Chapter 4
Ryder’s jacket hung across Ivy’s shoulders like borrowed armor, still carrying his heat and the clean scent that tripped her pulse. She pulled it closer, swallowed by a garment made for someone twice her size.
The warmth seeped into her skin—not just physical heat, but something else. Care. When was the last time anyone had worried whether she was cold?
Never.
She was always the one checking on George, making sure the money was flowing into the estate to keep them solvent and the estate tenants in their homes, ensuring everyone else was taken care of.
This deal can’t fail.
The weight of it pressed against her chest. Families were counting on them. George meant well, but completing negotiations wasn’t his strength. They both knew she’d be carrying the real load when they sat down at that conference table.
“Ivy?” Ryder’s voice pulled her back. “Survival vest goes on over the jacket.”
His tone was professional, all traces of the man who’d wrapped her in his jacket gone. But his hands were steady as he adjusted the orange life vest over the leather, his fingers brushing her collar as he checked the fit. It was nothing. Just protocol. So why did her lungs forget how to work?
“Snug but not restrictive.” His voice was close to her ear. “Can you breathe okay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He was so close she could see a faint scar along his jawline, feel the warmth radiating from his body. This was his world—the helicopter, the rescue protocols, the easy competence that marked him as someone who saved lives for a living.
Hypothermic risk. His words still stung. But he was right. She’d be no use to anyone on the flight if she was too cold to think straight.
The engines spooled up with a deafening whine that vibrated through the concrete beneath her feet. Rotor wash whipped hair across her face, and she tucked it behind her ears, grateful for the jacket’s protection against the sudden wind. Wyatt gestured for them to board.
The downdraft turned the already bitter morning air into something that felt like it came straight off a glacier.
She hunched deeper into Ryder’s jacket and caught another hit of his scent.
How could someone so infuriating smell so good?
It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t smell of the ocean and safety.
The thought made her want to shrug out of his jacket entirely.
“Stay low, follow my lead.” Ryder’s hand touched the small of her back to guide her forward.
The touch was brief, but sent another unwanted flutter through her. She didn’t need protection. She’d been taking care of herself—and everyone else—for years. But something about the way he moved, the calm certainty in his voice, made her want to lean into that strength.
Stop it, Ivy. You’re here to do a job.
Inside, the helicopter’s interior was cramped but functional, all business with jump seats and safety equipment secured to the walls.
Ryder helped her into the harness and checked the straps.
The safety webbing pressed against her chest, and it was an effort to breathe evenly.
He worked quickly. Good. The last thing she needed was more condescending care from someone who’d already written her off.
But she swore he lingered a second too long once her harness was secure, as if he hadn’t quite decided to pull away.
“First time in a helicopter?” Ryder settled into the seat between her and Walt Patterson.
“Just tourist trips. I’ve studied rotorcraft design but mostly from the ground.” She offered a half-smile. “I know the specs, but it’s different being inside one that’s actually working for a living.”
“It’s louder than you expect. And bumpier.” His voice carried no judgment as he placed the headset on her head. He tucked hair behind her ear before settling the mic against her cheek. The touch of his fingers burned lightly against her cheekbone. “The headset will help with the noise.”
She jerked back slightly, annoyed at her own reaction. Get a grip. He was just being professional. The heat climbing her throat every time he touched her was her problem, not his.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice clipped.
He nodded and moved on to help George, who was cursing as he fought to secure his harness.
The turbine engines reached full power, and the aircraft lifted off with a stomach-dropping lurch.
Ivy gripped the safety straps, her knuckles white, as the ground fell away beneath them.
The vibration traveled through the seat into her bones.
“You okay?” Ryder’s voice came through the intercom, crackling with static.
“Fine,” she said, relieved her voice came out steady.
They banked west over the Pacific, and Ivy caught her first glimpse of the endless ocean stretching toward the horizon. The water looked deceptively calm from this height, deep blue-green with white caps.
Beside her, Ryder’s arm rested on his knee, fingers loose, completely at ease with the motion of the helicopter.
She could picture him in action—coordinating rescues, rappelling down to pluck people from sinking boats, skilled and sure while chaos erupted around him. A man built for crisis. Just as capable as he claimed to be.
Which somehow made his dismissal of her sting even more. She hated that she wanted his approval—hated that when he looked at her, her body reacted without permission.
The radio crackled with air traffic control chatter, voices clipped and professional.
His brother Wyatt responded with call signs and coordinates that meant nothing to her but seemed to flow naturally from him.
This was their world. The technical language, the protocols, the assumption that everyone knew their role.
She was an outsider here.
George pressed his face to the window. “Look at that coastline. You can see everything from up here.”
Ivy followed his gaze, taking in the rugged shoreline and the small town they’d left behind. From this height, the world and its problems looked manageable.
She allowed herself a sigh.
She could do this.
“BlackRock Deepwater Vega, two o’clock,” Wyatt announced after twenty minutes.
Ivy leaned forward, squinting through the spray-dotted window.
The structure emerged from the haze—a massive industrial complex rising from the water like a steel island.
Even from miles away, she could appreciate the scale, the lattice of support structures and the bright orange helicopter deck perched on top.
It’s massive. She glanced at her brother. Are we out of our league?
“Bigger than I expected.” George widened his eyes.
Maybe they were out of their league. But she’d kept seventy-five families housed and an estate from collapse. This was just another battlefield.
They flew closer. The rig was a steel city—cranes, derricks, figures in hard hats moving in sync.
“Deepwater Vega Ops, this is Helios Three inbound from the east, requesting landing clearance.” Wyatt’s voice took on a fresh edge of concentration.
The comms buzzed. “Helios Three, Vega Ops. You’re cleared to approach—winds one-five knots from the northwest, visibility unrestricted. Pad One is open.”
“Copy, Vega. We’ve got the platform in sight, five minutes out.” Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. “Hang on back there—bit of crosswind coming off the water.”
The helicopter began its descent, and Ivy’s stomach dropped with the change in altitude, the temperature falling even further. Ocean rushed up to meet them, waves breaking against the rig’s massive supports. It looked impossibly delicate for something that had to endure Pacific storms.
“Landing clearance confirmed,” Wyatt said. “Brace for touchdown.”
The helicopter hovered over the bright orange circle painted on the platform’s deck, and Ivy held her breath.
The landing was harder than she’d expected, the aircraft bouncing once before settling with a metallic shriek as the skids bit the deck.
Vibration hummed through her feet, the sound echoing up through her bones.
Wyatt flicked a row of switches. “Vega Ops, Helios Three. Skids down and secure. Appreciate the clearance.”
“Copy, Helios Three. Welcome aboard Deepwater Vega.”
After the last burst of radio chatter, the engines wound down and sudden quiet filled the cabin.
“Touchdown on Deepwater Vega.” Ryder unbuckled his harness. He released the clips on hers. “You handled that better than most civilians.”
The compliment caught her off guard, and a blush scorched in her cheeks.
“Maybe I’m tougher than I look.” She’d spent a lifetime walking into rooms built for men and refusing to shrink. She was tired of it.
“I’m starting to figure that out.” Ryder arched one eyebrow.
Platform workers were approaching the aircraft, and the oil company representatives were waiting beyond the landing pad. Men in expensive suits and hard hats watching their arrival with the confidence of people who controlled billion-dollar assets.
George unclipped his seatbelt, his face flushed with nervous energy. “This is it,” he muttered. “This is really it.”
Ivy stepped onto the platform. Ocean wind tugged at her hair, carrying the bite of fuel and salt. She straightened her shoulders under the borrowed jacket and walked forward.