by Leigh Dreyer
The Flight Path Less Traveled
A Modern Pride and Prejudice Continuation
Leigh Dreyer
Copyright © 2019 by Leigh Dreyer
All rights reserved.
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.
Acknowledgments
First, I need to thank my amazing husband who is incredibly supportive of anything and everything that I want to do. I’ve had a crazy year being in a musical, working three jobs (outside of writing and motherhood) and he is so incredibly supportive. He always helps me work through the story and decide how my characters are developing. He is my best friend, the love of my life, and the best dad I could ask for my children (who also rock).
Second, I need to thank my dad. He flew to Nevada to attend the Reno Air Races with me and to help me do book research for this and other books. He is my go-to T-38 expert and expert of all things flying. Not only does he normally know the answer and have very strong feelings on the use of the word “tarmac,” but he helps explain everything I need to understand to deliver a realistic book. Thank you for helping me fall in love with flying and pilots but also for giving me all the support I could ever want.
Third, a special thank you goes to Monica Cook of Joyous Reflections Photography and Portraiture and Alishia Mattee for your work on the covers. Also, for this cover, I have to thank First Lieutenant Danielle Rivera for the loan of her uniform. Couldn’t have done it without you!
Another thank you to my cousin Courtney and her husband Nick who graciously let me borrow from their airplane themed wedding vows for this novel. For your assistance in my hour of need I am eternally grateful.
Last, a huge thank you to Megan Moynihan, my beta reader/sister-in-law extraordinaire, who is completely amazing at giving me fantastic feedback. Between her, my mom, my grandma, and an aunt, I turned an “okay” book into a passable work of fiction fit for outside of immediate family consumption.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Coming Soon!
Glossary
Notes
Note from the Author
About the Author
1
Rain. She shuddered with a sudden chill as a raindrop slid down the back of her shirt. The dark, heavy clouds settled around her, prickling her skin. Her eyes searched for shelter from the storm and spotted the familiar stone house in the distance. Running toward it, her shoes heavy in the mud, she felt herself pick up speed. Soon she found herself on a winding, paved driveway.
To her left was a small stream that emptied into a quaint pond. Raindrops rippled at the banks. It’s a great day if you’re a duck. She smiled as a single drake waddled from the bank, then glided effortlessly into the pool.
The house loomed in front of her and she soon found herself at the door. She knocked loudly and waited, rubbing her arms in an attempt to stay warm.
There was no answer.
She knocked again, much louder this time, and looked around the entrance for a doorbell of some kind. She shuffled anxiously from one foot to the other, shivering, and hoping that someone would answer the door.
No answer.
She pounded against the door, then walked back a few steps, looking at the windows in the home, trying to ascertain if anyone was there.
Finally, she saw him. He was as handsome as she had ever seen him. Dressed in a sweater and jeans with his hair perfectly in place, he looked out at her through the window and smiled. Warmth immediately flooded her chest and she felt alive. She needed him.
She stretched out her hands and he came to her with a thought. She looked into his dark eyes and her stomach turned in anticipation of his touch. He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, pulling her face gently to him, touching his lips to hers. As he kissed her, his fingers combed through her wet hair and ran down her back. Every part of her touched by him was on fire, electric somehow, and every sensation was heightened by the contrast with the cold rain around them.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss that seemed to touch her very soul. The raindrops ran down their faces and she sighed. Warm, content, happy, and in love. She closed her eyes gently, letting her body take over. He moaned in response, a deep vibration against her chest and suddenly―
Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Bennet shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She felt the world around her vibrate when the propeller sprang into motion. She stretched her legs to move the rudders and turned onto the runway. The number one plane was thirty feet diagonally ahead of her and, as the lead nodded to roll forward, she pushed the throttle full. Gravity pushed her body into the seat as she took off. The sun beat on the cockpit glass and sweat dripped down the neck of her flight suit.
Elizabeth loved flying, soaring from cloud to cloud. Sometimes she imagined she was in one of the old biplanes and could let the wind whip her scarf and long dark hair behind her. She would dance the foxtrot through the skies. When she was younger, she read a book about the wing walkers of the 1920s, and since then, she had wanted to stand on the wings of a plane and feel the rush of the sky around her. She sighed as she took one long look out of the cockpit and watched the powerful clouds eddy as she rocketed through.
This check ride was important. It was the last bastion to conquer before she could track to the shiny, fast, sexy T-38s1. She had wanted to fly the jet since she started pilot training and then move on to fighter jets in the real world. Maybe the F-222? Maybe even the F-353 if it was not still grounded by the time she graduated in six months.
She took a deep breath. Her oxygen mask pressed on the bridge of her nose uncomfortably. She repositioned it and remembered where she was and what she needed to accomplish.
The number one plane in front of her rocked its wings and Elizabeth pushed the stick firmly to the left, completed a roll, and watched the world spin through the glass cockpit. Over the intercom, she heard a familiar instructor pilot: “Nice job, Bennet. Keep it a little tighter in the formation and watch your altimeter. Straight and level.”
Elizabeth felt unexpectedly nervous. Her pulse quickened and roared in her ears. Ignoring her emotions, she trained her mind back to the task at hand. She watched the number one, moved her wing a little closer to maintain tight formation mere feet from the wing of the other plane, and waited anxiously for the next signal.
Abruptly, the stick was pushed forward. She started, her heart pumping rapidly. She grabbed the stick with both hands, planted her feet to the floor, and strained against the metal to pull it back into neutral position.
“Straight and level. Straight and level.” The haunting echo began to repeat in her headset. She pulled the stick back again and again. She pushed her legs down on the rudders forcing the muscles in her thighs to contract. Her boots slipped on the metal surfaces as she desperately tugged. Her heart pounded in terror as she watched the ground zoom closer.
/> “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! MOA4 6. Nuke 62. Going down,” Elizabeth shouted into the radio. The harness pushed painfully against her breast while she changed from correcting the plane to saving herself from her horrifying dive toward the ground. She saw the trees growing bigger and bigger in her view and prayed hysterically for a miracle.
Oh God—don’t let me die.
His handsome features and serious mien sprang unbidden to her mind. Darcy.
Nausea hit and she vomited into her mask. It was crushed to her face with the G-forces and she dug her nails into her cheeks to peel it off. She could not breathe. She needed to breathe. Through tears, she searched her panel for the altimeter and finally ripped off the mask. Two thousand feet. She could only see blackness.
She was blind. Her stomach churned, warning her the plane was still falling. Opening her eyes, she saw the ground screaming toward her. It was close enough to touch. She reached out her hand, fingers stretched. She blinked and the ground was far away and she had time to think.
I have to get out of this plane! She did not want to die. She was running through Longbourn’s backyard and pushing Jane on the swing. Mary playing the piano. Her father reading to Elizabeth while seated on his lap in the comfy chair of his office. Her crying mother receiving a triangular folded flag. A uniformed soldier playing “Taps” on a trumpet. Her sisters weeping over a casket that contained nothing but the charred and blackened bits of the former Lieutenant Elizabeth Bennet.
“Straight and level! Straight and level!” Who was shouting at her? Did they not see her trying? Pull up, damn it! Pull up!
She felt between her thighs for the yellow ejection handle. She had to get out of this careening metal coffin. Where was the handle? She was blind and no amount of blinking would bring the ground back into her view. She searched furiously for the spot between her knees where she had been trained to pull. Her helmet was filled with vomit. She tried to open her eyes and search for the distinct looped handle. One hand continued to pull at the stick in a weak, desperate attempt to right the plane while the other roved under the seat in an attempt to locate her only chance of survival.
“Straight and level! Straight and level,” repeated the scratchy voice in her helmet.
The ground was coming up fast again. Every movement of her body was strangely slow and halted like she was moving through mud. Her thoughts seemed alien as she searched through her emergency procedures checklist to find the correct protocols for “hurtling to demise.” In desperation, she grasped at the stick and made another weak attempt to pull up. Her arms exhausted from the strain, she screamed. She looked once more at the ground through the sweat and vomit and closed her eyes, bracing for impact.
“Elizabeth!”
The plane shook Elizabeth violently as they continued to shoot through the sky. Elizabeth pondered the movement of time and was surprised that it took so long for her to hit. It felt like she had been falling forever. Turbulence would not kill her. Turbulence did not kill anybody. All it ever did was frighten passengers on 747s. She was not a flight attendant walking through the aisle serving Diet Cokes and pretzels. She was a pilot. She had studied for this. She had to find that ejection handle.
“Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth screamed again. The stick would not budge. She could not find the ejection handle. She felt the plane rock, and her mind jolted back to her vision of the dirt below. It was close. No more than ten seconds. She reached out a hand to touch it.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
Darkness.
“Elizabeth! Please wake up!”
Elizabeth shook. She must have hit. She waited for the scent of exploding fuel and burning flesh she knew would come and the sharp metallic taste of blood that would likely accompany it. She expected the crash to be painful, instead she was shaking. She felt the shoulder straps of her harness push against her as she continued to struggle. Suddenly, she was smothered by her helmet, her face crushed inside her mask, her nose pinched.
She took a gasping breath.
Her eyes blinked open to see a man’s chest hovering above her. Her eyes fluttered and her breath continued to come in gulps, burning in her throat as she pushed away, ready to claw the man holding her down.
Her hands grappled with something beside her head and next to her body strangling her movement; she had expected grass but found only soft fabric. After another moment, her brain registered the sheets and pillow of her bed.
“Elizabeth” Darcy looked down at her; his dark eyes creased in concern.
“I was crashing,” Elizabeth said, her voice rough, eyes darting around her bedroom at Netherfield. The green curtains. The dark dresser. The potted plant she had received in the hospital was dying; she had liked to look at it in the rehab facility. Darcy loomed above her.
“How did I get here?” She still felt the sickening lurch in her stomach of the plane dropping. She swallowed hard.
“You’re at Netherfield. Jane’s just in the other room.” Elizabeth’s skin prickled as Darcy’s deep voice vibrated in his chest when he spoke. Her head was cloudy with the sensations of her flight, and she found it difficult to reason. “Elizabeth, breathe and think. What felt real?”
She took one shaky breath. “The crash. I couldn’t find the ejection handle. It wasn’t there.” Her voice cracked and she felt hot tears spill down her cheeks, and she became furious at her inability to control herself. “It wasn’t there! Who the hell doesn’t put an ejection handle in a plane? What kind of idiot was on maintenance? How on earth do they expect someone to survive without an ejection handle?”
“Honey,” Darcy began, pulling Elizabeth to his chest. She pushed him away.
“Don’t ‘honey’ me. I couldn’t get out! I could have been killed! The stick was stuck forward—I couldn’t lift it…”
She could feel the hysteria begin to take over once more, and she took a gulping breath, letting it out slowly.
Darcy leaned down to look directly into Elizabeth’s eyes. They looked wild and vulnerable. He reached down to rub her arms, then slowly pressed her petite frame to his chest.
Darcy whispered into her ear. “You got out. You’re here. I’ve got you. You’re all right. We’re here at Netherfield. The crash was weeks ago; do you remember? You didn’t want to go home for fear your mother’s nerves would smother you. Jane and Bingley are married and are sleeping in the other room. You were screaming, so I came.”
“Oh god.” Elizabeth looked around. Find two things you can see. The window. The dresser. Find one thing you can feel. The sheets. Find one thing you can smell. Sandalwood and pine…Darcy—he always smells fresh. She started over. She was in pajamas, sitting in her bed; she could feel the cotton. Darcy was shirtless but wearing sweatpants. She suddenly felt a warmth in her stomach before she remembered their precarious arrangement. She loved him, and he knew she loved him. He had loved her much longer. After one incredible kiss in the hospital just after the crash, they had barely touched each other. They were both too anxious to give the other space to figure things out. Now on the third night home from hospital and rehab, she had to embarrass herself by freaking out. What must he think of me?
She was humiliated and tired—exhausted—if she was honest with herself. She also realized with a sudden blush that perhaps this ugly old shirt from high school and yoga pants with a hole in the knee should be retired as her nightwear of choice. She was frightened but, as she relaxed into Darcy, the feeling of her body against his was the only bearable thing in her existence, so she concentrated on that.
She slowly shook off the remnants of her nightmare, and her thoughts began to clear like a fuzzy TV channel coming in tune. Netherfield. She was at Netherfield. It was too stressful to go home to Longbourn Inn with her mother checking on her every ten minutes and her father shutting himself in his office to avoid her mother. As Mary, Kitty, and Lydia were equal parts annoying and dreadful, plus the constant hum of guests, Jane offered her new home. Elizabeth
had taken up residence directly upon release from the rehabilitation center.
Her therapist had said to expect nightmares and flashbacks. Thoughts of the dream brought feelings of shame for being so weak, and she felt a slow blush creep up her cheeks and into her hairline.
“I’m completely embarrassed. Of course—none of it is real. I can’t believe I made you get up.” She let out a long, exasperated sigh and looked around the room, pushing away from him, much gentler this time, and combing through her matted curls with her fingers. “Go back to sleep. You have to fly tomorrow.”
“Elizabeth, it’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You have to fly. You can’t show tired after dealing with me being a baby all night.”
Darcy shrugged and sat next to her in the bed. “It’s a less demanding sortie. Besides, I don’t show till ten. I’ve got plenty of time.” He reached out and gently smoothed the frizz and tangles that had overtaken her hair from her thrashing. “Want me to stay with you a little while?” He offered his arms. She hesitated, then tentatively moved into them.
Elizabeth’s mind was calm as she inhaled his scent and felt the warm, calming pressure of his arms enfolding her. She released a breath she did not know she had been holding, relishing the quiet and the steady beat of his heart beat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. She matched her breath to his, breathing deeper and slower than normal. Her eyelids drooped, and she relaxed into his arms.
“Elizabeth?”