The Flyer

by Marjorie Jones

  “No. Of course not.” She shifted under his scrutiny. How was it he could tell when something bothered her? Was she that transparent? She forced a laugh. “Why would anything be wrong?”

  “You looked … I don’t know … disturbed. Nervous?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Helen, you can tell me. Could it be you’re afraid to fly?”

  Afraid to fly? Perhaps a little. More important than that, if he thought she was afraid, she could allow him to believe it. Couldn’t she? It wasn’t really a lie. It was certainly better than the alternative. She couldn’t tell him of the fright she’d experienced when he announced they were in front of his house. She couldn’t tell him she’d instantly assumed he’d brought her here for altogether different reasons. She couldn’t let herself believe that if she were alone with him, in his house, she’d fall for whatever charms he cast on her, and those reasons would culminate in sweaty, passionate…

  No. She most definitely could not.

  So she lied.

  “That’s it,” she sputtered, opening the door and climbing out of the vehicle. “I’m just a little nervous about flying, that’s all.”

  He frowned. Helen hurried from the Rugby, willing away the past and concentrating on her future. She wasn’t that girl anymore.

  Paul’s house rested on the edge of the mining town’s eastern border. Set slightly apart from the other structures, the one-story building in which he lived looked more like a cabin. A huge difference from the Victorian home in which she’d been raised, with its sharply slanted rooflines and brightly painted gingerbread around the porch. No. Paul, despite his extravagant taste in automobiles and his extraordinary driving abilities, was a man of simple means.

  A part of her wished he were extravagant. At least then she could compare him to Reginald and fight her increasing awareness of him. But he was different from anyone she’d ever known, everything she’d been raised with. Money and privilege seemed miles upon miles away from what Paul represented.

  Unfortunately, that simple fact made her like him all the more.

  Behind the house, the landing strip and his plane beckoned. Paul was in no hurry to reach either while he kept his gaze fastened on Helen. The drive had tousled her hair, and the strands turned in windswept angles around her jaw. She tucked them behind her ear with one hand while she reached into the boot of his motorcar with the other. Every muscle in his body tensed as the fabric of her strides pulled tight on the rounded curve of her thigh and hip. He swallowed. Hard.

  Struggling only slightly, she finally hefted her medical bag, then closed the boot.

  Blood rushed through his body like a brushfire, burning out of control in the heat of summer. Helen had the most kissable lips he’d ever seen, and when they formed that delightfully shy smile of hers, they took his breath away.

  The drive through town had exhilarated her, judging from the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. And if she liked driving fast, he could only imagine what she’d think of flying. And it certainly wasn’t fear. Nothing compared to the roar of wind that came from soaring high above the earth. He couldn’t wait to share it with her.

  Especially when he considered that she’d lied about what was bothering her. If she was nervous about flying with him, he was a kangaroo on holidays. There wasn’t a bone in her body that didn’t scream for excitement. She was like him. Every luscious, round inch of her.

  But something had taken the sparkle out of her eyes when they’d pulled in front of his house. The light had turned dark—frightened—and even now, while she scanned the immediate area, taking everything in, that light hadn’t completely returned.

  At last, she turned her attention reluctantly—or expectantly, he couldn’t tell—back on him. “I’m ready whenever you are,” she said with a shrug of her strong shoulders.

  For now, he’d let her have her way. But soon he’d find out precisely what he’d said to make her seem so bloody fearful. So suddenly sad. “So you can drive, and you like fast cars, but you’ve never flown before.”

  “No. I hear it’s the cat’s pajamas, so I’m sure it’ll be simply thrilling. I’m only this nervous,” she added, almost as an afterthought, while she made a pinching motion with two fingers in the empty space between them.

  “The cat’s pajamas? I’d be interested in seeing an American cat, I think.” He pointed the way to the rear of his home.

  “Now don’t you tease me for my colloquialisms, Mr. Shout-of-Piss.”

  “Touché, love.”

  The spark in her eyes flashed again, albeit briefly.

  In the distance, someone called his name, and he turned. Dashing over the dusty road, her skirts dancing about her booted ankles, young Marla McIntyre raced in his direction. She wore a green bonnet, which almost matched the faded green of her dress, and probably had at some point. She’d been wearing the same dress for more than a year. He made a note to pick up a fresh bolt of material for her mother the next time he flew into Perth. He glanced at Helen, picturing her in the slender, calf-length dress she’d worn the last time he’d seen her. Perhaps he’d pick up new patterns for Mrs. McIntyre, as well. Something … more fashionable.

  “Paul! Wait for me!” Marla cried, still several feet away. “You promised to take me flying. Do you remember?”

  He cringed, glancing at the earth, then peering at the girl’s hopeful, excited face through squinted eyes. “I did promise, didn’t I?” he sighed.

  “Aye. You said the very next time.”

  He shook his head. “I know I did, and I’m a right sorry bastard for breaking my word, aren’t I? But I simply can’t today, love. I have to take Miss Helen up just now.”

  Marla looked at Helen as though she’d only just noticed her standing at the front of the motorcar. She pulled a curious face and canted her head. “Who is Miss Helen?” In a whisper, she added, “Adelaide says she’s a fast one. What does that mean?”

  Paul looked at Helen to see if she had heard the child’s comments. If she had, she made no outward sign. She had set her pack on the ground and was rummaging through it, checking her gear most likely.

  Satisfied, he turned back to Marla. “Your sister’s tongue waggles too much. Don’t you pay her any mind. Helen is the new doctor in town, and I have to take her to see the blackfellas in the bush today. But I’ll be going up again tomorrow, and you’re coming with me.”

  Marla’s shoulders slumped slightly, and she kicked the ground. “I suppose, if I have to wait, I have to wait.”

  “Marla!” Mrs. McIntyre’s voice, harried and angry, carried over the street from the front door of the McIntyre’s modest house. “Marla Elaine McIntyre, you come back here this instant!”

  The child turned and made a nasty face at her mother. Paul hid a grin and pulled Marla’s bonnet over her freckled forehead. “Don’t you be disrespecting your mother, now.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not in trouble. I don’t know why she’s cracked.”

  Whatever it was, they were about to find out. Mrs. McIntyre was marching across the street like the infantry on its way to war. When she came within reasonable earshot, Paul nodded in greeting. “There’s no need to be so upset, Mrs. McIntyre. I wouldn’t dream of taking Marla up without clearing things with you first. You know that.”

  “I don’t care if you take her flying in that infernal machine of yours. But to expose my Marla to her …” The older woman tossed her head in Helen’s direction with a sneer on her normally friendly face. “Well, I simply can’t have that, can I? Marla, home with you. Right this minute.”

  The air around the motorcar stiffened, if that were possible. Paul didn’t have to turn around to see the crestfallen expression in Helen’s eyes; he could feel it on his skin. Still, he glanced over his shoulder. Cold as ice, Helen stood rigid, staring in the distance as though she hadn’t heard the slight.

  But she’d heard it, all right. There was no mistaking it. The set of her shoulders, the pain in her eyes—it all
spoke of a barely checked fury.

  He shifted back to Mrs. McIntyre and opened his mouth to speak. Marla’s mother cut him off with a stern look. “You should be ashamed of yourself, carrying on with such women. I thought you had more sense than to take up with a fast woman from the docks. What would your mother say?”

  Righteous indignation had found a warm home inside Christina McIntyre. Her eyes flashed, and her mouth, finally, closed into a rigid line.

  Well, two could play at this game. “I should think my mother would judge her by what she was on the inside, and not make hasty judgments about people she doesn’t know,” he replied. He pointed at the medical bag, then crossed his arms. “Do you know what that is?”

  Mrs. McIntyre looked at the bag, squared her shoulders, then shook her head. “A sack, obviously.”

  “It’s a medical bag. Inside, it contains medicines and supplies to treat everything from a burn to childbirth. This woman, whom you’ve already tried and convicted for a crime you can’t even say aloud, is a doctor, and I’m flying her out to the gathering, among other places, so she can heal people. You mind telling me how that makes her a fast woman?”

  “A woman doctor? Whoever heard of such a thing?”

  Helen suddenly appeared at his side. “I have, and so has Australia, for that matter. I’m not the first woman doctor, but I would hope that a woman, especially one with the fortitude to make a life for herself out here, in such desolation, could appreciate that women are as capable and intelligent as any man.”

  “Humph!” Mrs. McIntyre turned a severe about-face and launched herself across the street—back straight, eyes forward. She encountered her daughter midway to their home, captured one of the child’s shoulders in a rough grip, and dragged her along until they disappeared inside the house.

  Closing his eyes, Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about that.”

  Helen sighed. “So that’s where those girls learned such things.”

  “What girls?”

  “Never mind. And don’t you apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not the first time someone has looked down on my career choice.” She paused, and he found himself drawn to her silence, and her strength. “And it’s not the first time I’ve been called ‘fast.’“

  It probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Helen gathered her composure and retrieved her medical bag. “Are we flying today, or not?”

  Paul returned her stare with the damnable twinkle in his eye. She brushed off the excited feeling the look sent up her spine while adjusting her grip on the hard, arched handle of her bag. He had never called her fast. He’d never done anything to make her believe he thought it of her, either. Well, except for that kiss, and it had been brought on more by drink than anything she might have done. That wasn’t a good thing, however. It softened her thoughts about him and made her think of romantic moonlit nights and far too much heavy breathing.

  “We most certainly are, Dr. Stanwood. Are you still nervous about it?”

  “About what?” She ripped herself from the hazy twilight of her own musings. “Oh, about flying, you mean? Not one little bit. I’m too angry.” She marched in the direction Paul had indicated before the harridan from across the way had barged in on them. It was bad enough having to listen to the snide comments behind her back, but she’d be damned if she would take that kind of abuse leveled directly at her. No, ma’am.

  That woman … what was her name? Mrs. McIntyre. She had no knowledge of Helen’s life, no understanding of her past. She made her judgments based solely on her … what? Her hair? Her makeup? So had her daughters, that day she’d arrived. Helen was tired of it.

  Originally, she’d planned to grow out her bobbed hair, acclimate to the more conservative style of the small-town community. Now, she wondered what the local barber would do if she planted herself in his chair and demanded he cut her hair even shorter.

  A mischievous smile threatened the corner of her mouth.

  It was soon replaced with a frown. She wouldn’t do it. As soon as she could, she’d find someone to make her a dress more in keeping with the town’s … moral standard? She’d allow her hair to grow, and in a matter of months, perhaps a year, she would be the very picture of a rural Australian.

  She hated the mere thought of it. Not that she disliked the idea of staying in this ruggedly gorgeous country, of course. No, that wasn’t the problem. It was conforming that she hated. But what else could she do? She’d been forced out of the life she loved. If the truth were known, it had been entirely her doing. She deserved whatever sedate and ghastly peaceful life she could carve for herself here.

  Feeling as though the entire world had been dumped on her shoulders again, she turned the corner of Paul’s house. Instantly, she held her breath. The magnificent beauty that met her seemed to go on forever. She’d never seen quite so large a sky, not even at sea. It might have been because she expected the sky to go on forever at sea, but here … She’d had no earthly idea a landscape could be so wild, so untamed, or so amazing.

  For miles, light, muted green flora dotted a red-earth desert. Directly in front of her, a herd of kangaroos grazed. One massive creature lifted its oblong head and seemed to study her for a moment before returning to its feast.

  “Not bad, is it?” Paul’s voice held a note of awe, as though he couldn’t believe the beauty of this place, either.

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “Wait until you see the falls. We’ll fly over them at some point, I reckon.”

  “Falls? You mean, waterfalls?”

  “Too right. We do have water here, on occasion.” He winked. “Come on. We’ll get your things loaded.”

  Helen followed Paul to a shimmering yellow airplane. The paint shone brilliantly in the morning light, bright and welcoming. Two sets of wings, one stacked atop the other, gave way to two seating compartments. A series of taut black ties formed a web between the wings. The propeller had been painted with a red horizontal stripe across the tip of each oblong prop. The weight of the impressive machine rested on two wheels beneath the wings and a narrow skid, farther back, toward the tail. Heavy blocks of wood on either side of the tires were connected with a length of rope.

  When they reached it, Paul opened a compartment on the plane’s main body, just behind the double wing-structure. “You’ll be needing this, I’d imagine.” He handed her the jacket Doc had insisted she bring along. He must have collected it from the motorcar when she wasn’t looking. “It’s hotter than Hades down here, but once we’re up there,” he said, pointing to the sky, “you’ll be thankful you have it.”

  She took the jacket and forced it on. “Thank you.”

  “No sweat, love. You’ll be needing these, too.” This time, he handed her a pair of awkward, thick goggles and a leather cap he pulled from the body of the plane. She’d seen something like them before. Some of the girls back home wore them in honor of the increasing number of women pilots, but Helen had never picked up the fad.

  Helen rested the goggles on the wing and slid the cap over her hair while Paul rummaged through the compartment. By the time he rose to face her, she’d managed to squeeze her head into the small leather torture device. How did women wear these for fun?

  Paul laughed. It wasn’t the horrible, snickering kind of laugh people usually employed in her company. No, it was more like a heady, robust wine that made her insides feel like snow flurries, despite the heat.

  Still, he was laughing. She couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

  “Like this, love.” He took the cap off her head, turned it around, and slid it easily back into place. His touch was even more intoxicating than his laugh.

  “Oh,” she breathed, no longer in the mood to laugh with him.

  She should be more aware of her surroundings, she decided. She couldn’t ignore it. Not anymore. The simple fact was, she was in trouble. There was no denying her insatiable attraction to Paul Campbell. She could only hope she had enough strength to turn him away w
hen, or if, he decided to act on impulse again. If he’d thought of her as a fast woman, like Mrs. McIntyre and her daughters at the mercantile had, then she would have been fine.

  But everything he’d done, from allowing her to treat him that first night, to defending her against that woman’s assault, told her he didn’t think of her that way. He saw her as a capable woman, and nothing more.

  His fingers lingered beside her cheek, and he tucked a stray lock of her hair beneath the leather cap. His touch was gentle, yet strong. It made her feel positively drunk.

  Yes, she was in grave trouble, indeed.

  She ignored the needling concern. She could be strong. She had to be. She would fight her weaknesses and win!

  As if proving that very point to herself, she hoisted herself into the front compartment. Surprisingly wide, it contained a bench seat built for two, with matching harnesses. There was plenty of legroom in front, as well. Paul strapped her to the seat, explaining how to fasten and release the buckles over her shoulders.

  Briefly, his hand brushed her breast when he secured the clip over her chest. Tingling, bell-like shivers raced through her.

  “Sit tight. We’ll be up and away in a few minutes,” he commented dryly. Something in his voice made her think he’d felt it, too.

  Not soon enough, Paul alighted from the craft, pulled on his own leather coat, cap, and goggles, then added a long white scarf around his neck. He then sauntered to the front of the plane. With strong hands and a sudden jerk of movements, he spun the propeller manually. After a small hiccup, the engine ignited, and the plane jumped.

  Paul jogged to the wheels and pulled away the blocks. The plane inched forward.

  “Paul?” she called, slightly concerned that the machine would move with no pilot to guide it. She swallowed her apprehension and inhaled a deep, soothing breath.

  “No worries,” he laughed. “I’ll catch up in a second.”

  He tossed the blocks into the storage compartment and slammed it closed, all the while keeping pace with the moving craft. Then he climbed into his seat and added power to the engine with a loud rumble. It whined for barely a second, then increased speed. Faster and faster, they shimmied down the landing strip until, all at once, the shaking ceased.