Prescott Pilot Anthology; BORN TO FLY, LOGAN'S LADY and LOVING CARLIE

The identical cheesy grins on her sisters' faces meant nothing but trouble, thought Sharla, as she entered the reception area of

Prescott Air Service and caught sight of Dee and Carlie. Her sisters looked altogether too bright-eyed and cheerful for a Monday morning.

As one sibling in a set of triplets, she knew the odd man out was always at risk. She'd just returned from a rare four-day weekend—one she'd earned and desperately needed. Her sisters were envious, so she supposed they’d hatched some sort of scheme to torment her.

There was no doubt she'd been given a rotten flight schedule today. She loved her family, they were her life, but there were still times when she'd like to wring her sisters' necks.

Dee and Carlie were sitting on the sofa, dressed much like Sharla in khaki jumpsuits. The style was practical for the three pilots, yet flattering. Even though their chosen profession was considered a masculine domain, they were women and proud of it.

“I hope my short vacation hasn't resulted in my getting last refusal on some stinky assignment,” Sharla commented after wishing everyone a good morning.

Carlie was French-braiding Dee's waist-length hair. The triplets were nearly identical, with brilliant turquoise eyes and honey-blond hair, but their hairstyles were different. Dee's fell heavily to her waist, Carlie’s was cut in a smooth page boy with wispy bangs and Sharla's curly, layered style fell over her shoulders like a cloak.

“You are the most rested of our staff,” Dee teased, tongue-in-cheek.

“The customer is one of your favorites,” Carlie added with a wicked grin.

Sharla wondered what those rare consecutive days of rest were going to cost her. “Who's the customer, and how bad's the job?”

“Sharla, dear, you shouldn't be that way about an assignment,” admonished Belle, their mother, the family air service's receptionist and their schedule manager. “It's taken five years to establish our clientele, and you know we accept only the most respectable charters. Mr. Connors is a good customer, and he's brought us a lot of business.”

Sharla groaned and felt tension creep into her body at just the mention of the man. “Connors?” she repeated. “Reed Connors, and I'm getting stuck with him? Why can't Dee or Carlie handle this one? I had him the last time.”

“You know he likes you best,” Carlie teased devilishly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

All three sisters had flown charters for the U.S. Marshal during the past few years. Dee and Carlie had even dated the man in question. Sharla was the only one of the triplets he hadn't asked for a date.

“He wants someone to fly him from city to city for about a week, and we're just too tired. You're the only one rested enough to take on that sort of charter,” Dee insisted. “Carlie and I are booked solid.”

“Mother?” Sharla decided to ignore her sisters and concentrate on getting the assignment rescheduled. Reed Connors was a strain on her nerves for short periods of time, and she knew she had the same effect on him. They wouldn't survive an entire week. “We agreed to take turns on Connors. I had him last. That means it's somebody else's turn.”

The man in question wasn't a difficult or demanding customer. He was an enigma, and the strength of his presence could be unnerving, but Dee and Carlie didn't really mind working with him. They knew Sharla did and privately thought it was because of a strong physical attraction, so they loved to tease her.

“Yes, dear, I know it's not your turn,” Belle countered in the same soft, southern drawl she 'd used to soothe the siblings for twenty-five years. “But Dee and Carlie have such tight schedules. It's too late to juggle. Mr. Connors did apologize for the short notice, but you're the only one who can pilot for him.”

Sharla dropped into a seat near her mother's desk and glared at her two sisters. Prescott Air Service had three types of planes, and all three pilots could fly every model, but each preferred one specific aircraft.

“I can handle Dee's schedule for the week,” she insisted.

“You're not flying my plane,” argued Dee. “Besides, I have next weekend off, and I'm not taking a chance of spending it somewhere in the wilds of the Midwest.”

Sharla groaned and asked the dreaded question, “Where does Connors want to be flown?”

“His schedule includes a trip up to Pittsburgh, then over to Columbus. Later he plans to go from Columbus to Lexington and then to Nashville. He's not sure of the timing, but he's made reservations for overnight stays in every city. He may come home with you on Thursday, or send you back alone. Either way, he's paying all the expenses.”

Sharla stared at her mother in amazement. “You let Connors make arrangements for accommodations?”

“He said you'd be staying at the airport hotels.”

“How does a federal employee's expense account stretch to airport hotels and several days' charter flying?”

“I'm sure I don't know, dear,” Belle replied. She came from a long line of southern aristocracy and had firm beliefs on what was proper and what wasn't. It definitely wasn't polite to ask a man about his finances. “But he promised quality accommodations.”

“I don't like it,” declared Sharla, “and I don't want to be Reed Connors’ personal chauffeur for a week. Why can't he fly commercial?”
She ignored the exaggerated gasps of shock from her sisters. “Why can't we just tell Connors we can't make the run? Tell him we can't fit him into the schedule.”

“That's not the truth,” her mother admonished in a tone intended to remind that lying was a sin. Belle epitomized the socially and morally upright gentility. Despite the age lines on her face and silver in her hair, she was as beautiful as her daughters, and much more concerned with proper, ladylike behavior.

“I’ve already approved the trip,” she informed her reluctant offspring, then glanced out the glass-paneled doors. “Mr. Connors is just arriving and is scheduled to leave in an hour.”

“An hour!” Sharla exclaimed.

The man in question entered the office in time to catch the protest in her tone. He pulled off his sunglasses and shot a narrowed glance at her, but didn't ask the cause of her outburst.

“Sharla.” He greeted her by name, nodded a greeting to her sisters, and then moved closer to Belle's desk.

The room suddenly shrank and grew warmer. Reed Connors was the type of man who radiated so much masculine energy his presence was felt, not just witnessed.

Sharla thought the air around him must be electrified in order to warn people to keep their distance. She heeded the warning, rose from her chair, and stepped away from the reception desk while Connors discussed business with her mother.

Dee was mouthing a silent message, “He always liked you best.” Referring to the fact that Reed had spoken to Sharla by name. Even with different hairstyles, most of their customers had a problem keeping them straight when they were dressed in their flight suits. Connors always managed to single her out.

“Shut up.” Sharla was mouthing a response back to her sister when he turned and looked her directly in the eyes. His left eyebrow rose questioningly.

“Just a little discussion with Dee,” she explained.

“Amazing,” Reed drawled in his deep, soft tone, “I didn't even hear Dee speak.”

Her sisters had the grace to muffle their laughter.

Sharla didn't know what it was about the man that made her feel so belligerent, but she felt ripples of annoyance every time he leveled his golden brown eyes at her. Something very elemental in her caused an adverse reaction to his proximity.

“Dee and I are very good at silent communication.” The statement was made with little expression, but Sharla's eyes were bright with challenge as they met his.

Connors returned her gaze steadily. She thought of her sisters' insistence he was a real hunk and wondered why the description annoyed her every time it came to mind. He wasn't the tall, muscled type. He topped her five feet six by only a few inches. Dee called him lean and mean, Carlie thought he could double for movie star Don Johnson.

He wasn't gorgeous. His hair was light brown; streaked with gold, and so were his eyes. His features should be considered average, but the aura of suppressed energy and raw sensuality always made her wary.
He was dressed in casual slacks, a white shirt, and a light blue linen jacket He obviously dressed for comfort and to please himself. She thought federal law enforcement officers were supposed to blend into the scenery. Connors never did.

“Have you ever considered working for Uncle Sam?” he asked in a carefully measured tone. “We can always use people with special talents.”

Sharla didn't have any fondness for federal agents of any sort, and Connors knew it. He liked to get in a few taunts whenever possible. The two of them kept a shield of subtle insults between them at all times.

“I'm sure our talents would be wasted as marshals,” she argued, just for the sake of it. “We were born to fly.”

Carlie interrupted their exchange; “Speaking of flying. Dee, we'd better get started. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Aren't they all,” Dee said as she followed Carlie to the door. “Of course, it might not be so bad if we had nice long weekends to play on the beach.”

Sharla glared at her sisters. Good-byes were exchanged. The phone rang to distract Belle, and Reed gave her his full attention.

“Are you just getting back from vacation?”

“It was my turn for a four-day weekend. They're in a snit because I spent some time with mutual friends, and they couldn't go.”

“So that's how you got stuck with me twice in a row,” Reed guessed, his eyes alight with the knowledge she didn't want to go anywhere with him.

Sharla felt herself blushing. She hadn't realized he was aware of their “turn taking.” Despite her reluctance to work with the man, she'd been raised to be polite and considerate. Belle never tolerated offensive behavior.

“I guess we wouldn't make very good feds after all,” she commented.
A corner of Connors’ mouth tilted in a grin. Sharla thought he had the most expressive eyes and mouth she'd ever seen, yet she had a feeling he concealed a lot more emotion than he ever displayed.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. They weren't likely to be disturbed in the reception area, but she glanced toward the hallway behind her mother's desk. “We can use Daddy's office, if you like.”
Reed nodded and followed her to Harold “Bear” Prescott's private office.

Bear was a retired Air Force sergeant. His specialty was airplane mechanics. After retirement from the service, he'd developed his own air service on a small portion of the Virginia plantation his wife had inherited. Now he spent most of his time keeping Prescott's aircraft in superior condition.

Sharla opened the door to Bear’s office, stepped aside while Connors entered, and closed the door again. Her feminine wariness intensified when the two of them were alone. She kept her back to the door while he began to prowl around the room.

“This office must not get much use,” he commented. The room was sparsely furnished and spotlessly clean.

“Daddy doesn't work in here very much,” she said. “Mother thinks the president of the company should have his own office, but he spends most of his time in the hangar.”

An eight-by-ten photo on Bear's desk caught Reed's attention. It was of the three sisters. He imagined they'd been in their late teens when the shot was taken.

They were dressed in matching outfits, their hairstyles and mischievous expressions were exactly the same, and it was impossible to tell them apart. Reed wondered how their parents had survived.

“Does your mother handle all the secretarial duties? I've never seen anyone else at the reception desk.”

“For her, it's just an extension of southern hospitality. She wouldn't think of letting anyone else answer the phone or greet customers. This past year she hired some part-time help, but she likes being in charge.”

Belle's organizational skills were legendary, but she'd always been utilized for social activities, her daughters' education, and taking care of her family. She'd surprised them all when she'd decided to put her skills to use in the business. She argued if she ever wanted to see her loved ones, she had to live at the airstrip.

“Your mother is quite a lady,” Reed commented. He'd learned to appreciate the sharp mind behind Belle's ultra-feminine facade.

“That she is,” Sharla agreed.

Connors rarely engaged in small talk. She knew he had something more serious on his mind, but she didn't have a clue. There was no use trying to press him. She'd have to wait until he decided to tell her.

“When I was checking some records, I learned your dad is a licensed pilot, too.”

Sharla frowned in annoyance. “Just your average record checking?” One of the things she disliked most about federal law enforcement officials was their ability to scrutinize people's personal lives without permission.

“The records are public knowledge,” he drawled, giving her his full attention now.

“All of them?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

She didn't realize how much attention the action drew to the fullness of her breasts. Reed thought she was one beautiful woman, even when she was bent on antagonizing him. Indignation enhanced the brilliance of her eyes. Her defensive posture was more provocative than intimidating. She was an unwanted threat to his peace of mind.

“Would you trust your life to a pilot you didn't have investigated first?” he taunted, then mimicked her by crossing his arms over his chest.

“Thousands of people do it every day,” Sharla retorted briskly. “It's called commercial flight. You don't even know the pilot's name unless he tells you.”

“That's why I avoid it,” Reed declared succinctly. He speared her with a sharp gaze and drew a deep breath. She wasn't going to be pleased with his request.

“I'd like to have your dad pilot for me on this assignment. I know it would be an inconvenience, but I'm willing to pay double your usual rates.”

Sharla stiffened, taking his suggestion as a slur on her abilities. Prescott Air Service had struggled against prejudice for years. She and her sisters had been forced to prove their capabilities far more stringently than any man had to. The business had nearly been destroyed before people began to have faith in female pilots.
She was shocked to realize his attitude hurt as well as angered her. More tension coiled through the muscles of her body.

“If you don't think I'm qualified to pilot for you, then why the hell are you here?” “This doesn't have anything to do with your qualifications,” he argued.

“Convince me,” she snapped. The very least he owed her was an explanation. “It's the case I'm working on,” he volunteered. “It's highly sensitive, and your dad has security clearance.”

“So do I,” she told him. “That's not the point.”
“Then what is?”

“The point is, it's a tricky case and something could go wrong. I don't want to put anyone at risk,” he said. “You don't want to put a woman at risk,” she corrected. “You obviously don't mind putting my dad at risk.”

At the agency, Reed was notorious for salvaging bad situations, but his control was always faulty when Sharla was involved. He decided to try another approach.

“There shouldn't be any problems. I just want to be careful.”

“Well, you don't have any choice in the matter,” she told him flatly. “Daddy has a minor heart condition. He's in good health and his license is valid, but our insurance company won't allow him to pilot for the service. I'm surprised you missed that in the records.”

Reed's expression kept growing grimmer. He knew Sharla didn't like him very well. He was making matters worse, but that wasn't important. He didn't want to take a chance of putting her in danger. Normally he used Prescott's for routine work. This assignment was different, but he couldn't use another service without creating suspicion.

“If you checked your records thoroughly enough,” Sharla continued, “you probably know my sisters and I are trained in self-defense. I'll admit I'm not the best. Carlie has a black belt in karate, and Dee's the weapons expert, but I'm still better trained than my dad. and most other men.”

Belle had once told Reed she'd done her best to raise her daughters as ladies should be raised. She'd insisted they take dancing lessons, learn to play the piano, and cultivate knowledge of the arts.

But the triplets had been Air Force brats, moving from location to location every few years, and sometimes to areas that weren't as safe as their permanent home in Virginia. Bear couldn't always be with his little girls, so he'd wanted them to know how to protect themselves.

He'd insisted on self-defense classes along with the arts.
Reed ran a hand through his hair and wondered how best to explain himself without divulging too many details of his assignment. “I'm not suggesting I might need a backup for protection,” he insisted tersely.

“You'd just feel safer with a man.” Her tone was sweet, but her eyes flashed with indignation. How many times over the years had she battled the same chauvinistic, outdated mentality? She'd thought Connors was different.

Her anger roused his. “I told you this doesn't have anything to do with your qualifications as a pilot.”

“Just my qualifications as a person?” she snapped.