Tailspin

Twelve military heroes.

Twelve indomitable heroines.

One UNIFORMLY HOT! miniseries.

Don’t miss a story in Harlequin Blaze’s

12-book continuity series, featuring irresistible

soldiers from all branches of the armed forces.

Now serving—

those reckless and wild flyboys in the U.S. Air Force…

TAILSPIN

by Cara Summers

July 2011

HOT SHOT

by Jo Leigh

August 2011

NIGHT MANEUVERS

by Jillian Burns

September 2011

Uniformly Hot!—

The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell!

Dear Reader,

I thoroughly enjoyed writing Tailspin, my second contribution to Harlequin Blaze’s Uniformly Hot! miniseries. There’s something irresistible about a man in uniform… And my Air Force fighter pilot, Captain Nash Fortune, is a prime example….

When Nash Fortune was nineteen and a cadet at the air force academy, he fell in love with seventeen-year-old Bianca Quinn. It was the kind of reckless love that defies reason. But she backed out of their plans to elope. Worse, she accepted a bribe from his grandmother to disappear from his life.

Eleven years have passed, and Bianca—now a successful writer—is back in Nash’s life and asking for his help on a story that involves a missing cadet, a former classmate of his. The problem is that he wants her just as intensely as he always did. Once again, she’s sending him into a tailspin, and it will take all of his skills to pull out of it safely. That is, if he wants to….

I believe in second chances. They’re always riskier than the first ones. I hope you’ll enjoy Bianca’s and Nash’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and that you’ll look for Nash’s friend Jonah’s story in December.

Happy endings always!

Cara Summers

Tailspin

Cara Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Was Cara Summers born with the dream of becoming a published romance novelist? No. But now that she is, she still feels her dream has come true. She loves writing for the Harlequin Blaze line because it allows her to create strong, determined women and seriously sexy men who will risk everything to achieve their dreams. Cara has written more than thirty-five novels for Harlequin Books, and when she isn’t working on new stories, she teaches in the writing program at Syracuse University and at a community college near her home.

To Lt. Col. Ray “Borg” Bowen,

Commander and Professor of Aerospace Studies

at Syracuse University. Thank you so much for the

time you spent explaining to me what it means

to be in the Air Force and to fly fighter planes.

My story is so much richer because of you, and

I will treasure being an honorary “Airman” forever.

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

Epilogue

Prologue

PERFECT TIMING, Maggie Fortune thought as she climbed out of her red Corvette. The nearly empty parking lot told her that the noon Mass at the Church of St. Francis had ended so she and Father Mike Flynn could meet right away.

That suited her fine. What didn’t suit her was that even the fast ride in her sporty convertible hadn’t quite settled her nerves. Her birthday party started at five, but thanks to her houseman Grady, all the details had been seen to. It was her meeting with Father Mike that was making her nervous.

Ridiculous. She hurried toward the church. She’d known the priest when she’d been plain old Maggie Nash. They’d gone to grade school together. He’d married her to her late husband, Thaddeus Fortune IV, and he’d held her hand at the funerals of her husband and of her sons. And it wasn’t that she was up to anything that was morally wrong. She just wanted to cover all her bases.

So why were her hands damp? Damn it! Damn them!

She started up the long flight of stairs that led to the front door, taking pride in the fact that although she was celebrating her seventy-fifth birthday, she wasn’t short of breath when she reached the top.

Well, not very short of breath. Still, she caught herself taking a few deep ones as she hurried up the center aisle of the church. Dim light filtered through stained glass, but she made out a few people still lingering on the side altar where the statue of St. Francis stood enclosed in a glass case.

As her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness, she watched the small group turn away and descend the steps. Then she spotted Father Mike still standing in front of the statue. Perfect, she thought again. She’d be in and out of here in fifteen minutes. Tops.

Her talent for timing things well had been helpful throughout her life and especially since her husband’s death twenty years ago when she’d taken over the job of running the Fortune family’s various business interests. In the corporate world, timing could be everything. And it was equally important in personal matters, too.

As she drew closer, Father Mike dropped to his knees to say a prayer. Not wanting to intrude, Maggie halted and let her gaze lift to the statue. It looked as small and unassuming as the first time she’d seen it. Originally, the marble figure had been donated to the Franciscan Capuchin order by an Italian family who’d immigrated to Denver from Assisi, Italy, where the saint had been born. Since that time, the statue of St. Francis had gained an ever increasing reputation for granting petitioners’ prayers. Nothing on the scale of a major miracle or anything like that. But people believed that the statue had some kind of special pull with God.

Back in February, the Denver Post had run an article containing story after story of how a visit to the statue had resulted in prayers being answered and lives being changed. The narratives ran the gamut of lovers being united, babies being conceived to families meeting up with lost loved ones.

Still studying the figure of St. Francis, she let her mind drift back fifteen years to the first time she’d encountered the statue. It had stood in the small garden next to the St. Francis Center for Boys. Father Mike had run afternoon and weekend programs there, and she still credited him with keeping her grandson Nash out of jail. Of course, Father Mike had always passed on any credit to St. Francis.

True, the prayers she’d said to the statue that first time in the prayer garden might have played a role. But Maggie was certain that if Nash hadn’t been able to occupy his after school and weekend hours at the center, and if it hadn’t been for the friends he’d made there, well…she doubted he’d be a captain in the Air Force today. And that had been his goal ever since he’d lost his father in the Gulf War.

That had been a terrible time for them both. Within a year, she’d lost a husband and a son. She’d had to take over the running of Fortune Enterprises and at the same time raise a seven-year-old boy who was a magnet for trouble.

Not that Nash was ever a bad boy. But he was impatient, impulsive and pretty damn creative when it came to getting into mischief. Qualities he’d probably inherited from her.

When his pranks had gotten him kicked out of two private schools in a year, she’d become desperate. And guilt ridden. She owed Father Mike big time. And the center. Okay, perhaps she owed St. Francis, too.

The priest rose and turned to face her just as she stepped to the foot of the altar. He hadn’t changed much at all in the time she’d known him. The eyes with their kindness and twinkle of mischief were still the same. Okay, the hair was definitely whiter, but his smile was just as brilliant as ever. And the aura of holiness was there as it always had been.

“Maggie, you look amazing.”

“I was just thinking the same about you.” When he held out his arms, she walked right into them and returned his hug. Her tension eased just a little.

Stepping back, he held on to her hands and studied her for a moment. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something. Is it your health?”

“No. I’m fine.” She’d had a recent bout of breast cancer, but so far she was on the winning end of that battle.

He gestured her toward the front row of pews and sat beside her. “What brings you to St. Francis?”

“The short answer is the same person who brought me to you and St. Francis eleven years ago.”

“Bianca Quinn?”

“Yes. I need your advice.”

“You’re always welcome to that—for what it’s worth.”

Maggie flicked a glance toward the statue, then met his eyes again. “Is it possible to reverse a prayer?”

“Reverse?” He asked the question in a musing tone and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Prayers aren’t like spells or curses. But you could certainly say a new one and tell St. Francis just what you want.”

“You remember what I asked him to help me with eleven years ago.”

“I do. You asked me to help you also. And you succeeded in persuading Bianca Quinn not to elope with your grandson, Nash. I was there in the room when she signed the agreement.”

Maggie studied him for a moment. She’d asked him to come that day because Bianca had thought so highly of him, and she’d known that his presence would add weight to her argument. But she’d never been sure that he’d entirely approved of what she’d done. She lifted her chin. “I did the right thing. I haven’t changed my mind about that. And,” she gestured toward the statue, “he answered that prayer better than I could have imagined. He filled in blanks I couldn’t have foreseen. Nash not only graduated from the Air Force Academy, he’s earned a medal of honor for his courage and is an exceptional pilot. And now Bianca is a published writer. She’s at the start of a wonderful career. If they’d gone through with their plans to marry, I doubt they’d be where they are today.”

“Then what’s troubling you, Maggie?”

She waved a hand. “I didn’t think to pray for all of that to happen. I only prayed that I could convince her to go away.”

“But you wanted them both to succeed in their careers and to be happy, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose.” She wasn’t aware until Father Mike put his hand over hers that she’d clasped them tightly together in her lap. Why in the world was she still so nervous? She’d gotten through board meetings and negotiated deals without batting an eye. And all she had to deal with here was a saint and a statue that had so far answered all her prayers with regard to her grandson.

“What do you want now, Maggie?”

“I want them to find again the kind of happiness that they found with each other when they were younger. I think they might belong together, the way I belonged with my Thad. He was it for me. I knew it the first time I looked at him. I think it may have been the same for Nash and Bianca.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, they haven’t found anyone else. In spite of the fact that the Denver Post chose Nash as one of the area’s most eligible bachelors. He’s not even bringing a date to my birthday party tonight. And Bianca has been totally focused on building her career.”

He smiled at her. “You want St. Francis to bring them back together. There’s your prayer. Just say it.”

“I don’t need to ask for that part. I’m already making sure their paths will cross again. They’ll meet again at my birthday party tonight.” She jerked her head at the statue. “I’d just like a little backup support. Because this time I want them to have what I took away from them the last time they parted. I want the happily ever after.” She paused. Sighed. “But I have a stake in this. It’s not just their happiness I want. It’s mine, too. I want family. I want Nash to have a family, too. I want grandchildren. I want more Fortune heirs.”

With a smile, Father Mike patted her hands. “Just ask St. Francis. The exact words don’t matter. He’ll know what’s in your mind just as he did the last time. Come.” He drew her to her feet and up the steps to the altar.

Perhaps it was that simple after all. But she was still tense even after she’d knelt in front of the statue and said her prayer.

Father Mike knelt down beside her. “Now, why don’t you ask him for the rest of what you came here for?”

When she turned to stare at him, he continued, “You said the short answer to why you’d come here today was Bianca Quinn. What’s the long answer? You might as well give St. Francis all of it.”

Maggie realized that was really what she’d come here to do. So she told Father Mike and St. Francis the rest.

1

SUN BEAT DOWN on the tarmac as Nash Fortune impatiently stopped his small plane just short of the runway. There was still one aircraft ahead of him, and it was filled with both eager and not so eager Air Force Academy cadets who were going up to practice their parachuting skills. The memory of his first jump from a plane had him grinning. That feeling of free-falling through space was the next best thing to flying.

Which was what he was here to do. If the plane ahead of him ever took off.

He figured he had about three hours until he was due at his grandmother’s birthday party bash. And each minute that ticked by cut short his flight time.

The morning he’d just put in had made him yearn for some time in the sky. The wind had picked up steadily all day, and more than once he’d found himself looking out of his classroom window. Teaching strategic flight maneuvers in a simulation lab appealed to him on an intellectual level, and it did provide the occasional adrenaline rush. But it wasn’t the same as the real thing.

This morning five of his students had asked him to open the lab and give them some extra practice time. He’d had to talk several young pilots in training into and then out of a tailspin. As he had, he’d known exactly what the kids were feeling—the initial helplessness, followed by the flash of panic. And through it all the excitement of the challenge. Life and death hung on whether or not your reflexes were quick enough, your control strong enough to bring that plane out of a fatal spin. The thrill of meeting that kind of challenge and the ability to handle it was what made him become a pilot.

He’d managed to get all five of his students safely through their simulated maneuvers, but three hours in the lab hadn’t relieved the restlessness he’d been experiencing lately. His single-engine Cessna was no fighter jet—far from it. But it was still a little honey of a plane.

His grandmother had given it to him a year ago when he’d started teaching at the Air Force Academy. If she hadn’t had health problems, he’d have signed up for a third tour of duty in Afghanistan. She’d argued vehemently against his changing his plans. Her breast cancer was stage one, and a bevy of specialists had assured her that surgery and radiation was the treatment she needed. No chemo. She didn’t even have to cut back on her work schedule. She was going to be fine.

But there’d been an opening that suited him in the Department of Military and Strategic Studies at the Air Force Academy, and he was determined to be close at hand when she was going through treatments. He’d lost his mother when he’d been born and his father when he was seven. Maggie Fortune was the only family he had, and vice versa. That meant that when the chips were down, they were a team. After all she’d stuck with him when he’d gone through that rough patch in his teens. The least he could do was stick with her now.

He glanced at his watch. Another two minutes had gone by and the plane in front of him hadn’t budged. In his mind, he pictured the flight instructor running one last check on the equipment. He bit back a sigh. Patience had never been his strong suit, but he’d had considerably less of it at thirteen. And he’d been so damn bored. All he could think of was that he had to wait five more years—eons—until he could apply to the Air Force Academy. And filling the headmaster’s dresser drawers with frogs had seemed a great way to pass the time. His classmates would have elected him president of the student government organization—if he hadn’t been kicked out of the school.

That was when his grandmother had given up on lecture and logic and sent him to Father Mike Flynn at the St. Francis Center for Boys.

He’d owe her forever for that decision. Not only had his boredom been relieved, but he’d made two lifetime friends, Gabe Wilder and Jonah Stone. Back in those days, the center and Father Mike had the reputation for being able to put troubled teens back on track. He supposed that he and his friends could be considered stellar examples of the program’s success. Gabe, the son of legendary art thief Raphael Wilder, had not turned to a life of crime. Instead, he now headed up a security firm that was gaining a nationwide reputation. And Gabe was getting married soon to an FBI agent who specialized in white-collar crime. Jonah Stone, a savvy street kid, had become an equally savvy and successful entrepreneur. He now owned two nightclubs in San Francisco and a brand new one in Denver. Both his friends would be at his grandmother’s birthday bash tonight.

So would he. If he ever got off the ground. He sent up a little prayer of thanksgiving as the plane ahead of him finally began to taxi. He waited for it to accelerate, watched it lift, then kept it in sight until it faded to a speck of silver in the brilliant blue sky.

After touching a finger to the medal around his neck, Nash let the Cessna rip. When it lifted, he welcomed the challenge of the windy crosscurrents, relished the bumps as he dipped one wing, leveled off, and nosed upward. The trees on the ridge ahead grew more distinct as they rushed towards him, then blurred as he shot the plane up and over them.

He spared a glance at the land dropping away below, and felt the restlessness begin to disappear. He had an hour to soar, to glide, to simply play in the sky.

His earliest memory of flying was sitting on his dad’s lap in the pilot’s seat and holding on to the wheel. During the months before his dad had been deployed to the Gulf War, they’d taken several flights together, and he’d graduated to the copilot’s seat. His dad had promised to teach him to fly when he returned.

Pushing the memories and the regrets aside, Nash banked the plane, headed east, and climbed again. Today wasn’t a day for thinking of anything. It was a day meant for simply flying. When the peaks and valleys below were merely ripples of lighter and darker green, he climbed even higher and took the plane into a first lazy loop.

Laughing, he soared into a second one and a third. Then he decided to execute what his students had been practicing in the lab all day—taking a plane into and out of a spin.

He deliberately made the “mistake” described in all the textbooks, the one he’d coached his students to make in the simulation. He banked the plane to the right, then applied the rudder to suddenly accelerate the rate of the turn. Adrenaline kicked in when he felt the plane stall and saw the nose dip below the horizon. Then the rotation began and the plane went into an uncontrolled spin.

If he hadn’t been strapped in, centrifugal force would have thrown him to the other side of the cockpit and pinned him there. As it was, he could feel the straps cutting into his shoulders and hear them strain. He let himself absorb the thrill of the spin for a few seconds before he applied full right rudder and leveled the plane off. A glance down told him that he’d come out of the tailspin about one thousand feet above the ground.

Plenty of room to spare. He laughed and sent the plane climbing again.

A half hour later, it was with some regret that he headed the Cessna back to the airfield. A couple of spins was all he had time for today. That was the promise he’d made himself when he’d decided to take the plane up. But he was tempted…

No, he was not going to be late for his grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday party.

Then he grinned again. One more loop wouldn’t break his promise. So with the airfield in sight, he completed one more for the road.

“YOU’RE BORED.”

Nash Fortune didn’t bother to deny the charge as he faced Maggie Fortune, the tiny dynamo of a woman he loved most in the world. They stood on the balcony that opened off of her office. Below them her birthday party was in full swing. While the sun splashed red across the horizon, guests sipped champagne and nibbled at canapés as they clustered in groups around the pool or strolled along a maze of paths. The buzz of conversation and laughter mixed with the muted sounds of a string quartet.

A few moments ago, he and his grandmother had been standing with his friends Jonah and Gabe and Nicola, Gabe’s new fiancée, at the far end of the pool. They’d all been catching up with Father Mike, and without warning, his yawn had just escaped. He’d thought he’d hidden it, but his grandmother’s eagle eye had caught it and she’d announced that she needed to steal him away for a moment.

“Well? Am I right?”

What could he say? She was.

She wagged a finger at him. “What worries me is you yawned just like that the night you set Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock loose in the middle of my dinner party.”

He grinned at her. “You remember my gerbils’ names?”

“Of course. One of my dinner guests fainted, I nearly lost the deal I was negotiating, and my chef quit because no one ate his main course. All because your pets got loose from the Starship Enterprise.” Her eyes, green as the emeralds she wore in her ears, twinkled at him and her lips twitched now just as they had on that long ago evening.

Nash took her hands in his. “Grams, your birthday bash is safe. I promise I haven’t brought any gerbils or other small animals with me.”

“That isn’t the only mischief you used to get into when you weren’t challenged enough. Do you recall when you were in fourth grade and you glued poor Katie Lynn Peabody to her desk? And you put the snake you’d brought in for show and tell in your teacher’s desk?”

“Surely the statute of limitations has run out on those crimes. How about if I apologize for yawning?”

“Why in hell should you apologize?” Maggie frowned at him.

“Because it’s made you worry.” He drew his grandmother into his arms and just held her for a moment. Maggie’s hair was pure white now instead of the raven color it had once been. But it was styled to perfection, and in her red silk pantsuit she looked as if she’d just stepped off the cover of a women’s fashion magazine.

Looks weren’t her only asset. She had one of the sharpest minds he’d ever encountered. For the past two decades, she’d run Fortune Enterprises, a large business empire that ranged from mining and real estate holdings to publishing. And twenty-one years ago, she’d also taken over the job of raising him after his father’s untimely death in the Gulf War.

As he drew back, Nash wondered which she’d claim was the bigger of the two challenges.

“Thanks for the hug,” she said. “They’ve always been your best method of trying to distract me. But not tonight. I didn’t bring you up here just to scold you because you yawned at my birthday party.”

She tapped a finger on his chest. “The problem is you’re bored, period. I can see the signs. You’re not sleeping well.”

That was true although he’d never figured out how his grandmother could always tell.