The Paternity Proposition(20)

"Later," he promised. "Let's go."

Once in the garage, he steered her to the Jag parked in its reserved slot. Two minutes later they were wheeling through the still-empty streets of downtown Oklahoma City.

Fifteen minutes after that, Alex turned into the approach to a small airport on the west side of town. The Dalton International symbol prominently displayed on the gate and the sleek executive jet visible through the open doors of one of the hangars suggested Alex was making good on his promise to show her DI's aeronautical operations center.

Then she caught sight of a just-washed aircraft parked on the tarmac. Water droplets still glistened on its canary yellow fuselage accented with a wide, jet-blue stripe.

"It's the Lane 602!"

"I had it flown in yesterday," Alex told her. "Thought you might want to take it for a test drive before we finalize the buy."

She was out of the Jag almost before it rolled to a stop, her avid gaze raking the Air Tractor from its single prop to its rear dispersal system. The present owner turned out to be an air-ag pilot operating out of Nebraska, who introduced himself as Jim O'Connor.

"Good to meet you, Dalton. And you, Ms. Bartlett." His gaze conveyed curiosity and something close to sympathy. "So you're partnered up with Dusty Jones, are you?"

"Two months now," Julie confirmed.

She kept her voice pleasant but flashed an unmistakable warning. She could criticize and carp at her partner but no one else better do so in her hearing.

O'Connor got the message. "Ole Dusty's one of the best ag pilots in the business," he said hastily. "I've seen him damn near stand his Pawnee on its tail."

Julie nodded her agreement, and O'Connor slapped a hand on the Air Tractor's fuselage.

"So, you want me to check you out on this baby?"

"Let me review the specs and owner's log first."

Excitement licked at her as she poured through the 602's vital statistics. Its Pratt & Whitney turboprop engine was a workhorse of the industry. The engine powered aircraft performing such diverse mission as transporting business passengers, dropping cargo in the Antarctic darkness at seventy-five degrees below zero, and performing fire suppression over blazing forests. The plane itself had a fuel capacity of more than two hundred gallons and its hopper could carry more than six hundred gallons of chemicals.

The dispersal system, she saw with a hastily suppressed thrill, could be easily modified along the lines Lisa Wu had suggested. With an intense exertion of willpower, Julie played down her excitement. No point letting O'Connor see how much she ached to get her hands on the throttle while there was still wiggle room in the sale negotiations.





Julie's almost instant grasp of the 602's capabilities impressed the hell out of Alex. With some notable gaps, the private investigator he'd hired to do a background check had provided a fairly detailed run-down on her background and flying experience. Still, she climbed into the cockpit after what felt to him like a very brief familiarization session.

He was used to the more sophisticated Gulfstream. It took longer to check out on highly instrumented twin-engine executive jets than single-seat air transports. Which is what he used to sop his pride until she taxied, lifted off, and made a few experimental passes.

Her first wing-over sent Alex's heart jumping into his throat. She made the climbing/descending turn at such a steep ninety degree bank that he didn't breathe easy again until she brought the 602 skimming back at thirty feet off the deck. Then she hopped over a stand of trees and pitched up in a hammerhead. The vertical maneuver was one of the first taught in flight schools. Pilots learned to pitch straight up, stomp on the rudder, and roll into a one-eighty to reverse course. Performing a hammerhead in a simulator or while he was at the controls himself was one thing. Watching Julie perform one at near stall speed squeezed his chest so tight Alex was sure he'd cracked a couple of ribs.

"Christ," he muttered when she climbed out of the cockpit and strutted over to where he leaned against the Jag, sweating bullets. "You pull stunts like that every day?"                       
       
           



       

"Pretty much." Her smile was smug. "It's called flying, Dalton."

She was good. She'd just demonstrated exactly how good. Yet when she and O'Connor put their heads together again, Alex couldn't shake the contrary wish that she piloted big, honkin' passenger jets with multiple back-up systems instead of what now seemed to him like little more than a fertilizer can with a prop.

The antsy feeling stayed with him while he gave Julie a tour of DI's hangars and ops center, followed by lunch at his favorite barbecue joint. It was still with him when he had to return for a hastily-called 3 p.m. meeting with Blake and DI's marketing director.

He stepped out of the elevators on the tenth floor and escorted her to the guest suite, sincerely regretting this change in plans.

"We'll have to move 'later' back a few more hours," he said at the door.

Her blank look made him grin and remind her of his promise when he rousted her out to see the plane early this morning instead of tumbling her back into bed.

"Oh, right. That later." She heaved a heavy, theatrical sigh. "It'll be tough, but I guess I can cool my jets awhile longer."

His kiss promised to more than make up for the additional delay.

"You all set for tonight?"

Julie chewed on a corner of her lip while she conducted a swift internal debate. She'd decided to return her purchases and back out of Delilah's big bash tonight. Paying so much for a gown went against her grain. On top of that, her inability to reach Dusty had started to gnaw at her.

On the other hand, the 602 had more than lived up to her expectations. With the additional plane and the improvements in spread ratio already being worked out by DI's engineering team, Agro-Air should turn a healthy profit this coming season.

Oh, for Pete's sake! Why was she overthinking all this? She'd never had trouble making a decision before. Had never been this wishy-washy about anything, much less a silly dress. What had gotten into her?

All she had to do was look into a pair of smiling blue eyes to know the answer. Alex Dalton. He'd gotten into her … heart, mind and body.

"Yes," she answered, slamming the door on any further debate, "I'm set."

"Good. The fund-raiser starts at six, but we don't need to be there that early. And it's just a few blocks from here, so how about I pick you up at six-thirty?"

"That works for me."





She made good use of the interval.

Her first priority was to contact Dusty. She was itching to tell him about taking the 602 up for a test spin and how sweet the plane was to maneuver. When she got no answer, she tried Chuck again. The mechanic still hadn't heard from his partner but evinced little concern about the lack of communication.

"Dusty'll get ahold of us sooner or later."

Better be sooner. Julie's nerves were wound tight as it was.

They coiled even more the closer it got to six-thirty. She killed part of the time with a long soak in mango-scented bubbles. A half bottle of conditioner took the 602's wind whip from her hair. Subsequent sessions with a blow dryer and curling iron made the thick mane almost manageable.

She fiddled with the jeweled comb, experimenting with different arrangements. She could pile the loose curls atop her head and anchor them with the comb. Or she could try for sleek and sophisticated by pulling her hair back in a smooth bun. In the end she decided to go with the boutique owner's recommended style-a smooth sweep on one side that brushed her shoulder, the other side caught back at the temple.

Her hair out of the way, she stepped into the narrow sheath of a skirt. Even with a lining, the gold silk was so thin Julie gave fervent thanks for the boutique owner's foresight in insisting Julie include a pair of seamless panties with her other purchases. No requirement for a bra, though. The bodice was cut to a deep V but fit tight and plumped her otherwise modest curves up nicely.





Very nicely, if Alex's reaction when she opened the door a little while later was any indication.

"Wow!"

The muttered exclamation was low but fervent enough to put a Cinderella smile in Julie's heart. The sight of her golden-haired prince in black tie and tux sparked an equally fervent response.

"Right back at you, Dalton."

"Turn around, let me see the full effect."

The four-inch stiletto heels made pirouetting on the plush carpeting a challenge but she pulled off a creditable turn without falling on her butt.

"The back view is great," Alex announced. "Superlative. But the front …  Oh, sweetheart."

Julie couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed. If ever! She could feel a slow heat sneak into her cheeks now, though.

She knew darned well that at least part of the heat stemmed from the profound feminine satisfaction that came with Alex seeing her in something other than coveralls, jeans or her trusty black slacks.

But most of it, she admitted on a silly, fluttery sigh, was a direct result of that murmured "sweetheart." The casual endearment didn't necessarily mean anything. Men-and women-used it all the time in this part of the country. Still, it warmed her enough to steal Julia Roberts's line from Pretty Woman.