Chapter 3
This was freedom. This was home. Not the first home he'd ever had, but the one that finally felt right. The one that fit after years of searching for where he belonged.
The plane suddenly bucked beneath him.
Cole's hands moved before his conscious mind registered the downdraft.
He compensated for the wind shear that had just tried to slam him sideways into the mountain face.
The Cessna wobbled, fought him for half a second, then settled back into smooth flight as he guided her through the turbulent air.
His pulse barely elevated. Many years of flying had taught him that panic killed pilots. Smooth, deliberate movements kept you alive.
He scanned the instruments, checked his altitude, and adjusted his heading two degrees north to account for the crosswind he'd just encountered. All automatic now. All second nature. The way Dad, and then the military, had trained him.
Cole adjusted his course, muscle memory guiding his hands while his mind drifted back.
It had been over thirty years since his father first lifted him into the cockpit of that ancient Piper Cub back in North Dakota.
A lot of time had passed since those huge, calloused hands covered his small ones on the yoke, guiding him through his first takeoff from the dirt strip behind their farm.
"Feel her talk to you, Son," his father had said, voice rumbling with quiet pride. "Every plane has something to say if you listen close enough."
Dad had been right about that. The old crop duster had talked plenty, usually complaining about the weight of pesticide tanks or the heat bearing down during those endless summer days.
Cole was twelve when he started helping with the business, loading chemicals, checking fuel lines, and learning maintenance from a man who could tear down an engine and rebuild it with his eyes closed.
By fifteen, he'd been flying solo runs over wheat fields, skimming low enough to taste the dust in his throat.
The business kept food on their table after they sold the farm and kept his mom and two sisters comfortable, even if money stayed tight.
His brother-in-law now ran it, still using some of the same routes Dad had flown forty years ago.
Cole visited when he could and sometimes took a shift in the cockpit just to feel that connection again.
Cole's throat tightened at the memory. Five years now since cancer took his dad, and the ache still caught him at unexpected moments. Usually up here, where the old man's spirit seemed closest.
He liked to think Dad would approve of where life had taken him.
From those early days buzzing over cornfields to Army Blackhawks in Afghanistan, and now to this new chapter with Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana.
Different missions, same sky. Same freedom he'd been chasing since that first takeoff when he was eight years old.
The radio crackled to life, breaking his reverie. Tyler's voice cut through the static, all business despite the early hour.
Cole grinned and reached for the mic. He loved the guys at Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana, loved the camaraderie and the work they did together.
Loved Friday nights at the old tavern where they swapped stories and gave each other endless amounts of grief.
But these solo flights? These belonged to him alone.
Just him and the sky and the quiet space to think.
To remember. To figure out where the hell his life was heading next.
Years of flying still hadn't answered the one question that kept him awake at night. He'd found the right place, finally. Montana fit him like those worn leather gloves in his flight bag. But the right person? That remained as elusive as the perfect landing in a crosswind.
The compound came into view ahead, nestled in a valley that provided both privacy and strategic advantage.
Not bad for a startup operation. His boss, Logan, had vision.
The former SEAL had recruited well, gathering men and women who understood that some battles were worth fighting long after the uniform came off.
His headset crackled. "Nine two seven on approach.
" A controller didn’t monitor the landing strip, but he signaled his arrival to the ones on the compound.
Cole set the small plane down with barely a bump.
The satisfaction never got old. It was that perfect moment when the wheels touched the ground and everything aligned just right.
Some pilots flew for the adrenaline. Cole flew for moments like this, for the quiet pride of a job well done.
He taxied toward the hangar where Timothy Clemons waited, the newest addition to their pilot roster. He grinned at Timothy’s enthusiasm radiating from every gesture. He had been an Army Ranger and recently earned his pilot’s license, adding to their available pilots when needed.
Cole remembered the feeling of pure joy when learning to fly. Ten years and two combat tours had tempered his own enthusiasm into something quieter but no less deep.
"Beautiful morning," Timothy called as Cole climbed down from the cockpit.
"Every morning's beautiful when you're flying." Cole secured the plane, movements automatic after countless repetitions. "How's the Bell 407 treating you?"
"Like a dream. Though she handles differently from what I'm used to." Timothy fell into step beside him as they headed for the hangar. "Justice wanted me to remind you she needs to inspect 927 before your next flight. Something about updated maintenance protocols."
Cole nodded. Justice Marcetti ran the tightest ship he'd ever seen when it came to aircraft inspection. She was raised in the area and co-owned an auto mechanics shop with her dad. She’d also been trained and certified in aircraft inspections and worked on a continuing contract with LSIMT. He respected that kind of dedication.
The hangar doors stood open, revealing the gleaming hull of the Bell helicopter and Justice's legs sticking out from beneath it.
Her husband Tyler leaned against a workbench nearby, coffee mug in hand.
He was another coworker, or Keeper, as they were known.
It was a mantle the LSI employees adopted, reminiscent of the lighthouse keepers who guided the lost out of danger.
"Morning, Cole," Tyler called with a chin lift. "Just stopped by to steal my wife for lunch later. If she remembers what lunch is."
"I heard that," Justice's muffled voice came from under the helicopter. She slid out on the mechanic's creeper, grease smudged across one cheek, but eyes sharp as ever. "And I don't forget meals. I strategically delay them."
Tyler crossed to her, pulling a clean rag from his pocket to wipe the grease from her face with the kind of casual intimacy that spoke of shared affection. "Sure you do, baby. That's why I found you eating crackers for dinner three nights ago."
"Crackers are food," she protested, but leaned into Tyler’s touch.
Cole looked away, struck by an unexpected pang of...
emptiness? He wasn't sure how to label the emotion that hit him at strange times.
Well, not really strange, considering it happened whenever he saw some of the other Keepers with their significant others.
He'd had chances over the years with a couple of relationships that might have become something more if he'd let them.
But somehow it never seemed like the right time or the right person.
He’d seen how a good relationship could make every day better.
His parents had offered that vision of family.
And he’d always assumed it would come to him too…
meet someone, click in a way that superseded all others, and then fall in love.
Get married, have children. He wanted it all, but so far, he’d yet to meet someone he wanted to spend his life with.
"This bird and your Bell are good to go. I need to inspect the one you were just in, but I'll get to that later in the week if that's okay?" Justice asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Shouldn't be a problem," Cole said. "Thanks for the paperwork. I'll get this filed with Mary."
Mary Smithwick was LSIMT's competent and ever-efficient office manager. Cole not only kept a copy of the aircraft's inspection paperwork inside each plane or helicopter, but he also ensured Mary had the documentation.
They walked together toward the main compound, conversation flowing easily about flight plans and equipment needs.
His world was now filled with good people doing necessary work, using their skills to make a difference.
No more combat zones, no more choosing between bad and worse options.
Just clean, clear missions with right and wrong drawn in sharp lines.
The compound's main building came into view, its above-ground construction blending seamlessly with the environment, giving no hint of the rooms below that housed their work areas, equipment, weapons, gym, locker rooms, and kitchenette.
"Hey, Cole." Timothy jogged to catch up. The former Army Ranger moved with the controlled grace of a man who'd spent years in combat zones. "Mind if I pick your brain about mountain flying sometime? I know the theory, but these crosswinds are a different beast."
Cole studied the other Keeper with new respect.
Timothy had only recently added his pilot's license to an already impressive résumé, but the man approached flying with the same intensity he'd probably brought to special ops missions.
"Tell you what—we'll take the Cessna up tomorrow afternoon.
I'll show you some tricks for reading the thermals off these ridges. "
Timothy nodded, all business now. "Appreciate it. Logan mentioned we might need two pilots for the upcoming surveillance rotation. I want to make sure I'm ready."
"You will be," Cole said simply. Just like all the Keepers, he shared knowledge freely, understanding that everyone's competence made the whole team stronger.
As they entered the building, Cole felt that settling sensation again.
The rightness. He'd flown over half the world, seen sunrises from cockpits in more countries than he could count.
But something about Montana mornings, this team, and this purpose felt like the flight path he'd been searching for all along.
His phone buzzed. A text from his sister Kate back in North Dakota. Thank you for Dylan's birthday present. He said it was the best airplane model kit he'd ever seen.
He smiled, typing back. Tell him I'm glad he likes it.
You doing okay?
I'm good. You and yours?
He grinned when she replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
The morning sun climbed higher, bathing the compound in warmth and light.
This was his life now. Not the one he'd planned as a farm kid in North Dakota and not the one he'd built as an Army pilot, but something new.
Something that honored everything his father had taught him while pointing toward a future he was finally ready to embrace.