Soaring Home. Christine Johnson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ hot.”

      “We? I see only one of you.”

      Darcy waved to her friend who had reached the barn. “Beatrice. Here. Mr. Devlin is giving us a ride into town.”

      Poor Beattie looked overheated and frazzled from the rapid walk, but somehow that made her more beautiful. Unfortunately, Jack Hunter noticed. He hopped out of the car and opened the rear door.

      An irrational wave of envy swept over Darcy as he helped Beatrice into the seat beside her. Why not her? Darcy wasn’t as beautiful as Beattie, but she and Hunter shared an interest in planes.

      “Good afternoon, Miss—?”

      “Fox. Miss Beatrice Fox.” She folded her parasol, tucking it daintily beside her.

      So proper. So pretty. So engaged. Darcy throttled her petty jealousy and apologized. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to follow.”

      Then Jack Hunter flashed that smile at her. Her. Darcy Shea. Not Beattie. Not any other woman. Her. She fanned herself with the notepad. My, it had gotten hot.

      Beatrice was staring at her. “Do you feel all right? You look rather flushed.”

      Darcy touched her hot cheek. “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and tried to remember why she’d gotten in the motorcar in the first place. It certainly wasn’t to lose her head.

      While Devlin cranked the engine, Hunter worked his charm. “Tell me what brings two lovely ladies to a dirty old farm.”

      “I’m a reporter,” Darcy said, getting back her wits.

      “Ah.” His eyes narrowed. “And you, Miss Fox?”

      She blushed. Beatrice always blushed. “Nothing very important.”

      “It had to be important to walk all the way out here.”

      Beattie’s blush deepened, and Darcy nudged her friend to remind her that this little encounter was all about getting a plane ride.

      “Not really,” Beattie warbled, glancing at Darcy. “I’m with Darcy. She wanted to see your aeroplane, but we’re supposed to go to the grange hall to roll bandages for the war effort.”

      The car chortled to life, and Devlin shuffled back to the driver’s seat.

      “A noble effort,” Hunter said as Devlin got in. “Our boys overseas will thank you.”

      “And what do you do for the war effort, Mr. Hunter?” Darcy asked, holding up a pencil so he couldn’t mistake her intent.

      Hunter noted her writing implement and answered dryly, “I train recruits to fly.”

      Train to fly. The words flashed through Darcy like electricity. He could not only take her up in an aeroplane, he could teach her to fly it. She could be up there, in the blue expanse, looking down on all creation. She could proclaim to every man on earth that women were capable of doing anything. She could change the world.

      “Aren’t you going to write that down?” Hunter asked.

      “Oh, yes.” Darcy started to write, but Devlin chose that moment to put the car in gear and drive through the biggest pothole in the barnyard. She flew forward and had to brace herself against the back of the seat or she would have smashed right into Devlin.

      Beattie had bounced forward also, and Mr. Hunter steadied her until she settled back in the seat. He smiled, not just any old smile, but warm and welcoming. With a sinking feeling, Darcy realized he must have meant it for Beattie. Beatrice was the beauty, not her.

      Darcy squeezed the pencil tight and pretended to survey the passing scenery. She reminded herself that she was never going to marry. It didn’t matter if no one found her beautiful. She would be fine by herself. After all, marriage meant being shackled to a man’s will.

      On the other hand, from a purely aesthetic sense, Mr. Jack Hunter had a certain dashing charm. His jacket was of an excellent cut and style, though worn pale at the edges. No pomade, thank heavens. Though oiling the hair was all the rage, Darcy despised the smelly stuff. She imagined sinking her fingers into his thick hair. The soft tug. Silky smooth.

      “Did you have another question?” he asked.

      Darcy gulped, feeling the heat lick up her face. She must have been staring at him.

      “Uh, where are you from?” she asked. Ridiculous question. Devlin must be laughing.

      “New York.” He smiled in a most disconcerting way before resuming his conversation with Devlin.

      “Are you sure you’re all right?” Beattie asked.

      “Fine.” But she wasn’t. Jack Hunter was turning her into a fool, making her forget what she really wanted. Just spit it out. Tell him she wanted a plane ride. But her mouth refused to form the words. Her mind went blank every time he looked at her.

      The car flew down the road toward the newspaper building. More than once they bounced off the seat when it hit a rut. Beattie clung to the door frame, but Hunter took the jolts in stride. Maybe he was accustomed to bumpy rides in his aeroplane. Baker’s field couldn’t have afforded a smooth landing.

      Devlin didn’t apply the brakes until they’d passed the Kensington Mercantile, two doors from their destination. He pointed the motorcar straight at the hundred-year elm outside the press’s front window. With a screech, a squeal and a grinding jolt that threw everyone forward, the automobile shuddered to a stop, bumper just touching the elm.

      “Oh,” hiccupped Beatrice, her eyes wide. “Oh.”

      Devlin rolled out of the vehicle. Now was her chance.

      “Mr. Hunter.” Darcy tried to tap his shoulder, but he moved just out of reach. “Mr. Hunter, if I might have a word.” Since she couldn’t get past Beattie, she jumped out her side. “Excuse me. I have a proposition.”

      Devlin’s head snapped toward her. “Miss Shea, I’m not buying any stories.”

      “But this will be spectacular, and something only I can do, seeing as I’m a woman.”

      “That might be debatable,” Devlin grumbled.

      She scooted around the back of the motorcar, only to find Hunter helping Beatrice out of the backseat. The streak of jealousy flashed through her again, but she shoved it aside. He was doing what any man would do. He would have done the same for her if she’d stayed in the vehicle.

      “Why thank you,” Beattie said. “You are such a gentleman. Just like my Blake.”

      “It’s easy around two lovely ladies.” He smiled broadly.

      Darcy coughed to settle her mind. He could not disarm her with a mere smile. Devlin was sidling near. She had to act.

      “Take me up,” she said without explanation.

      For a moment, Hunter looked surprised. “Take you up on what?”

      “Oh, СКАЧАТЬ