The Flyer (6 page)

“Why is that?”

“Flying takes control and discipline, and from what I’ve seen so far, you lack both in spades.”

In contrast to her strong words, the young, beautiful Dr. Stanwood seemed anything but uppity. Like it was an act—a cloak that belonged to someone else. She clasped her fingers together in front of her waist as if to keep from fidgeting.

Paul couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed the nervous play of light in her deep, dark eyes. Instead of looking at him, she obviously tried to look through him, at the wall to his left, or at the old wooden steps. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel about me,” he chuckled. Not that she needed to reiterate. He pushed off the doorjamb and joined her in the garden. Surrounded by Doc’s prized roses, she was still the most beautiful thing in sight.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of flying all over Australia with a man who drinks and wrestles crocodiles on a whim. It’s hardly responsible behavior.”

“Responsible?” He brushed a strand of shortened, black hair away from her high cheekbone. “Responsibility has its merits, I suppose. But sometimes, one must simply grasp the moment, mustn’t they?”

She was completely flustered. If her hair could panic, the neatly cropped strands would be bursting into flames and leaping to the ground like little fiery raindrops. Cute didn’t come close to describing her.

Still, the look in her eyes told him he’d hit a nerve. Everything about her screamed that she was as big a risk taker as he was. Even he could tell she didn’t think he was irresponsible. No, Helen was a modern woman with her own mind, her own set of rules. From the significantly modern clothing she wore, to the bobbed hairstyle that obviously refused to give up its curl, she was a woman of means and dedication. She dressed in the masculine-cut dresses more popular in the big smokes of Sydney or Perth, and even bound her breasts, considering she’d been much … fuller last night. Shameful practice, that. He much preferred the curves she’d displayed in her nightdress.

Yes, there was an adventurous side to Dr. Stanwood. It was there, in her eyes, for as brief a moment as it takes a raindrop to land on the river.

Then it all disappeared behind a storm cloud of self-doubt. She frowned, and the light vanished. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She brushed past him and hurried up the steps into the back hall, her delectable rear bouncing from one side to the other.

For a moment, after she’d disappeared into the building, Paul leaned against the railing. Had he said something wrong? One second, she’d been scolding him like a mother tigress, and the next, she’d looked as if she’d just lost her best friend. There was more to her than met the eye. Of that he was certain. And he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

There was no better place to begin than the man who’d invited the little hellcat into his life. He pushed away from the stairs and slid next to Doc, making a mental note to return later with a hammer and nails to repair the loose boards.

The old man concentrated on his herbs, not looking up until Paul had reached his side and leaned on the workbench. “So, Doc. ‘Fess up.”

“About what?” Doc left the workbench and headed to the far side of his prized sanctuary.

Paul followed. “What do you mean, ‘About what’? About her, you cheeky bastard.”

“Who? Helen?”

“Aye. Helen.”

“I told you. She’s the daughter of an old colleague of mine. I attended a series of lectures in the United States … oh, it must be twenty years ago now. Helen was little more than baby then. Her father and I shared a passion for herbology, among other things, and we’ve kept in touch over the years.”

“She’s a right nice piece of work, isn’t she?”

Doc smiled, glancing at the back of the house. “She looks very much like her mother.” He collected the watering can and returned it to the crate Paul had built the previous summer to house the old physician’s tools.

Paul used his good arm to heave a canvas bag of potting soil to his shoulder and followed. “There’s a story behind her, isn’t there?” he asked.

“Oh, you won’t find me carrying tales,” Doc replied, lifting his hands in a motion of absolute surrender. When he saw the bag, his composure stiffened. “Put that down. You’ll tear open all of Helen’s stitches.”

“No worries. I’m still whole. Now, tell me more about the girl.”

“Oh, no. If you want to find out more about Helen, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.”

Gazing at the back of the house as though he could see through the planked walls, Paul made the decision to do exactly that. Right after he’d made riotous love to her.

3

C
hurch was something Paul usually avoided. Not from any dislike or even disrespect for the beliefs that went along with attending services every Sunday at ten in the morning. Neither did he avoid it like many of the men in the community—because they’d had too much to drink at the boozer on Saturday night and couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed quite so early on Sunday.

He preferred to spend his spirituality elsewhere, that’s all. In the sky, flying over the Great Sandy Desert where there was nothing but pure, clean sunlight, or at night flying along the coastline to Perth for supplies. At night, the silence was so formidable, he sometimes felt like he could touch it. Hiking along the Coongan River, playing with the small children of his closest friends, Dale and Emily Winters, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before she retired for the evening—those were the places he found his spirit, his God. Meeting on Sunday to brag to others about how religious and pious one was had little to do with God or spirituality or anything common to his way of thinking.

But he sat in the meeting this morning. He tugged at his shirt collar and craned his neck. It was hot. Stuffy. The choir sang “Amazing Grace,” off-key, and Reverend Taylor, towering above the congregation, not only because his pulpit stood a good five feet off the floor, but because he stood six-and-a-half feet tall himself, delivered a sermon meant to frighten every man, woman, and child present to immediately repent.

Paul listened for a while, but he wasn’t there for the lecture or the music. Three pews in front of him, next to Doc Mallory and his elderly sister, sat the reason he’d risen, shaved, dusted off his suit coat and patent leather shoes, and hauled himself to the First Church of Christ of Port Hedland.

When Reverend Taylor finally offered the benediction, the choir sang one more hymn, leading the congregation outside. Paul waited in his pew until Helen and her companions had passed, then slid into the exiting flow directly behind her. Close enough to inhale the sweet, floral scent of her perfume. Outside, the sun beat down on the garden where groups of five and six people had formed. Helen stood slightly apart from Doc and his sister, who had already engrossed herself into a recitation of the sermon with two of her lady friends.

“Look who decided to come to services,” one of the ladies announced, her old, misty eyes wide with obvious shock.

Mary Mallory smiled. “And I should say it’s about time, too.”

He used their embarrassing display as an excuse to approach the small group. “I figured after last week’s brush with death, perhaps I’d better make my peace with the Almighty before it’s too late. And did you notice, the ceiling only cracked a little.” From the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement. Helen had moved farther away, but her eyes were trained on him.

“You needn’t worry about that, young man,” Mary answered. “The doors are always open, aren’t they?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned his full attention to Helen. “It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Stanwood.”

“Mr. Campbell. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I am, thanks. You did fine work the other day.”

Mary and her friends whispered to each other, their smiles wide and friendly. “Why don’t you two young people go have some fun? There’s no need for you to stay here with a bunch of oldies.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I have work to do back—”

“It’s Sunday,” interrupted Doc. “You should go for a drive with Paul.”

Paul hid a smile. He’d always liked the old doc, and now he knew precisely why.

“A drive?” Helen’s eyes brightened for a moment, then shuttered again just as quickly. “As much as I’d like to, I really can’t.”

“I’m harmless. I promise,” he prodded, winking. “I almost never bite.”

“Thank you, but no. I should get home. I have—”

“Work to do. Aye, you’ve said.” He rubbed his chin. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d planned. He’d hoped to take Helen out of the city and perhaps talk her into a swim at the old billabong, or at the very least, a walk along the shoreline.

“It was nice to see you again, but I must be going.” She turned around brusquely and hurried across the short, neat grass of the church’s front garden, looking more like a frightened bird than the independent woman he suspected her to be.

“Did I say something wrong?” Paul frowned. She was about the most skittish creature he’d encountered in quite a long while.

“Hurry, Paul. Catch up with her. She shouldn’t walk all that way alone,” Doc urged. “I’m going to take these ladies home and talk them out of a piece of lemon pie, I think.”

“Something tells me you’ll be having more fun than I will.”

It took only a few short moments to catch up with

Helen. She hurried along the street, clutching her bag, wearing that cute little hat that covered all of her hair except for small upward curls at the ends. What would she do if he stroked one of them again, without severe injury or too much to drink as an excuse?

She gave him no chance to find out, increasing her pace along the street.

“You walk pretty fast for a little thing. What’s your rush?”

“Why are you following me?” She didn’t look at him, keeping her stern gaze focused directly in front of her.

“Doc told me to. He didn’t want you walking home alone.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Campbell.”

“Paul.

“What?”

“My name is Paul.”

“Of course. Paul. You can go collect your motorcar, now.”

“So, you will go for a drive with me?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m not leaving until I see you safely home or you agree to spend the afternoon with me.”

“You are persistent, aren’t you?”

“The worst. I don’t know how people put up with me.”

“Neither do I.”

Clipping her words short, she turned a sharp left and dropped off the boardwalk and into the street.

“Watch out!”

The cry came from the opposite side of the roadway where three workmen were loading a stack of lumber into the back of a horse-drawn wagon. The boards twisted and fell with an enormous crack.

The horses reared against their harnesses, stamping on the dry earth as they landed with a heavy thud. Billows of dust clouded around their pulsing bodies a second before both animals lunged forward. Out of control, the team ran into the center of the road, toppling their load into the path of an oncoming roadster. The driver of the roadster swore over the din, turning his wheels sharply and pointing his massive vehicle directly at Helen.