Chapter One
Abby Seymour was going to faint. She was sure of it, or at least as sure as someone could be who’d never actually fainted before. Her father’s words had left her floored.
Her father was far too calm to have just shattered her world.
“As a heart attack,” he said. “Seymour Airport is being sold. The buyer will be here tomorrow, and I feel comfortable with this decision, girls. He is a pilot and a businessman, so he’ll know what he’s doing and probably take this place and make it more profitable than I ever could. You both know it has been hard these past few years.” He shuffled papers on his orderly desk, which was his telltale way of signaling that a conversation was over.
Furious as she was, Abby knew her father would brook no further discussion on the matter. He had probably kept the news of the sale from her and her older sister, Scarlett, so they wouldn’t be able to interfere with its progression. That was a pretty smart move on his part.
What could she do? How could she stop this?
Before she said anything she knew she would terribly regret later, Abby opted for escape. She shot out of the chair and slammed the door behind her on her way out before her father or sister had a chance to stop her. The frame rattled triumphantly. Scarlett could attempt to reason with their father. She had a way of producing better results with her bubbly personality than Abby did with her temper.
It was best if she just got back to work. Staying busy would keep her mind off all the nonsense of selling the airport. She picked up her pace to a near run as she darted from the main building to where she had been working in the second hanger. The biting wind of the Montana winter made her shiver all over, despite the cheerful afternoon sunshine. Once she was tinkering in the engine of a Cessna 172, owned by a friend of her father, she mulled over her father’s news, trying to make heads and tails of it.
How could he even think of selling this place? It was home.
Both she and Scarlett had grown up hanging around the hangers: playing hide-and-seek, tagging along behind their beloved father everywhere he went, and stealing away to privately grieve the death of their mother many years ago. Her illness and death had been hard on then seven-year-old Abby, but it had torn her father completely apart. He had loved Elaine Seymour more than anything.
Abby believed he never remarried because he still held her so close to his heart that no other woman would ever stand a chance of getting a piece of it, too. The love her parents had shared was something she had hoped she would have with someone one day, but her handful of romantic entanglements with men who were just passing through Pinesville, Montana, hadn’t done anything to encourage her in keeping up that hope so far. They had actually encouraged her to run for the hills, start knitting, and take in cats. However, her dog, Connor, probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
As she paused, wrench in hand, to look around at the place she considered a second home, memory upon memory flooded her thoughts. They had even celebrated holidays here at the airport more than once. This place meant more to Abby than any amount of money ever could.
Not that money wasn’t important.
“Where will I work?” she mumbled. “The new owner’s probably not going to keep any of us.” From what she had heard, takeovers usually meant a complete overhaul of operations and a fresh staff, too. This new revelatory thought was very disheartening.
When she’d begun tossing around the idea of becoming an airplane mechanic, her father had enthusiastically encouraged her to pursue the career, promising her she would always have a job at his airport. As a former pilot, Jim Seymour had a deep respect and love for planes and their mechanical workings, and he taught his daughter to appreciate them, as well.
But now, what good would that skill do her? She was going to have to uproot from the
Abby Seymour was going to faint. She was sure of it, or at least as sure as someone could be who’d never actually fainted before. Her father’s words had left her floored.
Her father was far too calm to have just shattered her world.
“As a heart attack,” he said. “Seymour Airport is being sold. The buyer will be here tomorrow, and I feel comfortable with this decision, girls. He is a pilot and a businessman, so he’ll know what he’s doing and probably take this place and make it more profitable than I ever could. You both know it has been hard these past few years.” He shuffled papers on his orderly desk, which was his telltale way of signaling that a conversation was over.
Furious as she was, Abby knew her father would brook no further discussion on the matter. He had probably kept the news of the sale from her and her older sister, Scarlett, so they wouldn’t be able to interfere with its progression. That was a pretty smart move on his part.
What could she do? How could she stop this?
Before she said anything she knew she would terribly regret later, Abby opted for escape. She shot out of the chair and slammed the door behind her on her way out before her father or sister had a chance to stop her. The frame rattled triumphantly. Scarlett could attempt to reason with their father. She had a way of producing better results with her bubbly personality than Abby did with her temper.
It was best if she just got back to work. Staying busy would keep her mind off all the nonsense of selling the airport. She picked up her pace to a near run as she darted from the main building to where she had been working in the second hanger. The biting wind of the Montana winter made her shiver all over, despite the cheerful afternoon sunshine. Once she was tinkering in the engine of a Cessna 172, owned by a friend of her father, she mulled over her father’s news, trying to make heads and tails of it.
How could he even think of selling this place? It was home.
Both she and Scarlett had grown up hanging around the hangers: playing hide-and-seek, tagging along behind their beloved father everywhere he went, and stealing away to privately grieve the death of their mother many years ago. Her illness and death had been hard on then seven-year-old Abby, but it had torn her father completely apart. He had loved Elaine Seymour more than anything.
Abby believed he never remarried because he still held her so close to his heart that no other woman would ever stand a chance of getting a piece of it, too. The love her parents had shared was something she had hoped she would have with someone one day, but her handful of romantic entanglements with men who were just passing through Pinesville, Montana, hadn’t done anything to encourage her in keeping up that hope so far. They had actually encouraged her to run for the hills, start knitting, and take in cats. However, her dog, Connor, probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
As she paused, wrench in hand, to look around at the place she considered a second home, memory upon memory flooded her thoughts. They had even celebrated holidays here at the airport more than once. This place meant more to Abby than any amount of money ever could.
Not that money wasn’t important.
“Where will I work?” she mumbled. “The new owner’s probably not going to keep any of us.” From what she had heard, takeovers usually meant a complete overhaul of operations and a fresh staff, too. This new revelatory thought was very disheartening.
When she’d begun tossing around the idea of becoming an airplane mechanic, her father had enthusiastically encouraged her to pursue the career, promising her she would always have a job at his airport. As a former pilot, Jim Seymour had a deep respect and love for planes and their mechanical workings, and he taught his daughter to appreciate them, as well.
But now, what good would that skill do her? She was going to have to uproot from the
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