The Flyer (15 page)

Helen whimpered beneath his touch, her frame vibrating with the force of her hunger. She melded to him as though their bodies were one. He had expected that she hid some lust for life, but he couldn’t have been prepared for the way she fit him. Perfectly.

The world spun wildly out of control. The forces of nature tugged on his arms, his shoulders. He was lost, unable to even breathe.

Suddenly Helen tore her lips away from his and turned out of his reach. “No!”

Paul couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d fallen into an icy river. The same longing rolled over his flesh, but she was gone. The look on her face, despondent behind wide, shocked eyes, clawed over the same flesh she’d recently heated.

She was frightened. But of what? Not him, certainly. She’d kissed him back. He was sure of it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered behind the back of her hand, pressed to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes filled with tears. Too many for the dark pools to hold, they spilled over her lashes in silent retribution.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No. It’s … it’s complicated.”

“Not so complicated, Helen. I’ll take you home.”

“The plane?”

“I’m sure she’ll fire right up.”

Silence, deadening and black, filled the clearing while he packed the basket. Helen stood so far away, it was obvious she kept her distance deliberately. He shouldn’t have kissed her, but for the life of him, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He’d been right all along. There was passion inside the cold exterior she worked so hard to show the world.

The girls in the cities, especially in America, were sowing their womanhood with new ideas, new clothes, new attitudes. It was apparent to anyone with eyes that she was as bold as any of them. Her hair, her short, boyish dresses … everything spoke of a freedom in her spirit that begged to be let loose on an unsuspecting world. Why wouldn’t she allow herself that small measure of passion?

He suspected it had something to do with a broken heart.

He followed her over the path, back to the plane. Her posture had changed. Her confidence shook beneath rounded shoulders. She clasped her hands in front of her, worrying her fingers, not saying a word.

When they reached the plane, she put on her jacket and cap while he stowed the basket. He reached for her hand to help her climb into the cockpit, but she refused.

She couldn’t even bring herself to touch him.

“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Don’t, Paul. Please don’t.”

“I can’t help it. You’ve bewitched me, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to slice that bastard from one end to the other.”

She paused on the wing and looked over her shoulder. A small, dark curl framed her chin. Her bottom lip quivered beneath cheeks still stained red from her tears. “Why? Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because the bloody bastard made you cry.”

“Did you enjoy your trip yesterday?” Doc pruned the herbs in his garden while Helen sat on the old wooden bench, looking at a frayed copy of Jane Austin’s
Pride and Prejudice
. She gazed down at the pages because she couldn’t have actually read a single word if her life depended upon it. Every time she tried to focus on the words, her mind wandered to a Paul. Paul’s lips. Paul’s hands. Paul’s words. Giving up, she closed the book and set it on the bench beside her. “It was pleasant enough, I suppose. There were so many people at the gathering, I didn’t have the chance to treat them all.”

“You can go back. They’ll be there for at least another month or so.”

“I suppose,” she replied, her mind half on what Doc was saying and half on the kiss she’d shared with Paul.

She needed to be stronger. She had no choice but to see him, to spend time with him, if she were to continue her mission in Australia. Her work was the most important thing. So, she simply needed to buck up and be the strong, independent woman she’d always wanted to be.

But she wasn’t that woman, either. Not really. That was the bulk of her problem, she decided. She had spent so much of her life waiting for that one moment when she would fall in love that she had mistaken a few whispered sentiments and the traitorous fluctuations in her own body for love. If she’d been strong, if she’d ever been independent, she wouldn’t have fallen quite so hard.

If she had learned anything from the experience, it was to heed her own mistakes. She didn’t need Paul. He was a good-looking man, handsome and proud, and he wanted her. That wasn’t her problem, however. That was
his
problem. She would simply ignore his fiery glances, keep herself from being in a position to repeat the mistaks she’d made yesterday, and everything would be fine.

“Helen, dear. Did you not hear me?” Doc waved a hand in front of her face.

“What?”

“Annie Sullivan is waiting for you in the examination room.”

“Oh!” She leapt to her feet. “I’m sorry, Doc. I didn’t hear you.”

Doc chuckled. “That’s what I just said. You were a million miles away, weren’t you?” He grinned. “I can only guess what you may have been thinking of.”

Her brows drew together. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Nothing, child. Nothing at all.”

Helen hurried into the exam room, where Annie sat on the table. Her children lined the back wall like a staircase of bright blonde hair. Five children, and Annie not yet twenty-three years old.

“What can I help you with, Annie?”

“These infernal headaches keep coming back, Dr. Stanwood. The medicine you gave me works a bit, but it’s been worsening for the past two weeks.”

“Can you think of anything that might be triggering them? Do you find that if you eat certain foods, or sleep in a certain position, they come on more frequently?”

Annie speared her children with a hard, but loving glare. “How about noise and disobedient young ones?”

Chuckling softly, Helen replied, “I certainly doubt that, Annie. I’ve seen you with your children, and no one has a better hand for the task than you.”

“Oh bloody hell,” she sighed. “You’re right. It’s not the children. I suppose, if I had to pin it somewhere, they tend to come on when Tim stays away too long. Do you think it might be sex, Doc? Not enough breedin’ can cause a headache, maybe?”

If that were the case, Helen’s head would have exploded already. She sighed. “Not exactly. But when he’s away, do you worry about him?”

“Aye. He’s a bit of a whanker, if you hadn’t noticed. I never know if he’ll come home, eventually, in one piece.” Annie’s full mouth pulled into a frown. “I think that may have something to do with it.”

“It very well might. Stress is a powerful thing. You’ll need to put your foot down, Annie. Make that man of yours marry you, or don’t let him come home at all.”

“Marriage?” Annie laughed. “Tim won’t marry anyone, especially if I tell him he has to come home every night.”

“Hello! Is anyone here? Doc?”

Helen knew that voice. She cringed inwardly while she picked up her stethoscope and hung it around her neck. “Just a moment, Annie. I’ll be right back.”

She found Christina McIntyre in the parlor, waiting like an impatient hen. “Can I help you?” Helen didn’t allow herself the pleasure of kicking the woman in the shins, but neither did she force herself to smile.

“Oh. It’s you. I’m looking for the doctor.”

“As you already know, Mrs. McIntyre, I am a doctor. Is there something wrong?”

The older woman’s face looked like she’d eaten a lemon. Distaste and superiority oozed out of every pore, screaming her disdain. “I’ll wait for the real doctor, if you don’t mind. Is he here?”

“He’s in the back of the house, otherwise engaged. If you have a problem, why don’t you tell me about it and I’ll see what I can do. If you need an appointment, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I’ve finished with my current patient.”

“How dare you?” Mrs. McIntyre’s jaw fell open for a second before she snapped it closed; her posture stiffening if that were possible. “I’ve been seeing Doc Mallory since before you were born. He is my doctor, and I wish to speak with him at once.” Her shoulders drew back another notch, and she clutched her bag as though it were a massive diamond.

Did she think Helen would try to steal it?

Heaving a sigh, Helen turned her back to Mrs. McIntyre and headed out of the room. “Very well. I’ll get him for you.”

When Helen reached the back door, she threw it open with more force than she’d planned. “Doc!” she nearly screamed. “There’s some woman here to see …”

Paul was leaning over the steps with a hammer in one hand and several nails sticking out of his tightly pressed lips. His shirt had been thrown casually over the railing. Golden skin glowed in the bright sunlight. She couldn’t tell if the sun fed the glow, or his naked flesh fed the sun. “Sorry,” she stammered, shaking herself free of what could easily become a trance. Did the man ever stay dressed?

Paul gained his full height and removed the nails with his free hand. “No worries.” He indicated to the back door with the head of his hammer. “The doc went back inside. I’m surprised you didn’t run over him in the hallway.” The words were direct, almost clipped.

“Th-thank you. I’m sure I can find him.”

Despite the fact her feet felt as though they were rooted to the floor, she turned around and started back into the house.

“Helen?”

His voice might as well have been one of those giant hooks the comedians used in the vaudeville shows back home. It stopped her dead in her tracks. At least she had the strength not to face him.

Strength or cowardice. She wasn’t sure which it was, and she didn’t care. It worked.

“About yesterday. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, I did.” Was he pleading with her? Had his voice cracked?

Unable to resist the possibility that his features would match the plaintive tone of his apology, she pivoted in place. Just enough to peek at his expression.

Sheepish. It was the only way to describe the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes. He looked like a schoolboy who had been caught in the act of peering up his classmate’s skirt. “What are you talking about?”

“The picnic, the … engine trouble.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ah hell. It wasn’t real. I planned the whole bloody thing, and it’s been eating me raw ever since.”

“You planned it?”

He climbed the steps and towered over her, his shoulders blocking out the sun like a great oak, answering her earlier question. The sun made him glow, not the other way around. He ran one hand through his hair and couldn’t seem to look her in the face. “There wasn’t anything wrong with the engine. I just wanted to spend some time with you. Alone. I didn’t know it would upset you quite so much, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re sorry for upsetting me? Or you’re sorry for kidnapping me?”

The accusation came out before she could stop it. She hadn’t meant to be so brutal, but how could he have done something so …

Romantic. Charming. Daring.

No.

Selfish. Bordering on criminal. That’s what it had been
. The lie echoed in the back of her mind.

“I didn’t exactly kidnap you, Helen. It was just a little prank.”

“You took me there against my will!” She turned and hurried up the hallway. She didn’t stop by the examination room, despite the fact Annie called to her as she passed.

Paul’s heavy boot steps followed her.

She didn’t know where she was going, so she turned into the front room and came face to face with Mrs. McIntyre. The last person on earth she wanted to see.

“Would you stop walking away? I’m trying to apologize here.”

“I’m busy. You’ve apologized. You can go fix the steps now.” Heat rose into her cheeks until she thought she might burst into flames.

“Yes, I have apologized, like a gentleman. It’s your turn, Helen.”

“You want me to apologize? Apologize for what, exactly?”

Doc turned the corner into the parlor and cleared his throat. “I think he means you should accept his apology.”

“Thanks, Doc. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Fine. Accepted.” Helen crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at Paul with all the knives she could muster.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” he scoffed in return. “Once more, with feeling, love.”

“You have some nerve, do you know that?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You kept me there against my will. You … you planned the whole thing. Do you know how terrified I was? I thought the plane was going to crash!”

“I had it under control the entire time. All I did was choke it a little, cut the fuel for a second.”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Oh, is that all? Just cut the fuel … to the engine!”

“You weren’t in any danger.”

No danger from the stalled engine. But what about him? He’d put in her very real danger with his brilliant eyes and penchant for undressing in front of her. And he’d planned it. What was it about her that men assumed they could take advantage of? Did she have
whore
written on her forehead? If she could grow her hair long, or better yet, turn back the clock and not cut it off in the first place, would that make her more honorable? She’d learned a difficult lesson about appearances being deceiving. Why didn’t men know that, as well?