The Flyer (9 page)

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 when, 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.

Helen shouted with a sudden, immense freedom taking hold of her soul. They were airborne!

Higher and higher they climbed—into the sun and the empty space of pure joy. Wide blue skies surrounded her in a freedom she hadn’t known existed. Even though the wind and the roar of the engine drowned out every sound save her deepest, most internal thoughts, she could have been reclining on a cloud. Far below, the earth hovered like a leaf in the breeze, unmoving and splendid. Miles upon miles of desert stretched to the horizon, which curved with the outline of the planet, far below Paul’s wonderful flying machine. Above her, the sky climbed heavenward.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.

With Paul’s careful touch on the controls, she wasn’t the least bit frightened.

Gently, Paul banked the huge wings to the left—a gesture she understood to mean something of interest could be found on that side of the plane. She craned her neck to look down, and when she finally managed to peer almost directly over the high edge of her seating compartment, she smiled. No fewer than dozens of camels lumbered over the desert floor, reddish-orange dust billowing behind their comically awkward movements. Following the dust, she found the cause of their alarm. A pack of wild dogs chased the dromedaries, their malicious intentions clear to anyone.

Frowning, Helen found herself drawn to the natural spectacle until several dogs leapt on the closest camel, smaller than the others, bringing the majestic beast to its knees almost immediately.

She turned away, closing her eyes while Paul leveled the plane.

A few moments later, the plane descended slightly. Gradually, they flew lower and lower while approaching an area of the desert sprinkled with more brush and darker red earth. Lower still, they flew over a wide river with a pristine, sandy beach on one side and a mass of trees on the other. Paul banked and, seemingly out of nowhere, a long, narrow strip of ground opened beneath them.

When the wheels touched the earth, the plane bounced once, then rolled to a gradual halt. Paul turned off the engine, the propellers stopping almost instantly.

“Are you all right?” Paul called from the pilot’s seat behind her. His voice sounded far away, a remnant of the engine’s deafening power.

She nodded, pushing herself out of her seat and climbing over the edge of the fuselage. Paul appeared, offering his hand to assist in her descent.

She took it and leapt to the dry, red earth. The tips of her fingers tingled where Paul held them, and Helen’s mouth turned as dry as the dirt. She swallowed, willing herself to drop his hand, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Thankfully, Paul seemed to have more control. He released her fingers, then smoothed his hand over his leather cap, pulling it free. The sun captured the lightest strands of his hair like a halo.

Mesmerizing.

Fright leapt into Helen’s throat. She couldn’t allow herself to feel … anything. Gathering what little control remained from the pit of her stomach, she turned away and hurried around the wing to the front of the plane.

All around her, the Pilbara stood proud. A thin forest of tall trees with bright white trunks stood on one side of the landing strip, offering a well-needed diversion. Tall grass grew in thick patches on both sides of a wide river.

Above the trees, the sky stretched forever, and the billowing clouds were reflected in the water.

It looked like paradise.

Paul joined her, his unique, masculine scent adding to the majesty of the land she admired—as though he were a part of it, somehow. “Sorry about that dingo mess. I didn’t see them, or their … intentions when I banked to watch the camels.”