When Hearts Fly

by Tanya Hanson

  “What do you mean?” Katie, shocked, grabbed Cordy’s hand with fingers gone instantly cold.

  “Well, here it all is.” Briefly, Cordy shared the awful details of Mr. Pelikan’s visit, struck suddenly how Hawk’s enterprise of the flying horses had held off the spread of her downfall.

  Goodness, was it possible to admire Hawk even more? Her heart thrummed.

  “Oh, twaddle.” Katie shrugged off Cordy’s misfortune. “You’re not going anywhere. The exhibition will bring in the money to save you. People will need food and places to stay.”

  Cordy mumbled something, touched at Katie’s promise of success, but jealous nonetheless. Her friend had a fine job and yet had found true love while Cordy…Hawk Shockley shimmered again. Business arrangement, nothing more.

  No. She wanted more. Could the admiration possibly be sprouting into love?

  Cordy’s breathing stopped at the mere thought of him. “Then I’m happy for you, Katie,” she managed finally and grasped her friend’s hands. She did mean it. Then practicality reared. “But as for the flying-horse demonstration, I don’t think your class, or anybody, can actually see all four hooves aloft. It happens fast. That’s why we need photographers, to catch the moment.”

  Katie laughed, still fingering the bridal feather. “It’ll still be fun. Holding art class out of doors. The weather’s finally mild enough. In fact, it’s an entire school of art. Plein Air. It means composing your works outdoors while you look at your subject. Landscapes usually, but who cares? And this afternoon, I’ll read the myth of Pegasus from Bullfinch’s. And I’ll display artists’ illustrations for inspiration.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Cordy caught it. “I love your ideas. We’ll waive the spectator fees, and I’m sure I can convince Hawk to offer a small prize for the best sketch. And I’ll display the artwork on the boardinghouse wall. Thanks so for supporting our venture.”

  Right as she finished the last syllable, her tongue having trembled at the sound of his name, Hawk Shockley burst through the mercantile door, gasping. Her heart exploded despite his face, white as death, and his jaw tense as a bowstring.

  Hawk nodded at Katie but didn’t wait for an introduction. His hand was heavy on Cordy’s arm. She tingled anyway. “We must talk. Now. Let’s get to the boardinghouse.”

  “I can’t leave.” Cordy pulled away, blood pounding at the mere touch of him. “Mrs. Hackett is in the storeroom getting the material we need for the screen.”

  “Cordy, this can’t wait.” His tone was distraught, but fortunately, not in the demanding way Clancy’s had been, all those times he needed something she’d easily given.

  Yet she’d learned to be cautious. “Please explain.”

  Katie’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Go along, Cordy. I’ll have the delivery boy bring your order to the boardinghouse. And Mr. Shockley, pleased to meet you.”

  “Katie Haynes,” Cordy tossed in.

  “Honored, Miss Haynes. Forgive my…distraction.” Hawk’s eyes were blank, but his smile was large and polite. And fake. Then, gently but without much else that was gentlemanly, Hawk dragged Cordy outside.

  Nebraska’s north wind had turned wicked and blew apart the edges of Cordy’s navy blue burnoose. But the deep chill came from somewhere else and rippled across her skin. Why was Hawk so panicked he’d forgone his good manners?

  “Hawk, you’re scaring me.” Her fingers wove around his. “What on earth has happened? Is it the flying horses? Has someone gotten hurt?” She gulped. Or worse. “Is someone dead?”

  Clancy’s awful death weakened Cordy anew. She hung onto Hawk while their footfalls smacked the boardwalk in a quick rhythm. Then he stopped so suddenly in front of the tinsmith’s she stumbled into his arms. Strong, warm arms. For a long moment, he wrapped her close.

  And she let him. Stayed willingly. Nothing else mattered.

  For Cordy knew right then, here was where she wanted to be. For all time. For once, she deserved peace and tenderness. Sparkles warmed around them. His embrace tightened further, and she forgot everything. And cared not a whit if the townsfolk noticed.

  His breath tickled her hair even through her hood. Finally, Hawk pulled back a little and craned his neck every which way. With people clumped around the flying horse posters, busily discussing their strategies, nobody stood near to them at all.

  It was like they were the only two people in the world. And he was the only one she wanted next to her.

  But she had to know. “Who has died, Hawk?”

  Now his breath turned cold, quick. Desperate. “Me. I’m dead. Or I will be. Oh, Cordy.”

  He held her like he’d never let go.

  And she never wanted him to stop. Oh, and how perfectly she fit against him beneath the shadow of his Stetson. But dead?

  “You?” She mumbled. “Dead? What do you mean?”

  Cordy forced herself to draw away as an ugly thought took root. “Oh, dear goodness. Are you an outlaw? With a bounty hunter after you? Or a swindler? Oh, Hawk, for shame.” Her skin goosed from disappointment, and her heart downright cracked a little.

  “Oh, no, no. It’s nothing like that, Cordy. Believe me.” Hawk embraced her tighter than she imagined possible. “But I shall be dead as a doornail tomorrow. Unless—” His voice slowed as if his words froze slowly in the air. Then his gaze heated.

  “Unless what” she murmured against his chest.

  “Unless you marry me. Today.”

  His words stopped her heart, and she pulled away as if he’d burned her. Marry him, the man of her dreams? Now, when she needed a fresh start? She gasped into her fist, then couldn’t breathe enough to mourn. The poor man had lost his mind. And she’d fallen for his scheme—and him—without any sensible wits of her own.

  “Marry you?” Cordy whispered the words in terrible awe. In crushing regret. Every dream she’d ever dreamed mirrored back to her in his eyes.

  Marry him? Her pulse clunked as dreams died one by one. Why couldn’t this be real? She stared at him, into eyes that gleamed with her own pain. Hated that she saw her own life reflected in his deep blue gaze. Her breath hitched both at the impossibility and at his beauty. Then breaking free, she choked on tears and hustled to her front door. The gathering throng parted like the Red Sea.

  Good heavens, Cordy had fallen for a halfwit. But it was regret, not fear, that swamped her.

  “Cordy, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A neighbor’s soft voice beseeched, a work worn hand reached for hers. Cold spring wind swirled around her.

  “Yes, Mr. Kleinschmidt. I’m fine.” Legs like wet noodles, she fumbled for her key. Hawk’s manly scent closed around her as warm as his embrace, and she gave him a large smile. Although her heart meant it, her good sense didn’t. But insane or not, she needed him. She needed money, and he was her business partner, bringing in customers. He didn’t have to be her husband. And with eager town folks so close, she had to act like she trusted him.

  She cleared her throat with such a tornado effect Mr. Kleinschmidt’s eyes widened like a full moon rising over the cornfields. “Everyone, this is Mr. Shockley. I’m, uh, I’m afraid I can’t offer dinner today. Uh, he—and I have so many preparations for the exhibition.”

  The crowd cooed in disappointment and excitement both, despite Cordy’s very faked smile. She counted quick and her spirits dimmed. If she concocted a quick meal, she’d make another two dollars, But marriage, not money, was on her mind.

  Marriage to a man who had flitted forever inside her dreams without her really seeing him until now. When it was too late. Now, when he’d gone mad.

  Hawk tipped his Stetson at the gaggle, then took the key from Cordy, who noticed his own fingers trembling, opened the door and pushed her inside.

  With a wide swing of his arms, Hawk embraced the crowd. “I hope indeed to see all of you at the exhibition. Either as entrants or spectators.” His words sounded firm and rational, and his smile so lit up the day the females nearby
cooed again.

  Hawk shoved Cordy inside and locked the door behind him.

  Although Cordy still trembled from his embrace, fear screamed in her head. Was Hawk holding her hostage? Clancy had had a Bowie knife, and a pistol, but she didn’t remember where. Oh, life had grown hard.

  So hard. Caution prevailed. Cordy was an educated woman, after all.

  “Get away from me.” Her words scratched her ears; she didn’t have time to care about anybody else’s hearing. “Hawk, you belong in an asylum, I’m sad to say. You are completely deranged. Father explained the signs of delusion. Flying horses are bad enough, and I’ve agreed to it, but marriage? Life-long commitment with an hour’s notice?”

  Hawk reached for her and she was truly tempted, but instead, she swallowed a sob. “And today yet? With all we have to do? Goodness, I’ve got a screen to sew. With selvages!”

  As if she were a porcelain treasure, Hawk tenderly helped Cordy shrug from her burnoose. Just the quick touch of his hands on her shoulders sent her heart spinning. Then he sat her at the dining table, and took the chair next to her. Their thighs meshed beneath gabardine and wool, and she liked it more than she cared to be wary.

  He didn’t seem insane at all now. And he was magnificent beyond words.

  His hands and voice touched her, soft and sweet. Like the lilac-scented air of a spring day yet to come. “Cordy, I’m deathly serious. The exhibition is not a mad plot, and I’m not insane. But I need a real marriage. Not a masquerade. Could you could you possibly help me?”

  The tenderness again. Then he ruined everything. From his pocket, he drew a flask and poured a glug down his throat.

  She rolled her eyes while her gentle feelings ran down her throat. Men and their spirits. Her fists pounded once on the tabletop. “Help you? I am helping you!” Now Cordy stamped a foot. “I’ve got to stitch a twenty-yard long almost nine-feet-high screen. With selvages! I don’t even know what that means. I can’t sew! And I can’t marry you, either. I’ve got to draw lines somewhere.” She choked on tears; his proposal would have been a dream come true.

  Some other day. Or some other life.

  Just yesterday…

  Hawk’s hot gaze locked with hers. “Cordy, will you at least hear me out?”

  Her heart flickered. Under other circumstances, she’d give in on the spot. Nowhere in his words was the needy begging she’d heard from Clancy his whole life, but marriage?

  “I suppose you’re worth a listen.” She found she couldn’t stop her words. Her fist relaxed. “I’ll hear you out.”

  But maybe, maybe she shouldn’t listen at all. Her fingers tensed into a ball again. What if…she was tempted beyond her good sense and landed in his arms like a falling apple warm from the sun? She hardened her heart. “But I’m not accepting any proposal.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I ask.” Hawk held out a yellow Western Union telegram, and her heart tremored along with his trembling fingers. “Read it.”

  And so she did. Out loud.

  “Tomorrow Paradise will become permanent for you.

  EM”

  She screwed up her face in question. “How on earth is this a death threat? And what does that have to do with marrying me?”

  Cordy grumbled with heartbreak. Her first marriage proposal was a real disappointment.

  Hawk held her hand, but she turned her fingers into claws just in case. “Cordy, it is a death threat. He does not mean Paradise, this town. He means Paradise. Heaven.”

  In thought, his lips tightened together on one side. They were still stupidly kissable, and she hated herself for thinking so. “Although, in all due respect, I should think he’d wish me in hell.”

  “Who?” Cordy’s disenchantment turned to outraged curiosity. “Can you please make some sense? What is all this about heaven? And hell? Who on earth is EM?”

  Hawk wiggled his shoulders as if to relax them against the hard arrowback chair, then looked her straight on. “Eadweard Muybridge. And he wants me dead.”

  Chapter Six

  “The flying horse photographer?” Cordy’s eyes widened like a starburst. “Why would he want you dead?” Then they narrowed to slits. “What did you do?”

  Hawk worried that she trembled so—she had felt so perfect in his arms, and he wanted her therein for all time. He rubbed her fingers softly. Felt an explosion down to his toes. “Somehow Eadweard’s gotten wind of our experiment.”

  She held her free hand against her chest as if to slow down her breath. “Why on earth would Mr. Muybridge kill you over our experiment? Is he afraid you’re getting rich off of his technique? We are a long way from wealth.”

  “No, not money. But because of our publicity, he knows where to find me.” Hawk nodded, tragically, his flesh tingling next to hers despite a dozen layers of garments. “I checked with the telegrapher. The wire originated in Columbus.” A chill rippled through him despite the warmth of Cordy’s nearness. “I thought Muybridge in Pennsylvania, but he’s only fifteen miles from here.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen then.” His throat tangled in a swallow. Unlikely one mile made a whit of difference. “Anyway, some way, somehow Eadweard Muybridge is in Nebraska. But I doubt he cares a whit about the exhibition. He wants me dead.”

  “Make some sense, please.” Cordy jutted her chin and dropped her hand to her lap, shoulders tense against the chair. He still held tight to the other. “You must have done something awful to set him off. He’s a highly regarded man. Murdering someone is awfully bad and has rather dire consequences.”

  Against a pretty plaid skirt, her fingers curled slowly into a fist. Oh, he could imagine so many wonderful things.

  He forced himself to the here and now. “I doubt he fears any consequences.” Hawk swallowed so hard he wondered if Cordy heard. Her face had paled, yet bright spots of fire tinged her cheeks. “Cordy, he’s gotten away with murder before.”

  She pulled her fingers free at last. “A famous photographer? You are mad.” Quickly she stood up. “I know how to use Clancy’s pistol. I hate to say this, but if you don’t start being sensible, I just might kill you myself. You should go.”

  “Why?” Hurt laved him and hung in his tone. She couldn’t possibly mean such harsh words. Could she? Just in case, Hawk reached to pull her back down.

  Cordy stayed firm and glared down at him. “Mr. Shockley, I’m alone here with a man spouting crazy things. I have no choice but to accept that you have lost your mind.” Her voice shook, though. “There is enough of a crowd outside for one of them to hear my screams.”

  “Cordy, I have not lost my wits. Please sit down.” She did, but cringed when he leaned close. “I admit my request—my proposal, must sound fanatical. But please, don’t be afraid of me. I’m serious about being in danger.”

  “All right. Explain yourself, and hurry up.” Cordy pushed her chair back like she might make a run for it, and his heart sank. “I need to get back to the mercantile.”

  Hawk’s fingers knitted together so he didn’t reach for her. How perfect she had felt in his arms. Her scent still tickled his senses. It could be love, couldn’t it? He took a deep breath. “A jury in California set Muybridge free from killing his wife’s lover.”

  “What?” Cordy paled even more.

  “It’s true. Yes.” Hawk nodded, eager to kiss color back into her face. “He’s running as unencumbered as a bird out of its cage after shooting a man at point blank range. At a party yet. In front of a hundred people. No doubts, no subterfuge at all. Yet he was acquitted on justifiable homicide.”

  Cordy’s hands covered her mouth. “Oh, I understand perfectly.” Her words were a whisper and she looked away from him. “You had an indiscreet relationship with her, too.”

  “Oh, no. No, not at all.” He prayed for strength. “I never knew Flora. The crime happened near San Francisco, and I was a child. However…” Hawk swallowed, heat roiled. “The news swirled the social circles for years. Even across the Atlantic. Then Muybridge ret
urned to Kingston-upon-Thames a few years ago for a visit and imagined that I, um.” He coughed, avoided Cordy’s eyes. Only but seventeen, he hardly remembered the kiss. “That I compromised his beloved goddaughter.”

  “You compromised his goddaughter?” Cordy narrowed her eyes. “That’s a terrible thing. And you expect me to marry you?”

  He counted to ten, quickly, elbows tight on the tabletop. “Cordy, it was but a kiss. A simple kiss. But Muybridge claims he witnessed us, despite a big potted grapefruit tree in her parents’ orangery. It was quick, I barely tasted a thing, and good heavens, Flora produced an entire baby! Yet Muybridge expected me to marry Davina. Just like that. And all for a simple kiss.”

  Cordy breathed a sound—a rather harsh sound, and Hawk glanced back at her in time to see her lips form a word. A name? Hmmm. Her face clouded. Had some scoundrel? Behind the lace at her collar, her neck tensed with a gulp.

  She did not meet his gaze. “Hawk, to a woman a kiss is no simple gesture. To a woman, it means the world.”

  Her face had pinked somewhat, like spring flowers, but still bore a tint of winter. Who had kissed her and made her feel it meant nothing? An odd jealousy simmered

  His heart pounded. “Davina and I remain friends, Cordy. I promise you. And I left for college in America soon after.”

  “Well, did you make an offer for her hand at least and give her the choice?” Her eyes opened like dawn. “The chance? I can’t deny I’m a bit on her side.”

  She shivered, and Hawk imagined his lips comforting hers, caressing her mouth, drinking deep of her taste, her secrets.

  “I wasn’t eighteen for two weeks.” He couldn’t even recall Davina’s face but decided it unwise to confess as much.

  “Old enough to be a man.” Cordy sniffed, then glared. Their gazes connected with a jolt. His heart pounded. “Well? Did you ask her?”

  He swallowed first. “With Muybridge’s hand against his pocket as if he were hiding a firearm? Knowing what he’s capable of? Yes. Of course, I asked her. We pretended to agree, to end the difficult moment. And then we parted friends.”