Kindred Spirits

by Beth Ciotta

  Uncomfortable with the notion, she swung the focus back to him. She tugged at his shirtsleeve. “You need your own clothes.”

  “I have my own clothes.”

  “The ones you showed up in? I don’t think so. I’m taking you shopping.”

  “I told you—”

  “We’ll start at Daddy’s store.”

  He angled his chin. Interested. Definitely interested.

  She beamed. She wasn’t above flaunting her family’s success to impress Rufus. “My daddy owns a chain of department stores. Chains are becoming ever so popular. A&P, J.C. Penny, Piggly-Wiggly, Woolworth’s. Daddy’s stores are kind of like Woolworth’s only better. Van Buren’s. VB Enterprises. Ever heard of it?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  Progress! “I can see you’re dying to go.” She elbowed him. “Come on. We’ll shop till our tootsies hurt. Clothes. Toiletries—”

  “Good morning.” Grace strode into the dining room, wearing her standard uniform sans leather jacket. She plopped into the chair across from Rufus. “How do you feel?”

  “Terrible.”

  “Serves you right.” She piled scrambled eggs onto a plate. “You’re not going to puke all over my ship, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She signaled Lincoln. “Got any bacon?”

  “You do loops on a full stomach?” Rufus asked.

  “Sure.” She reached for the butter and slathered her toast. “Don’t worry, we’ll start slow today.”

  Izzy latched on to the linen napkin in her lap and twisted it around and around. It wasn’t that Grace had strolled into the house as if she belonged here, sat down and helped herself to breakfast that had her in a snit. Of course, Grace belonged here. She was like family. It was the way Rufus had stood when Grace entered the room, the way he’d beat her to the carafe and poured coffee for her. The way he was staring at her. That’s what had her in a snit.

  She wrung the napkin into a tight coil. Why was he staring at Grace? Gawking at her as if she were the best thing since Clara Bow? The only thing Grace had in common with “the hottest jazz baby in film” was a flat chest and a head of wild curls. Clara possessed it, a quality described by novelist Elinor Glyn as a “strange magnetism which attracts both sexes. There must be a physical attraction, but beauty is unnecessary.”

  Izzy stared hard at Grace. Her friend wasn’t beautiful, nor did she possess it. Did she? Izzy glanced at Rufus, whose stare, she realized, reflected her own. Curiosity tinged with surprise. Grace avoided his eyes. Why didn’t she tell him to cut it out?

  Something had happened last night.

  That’s why he was acting preoccupied this morning. He was thinking about Grace. Izzy remembered seeing them dancing. She hadn’t been crazy about them being in each other’s arms, but dancing was dancing. It didn’t mean anything. Unless the dancing led to something more intimate . . .

  Grace and Rufus? The thought of Grace and anybody, except maybe Mick, was ludicrous. Grace wanted nothing to do with intimacy. Still, Izzy trusted her woman’s intuition. It was as dependable as the annoying chirp of Daddy’s German cuckoo clock, and it told her something had happened.

  She bristled. “I’m taking Rufus shopping.”

  Grace reached for the sugar bowl. “Who’s Rufus?”

  “Julius.”

  Grace stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee while glancing across the table. “I’m lost.”

  Izzy gestured to Rufus. “Julius. Ace. He remembered his name. It’s Rufus Sinclair.”

  Grace pinned him with a steely blue gaze. “Are you leaving?”

  “No,” he said, matching her steady gaze.

  “Just a couple of shows,” she said. “That’s all I need to win back the crowds.”

  “He agreed to be your new partner?” Izzy asked.

  “As long as he has nowhere else to be,” Grace said.

  “I think I’m a pilot,” he told Izzy.

  Izzy sighed in relief. That explained the infatuation. It was only natural. They both loved to fly. But she could take Rufus to heights Grace couldn’t.

  “I can’t imagine anything more natural than being in Grace’s cockpit,” he said before biting into a bacon strip.

  Izzy blinked.

  Grace drained her coffee cup. Rufus reached for the carafe, but she grabbed it from him, pouring her own coffee this time. “I can take care of myself,” she said.

  His eyes darkened. “That why you’re marrying Mahoney?”

  Grace froze in mid-chew. “Who told you that?” She eyed Izzy with a look of betrayal.

  “Don’t look at me!”

  “No one else knows!”

  “James knows,” he said.

  Izzy flushed. “All right. So I might’ve slipped to Jimmy. But he’s family.”

  Grace gritted her teeth. “The least you could have done was swear him to secrecy. He actually abides by it!”

  “I forgot,” Izzy said. “And why does it have to be a secret? Mick proposed. Big deal. I get proposals all the time.” Honestly. Besides, everyone would know soon enough. Maybe Grace hadn’t said yes yet, but she would. Mick always got what he wanted. She should know. She’d let Mick jump her bones when she was sixteen. Actually, she’d jumped his bones, but that wasn’t the point. Mick wanted Grace, and Grace had a soft spot for Mick. Marriage was inevitable. Which left the path free and clear for her and Rufus.

  “When’s the wedding?” he asked, features blank.

  “There is no wedding,” Grace said. “I’m not marrying Mick. I’m not marrying anyone.”

  Izzy scrunched up her face. “Why not?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” Rufus asked, sounding a little too pleased.

  Izzy thought he almost sounded jealous, but what man would prefer Grace over her? Well, Mick did. But he didn’t count. She didn’t expect to compete with childhood blood oaths and sloppy, unrequited love. If Rufus did, he was a fool. Besides, Grace wouldn’t be able to satisfy a man like Rufus. He needed a woman like her. Experienced. Of course, he didn’t know Grace was a virgin. How would he? Unless . . .

  “Is it because of the wedding night?” she asked her friend. “I told you before, Grace, there’s nothing to it. If you’re really worried, I have this book—”

  “Izzy! Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. You can keep it as long as you like. It has pictures and everything.”

  Rufus cleared his throat.

  Izzy smiled at him. “It’s called the Kama Sutra. Ever heard of it?”

  He scratched his forehead. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  Cheeks flaming, Grace glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Fine,” Izzy said, “Let’s talk about shopping. We can be at Van Buren’s in ten minutes. I’d invite you along, Grace, but shopping bores you. Obviously.”

  Grace’s chin dropped, and she leveled her gaze on Izzy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Izzy feigned an innocent shrug. “You wear the same clothes all the time. If you shopped, you’d own more. Obviously, shopping bores you. That’s all.”

  Grace shifted in her seat, and Izzy knew the momentary thrill of making her always-confident friend self-conscious. Score two for her. But then Rufus shot her a disappointed look, and she no longer felt so victorious. Okay. So maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the virgin thing.

  “Some of us have better things to do with our time and money,” Grace said, making Izzy feel even worse. Unlike her, Grace had to work for anything she wanted, including new clothes. She didn’t have carte blanche at Van Buren’s or standing accounts in the ritziest boutiques in Manhattan. Not that Grace had ever been interested in anything other than the essentials. Practical clothes for her profession.

 
That’s what interested Rufus. Grace’s profession. Not Grace. He did, after all, believe himself to be a pilot. She liked that train of thought, so she climbed aboard. She studied him through lowered lashes. Maybe if she looked contrite, that would help her cause. And she was contrite. She hadn’t meant to embarrass Grace. Not really. It was just that sometimes Grace made her feel so inferior. “Maybe we could go shopping—you know, all three of us—after your flying lesson. I’d really like to show Rufus Daddy’s store.”

  “Swell,” Grace said, blue eyes still hot.

  “It’s a date,” he said, eyeing the two friends.

  Izzy’s stomach did a little flip. “A date?”

  “I’d really like to see Van Buren’s.” He graced her with a small but genuine smile.

  She beamed. “Hot-diggety!”

  Grace brushed toast crumbs from her hands, looking everywhere but at Rufus. “Ready?”

  “Roger.”

  Izzy looked at Grace. “Who’s Roger?’

  “Hell if I know.” Grace rose and clunked her boots toward the door.

  Rufus pushed away his half-eaten breakfast. “Apologies to Mrs. Potts.”

  Grace turned, sunlight spilling through her hair, hand on the doorknob. “You coming, Izzy?”

  “Me?” She jumped to her feet. Grace had invited her along despite being madder than a hornet at her. Her glowing halo of hair and sunlit eyes made her look so angelic, so pure, and Izzy’s heart filled with warmth and shame. Grace had always been better at being a friend. “I’ll just grab my camera.”

  “I hate having my picture taken,” Grace grumbled.

  Izzy took the stairs two at a time. “One day you’ll thank me.”

  Chapter Ten

  GRACE KNEW HERSELF capable of many things. She’d never believed violence to be one of them. Then again, her sexual history, or lack thereof, had never been the topic of conversation over bacon and eggs. She’d wanted to stuff her napkin into Izzy’s big mouth. She’d wanted to bean her over the head with the sterling silver pastry platter. But she didn’t want to give Ace (people named their dogs Rufus, didn’t they?) the wrong idea. Didn’t want him to think she was embarrassed about being a virgin. She wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t anything. She’d never even given the matter serious thought. Hell no. Certainly hadn’t ever been tempted, truly tempted, to lose her virginity. Her world did not revolve around sex.

  Izzy’s world, on the other hand . . . Grace glanced in her review mirror. Camera aimed out the Ford’s window, her friend was gleefully snapping shots of the countryside. At least, she thought Izzy was her friend. After this morning, she wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been Izzy’s insinuation that she was a virgin that stung. Izzy had always had a cavalier attitude toward sex. (It seemed most young women nowadays discussed it as openly as they did how to clean a stove.) It had been Izzy’s tone that had felt like a slap in the face. As if she had been making fun of her, trying to belittle her in front of Ace. The crack about her limited wardrobe hadn’t helped. But then Izzy had looked contrite, and Grace had figured she’d simply been running off at the mouth, oblivious to the impact of her words. Wrapped up in her own world, Izzy was often thoughtless but never intentionally cruel. And if it hadn’t been for that quick rationalization on her part, Grace thought she probably would have beaned Izzy with that platter.

  She glanced sideways and caught Rufus studying her. “What?” Here it comes. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, expecting to hear him make a snide comment about her virginity. She’d been expecting it for the past fifteen minutes, since they’d left Laguna Vista. Although, he had tried to redirect the conversation at breakfast. His gentlemanly behavior had not escaped her notice. Nor had the curious twinkle in his eyes. She wished he would just stop being a gentleman and give in to that curiosity. Wished he would say something, so she could take offense. Then she could let him have it and write him off as a tactless pig. Surely then her heart would stop racing as it had been ever since she set eyes on him this morning.

  “So what did Cagney do to screw up the stunt?” he asked.

  Her heart beat faster. “You read the interview.”

  “Heard about it.”

  “Jimmy?”

  He nodded.

  “What makes you think it was Tuck and not me?”

  “The way you drive this car.”

  She hiked an eyebrow.

  “With skill and confidence. You don’t make mistakes.”

  “No, I don’t.” Which was exactly why she was going to put Rufus through the wringer before allowing him to set one foot on her wing. She needed to know that she hadn’t misjudged him, that he was brave enough, smart enough. Flying was dangerous. No need to tempt fate with a partner who lacked guts or, worse, brains. Tuck lacked neither. Turned out he was simply a little too crazy.

  “I’m not a mistake,” Rufus said as though reading her mind.

  She gunned the Ford, unsettled by his tone. Gentle. Seductive. But virgin did not equal idiot. She knew he wasn’t talking about flying. She dared not glance at him for fear her heart would burst through her ribs, it was beating that hard, that fast.

  She flexed her fingers on the wheel again, suddenly realizing she’d been gripping it hard enough to hurt. Unusual for someone who didn’t give driving a second thought. He had paid her a high compliment, deciding without ever seeing her fly that she couldn’t be at fault. He was very astute for someone with amnesia. Yeah, right. She believed that cock-and-bull story less today than yesterday. He was hiding from something or someone. They’d established he was a pilot. Maybe he flew bootleg liquor over state lines. Maybe instead of being a Fed, he was hiding from the Feds. Although that theory still wouldn’t explain how he’d wound up on Izzy’s lawn.

  She stole another glance at the man, trying to figure his angle, trying not to notice how handsome he looked, trying not to focus on his mouth. At first she’d thought she didn’t care who he was. Now, since she’d learned his supposed real name, since his opinion seemed to matter, she’d started to chafe. She’d fight tooth and nail before going gaga over a man. She’d fight even harder if that man—a stranger—might be crooked.

  She thought about Mick and drew a deep breath. Mick was crooked, but she knew he would never hurt her. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself . . . though maybe that wasn’t so true anymore. She’d never suspected that he wanted to marry her. She’d never suspected that she would lie in bed last night, reliving Rufus’s kiss, reliving the car ride, their thighs close, wondering what it might feel like to park in that heated darkness . . . just for five minutes.

  “Tuck was a mistake.”

  This from Izzy, who was now leaning over the front seat. Another dig? Maybe, Grace thought, she was being overly sensitive. Maybe Rufus was going to her head, affecting her thinking. If so, it needed to stop. Maintain professional distance.

  “Tuck didn’t know when to quit,” she said, striving for a casual tone.

  In the mirror, she saw Izzy eye Rufus. “Most dangerous thing in a man,” Izzy said.

  Maybe, Grace thought. And maybe there were things that were even more dangerous. Like lethal kisses . . .

  RUFUS WASN’T SURE how to take Izzy’s statement. She, whose eyes usually reflected every thought pinging off the tips of her pinwheel mind, seemed cautious. Guarded, even. Strange, since she’d seemed her happy-go-lucky self a minute ago. Unsettled, he looked to Grace. “What does that mean?”

  “It means a man can get carried away and lose his focus.” She looked pointedly at him.

  He felt as if he were missing the message. “So why did Tuck blame you?”

  “You have to ask?”

  Oh. “Ego.”

  “Right.”

  “You think I might have a big ego?”

  Izzy purred from behind. “Among other things.”
>
  Grace turned away, concentrating hard on driving. Rufus ignored Izzy’s comment even as her nails skimmed the back of his neck, raising goose bumps. She’d been hot for him all morning. Not a surprise, just a nuisance. Especially when her future husband had been sitting across the breakfast table. When the hell was she going to fall for Roy? When would Roy propose? If he remembered J.B.’s journal correctly, Izzy and Roy married in January 1924. J.B. had described the wedding as small, emotional. The only one of her weddings at which Izzy had cried.

  J.B. had declared Roy “Isadora’s savior.” Funny, that was how Rufus had grudgingly thought of himself in the future, when he’d climbed through the west tower window, only to get blasted back to the past. Again, he wondered if Roy was the key. Though he could wonder the same about Mahoney. Or Grace.

  Despite his hangover, he’d jolted wide awake when the little spitfire had walked into the dining room for breakfast. The sudden heat he’d felt hadn’t had anything to do with the sun beating through the window. Or Izzy’s fingers creeping up his thigh . . .

  Jesus, it was like a friggin’ soap opera. Roy hot for Izzy. Izzy hot for Rufus. Rufus hot for Grace. Grace hot for . . . whom? Mick? James had said they had history, but at breakfast she’d practically shouted that she wasn’t going to marry Mick. And Rufus would have sworn she was hot for him, despite her feigned lack of interest. Then Izzy, most likely upset at not being the center of attention, had bared her claws and taken a swipe at Grace.

  It should bother him that Grace and Izzy were arguing. Instead, he kept flashing back to how cute Grace had looked, flight goggles pushed up on her head, tossing down bacon and eggs. How sweet she’d looked trying to recover from the Kama Sutra crack. Seeing her this morning had brought back last night’s dancing episode with vivid clarity. The kiss. The fireworks. Would it be the same if he kissed her again? No monkey rum or sexually charged music? It had taken much restraint not to round the table and kiss her smack on her bacon-greased lips.

  Though he’d always avoided women who resembled anything close to cute or sweet, Rufus felt relieved to learn he could still be surprised. Which explained his sudden burning need to seduce Grace. Not only was she cute and sweet, she was also unexpected, unpredictable, and unavailable. But how did a man like him seduce a woman like Grace? He’d been stupid to agree to the no-slow-dancing/no-kissing stipulation.