do it yourself.”
“I’ll be fine without.”
They stopped beside the plane.
“She’s a bit unique in the light aviation world. A prop plane with a pressurized cabin. We’ll go over the Cascades like they were foothills. All due respect, of course.”
She liked that, that he expressed respect for the mountains. She wouldn’t have trusted someone who disregarded a mountain range full of volcanoes and that held the fourteen-thousand-foot Mount Rainier along with ten other peaks over nine thousand feet tall. Her parents still talked about the day Mount St. Helens had left that group in one huge explosion that sheared off the top thousand feet.
She looked around the rest of the hangar with interest. There was a row of what looked to be offices and storage across the back, one with windows open to the main hangar bay.
“Backup,” Teague said when he saw her looking. “That’s why the hangar’s really bigger than we need for just the plane. We can operate all of Foxworth out of here if we have to.”
“Have you ever had to?”
“Not yet. But Charlie’s a big believer in redundancy of systems.”
Laney felt a pang of sympathy for Hayley. Even she was feeling intimidated by the impressive Charlie Foxworth, and she didn’t have to cope with the thought of being related.
Teague walked toward what looked like a small tractor and fired it up. He was heading toward the front of the plane when a fuel truck appeared outside the doorway. He waved at the driver, who stopped, then backed up slightly.
She watched what was obviously a familiar routine as Teague hooked the small tractor up to the plane.
“Can’t start the engine inside the hangar, airport rules,” he said when he saw her watching intently. “I get it, safetywise, but it’s a pain in the backside when it’s pouring rain.”
She managed not to ask how often they flew in that kind of weather. Obviously in the northwest if you only flew when it was dry you didn’t fly much.
The plane seemed smaller to her after it was rolled out of the hangar into the open air. It gleamed in the late summer sun, and she found herself following the rather rakish curve of the three-bladed prop with her eye. The silver cone in front was polished to a high shine, the nose looked long and racy, and she had the whimsical thought that the plane looked eager to fly.
She glanced around at the other planes tethered outside several yards away. Some of them looked downright clunky next to the sleek lines of this one. Wings above and below, she was used to seeing that, but she rarely saw the planes stationary so noticed other differences.
“Why the different propellers? Two blades, four, but this one has three?”
Teague laughed. “Just open up the trickiest part of aerodynamics, why don’t you? We could spend the whole flight on propeller theory and barely scratch the surface.”
“Oh.” She felt a little sheepish. She’d thought there might be a simple answer, like the size of the engine or something. And belatedly, the obvious began to dawn on her.
“But to answer what I think you’re asking,” Teague went on, “Quinn went with three for takeoff performance, since we don’t always end up at wide-open airfields. Four tends to keep the engine cooler, but he figured up here that was a decent trade-off, since we don’t usually have much ambient heat to deal with in this region.”
The fueler went about his business briskly while Teague walked around the aircraft, checking things whose function was beyond her. Tires, that was obvious. Flaps she figured out and the thing on the tail that went side to side. But he seemed to go over the thing inch by inch, taking his time, with all the care of a surgeon prepping for an operation.
And he was the surgeon. She felt foolish for not realizing sooner. The absence of anyone else around should have tipped her off right away, before the way he talked about the plane had. When Quinn had said “Take the plane,” he’d
“I’ll be fine without.”
They stopped beside the plane.
“She’s a bit unique in the light aviation world. A prop plane with a pressurized cabin. We’ll go over the Cascades like they were foothills. All due respect, of course.”
She liked that, that he expressed respect for the mountains. She wouldn’t have trusted someone who disregarded a mountain range full of volcanoes and that held the fourteen-thousand-foot Mount Rainier along with ten other peaks over nine thousand feet tall. Her parents still talked about the day Mount St. Helens had left that group in one huge explosion that sheared off the top thousand feet.
She looked around the rest of the hangar with interest. There was a row of what looked to be offices and storage across the back, one with windows open to the main hangar bay.
“Backup,” Teague said when he saw her looking. “That’s why the hangar’s really bigger than we need for just the plane. We can operate all of Foxworth out of here if we have to.”
“Have you ever had to?”
“Not yet. But Charlie’s a big believer in redundancy of systems.”
Laney felt a pang of sympathy for Hayley. Even she was feeling intimidated by the impressive Charlie Foxworth, and she didn’t have to cope with the thought of being related.
Teague walked toward what looked like a small tractor and fired it up. He was heading toward the front of the plane when a fuel truck appeared outside the doorway. He waved at the driver, who stopped, then backed up slightly.
She watched what was obviously a familiar routine as Teague hooked the small tractor up to the plane.
“Can’t start the engine inside the hangar, airport rules,” he said when he saw her watching intently. “I get it, safetywise, but it’s a pain in the backside when it’s pouring rain.”
She managed not to ask how often they flew in that kind of weather. Obviously in the northwest if you only flew when it was dry you didn’t fly much.
The plane seemed smaller to her after it was rolled out of the hangar into the open air. It gleamed in the late summer sun, and she found herself following the rather rakish curve of the three-bladed prop with her eye. The silver cone in front was polished to a high shine, the nose looked long and racy, and she had the whimsical thought that the plane looked eager to fly.
She glanced around at the other planes tethered outside several yards away. Some of them looked downright clunky next to the sleek lines of this one. Wings above and below, she was used to seeing that, but she rarely saw the planes stationary so noticed other differences.
“Why the different propellers? Two blades, four, but this one has three?”
Teague laughed. “Just open up the trickiest part of aerodynamics, why don’t you? We could spend the whole flight on propeller theory and barely scratch the surface.”
“Oh.” She felt a little sheepish. She’d thought there might be a simple answer, like the size of the engine or something. And belatedly, the obvious began to dawn on her.
“But to answer what I think you’re asking,” Teague went on, “Quinn went with three for takeoff performance, since we don’t always end up at wide-open airfields. Four tends to keep the engine cooler, but he figured up here that was a decent trade-off, since we don’t usually have much ambient heat to deal with in this region.”
The fueler went about his business briskly while Teague walked around the aircraft, checking things whose function was beyond her. Tires, that was obvious. Flaps she figured out and the thing on the tail that went side to side. But he seemed to go over the thing inch by inch, taking his time, with all the care of a surgeon prepping for an operation.
And he was the surgeon. She felt foolish for not realizing sooner. The absence of anyone else around should have tipped her off right away, before the way he talked about the plane had. When Quinn had said “Take the plane,” he’d
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