Chapter 19
This was a mistake.
Flying north again two days later without letting anyone at Diver Downeast know she was coming, was setting her up for an epic fail. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Trask.
The damned man was the problem and the solution.
If she could just get him to sit down and freaking talk to her, maybe they could sort things out. If he thought their physical encounter was a mistake, he should own up to it. If he didn’t think they should mix business with pleasure, she’d understand.
But if he wanted to…
Nope. She was not going there
What actually resulted from their much-needed détente might not completely satisfy either one of them, but if they cleared the air, she might at least be able to take the job at Diver Downeast.
Crap.
It all hinged on Trask pulling his head out of his ass.
What the hell was Trask doing?
He’d thought about everything for a couple days while putting in time at the lumber mill and taking over an impromptu martial arts class for Mason.
But now he was…acting against every instinct in his body.
First of all, taking life-advice from Spencer wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made. His brother was seriously infatuated with Tabitha, and because his head was way the fuck up in the clouds, he thought that everyone else should be on the hearts-and-flowers bandwagon of love.
Right. As if.
Buck too, when he’d eventually come in, had been no help.
After Spencer and Tabitha had finished roasting Trask’s ass for driving Jett away, they’d called Buck, and he’d added his weight to theirs. But that besotted jerk was also in love, and he’d teased the shit out of Trask instead of meting out any words of wisdom.
So why the hell, after a rough couple nights of barely any sleep, was Trask’s truck currently pointed toward Portsmouth?
Because he was an imbecile.
And what exactly was he going to say to Jett once he saw her?
Hi. Sorry I paddled your ass and ate you to a screaming completion, but can we forget all about that so you can come work at Diver Downeast?
Yeah. That was lame as hell.
To be truthful, Trask wasn’t completely sorry he’d gone all caveman on Jett. The only part he really regretted was chickening out in the end and not continuing what they’d started together, because it had been fucking amazing.
But that was then, and this was now.
Had anything really changed since he’d done all his soul-searching and received the verbal drubbing from his brothers?
Yes. Trask was finally able to admit why he’d been a dick.
It was Jett. Despite all her vagaries—of which there was a long list—she not only turned him on, she fascinated him as well.
Did he have to like that fucked up reality?
No.
Did he need to confront Jett as well as his own inner conflicts to see if he could either work her out of his system, or determine if there was anything substantial there with which to maintain their attraction?
Uh, huh.
And that’s why he was on the road, driving south, going his customary four miles-per-hour over the speed limit, all while berating himself up and down.
Jett taxied her plane to the same spot where she’d tied down just a few days earlier. It seemed like so much had happened since then, it was hard to believe it hadn’t been weeks.
In a very short time, she’d managed to sell a bunch of her father’s machinery with his blessings, and in her tornado-of-a-mood, she’d boxed up over half the house for storage or moving.
Then she’d yelled at herself to grow the hell up, snagged the keys to her Cessna, and stormed out the door with a quick goodbye to her father, which he’d enjoyed, immensely.
This time she’d left the dogs at home, much to their displeasure.
But if this visit ended up being a quick turn-around, they didn’t need all those hours in the air.
And if it ended up being a longer stay, it was a lot to ask of the elder Sothards to put up with her two, four-footed hellions until she found an actual place to live.
Jett cut her engine, and unbuckled from her seat.
She’d already arranged for an Uber to pick her up and bring her to Hampden, so she kept an eye out for her ride as she got out, chocked her wheels, and tied down using extra lines.
The weather service had predicted a huge snowstorm for later that night; a blizzard, actually.
And if by some bizarre happenstance Jett ended up staying, she wanted her Cessna secured.
If, on the other hand, Trask gave her shit and seriously didn’t want her to be here, she’d be gone before the flakes began to fly.
Seeing her ride pull up, Jett grabbed her bag, which was bigger this time because…ahh, hell, she was an optimist, and made her way toward the car.
“Big storm coming,” the elder gentleman told her with a thick, Downeast accent as he got out and very sweetly held the door open for her.
His words had sounded like, “Big stohm comin’.”
And he wasn’t finished as Jett tuned her ear in to decipher his continuing, thick Maine Yankee-isms.
“I he-ah we-ah in faw ah a couple-a feet. You shoo-ah yaw plane’s gonna be awright?”
Jett smiled as she slid in and sat down.
“Yup. I’ve made her as secure as possible,” she told the driver with a grin as he took his place up front. “But depending on how things work out, I may be leaving before the snow hits, anyway.”
“Ay-uh,” he nodded agreeably as he got them underway.
He then proceeded to tell her how the forecasters had already pushed the snowfall totals up, and that things were now set to move in before nightfall.
He further regaled her with several harrowing tales of several storms he’d lived through in his younger years, and Jett didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was a New Hampshire girl, born and bred, and not some Snow-bird who was clueless as to what was coming.
What his monologue did have her reminding herself? Decisions today would have to be made rapidly.
Her own father had warned her of the upcoming weather, and she’d assured him that if she didn’t have a clear answer and at least a two-hour window after her discussion with Trask, she’d find a place to hunker down locally, regardless of whether the eldest Sothard brother welcomed her back or not.
Her Pops had simply smirked at that, and told her he’d see her when she eventually came back to pack up all her stuff and pick up her dogs.
Cheeky man.
Just because he’d found the second woman of his heart in Bunny, didn’t mean the entire world was going to fall in love.
Trask cranked the band Castle Rat on his radio, trying to get lost in the thumping metal while at the same time attempting to calm nerves that he was not used to feeling.
And that, right there, was the problem.
Feelings.
He’d always done a stellar job distancing his sexual dalliances from his emotions, but with one brief encounter, Jett DeLuca had melded the two like they’d been forged together in steel.
That pissed him off.
Still, if he were going to try and turn things around with Jett—and by that, he meant getting her to agree to work for Diver Downeast, per order of his brothers—he was going to have to swallow his pride and make nice.
A slick little sports car chose that moment to run up on Trask’s tail, and before he could move over, the prick had zipped around him, coming close to Trask’s front bumper as he whipped back in front, then the douchebag stepped on his brakes just for annoyance purposes.
Trask growled, leaned on the horn, and flipped the guy off, who gunned it and took off.
So much for controlling his anger.
Although with a few more road-rage encounters, maybe he’d work all the pent-up frustration out of his system.
His phone, paired to his Bluetooth, chose that moment to ring.
“Yeah?” he barked.
It was Spence calling.
“Just checking in to make sure you’re on your way to Portsmouth,” his brother taunted.
“You fucking know I am,” Trask replied sharply. “I heard you talking to Mom on the phone just before I left the house, checking up on me.”
“Yeah, well, knowing you,” Spence snorted, “you might have said screw it, and headed in the opposite direction.”
“I didn’t,” Trask clipped. “I’m doing exactly as you suggested; sucking this up for you and Diver Downeast so we can have a pilot on staff.”
“No. You’re not,” Spence corrected, sharply. “And the sooner you stop telling yourself that, the easier this is going to be. You’re headed to see Jett because the woman confounds and intrigues you, and you have to discover if that’s something you want to pursue.”
“That’s a load of shit,” Trask grunted.
“Hey. Smarten up, will you?” Spence countered. “The problem here isn’t me. It’s you. You’ve never encountered anyone like Jett before, and it pisses you off. But you better play nice with her because I want to meet this paragon who’s got my buttoned-up, big brother all tied into knots.”
“She doesn’t,” Trask argued for argument’s sake.
But Spence was actually spot on. Trask hadn’t felt this off kilter since he’d been young, trying to figure out how to curb his impulsive side to become the son his parents could respect, and the role model he needed to be for his younger brothers.
“Whatever,” Spence returned, effectively ending the conversation. “I’ve got to go. Lunch break is over. They’re trying to get us out of class early before the storm hits.”
“Fine. Go. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.”
“Drive safely,” Spence told him before he hung up.
Always, brother, Trask answered in his head.
He’d make sure that no matter how fucked up his thought processes were, and how many sports cars tried to derail him, his truck remained on the road.
“He-ah we ahh,” Jett’s driver let her know when they pulled up to the glass-fronted shop that was home to Diver Downeast.
She would have known it even if the announcement hadn’t been made. Someone—and she assumed it was Trask—had already put a lot of her father’s vintage diving gear in the windows, and it looked great.