Sir.”
“Shit.” I hiss under my breath. “Aren’t you at least going to by me dinner first before you fuck me?”
“ Sir. ”
By the time I’m through, I’m half-dressed and sweating. I sprint barefoot down the terminal, skidding past travelers and dodging a guy driving another passenger with a cart.
Quincy’s gate is in sight.
But I’m too late.
Through the wide airport windows, I see the plane just starting to taxi.
There. In the back row, in a window seat, I can barely see a familiar figure I’d recognize anywhere.
Quincy.
She’s staring out the window, chin propped on her fist. She looks tired. Beautiful. Heartbroken.
I press a hand to the glass, helpless.
Then the plane lifts.
And she’s gone.