A Little Too Close, page 1
A LITTLE TOO CLOSE
Copyright © 2022 by Yarros Ink, LLC
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9973831-6-4
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
* * *
Editing by Karen Grove
www.karengrove.com
Copy Editing by Jenn Wood
Cover by Sarah Hansen Okay Creations
First Edition October 2022
www.rebeccayarros.com
To my brother, Matt.
Because you’ve always
shown up.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
The Madigan Mountain Series
A Little Too Late
A Little Too Wild
Also by Rebecca Yarros
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Weston
* * *
January in Upstate New York meant snow, and lots of it. Last night had dumped about three feet, but the skies were crystal blue this morning and perfect for flying over Fort Drum. I didn’t even mind the time it had taken to shovel out before driving out to the flight line, not when I’d spent most of this year on a rotation in the sandbox. I’d take snow over sand any day.
The below-zero temps were something I could live without, though.
I shouldered my helmet bag and walked into the 1-10 hangar, waving at a couple guys on their way out.
“Hey, Madigan,” one of the crew chiefs said as I climbed the stairs toward the locker room. “Harris is looking for you.”
“Thanks.” I gave him the nod and headed to the second floor, looking out over the birds we’d hangered yesterday before the storm.
I pushed through the door into the locker room, narrowly missing Carlson—another pilot—as he reached for the handle. “Shit, my bad.”
“No problem.” He caught the door. “Pretty sure Harris is looking for you.”
“I heard something about that. Thanks.” I headed for my locker.
“I think the promotion list might be out.” He lifted his brows at me and backed through the door, letting it swing shut.
My stomach twisted into knots as I put my gear away and got ready for the day. If the promotion list was out…
Don’t go there.
I wasn’t even in the zone for promotion yet, but getting picked up below the zone would be absolutely mind-blowing. It would also mean I’d have to sign on Uncle Sam’s dotted line for another two years after pinning the new rank.
But if Harris was looking for me—
My cell phone rang in my pocket, and I swiped to answer it before I looked at the caller ID.
“Hello?” I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder as I hung up my coat on the metal hook.
“West?” Reed’s voice brought me up short.
Not looking at the screen had been a mistake. I wasn’t in the mood for anything my older brother had to say, not that I ever was.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. If something had gone sideways with Crew, our little brother, I would have heard from him directly, which only left Dad.
I wasn’t exactly sweating bullets over a guy who didn’t give a shit about me or either of my brothers. His one and only love was the little Colorado ski resort that had been passed down through our family.
“Why does something have to be wrong?” Reed countered.
“Because you’re calling at six a.m. your time.”
“Actually”—there was a tone in his voice I recognized, the nice one he only used when he had shitty news to deliver—“it’s seven o’clock.”
I glanced at my watch to make sure I had the time right, and my brow furrowed. Then it hit me. “You’re still in Colorado.” Guess he’d stayed after all.
Good for him, but no-fucking-thank you.
“Yeah.” He took a breath, as if summoning the courage for something. “Still working on the new lift and the condos and everything I sent that email to you and Crew about last month.”
“Right. Good for you.” I shut the metal door of my locker. “Look, unless there’s something you need, I’m scheduled to fly—”
“Just let me get this out,” he blurted.
I paused. Reed was flustered. Reed never got flustered. He was Mister Cool, Calm, and Collected at all times. Fuck, the guy hadn’t even batted an eye when he’d left Crew and me to fend for ourselves after Mom died and Dad had disappeared into a bottle.
Reed had gone back to college and lived his perfect little ski racer life until a torn ACL had forced him to pivot to getting his MBA at Stanford.
And me? I’d paused my dream of big mountain skiing to help Mom when she first got sick, and then gave it up completely when she died my junior year, leaving a gaping chasm in our lives. Leaving for college? That was a luxury only Reed could afford. Someone had to be the adult around the house, and as much as Reed loved pretending it had been him, swooping in on his college breaks to play savior, it hadn’t. It had been me, and only me, until I’d kept the promise I’d made to Mom and gotten Crew through high school. Only then had I given myself the permission to dream again, and eleven years later, I’d clawed my way through night and online courses for college and was living that dream as a helicopter pilot for the army.
“I’m waiting,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. To say that Reed and I didn’t have the best relationship would have been the understatement of the century. I loved him, but I also really fucking loathed the load he’d left me to carry.
“We need a way to bring in high-end clientele while we’re building the condo development. A new income stream since we’re spending some major dollars right now.”
“Not my problem. You’re the one that decided to go back and work with Dad. Not me.” I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose, telling myself I shouldn’t care as I fought the pang in my heart that told me I most definitely did.
“I know that,” he ground out. “And Dad is never around. It’s just me and Ava running this.”
“Aren’t you supposed to have that fancy new lift open by November?” That was the typical opening month for Madigan Mountain.
“So you do read my emails. You just don’t respond to them.”
“Get to the point, Reed. My job doesn’t take kindly to being late.” It was one of the reasons I loved the army. I thrived on order and discipline.
“Okay. I’d like Madigan to start up its own heli-skiing operation. It would take the resort to an entirely new level, which is what we’re looking to do with the expansion.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, the possibilities whirring through my mind with the force of a hurricane. The higher peaks and ridges just behind the resort were perfect for that kind of operation. Nothing compared to Telluride or even Steamboat, but we could hold our own.
Not we. They.
“There’s only one guy I can think of who knows the backcountry around here like it’s his personal playground and already happens to know how to fly a helicopter.”
Silence stretched between us as I forced air through my lungs. There was no way he was asking this of me. No. Fucking. Way.
“West?”
“Ask someone else.” The door to the locker room opened, and I turned to see Theo Harris, my oldest friend and senior pilot, walk in, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face and waving a piece of paper in his hand.
“I don’t want to ask someone else.” Reed’s tone took on a desperate edge. “You’re family. This is our family’s business, Weston. Our family’s resort. Our family’s—”
“I swear to God, if you say legacy, I’m going to hang up.” I clenched my jaw.
Theo’s dark brows lifted skyward, and he lowered the paper.
Reed sighed. “You’d have full control of your own operation. You’d just operate under the Madigan logo.”
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. But as long he just wanted and didn’t need, then I could turn him down. There were plenty of other pilots he could hire. Plenty of guides too. Just none that could do both sides of it like me. I can’t seriously be contemplating this.
“What’s up?” I asked Theo, needing to cling to something in my real world and not the pretend one Reed was spinning.
“You made the promotion list! Below the zone!” He held out the paper.
Holy shit. I did it.
“Don’t you get what I’m saying?” Reed asked, apparently thinking I was talking to him. “I need you to come home, Weston.”
1
Weston
* * *
Nine Months Later
* * *
Helicopters were my happy place. They were power, and lift, and drive—all without the constraints of runways. They weren’t confined to roads, and they didn’t require space to accelerate for takeoff. They simply launched into the sky from wherever they happened to be. They were freedom. At least they used to be. The shiny red slice of liberty I was currently signing for felt about as liberating as handcuffs. Because that’s exactly what it was.
It was a three-million-dollar leash.
The office clock in the steel building just off the tarmac in Leadville, Colorado, showed seven a.m., and my stomach churned as I debated my life choices for the millionth time since Reed called. But I signed, and signed, and signed, each signature tying me to the one place I’d spent eleven years avoiding like a prostate exam.
“You know, if I wanted to do dash-eighteen inspections at dawn, I would have stayed in the army,” Theo said from the doorway, clipboard in hand, the brown skin of his forehead crinkling as he raised his brows at me. He’d been my best friend for the better part of a decade, so I knew it wasn’t going to be the last time he looked at me like that.
“At least you’re not in A2CU’s.” Personally, I would have traded my jeans and Henley for my uniform in a second, but Theo had been ready to get out, which was the only reason I’d been able to talk him into coming with me. I handed over another stack of paperwork to the broker, stretching as I stood. We’d sent Maria’s husband and Theo’s family ahead to Penny Ridge yesterday, then driven into Leadville late last night, and my body ached from spending hours behind the wheel. I needed a run to loosen up after two straight days of travel, but this had been the only time the seller had been able to meet us for delivery.
“Everything in order?” the broker asked Theo.
“Serial numbers match up on everything,” Theo said with a nod, handing over the clipboard. “Ramos is still doing her once-over.”
Thankfully, Maria Ramos had been approaching her ETS date and been able to turn in her combat boots with us for this insane little venture. It was almost like the stars had aligned, or fate had smiled, or some other cliché bullshit. Either way, she was the best crew chief we’d had in our unit and the final piece I’d needed.
We left the building and stepped out into the early October air, where Maria was closing one of the compartments on the helicopter.
“How does it look?” I asked.
“Good,” she answered. “It’s well maintained. I mean, there’s every chance you two assholes could still fly it into the ground, but that would be pilot error.” She shrugged with a deceptively sweet smile.
We did the walk-around and I signed the last of the paperwork.
The broker reached out his hand and shook all three of ours in turn. “I wish you guys better luck than the last company that owned her.”
“What happened to the last company?” Theo’s brow furrowed, giving the helicopter a second look.
“Went under.” The broker shrugged. “Everyone thinks they have what it takes to own and manage a heli-skiing operation here, but…well…” Another shrug.
My ribs tightened like a vise.
“Anyway, I’ll go make some copies inside and then you guys are good to go.” The broker headed back into the terminal.
“They went under,” Maria said slowly, lifting her ball cap to tuck a strand of her brown hair back under the brim.
“Guess so.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants. Gone were the multicam flight suits and the rank on my chest I’d worked my ass off for. I was starting over from scratch—well, not entirely since I had Theo and Maria with me, but their support also meant I was responsible for them.
“West.” Theo turned and put his hands on my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye. “Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t going to fail. I did not move my wife and kids to the whitest town in America—and I am not talking about the snow—for this to fail.”
“We’re not going to fail,” I assured him.
“Right. Now say it like you mean it.”
“We aren’t going to fail.” I cracked a wry smile and stepped back, taking in the clean lines of the Bell 212 and her shiny new paint. Failure wasn’t an option, not here, not with my family’s name on that paperwork.
“It’s not like we’re starting up on our own,” Maria added, zipping her jacket over her coveralls. “Scott signed for our new apartment last night, and he told me that little operation your family owns isn’t quite the mom-and-pop shop you described.” She tilted her head to the side. “I believe the words boutique resort came out of his mouth.”
“My brother Reed is expanding it,” I said by way of explanation. My friends knew everything they needed to for our business to succeed—my family was the owner of Madigan Mountain Resort, a small, family-oriented ski resort in Summit County, Colorado. They knew I’d been asked to open a heli-skiing operation to take Madigan Mountain up a notch. We weren’t competing with Breck or even A-basin or anything, but the expansion Reed was overseeing was going to catapult us in that direction. My friends also knew that I’d walked away from the resort, and every string that came with it, eleven years ago and hadn’t looked back once.
Not until Reed called nine months ago.
“You’re regretting this, aren’t you?” Theo asked, studying my face. “Because Jeanine is closing on a house I’ve never even seen before right now, and if you’re having second thoughts—”
“I just signed for a three-million-dollar aircraft.” I curled the brim of my hat, the only nervous gesture that eleven years in the army hadn’t cleared me of. “There are no second thoughts.”
“Good, because Scott is already unpacking,” Maria said, shooting me a sideways glance.
“We’re not going to fail,” I repeated. “I know these mountains like the back of my hand, and with us”—I looked over at Theo—“taking turns flying and guiding the backcountry tours, we’re going to be just fine.”
It was our love of backcountry skiing that had bonded Theo and I during the months we’d spent TDY in Europe that first year. The guy was just as good as I was, and I was damn good.
The broker came back from the terminal with a large blue folder that had his logo stamped across the front. “Paperwork is all here.”
“Thank you.” I took the folder. It wasn’t every day someone held his life in his hands, but here I was.
“You ever fly out of Leadville before?” the broker asked, two little lines appearing between his eyes.
“Yep,” I answered.
“High-altitude training,” Theo explained.
“Good. Hate to be the last person you ever saw,” the broker joked. “Keys are yours, metaphorically speaking, and the ones to the doors are in the folder. Pleasure working with you.”
“You too.”
We waved goodbye to Maria as she drove my truck from the airport, heading toward Penny Ridge, then Theo and I started the run-up and checks.
“You file the flight plan?” I asked through our headsets.
“You know I did. Smooth like butter,” Theo said as the engines ran up. “And look, a full tank of gas.”
“For three million, he better have filled the tank.”
“How long is it going to take Ramos to get there?”
“About ninety minutes,” I answered. “It’ll take us about twenty to fly it.”
