I was hung up on the closeness of the two hunks, my hands shaking, my knees knocking and my hormones on speed dial (with a busy signal).

I had to get…you know…soon.

Slowly I held out my hand, since the guy next to Jagger had his in front of me. I felt a nudge on my left arm and heard a “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jagger had pulled me back to reality. Delicious reality.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?” Proud that I’d managed a logical sentence as our hands were still touching, I smiled like a fool.

“Sky. Sky Palmer,” he said in a Texas drawl that had me nearly drooling, as if I’d just bitten into a juicy rib eye. He let go of my hand.

I tucked mine into my pants pocket and was about to reply when Jagger cut me off: “And don’t go joking about Sky being a pilot. He’s heard it all. Sky is his real name.”

I bit back the joke I’d had ready, turned to Jagger and mouthed, “No kidding,” and then looked at Sky. Who the hell named a bouncing baby Sky? “Great to meet you. Texas? Huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked and smiled-I think at the same time, which had me nearly in a pile of liquid like the melted Wicked Witch in Oz.

“Oh, no need for the ‘ma’am.’ Just call me Pauline. I’m so looking forward to flying with you, Sky.” Quickly I turned to Jagger and mouthed, “Shut up.”

Thank goodness Jagger didn’t argue with me, I thought as I sat on the chair near Lilla’s desk. She fiddled with the paperwork, and I also thought anyone who’d survived four husbands, two of whom were abusive, sure fit into this investigative job pretty well. She looked as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

I, on the other hand, sat there thinking of Sky, Jagger, Sky and Jagger, until my mind was nearly mush. Damn. Why couldn’t I get a job with less-attractive guys around me? Way less attractive. Something about that Texas drawl had piqued my interest.

Then it hit me that I’d openly agreed to fly on a helicopter.

I rested my head in my hands and thought for a few seconds, and then I prayed the rest of the time that I wouldn’t get assigned any helicopter runs. After all, I wasn’t an EMT or a trained nurse in airovac.

“Pauline. Pauline.”

“Hmm?” I looked up to see Lilla looking at me. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“I have some paperwork-release forms, chéri-for you to sign so you can do a ride along.”

“Ride along?” I figured that meant a test drive in an ambulance, since Jagger and I were obviously going to do our investigative work as if on orientation. Surely we weren’t going out alone? I laughed at the stupid thought.

“With Monsieur Sky.” She leaned back in her seat with the paperwork in her hand.

I got stuck on Monsieur Sky until it hit me-the ride along was a fly along!

“No way!” flew out of my mouth just as Sky and Jagger approached from the office behind Lilla.

“No way what?” Sky asked.

Lilla started to say, “Pauline does not-”

Damn that drawl. “Thanks, Lilla. I’ll explain.” I chuckled to fill in the gaping hole in the conversation and to buy myself time to make up a lie. I stunk at lying. When I looked at Jagger, I saw that he knew very well that I was trying to come up with a fib.

And damn it all, but he just stood there-silently.

I decided to wave my hands, as if that would erase everyone’s current memory and said, “So, this should be fun. A ride along, I mean,” as I got up, pushed past traitor Jagger and stood next to Sky. “You are going to be careful, aren’t you?” I did my best hooker eyelash fluttering and turned back in time to see Jagger shaking his head. Once. Thank the good Lord; however, once was bad enough.

I couldn’t help but glare at the metal container I was about to enter and wondered if there was more than one bolt that held on the blades sticking out of the top. I’d heard there wasn’t.

Sky and his buddy pilot, who’d been introduced as Mario Fortunato, were doing some kind of preflight check of the chopper. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn’t miss a loose bolt or the loose bolt, but since Jagger sat inside as if nothing bothered him (and it didn’t), I didn’t want to sound girly scared.

“It’s a go,” Mario said and winked at me.

I laughed. “Tell me, Fortunato, are you going to bring good luck our way?”

He laughed. “None needed with Sky at the controls.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding since signing my life away on Lilla’s release form and let Mario guide me toward the open door of the helicopter, which sat so innocently on the helipad.

Jagger had obviously set this up. The guy pulled more strings than a marionette operator.

I ignored the bright red color of the helicopter (originally thinking blood here), telling myself it would be easier for other aircraft to see us in the sky. On top were the blades. Two blades-actually it looked like one really long one. I’d have felt better with about six instead, and again prayed that more than one bolt held them on.

The chopper was much shorter than I’d imagined and had what looked like three tails (one could only hope three tails offset one blade). All in all, not exactly a menacing figure-until I thought about getting inside.

As I readied to turn and run, Mario reached inside and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to me without even asking my size, then ran through instructions like walking low so the blades wouldn’t…you know…and that there were earphones and a microphone inside the helmet to communicate with the pilots.

Great. I’m sure my soft, shaking voice would come out loud and clear over the roar of the swirling blades.

Then again, at least with the microphone off they might not hear me screaming.

Before I knew it, I was strapped into a seat next to Jagger (good if we had to evacuate) and with my eyes shut (figuring he couldn’t see because of the helmet) we were above the ground.

Above the ground.

And, not on a smooth direct flight path. Oh no. Sky, obviously living up to his birth name, was maneuvering through Hope Valley as if in a video game and we were the targets.

Today’s breakfast rose up my throat.

I grabbed Jagger’s arm. Then let go as quickly as the idea flashed into my head that I seemed like a real “girl” doing that. Wouldn’t set right with him.

I blinked, thinking that might help and knowing it wouldn’t do shit, until I took several long, slow, deep breaths-and reminded myself that vomiting next to these three hunks would not be in my best interest professionally or sexually.

Sitting much straighter, I refused myself any more feelings of nausea (as if that were some mental luxury) and took several deep breaths. The phrase I am a professional became my mantra. I heard some static and that soothing, sexy Texas drawl. “So, ma’am, how you doing?”

“I love flying!” I shouted, and then promptly bit my lip. Really. What the hell was I talking about? I looked out the window and the ground was a gazillion miles away. I held so tightly onto the handlebar next to me, my fingers went numb as we zoomed around.

I caught a look at Jagger out of the corner of my eye-not easy to do with the damn helmet on-and there he sat, eyes closed and, I think, snoring.

Nothing bothered the damn guy!

I sucked in some air and sat straighter, all the while telling myself that I could do this without vomiting, screaming or passing out. In other words, I had to be professional, both as a nurse and investigator. After all, I’d be transporting patients and had to devote my attention to them and not myself.

What seemed like hours flew by (pun intended since I couldn’t ignore that I didn’t have any feet on the ground) and before I knew it, Jagger was standing next to me.

Standing?