Chapter 1
“Papaw, look!”
Thomas Jenkins grinned at his grandson fondly, appreciating the boy’s enthusiasm. “I know, Marc. I see it.”
The small Boeing Stearman PT-17, used as the family farm’s crop duster, flew low as Marc looked out at the fields below. As long as he could remember, he had watched his grandfather go up in the plane. Begging his parents to let him fly too, they had made him wait until he was six years old. And now, finally, he scanned the fields below from the passenger seat, fascinated by the patchwork quilt view of the different crops with narrow lines of asphalt road cutting through them—he recognized the various roads and neighbor’s farms as they circled over the county several times.
“When can I learn to fly?” he asked, watching his grandfather’s hands on the controls.
Chuckling, Thomas glanced at Marc, the eager child bouncing in his seat, his denim overalls matching his own. “Soon as you’re big enough and your daddy says it’s okay.” He added, “But no reason why you can’t be learning some stuff when the plane is on the ground.”
The idea of being able to learn the controls as soon as possible had Marc even more excited. Turning back to look out the window, he shouted once more. “Papaw! Deer!”
A herd of deer came running out of the edge of the woods and across the field below, fascinating the young boy. Turning back to his grandfather, a snaggle-tooth grin plastered on his face, he shouted, “This is the best thing in the whole world!”
Thomas agreed, “Well, I started flying out of necessity. I could dust my own crops and, since I could hire myself out, it was a way to bring in more money. Then I taught your dad so he could bring in the dusting money while I didn’t lose any time on the farm.”
“And I can do it too?”
“Sure thing, boy,” he replied.
Circling around again, he brought the plane lower and lower as they approached the long, flat, dirt road he used for his landing field. Bumping along as they touched down, Marc clapped his hands and laughed out loud, completely unafraid.
Coasting toward the barn, Marc began to unbuckle but was stopped by his grandfather. “No, no, boy. Not until we’ve stopped. Safety first.”
As soon as they came to a halt, Marc popped out of his seat and threw his arms around his grandfather’s neck. “Thank you,” he enthused. “That was the bestest!”
*
At eighteen years old, Marc was well over six feet tall. Working on the farm, as well as playing football in school, had noticeably honed his muscles. He filled out his worn t-shirt and jeans, having no problem catching the eyes of the girls at school. With a sly grin on his face, he remembered a few of the ladies in town checking him out as well.
Walking out to the field, he approached the bright yellow 1980 Piper Brave his father had bought. With his pilot’s license, Marc took over the dusting part of the farm’s business, earning money while doing what he loved.
Climbing into the cockpit, he grinned as he ran through the safety checks, thinking of his friends who were working as grocery bagboys or restaurant busboys for minimum wage. As he coasted down the runway and the plane lifted off the ground the rush of adrenaline hit him and he grinned wider. Hell, yeah. Best job in the world! As he viewed the world below, a surge of awe mixed with power filled his mind.
Looking down, he saw Misty Parsons on her daddy’s tractor and he waved his wings as he flew over. He watched her wave and his cock jumped at the memory of her in the bed of his pickup truck. Hell, nothin’ better than a country girl who could drive a tractor and didn’t mind gettin’ her hands dirty in the great outdoors!
He sobered as he thought of their last few conversations where she pleaded for him to stay on the farm, but he knew his future was not in agriculture. The first time his grandfather had taken him up in his plane, Marc knew he was destined to fly and travel as far as he could go. Her tears only served to annoy him, but he knew his mother would have liked for him to stay as well.
His grandfather understood. Had always understood. Marc thought back to his grandfather’s last days two years before, when his cancer was finally winning. Marc had sat in his grandfather’s bedroom, watching as the hospice workers came and went. Before slipping into unconsciousness the last time, his papaw regaled Marc with tales of his travels.
“I never had a college degree, but back in ‘Nam, we was on a plane taking us away from a hellhole to back where we were gonna get a break from fighting. I swear, the pilot got shot soon after we took off and I crawled up in the cockpit and looked over at the co-pilot. I told him that I’d been flying planes for a long time and he could do what he needed to do and I could get us landed.”
Papaw fell into a coughing fit and I jumped up to assist. As he lay back on the pillow, he said, “Hated the war, but gotta say, boy, I loved seeing other lands. Was glad to get home to your mamaw so we could get married, but…” his voice died away as he took several raspy breaths. “I loved flying to other places.”
“I know, papaw,” I agreed. “I do, too. I can’t wait to travel the world.”
My grandfather’s weak eyes focused on me and he smiled gently. “You still got that St. Mark medal that your mamaw gave you when you turned thirteen?”
I reached around my neck and pulled on the sturdy chain, withdrawing the silver pendant from underneath my shirt.
Papaw smiled and said, “That symbol is a winged-lion. I remember when your grandmother was buying it, she said that anything with wings on it must be right for you. But then I looked at the lion and thought of the power. You’re a big boy, Marc, and will be a big man. Use your strength wisely, but follow your heart. Travel the world…fly wherever you can.”
“Do you think that mamaw was thinking of that when she gave it to me?” I asked.
Trying to laugh without coughing, papaw shook his head. “Hell, naw. She just saw it in a catalog and thought it was purdy. I was the one that figured it matched you real well. Nothin’ wrong with having something to live up to.” He stopped and coughed again before adding in a rough whisper, “But look for a good place to land when you’re ready. Your mamaw was that place for me. Someday, find yourself a good woman and you’ll have that place to land.”
It was the last conversation he had with his grandfather and as Marc landed the small plane, taxiing back to the barn where his father waited, he knew he would soon be living the life his papaw imagined for him.
*
Twelve Years Later
The morning mist rose slowly over the Blue Ridge Mountains, casting the sunrise in a smoky haze. The woods in late winter were stark, bare trees mixed in with the evergreens. The quiet was broken only by the sounds of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves on the ground by whatever woodland creatures had woken and began their foraging.
Marc stretched his large, muscular frame as sleep slowly let go of his body and he worked the kinks out. Hearing a slight noise from the side he turned his head, smiling at the rumpled hair of his tent companion. Well, at least, companion for the night.
Hiking the previous day, he had run across another hiker as he turned up the path behind her. The view had been spectacular. Long, tan legs. Long, blonde hair. Great ass. As he walked alongside of her, he noticed her dark brown eyes and luscious rack. By the time he was ready to set up his campsite, she was ready to share his tent for the night.
And one night was just fine with him. One night was all he ever wanted. Still, he did not consider himself a player—his hookups were not very frequent. Sitting up, he rested his forearms on his bent knees and viewed the morning from the slit in the tent flap. Pulling the cool air into his lungs, he twisted his head to the side a couple of times, cracking his neck. Stifling a groan, he realized his thirty-year-old body was no longer as resilient as a teen’s and sleeping on the ground now added a few joint aches.
His companion rolled over, her face still slack with sleep. He sat observing her for a moment, wondering why he felt nothing more than just physical satisfaction. Bar hookups were sometimes necessary, but the heavily made up, high maintenance women he occasionally found never appealed for more than a night. But then, so far, the women he met while camping, who seemed to understand his way of life, had not stirred any interest either. I just haven’t found the right one yet. That thought never used to bother him, but glancing back to the sleeping woman, he now wished he had kept this trip solo.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he sighed louder than he intended and watched as her eyes blinked before closing again. Slipping quietly out of the tent, he walked through the trees to take care of business before moving back to the embers of the campfire.
Stirring them to life and adding some wood, he built the fire up before setting a pot of water on the metal grate he had placed on the fire last night. A few split bagels and pre-cooked sausage patties were added to the thick aluminum foil to heat. After a few minutes, he stirred the hot water into mugs with instant coffee.
Sitting on a large, flat rock near the fire, he settled back with his coffee, watching the ever-changing vista in front of him. The sun slowly rose over the top of the trees, painting the winter mountainside in various shades of brown, bare trees and green pines and cedars. He could see his breath in the cold air before closing his eyes for a moment in peaceful reverie. His grandfather had taught him to appreciate each new day as a fresh start on life.
He knew miles below was his boss’ acreage and smiled thinking about the Saints’ compound. Jack Bryant, while still in the Army Special Forces, had worked with a team of highly trained members, making up a multi-task force consisting of SEALs, SF, CIA, explosive experts, and others. Finding the team worked well together Jack re-created the idea of an exclusive multi-task force once he was a civilian. He recruited from SEALs, FBI, SF, ATF, DEA, and CIA for his new team. Top of the line equipment, weapons, security systems, vehicles, and computers—everything the Saints Protection & Investigations could need was at their disposal. For Marc, that meant his own equipped plane, ready and waiting at the local airfield.
The nine other Saints used to fill the local bar with him, looking for the night’s entertainment, but now they were all in committed relationships. Somehow, they had each found their perfect mate…their place to land. Looking back toward the tent, he grimaced. Not me…not yet. Maybe not ever.
Soon the tent flap opened and the woman crawled out, sniffing the air. “Oh, my God, you’ve got coffee!”
“Instant, but yeah, it’s coffee,” he replied, handing her a steaming cup. “It’s black,” he added, then grinned as she wrinkled her nose.
Taking a sip, she nodded toward his backpack. “No sugar or sweetener in there?”
“Do I look like a sweetener kind of guy?”
“Hmmm, no I guess not,” she admitted, taking small sips. Taking the sausage bagel from him, she ate heartily. Standing, she stretched her arms over her head exposing a band of tanned skin above her jeans. She bent down to tie her boots before moving back to the tent to grab her backpack. Throwing it over her shoulder, she grinned as he stood and walked over.
“Are you breaking camp today?” she asked, barely waiting for him to answer before standing on her toes to offer a quick kiss before stepping back toward the trail.
Observing her distracted body language, Marc was aware her mind was already on her day, no more interested in spending extra time with him than he was with her. Shouldn’t this make me happy? This is easy, so why do I feel…unfulfilled? In theory, she should be perfect—loves to hike and camp, is able to cook outdoors, and has no compunction with getting naked out in the wilderness.
As he watched her walk away with a wave and a wink, he turned and stared out over the valley laid out before him, the sun rising a little higher in the sky. He broke camp earlier than he normally would, the sense of dissatisfaction taking precedence over the beautiful vista.
Remembering the words of his papaw, he wondered when he would find a good place to land. But what does that mean? Maybe I need a woman who needs me also…but would be able to take care of herself as well. Does that woman exist? And if so…where the hell would I meet her?