Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
I ’ve been dreading this day all season—the day I have to face my fear of helicopters. The rotor wash stings my cheeks, the roar of the spinning blades throb in my ears, and all I can think is don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic .
At the centre of the commotion, a sleek chopper hovers just above the ground, pilot looking maddeningly calm as he manoeuvres into place to get hooked up with a load of trees. Planes are one thing; I’ve had plenty of experience there. But this is a whole new ball game—the JetRanger—as I have been told it is called—in comparison is a dinky little thing that seemingly defies gravity simply through a pair of rotors moving at an obnoxious clip. How this tin can even lifts off the ground is a mystery to me—it just all seems so impossible.
My gaze gravitates toward the massive net loaded with seedling boxes, but it lands instead on Gabe—standing below the chopper, hair whipping around like a flag in a storm. He’s strapping the cargo in place, muscles tensing under his shirt as he yanks the net tight. Even from a distance, I can see that familiar calm settle over him, like this is no big deal.
Finally, he secures the load to the chopper’s underbelly, and with one quick pivot, he is out in the pilot’s view, signalling that he is good to go. The helicopter roars upward in a deafening rush, the downdraft buffeting everything around us. In that split second, the early-morning light spills across Gabe’s face, illuminating him like a scene straight out of an action movie.
“You ever been in one of these before?” he shouts over the noise, sweeping a look around at all of us.
Rolland shakes his head, grinning like a kid at Christmas, and Emma’s practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. Jake mumbles something about his first season in BC. I open my mouth to answer, but end up just shaking my head, nerves creeping in.
Gabe nods, clearly noticing I’m not as excited about the helicopter ride as everyone else. “Right,” he says, his tone a bit reassuring. “Make sure you’ve got everything you need—today’s a long one. Once we’re up there, we’re not coming back ‘til the block’s done. If I call your name, you’ll be on the next load. When the helicopter is pulling in, crouch down low, hold your hats, and keep your shovels close to the ground. We don’t need anyone getting a haircut from the rotors, so wait for the pilot’s signal and stay crouched as you approach—shovels and bags in the cargo hatch, okay?”
We all nod in unison, signalling that we understand. He then rattles off a few specs, reminding us that the chopper pilot will drop extra seedling loads at caches, and that, if any issues come up, we’ll have to radio him in a pinch.
Then he taps a half-full Nalgene bottle clipped to Emma’s backpack and says, “Fill this up. It’s a high block, the sun’s stronger, and I don’t want anyone getting heat stroke.”
She nods, saluting him with a grin, then runs back to the truck to grab more water from the crew supply.
The chopper veers over the forest with a net full of seedling boxes, and we all watch as it banks east, heading toward the fly-in block. The sound of the engine fades into the distance, replaced by an eerie, almost complete silence. Four minutes later, the unmistakable whir of the blades grows louder again, and the helicopter reappears, circling back to the gravel pad.
“All right!” Gabe calls out over the roar, clearing his throat. “We’re going up in two groups. Jake, Rolland, Emma—you’re first. Grab your bags and head to the chopper once it lands. Remember to keep your heads down near the blades. Seat belts and headsets on.”
Emma gives me a quick thumbs-up as she hustles away. The helicopter is already whipping the air into a frenzy, the pilot easing it down onto a patch of open ground. A gust of wind blasts my face, carrying gravel and dust that stings my eyes.
Gabe sets his jaw and turns toward me. “Second flight’ll be us,” he says. “We’ll bring the last of the gear. That cool?”
I want to say something witty, but my mind blanks—so I just nod.
I can feel Gabe’s gaze lingering on me, almost like he’s checking in to see where my head’s at.
“I’m good,” I manage, forcing a half-smile.
He gives a short nod, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting back a smirk. Then he looks away, scanning for the first group and coordinating with the pilot. My heart thuds as I watch him, hair whipping around his face, every bit the calm authority.
The pilot shoots us a thumbs-up, and in seconds, the chopper’s engine roars. Dust and bits of rock swirl in a crazy storm as the helicopter lifts, pivoting toward the horizon. Gabe stands a few yards away, rock-steady in the gust, one arm raised to guide the pilot. A moment later, the helicopter circles once, then peels off, disappearing into the brightening Alberta sky.
Gabe lowers his arm, rubbing his shoulder with a faintly amused smile. “We’ve got five minutes before the chopper’s back,” he says as he clips his radio onto his vest, walking over to where I’m standing. My pulse is still pounding from the adrenaline, and—if I’m being honest—from noticing how Gabe’s cheeks are flushed from the wind.
“You got everything?” he asks.
“Yup,” I answer, trying to sound chill.
“Soleil,” he says softly. “You seem nervous—not a fan of flying?”
“I’m fine…” Liar.
He gives me a pointed look.
“On bigger planes, maybe, but this? It’s like a tiny capsule with blades—and if those blades stop working, we fall right out of the sky.” I add nervously, my words spilling out in a rush.
Gabe glances at me, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Carl is the best pilot out here—especially when he’s not drinking.”
My eyes snap wide open. “What? You’re joking, right?”
He chuckles, holding up his hands. “I’m joking. Relax. The electronics in these things have backups for their backups. I had to take a class on aircraft engineering in school—it’s basically impossible for them to just drop out of the sky.”
I raise an eyebrow, still not totally reassured, but before I can reply, he steps closer, closing the distance until there’s barely a foot between us.
“And besides, Carl only drinks on weekends. What day is it?” he asks.
“Wednesday,” I answer, all dry and unimpressed.
“Perfect. He’s not wasted today.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah, I see what he’s doing—distracting me so I don’t panic about the flight.
Then his voice lowers as he leans in towards my ear, like he’s telling me a secret. “Besides, if your nerves kick in once we’re up there, just keep your focus on me.” His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, I get lost in his glacial-blue eyes.
And that’s when it hits me—something’s different. He’s not teasing me, not mocking, not pushing my buttons like he usually does. There’s no smirk, no edge. Instead, his tone is steady, protective even, like he cares about making sure I’m okay.
“I promise you’ll be fine,” he says again, and the way his eyes hold mine makes me believe him.
The wind picks up again, swirling my hair around my face, and I notice a loose curl of his hair falling across his forehead. I’m in trouble . Watching him half smile at me under this wide-open sky stirs something warm and weightless in my chest—a feeling I’m not ready to unpack.
James, our tree hauler, calls out from our left, breaking the moment, and Gabe steps back, signalling to the pilot as the helicopter comes in for a landing. The rush of wind and the adrenaline of the moment make it hard to think straight, but as the chopper descends, I can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment at losing that small bubble of closeness.
Without saying a word, Gabe takes my hand, guiding me toward the helicopter. I glance down, noticing the warmth of his calloused hand against mine, and suddenly, my pulse is pounding louder than the rotors.
“C’mon, Soleil,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve got this.” At the open door, his hand briefly brushes my elbow as he steadies me. “Watch your step,” he says over the roar of the blades, leaning closer so I can hear.
My heart pounds as I climb in, my boots clanking against the metal floor. Gabe ducks his head and slides in next to me, moving like he’s done this a hundred times. It’s tight in here, and the harness straps are a tangled mess—I fumble with them, trying to figure it out, but before I can, Gabe leans in. His hands brush against mine, then move over my chest as he adjusts the straps.
It’s such a simple thing, but it feels… intimate. His fingers tug at the straps, tightening them, and for a split second, his knuckles graze my breast. It’s barely anything—an accident—but my body reacts before my brain can stop it. And just like that, the anxious knot in my stomach isn’t about flying anymore. Now, I’m too flustered even to remember why I was nervous in the first place. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice because he’s already gesturing for me to put the headset on.
I giggle with nervousness as I tug it on, jumping slightly when my voice crackles through the mic. “This… this is actually kind of exciting!”
Gabe glances at me, and I catch the smallest, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “See? You’re fine,” he says, leaning back against his seat. His calm presence is almost contagious, settling some of my nerves even as the chopper lurches upward.
The skids lift off the ground, and my stomach drops with the motion. Adrenaline floods my veins as the helicopter tilts forward, and I grip his thigh instinctively, my breath coming quick and uneven.
“Hey.” Gabe’s voice cuts through the headset, steady and calm. “You’re good. Deep breaths, okay? Breathe in, hold it, then breathe out.”
I glance at him, and he’s already looking at me. His hand lands on my hand that’s still gripping his thigh, warm and firm, giving it a quick squeeze.
I nod, focusing on his face instead of the nerves threatening to take over. His steely-blue eyes lock onto mine, grounding me. Slowly, I inhale, hold it, and exhale, matching his rhythm. The panic ebbs little by little, replaced by an intense awareness of the moment. The closeness, the warmth of his thigh under my hand, the quiet comfort he’s offering.
The weight of the moment hits me too hard, so I slide my hand off and pivot to the window. Gabe straightens beside me, his hand slipping away as if he’s realized the same thing I have. And maybe it’s better this way.
Every now and then, I feel his gaze flick to me—quick, almost imperceptible. I can’t tell if he’s just checking to make sure I’m okay or if he’s thinking about the moment we just shared. Either way, the awareness of him lingers, even as I lose myself in the beauty of the wild Alberta landscape.