"Debra Tash crooks her little finger, says, 'Let me tell you a story,' and the reader is mesmerized from that point on. Masters of the Air will stay with you long after you've finished the read. You cannot help but become involved in the lives of these people."—Catherine Snodgrass, Award-Winning Author

"...An excellent book. It grabs you from the beginning, swoops you up in their lives, and then delivers you safely back to reality..."—Tami Brady, Roundtable Reviews

"In telling the story of Michael Ryan, aviation pioneer and California farmer, the strides of the aviation industry form a backdrop as Ryan works his way up from street kid to pilot and war hero to landowner, his rise mimicking the American Dream. He creates problem for himself with both his stubborn reactions to life events and his adamant refusal to reveal his secrets to his family as he ages. It is up to his granddaughter Rachel, a child of the seventies, to resolve the conflicts of his life...Their story is vibrant, all too human and compelling."—Diane McDonough, womenwriters.net

"4 Roses!...A master storyteller, Ms. Tash takes the reader on an incredible journey of one man’s struggle with his past and his attempts to make the future right. The journey is bumpy and full of the harsh truth of life and will squeeze nearly every last drop of sorrow out of you. Salvation is found and old hurtful truths are revealed, purging the pain as his dreams bear fruit with his granddaughter. Long, but worth the read. Make sure you have a weekend set aside to settle in and read this one. You don’t want to miss a detail."--Quinn, My Book Cravings

That plane would crash. Its single engine spurted. It sounded as if it couldn't stay up a moment longer. Michael shielded his eyes against the sunset's orange light. He could see the Curtiss Jenny's bi-wings; the wooden struts with the crisscrossing wires that held their fabric skins in place, all dark shadows against a glittering sky. The Jenny started to turn over his camp. Michael had seen it before. The fool would crash and catch the prairie grass on fire. He waved, his mind whirling.

"Down, you idiot! Set her down while you still have some time!"

The plane began to drop in an attempt to land as if her fool pilot had actually heard him. Michael ran in an effort to clear himself from the Jenny's path.

With a slight dip of her wings the crippled plane banked. It avoided Michael and his own open-cockpit, two-seater Jenny already set down in that field. The plane landed, bumped over the uneven ground and came to a halt. Michael blew out a disgusted sigh. He hadn't come so close to a crash like that since the Great War had ended. The Jenny's pilot ought to be strapped to a rock.

Michael strode up to the plane, his handsome features knotted with anger, jaw set, dark blond hair tousled. As the single propeller slowed, the pilot looked down with a sheepish grin planted on his freckled face.

"You should have never taken a plane up in that condition!"

The pilot shrugged, that grin even bigger. "Sorry."

Michael grumbled and shook his head. This pilot was an idiot. He turned heel and returned to his small camp. His bedroll was unfurled near a modest fire, his pack nearby. That was his entire camp. Using a branch, Michael lifted the iron lid off the pot warming against the dancing flames. Well, at least the beans hadn't burned.

The pilot stood beside him and took a whiff of the homey aroma. Michael felt for the pistol hidden beneath his leather flight jacket, but the fellow didn't make a move.

"Hungry?" Michael asked with an eyebrow raised.

He eagerly nodded and removed his leather cap and goggles to expose a mass of curly red hair.

Michael narrowed his green eyes. "Then you better find something to eat."

The man's smile faded. "You're not very friendly."

Michael used the stick to clear the small iron pot off the campfire. "You're damn right. So, maybe you just better leave—on foot."