Page 2 of Impossible Love

“Let’s go.” Both pilots fall in line behind me, rolling my bags toward what must be the terminal.

Chapter 2

Cal

I glance down at my brother as he zips his daughter’s coat. I can’t help it. I can’t let the moment get past me. It’s just too damn good.

Because my brother’s wearing a tiara.

“I’m not sure the in-flight headset is gonna fit over that, Finn. Just saying.”

He looks up at me, his deadly expression conveying a silent warning: One more word about my fucking tiara and I’ll kick your ass.

Finn double-checks that his daughter, Jasmine, is all zipped up. My niece’s jacket matches her pink sneakers. Her sneakers match her pink shorts, top, backpack, and hair barrettes. Even her socks are pink.

But today, for some reason, she’s insisted it’s her daddy’s turn to wear the pink rhinestone crown.

In the years since Jasmine was born, Yosemite Ranch has seen more pink than in all the days since its 1865 founding. This little girl is a sparkle of femininity in a sea of testosterone, and she has all six of us MacLaine men wrapped around her little finger.

We’re good with that.

Jasmine turns to me, her pale-blue eyes huge. “We’re going in the helicopter, Uncle Cal! We’re flying to Cisco! It’s in California, and there’s a horse there that Daddy might buy!”

“I know, Pinkie.” I reach down and tuck a curl behind a little ear. “You look pretty excited about it.”

She nods, bouncing on her tiptoes.

Finn stands, brushes off his jeans, and looks around for Declan. “Need a hand with anything?” he shouts out.

“Negative!” Our second-youngest brother, Declan, rounds the rear of the Bell Long Ranger helo, clipboard in hand. “Preflight is complete. We’re fueled up and ready to rock and roll.” He stops in his tracks, raises an eyebrow at Finn, and smirks. “’Sup, Princessprincess?”

Finn still isn’t amused.

“Hey!” Jasmine yells out, pointing to the sky. “Whose plane is that?”

All of us turn to watch a sleek private jet approach the narrow landing strip of the Twenty Mile Municipal Airpark, which is not exactly a destination for corporate jetsetters. In fact, if it weren’t for the ranch and our StellaR Tech business, the only things flying around here would be sweat bees and damselflies.

“Expecting anyone?” Declan asks.

“Nope,” I say.

“Not me,” Finn says.

“Me neither!” Jasmine adds.

The four of us make our way across the near-empty hangar, a cavernous Quonset hut that always reminds me of an old aluminum can half buried in the dirt. Our footsteps echo as we walk through and exit the other side, just as the jet comes to a stop on the tarmac.

Declan whistles. “Sweet ride. That’s a Gulfstream 550. Maybe the Kardashians are finally here, ready to force me to serve as their own personal—”

“Watch it,” Finn stops him before he can say anything off-color around Jasmine.

I finish Declan’s sentence for him. “Personal aviation mechanic?” Finn and I laugh.

Then I stop laughing.

Because the most spectacular woman I’ve ever seen in my damn life emerges from the cabin door and makes her way down the stairs. A pilot assists her, like she’s the queen or something. Her slender hand slides along the railing as her ridiculously high heels click on each of the steel steps, hips swinging with every movement.

Click.

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