“C’mon on, now. Climb out,” a very perturbed Ditch Withers demanded.
“Just as far as San Diego. Please. Don’t make me stay here.”
He reached for Anna’s hand and roughly yanked her from the cargo bay. “You’re lucky we didn’t end up a rock ornament. You can’t fly with a hundred extra pounds in the tail.”
“A hundred pounds?” Anna said, suddenly offended. “As if.”
Ditch was in no mood to discuss weights and measures. “Close enough. You could have killed us both.”
“Sorry.”
He looked into the face of the young woman, who was trying her best to look tough, but wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Now, suppose you tell me what’s this all about?
* * *
Ditch had unloaded a couple of canvas camp chairs, which he set up in the shade of the wing and had managed to scrounge a couple of Cokes from the cooler
