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“Erin,” Nash warned as I reached for the edge of the basket.
After a last glance back, I climbed in, hoping he would understand.
Madden pulled the burner cord, making the balloon lurch off the ground. “All right, everyone. Get ready for the flight of your life!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
ERIN
The balloon rose quickly, though the churning in my gut came from watching Nash shrink into the distance below us. What if he was right? And, shoot. He looked upset. Not how I hoped the day would develop after such a blissful night.
“Desert Skies One, radio check.” I spoke into the radio, something we’d forgotten to do before lift-off.
Not a good omen. What else might I have forgotten?
The radio crackled. “Desert Skies Support, reading you loud and clear.” Nash’s voice was tight and curt.
I cursed myself again, but there wasn’t much I could do now.
“Two-eighty at three point one,” I reported, then returned the radio to its cradle in transmit mode.
See?Madden’s smug look told me.All fine.
Yes, we were moving at a smooth, pedestrian pace, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of something amiss. I checked the eastern sky. Were those clouds thickening, or was that just a trick of the dawn light?
The guests didn’t know enough to notice, and Madden was too busy showing off his knowledge of the landscape — and spinning tall tales — to pay attention to the weather.
“They say there’s ghosts down there at Phantom Ranch. And you see that cliff over there? A mountain biker missed a turn and flew right off the edge. They had to helicopter his body out.”
Two of the guests snapped pictures, suitably impressed.
There’d been no such accident — thank goodness — although a story had gotten around about a couple of bikers who had cut it close.
“Hey, check out the quad rental,” one of the guys said.
For the next twenty minutes, they tried to locate trails they’d explored the previous day, which suited me fine. I could concentrate on monitoring Madden’s flyingandthe weather.
The wind slowly backed to the southeast, and our speed increased. That cloud bank was getting bigger. I was sure of it now.
“Two-seventy-two at four point five,” I reported, picturing Nash drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in concern.
Over the next few minutes, our speed crept up to six miles per hour, and even Madden stopped rambling long enough to eye the storm.
“Yahoo! We’re finally moving!” one of the guests hooted. “Can you make this thing go even faster?”
“We move at the speed of the wind.” I looked Madden in the eye to telegraph the second, unspoken part.And the wind is getting faster.
Madden checked the instruments, then looked back at the clouds. Finally, he scratched his head. “Now, where did that come from?”
I refrained from pointing out the obvious.They were there before we took off, and I told you so.
Then again, I couldn’t exactly gloat, because there I was, up in the air with him.
The wind increased, pushing the cloud bank. It churned like a wave, rolling ever closer and closer.
Madden reached for the clipboard again. “But the forecast said—”
I nearly smacked it out of his hands. “There are forecasts, and there’s real life. Just look!”
