Free Hot Point by M. L. Buchman Page B

can’t do a thing with it.”
    The laugh burst out of her yet again. She couldn’t help it. How could a man who flew as…flew as…beautifully as Vern Taylor did, not know how to maintain something as simple and reliable as a Bell 47?
    * * *
    Vern cursed as Denise laughed at him in her Spider later that night. Clearly it was becoming a thing with her. The laugh would start small and bright, often masked behind a covering hand. Then it built until it sparkled in the air. And each time it was because he was being a complete idiot.
    â€œI know how to drive a goddamn stick shift,” he growled. “Irene hates me. You’re right. She’s a tricky woman.” He wanted to blame it on being drunk, but he’d had only one beer over the two wonderful hours spent with Denise Conroy telling dumb-things-I-did-as-a-kid stories. He wanted to blame it on the drugged feeling coursing through his nervous system just from being near her. Maybe he could blame it on the weather. Nope. Nothing above but stars on a warm, cloudless night.
    Without an excuse of any kind, he was sitting out here on the streets of Hood River and totally humiliating himself by stalling her car three separate times in the first two blocks. If Bruce and Mickey caught him doing that, he’d receive a Bambi-bucket sized load of shit for it.
    â€œIrene is a 1973 Spider,” Denise said as if that was somehow helpful.
    â€œWhich means what?” He tried not to snarl as he restarted the engine. With a silent plea, he begged Irene to please stop embarrassing him in front of such an attractive woman. This time he made it a block, then he foolishly tried for second gear and almost ate the windshield as the stall flailed him forward. “Switch,” he ordered as he set the brake and climbed out.
    â€œThe 1973,” Denise explained as they passed each other in front of the car, the flash of headlights shining bright against their legs and reflecting enough light upward for him to see her green eyes and far-too-amused smile, “has a hardware linkage for a throttle rather than a wire. One end is mounted on the frame and the other end on the engine. When you accelerate, that torques the engine and the engine twists slightly on its mounts, lengthening the throttle linkage. That in turn slows the engine, which detorques it, shortening the linkage, and it accelerates again without you touching the pedal. It takes a practiced touch to get a smooth start. You shouldn’t feel bad.”
    â€œNo. Why would I feel bad?” Just because he hadn’t been able to drive a beautiful woman’s car that she drove like a racing dream.
    Just because she’d left him feeling like a panting schoolboy the entire evening, neither one mentioning Jasper. What was up with that anyway? She wasn’t flirting with him. Denise Conroy did not flirt. But she’s been as friendly as if she’d never earned a reputation for possessing battlements of steel.
    Then she proceeded to make him look like a complete idiot by making the car launch in a perfectly smooth leap from a complete standstill to racing back up the mountain road.
    He slid down lower in his seat and mumbled below the volume of the engine’s roar, “Irene hates me.”
    Denise’s laugh was whipped away as she slammed up into third and they shot out of town.

Chapter 3
    Four a.m.
    Vern, Jeannie, and Emily huddled around Mark with to-go cups of coffee clutched in their hands. Vern was actually on his second cup, but it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what was wrong with him this morning. Between the years as a Coastie and now MHA, he knew to anticipate chaos in his sleep schedule. So that wasn’t it.
    The dark night air had a damp chill to it. Fall was definitely coming; the weather felt as if it had arrived last night. Hadn’t he been riding in an open-top sports car with a beautiful woman about six hours ago? Now he’d have the top up