Three broken rules, p.1
Three Broken Rules, page 1
Three Broken Rules
Magnetic North Series
Kathryn Kaleigh
To learn more about Kathryn Kaleigh, visit
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THREE BROKEN RULES
PREVIEW: SECOND CHANCE DESTINY
Copyright © 2022 by Kathryn Kaleigh
All rights reserved.
Written by Kathryn Kaleigh
Published by KST Publishing, Inc., 2022
Cover by Skyhouse24Media
www.kathrynkaleigh.com
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, of events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Wynter Worthington
2. Cooper Abrams
3. Wynter
4. Cooper
5. Wynter
6. Cooper
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Second Chance Destiny Preview
Second Chance Destiny Preview
Also by Kathryn Kaleigh
Chapter 1
Wynter Worthington
I slid my reading glasses off my nose to the top of my head and looked out the little oval window of the Lear jet taking me home.
As I took the air pods out of my ears, one, then the other, the familiar roar of the jet replaced the soft background music I’d been listening to.
My job took me all over the country. But each and every time I returned to Houston, I got butterflies in my stomach.
They were good butterflies, usually.
Born and bred in Houston, no matter where I traveled, Houston had my heart. It was home.
It was a warm cloudless May morning and even though the plane wasn’t even on the ground yet, the air felt different than up north. Softer.
It made no sense, but when I could see the tops of the trees, I felt like I was practically on the ground.
I wasn’t a nervous flyer, but only because I couldn’t afford to be.
I was the youngest of the four daughters of Noah and Savannah Worthington.
THE Noah Worthington of Skye Travels.
I had earlier memories of flying in airplanes than I did of riding in automobiles.
But that was just the way the mind worked.
Memories were a funny thing.
Not always accurate, but quite powerful.
It didn’t take much to send me down a rabbit hole when it came to thinking about thinking.
I’d done my dissertation on metacognition. And it had paid off enormously. I was one of the most sought after consultants in my field—industrial/organizational psychology.
I gathered up my wire-bound notebook and pencil and shoved them into my leather bookbag.
I liked to use the quiet flying time to brainstorm or just to think.
Momma would call it meditation. And it was. When I wanted to get technical, I called flying a positive addiction.
All the pilots in my family agreed with me. And we certainly had enough of them. Pilots in the family. Five to be exact.
That was a lot of pilots in one family.
I had nothing against pilots, specifically. But I had a lot of insights into their way of life. And I’d argue with anyone who said their way of life wasn’t different.
And, yes, I would admit that my daddy was an exception. And my sister, Ainsley. Probably. She was older than me, though, and I couldn’t say what she’d done before she met her husband, Wyatt.
And, Momma was Daddy’s second wife. So for all I knew, Daddy had gone through a cad stage, too.
As much as I loved Daddy, it didn’t change my opinion of the pilot lifestyle.
“Prepare for landing,” Jackson said over the speaker.
Jackson was my sister Brianna’s fiancé. A good pilot. More often than not, Daddy assigned him to my flight, either Jackson or Daddy flew me himself.
Personally, I didn’t make any specific requests about pilots. I knew that as long as I was flying with Skye Travels, I was in good hands.
Daddy only hired the best in the field.
If something was going to happen on a flight, it was just going to happen.
I checked my seatbelt. I hadn’t even bothered to unhook it on the flight from Chicago to Houston.
The airplane rocked gently as we passed over the top of the suburban mall just before Jackson took it in for a smooth, as always, landing.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with pilots.
I liked them just fine.
It was their lifestyle. The uniform. The glamour of travel. The mystique.
As we taxied along the runway, I saw that my car was already there. Ready to take me to my parents’ house.
Sure. It was uncommon for a twenty-five-year-old professional to live with her parents, but it saved me tons of money.
I’d commuted to the University of Houston and now I spent probably seventy-five percent of my time on the road.
It would make no sense to pay for a place of my own when I was never there.
As I waited for Jackson to secure the plane, I stared out the window.
The red Skye Travels logo was emblazoned across the building’s new glass door.
The driver of my car came through that door and walked outside onto the tarmac.
I hadn’t seen this driver before, but although I knew most of the drivers, I didn’t know all of them. I didn’t know all the pilots either for that matter.
The driver was wearing black pants and a solid white button-down shirt with a solid black tie. No jacket and no cap.
He had short dark hair and, even though he wore black sunshades, I could see that he wasn’t a day over thirty.
His walk caught my attention. He actually walked with the familiar swagger of a pilot.
Stopping at the car, the usual black SUV, he looked in my direction.
My heart did a little flip and I noted a strong physical attraction to him. Stronger than usual.
I looked away. Checked my phone messages.
As a frequent traveler myself, I didn’t date in my own back yard.
Perhaps being a frequent traveler myself was the very reason I knew so much about their lifestyle.
I lived it myself.
So that was how I came around to my first rule of dating.
Never crush on a pilot.
Chapter 2
Cooper Abrams
It was one of those clear, cloudless Texas mornings that smelled hot. It may be just the end of May, but I’d lived in Houston long enough to know that it didn’t matter.
It was full on summer.
I’d left my jacket inside the office in the private terminal and as I stood with the sun beating down on the top of my head, I decided to hell with it and r
It was my first day on the job and my task for the day was to pick up the boss’s daughter from someone else’s flight and drive her home.
So much for thinking that I was going to start off this job doing what I loved most.
Flying.
I’d watched the pilot of the Lear jet make a smooth as silk landing then taxi over to the private terminal of Skye Travels.
Breathing in the heady scent of jet fuel, I stood next to the shiny black sedan.
The driver was in the restroom upstairs puking his guts out.
I was only in this situation because I’d had compassion for the guy.
The receptionist had been right in the middle of ordering my uniforms when we’d heard the guy in the bathroom. And, of course, I’d volunteered to check on him.
The poor guy had been distraught that he wouldn’t be there to pick up someone named Wynter.
I’d done my homework on Skye Travels and in the process I’d learned that about half of the Worthington family was involved in this particular aviation business, many of them pilots.
It didn’t bother me. I knew it was a family run business. That’s how it worked.
What did bother me was that somehow I’d missed knowing that there was a fourth daughter named Wynter.
Apparently, she somehow managed to keep a low profile.
I adjusted my tie as the pilot opened the door. I was a hair’s breath away from just loosening it. Since I wasn’t flying, there didn’t seem to be much point in wearing the tie while I stood out in the heat.
But before I could loosen my tie, a young lady stepped out of the plane. She was a thousand times different from what I was expecting, though if someone had asked me what I was expecting, I wouldn’t have had an answer for them.
I wasn’t sure if I’d been expecting a hot party girl or a younger version of Mrs. Worthington—pretty, but serious. Part of that expectation came from the driver’s obvious loyalty.
This girl was neither of those.
She was dressed all in black. A black pencil skirt and a matching short jacket over a black blouse.
Before going down the steps in her black high heels, she pulled a pair of black sunshades out of her bag and put them over her eyes.
Damn. I’d gotten no more than a glimpse, but from that simple glimpse, I saw that she was stunningly beautiful.
I’d seen pictures of her sisters and had been impressed by how pretty they all were. Noah’s wife, too.
But even that didn’t prepare me for this petite elfin girl with straight shoulder-length hair.
I usually went for the girls with long hair, so it was especially surprising that I felt that immediate gut kick of attraction to someone who wasn’t my usual type.
The warm Texas wind blew her hair into her face and she pushed it impatiently away before putting one hand on the rail and starting to make her way down the steps.
She moved with a combination of caution and grace.
It occurred to me that this might not even be Wynter.
But when the pilot followed her down the steps, I knew it had to be her.
“I’ll get your bags,” the pilot said.
“Thank you, Jackson,” she said. Her voice carried a slight huskiness to it that made her even more attractive.
As she came toward the Land Rover, I remembered that I was her driver.
The key was in the car and it was already running, so I opened the back door and stepped aside for her to climb inside.
“Thank you,” she said with a little smile.
I wanted to see more of that smile, but without the sunshades hiding her eyes.
After closing the door behind her, I opened the trunk and helped Jackson load two suitcases.
“Take care of her,” Jackson said, with a clap on my shoulder.
“Sure thing,” I said. “Nice landing.”
“Thanks,” Jackson said. “See ‘ya around.” Then he turned and went inside.
He didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know that I was the newest Skye Travels pilot.
He didn’t know. And neither did Wynter.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and looked into the rearview mirror.
“Where can I take you, Miss Worthington?” I asked.
Chapter 3
Wynter
I settled into the back seat of the SUV and took off my sunglasses. The air conditioning was blowing at full force, keeping the oncoming outside heat at bay.
“Home please,” I said, looking into the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
I sensed an air of patience about him.
He nodded once and tapped the GPS screen.
“Can I get the address?” he asked, then looked at me in the mirror. “just to confirm.”
I rattled off my address and he tapped a line on the screen.
“You’re new,” I said, turning the vent off my face.
He grinned, looking at me again in the mirror.
“It’s actually my first day,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Well. I hope it’s going well.”
He drove the car around the plane and took off toward the gate. I pulled my phone out and checked it, mostly out of boredom.
“It’s nothing like I expected,” he said.
I set my phone down.
“How is it different?” I asked, finding the conversation much more interesting than scrolling through my messages.
He pulled out onto the freeway.
“I didn’t expect to be driving, for one thing,” he said.
“You thought you’d be shadowing,” I said.
“Something like that,” he said as he switched lanes.
The traffic was light right now. I estimated he’d have me home in about fifteen minutes.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said, scooting over toward the middle of the bench seat, but the seatbelt had me locked in place.
“Cooper,” he said.
And obviously Cooper was a man of few words.
“It’s nice to meet you Cooper,” I said, determined to get him talking. “Where are you from?”
“Originally Alabama,” he said.
I smiled. “My mother is from Alabama.”
“Small world,” he said, holding the steering wheel loosely.
“How did you end up in Houston?”
He didn’t answer at first. Seemed distracted by the GPS.
I could see why he didn’t expect to drive today. He seemed unfamiliar with both the car and the roads.
He took the correct exit and headed toward Memorial Drive.
“Work,” he said, looking back at me with an odd expression.
“What?” I asked, teasingly. “There’s no need for drivers in Alabama?”
“I thought I’d like a change of scenery,” he said.
I looked out the window as we drove though one of the most upscale residential areas of Houston.
I’d visited my grandmother in Alabama. She still lived in a modest, but comfortable house in a quiet neighborhood. Too quiet for my taste.
