The Invitation (3 page)

“An American heroine,” he said, his eyes glowing.

“Perhaps. Whatever I was, I loved it all.”

“But then Charley died and you changed,” he said, sounding almost jealous.

“No, it was before that. Somewhere in there I realized that people wanted my autograph for themselves, not for me. Don't get me wrong, I loved it all. But one day after Charley and I, in separate planes, had spent three days with no sleep, on harrowing flights through a raging forest fire, I was told the president was calling to congratulate me. I sat there on a stiff chair in some dingy little office and thought, Not again.”

She smiled. “I think that when you get to the point where a call from the president of the United States elicits nothing but boredom, it's time to do something else.”

William was silent for a moment. “Normal. You said you wanted normal. What is normal?”

She grinned at him. “How would I know? I've never even seen it, much less lived it. But I don't think calls from the president, champagne in hot air balloons, living in hotels, and being rich one day and poor the next is normal. It's exciting, but it's also very tiring.”

He chuckled. “It's true that we all want what we don't have.
I
have had the most normal life in the world. I went to the right schools, studied business administration, and after college I came back to Chandler to help run the family businesses. The most exciting thing I ever did was spend three days in Mexico with one of my brothers.”

“Yes?”

“Yes what?”

“And what did you do in Mexico during those three days?”

“Ate. Saw the sights. Fished a little.” He stopped. “Why are you laughing?”

“Two handsome young men alone in a place as decadent as Mexico and you went to see the sights! Didn't you even get drunk?”

“No.” William was smiling. “What is the most exciting thing you've done?”

“It would be difficult to choose from the list. Dippy twist loops are rather exciting.” Her head came up. “Once I had a Venetian count try to tear my clothes off.”

“You found that exciting?” William asked coldly.

“It was, when you consider that we were flying at about ten thousand feet and he was crawling across the plane toward me. A few sideslips and he got back in his seat. But he was crying that an airplane was the
only
place where he hadn't yet made love to a woman.”

William laughed. “Tell me more. I like hearing about your life. It beats mine.”

“I'm not sure that's true. I once made a dead-stick landing—that's with a dead engine—in a plane with no wheels and only one and a half wings. That was more excitement than I wanted.”

“Which countries did you like best?”

“All of them. No, I'm serious. Each country has something to recommend it, and I try to overlook the bad parts.”

William was silent for a few minutes, staring into the fire. “Charley was a very lucky man to share so many years with you. I envy him.”

She turned her head up to look at him, frowning in concentration. “You sound as though you've been carrying a torch.”

“For you? Yes, I have. I used to adore you from afar.”

“How flattering. But back then you could have told me you loved me and offered me a few Montgomery millions and I still wouldn't have stayed in Chandler.”

They sat together, his arm slipping about her shoulders as they watched the fire. “What do you need to open your freight business?” he asked.

“Seriously?”

“Very seriously.”

She took a moment before she answered. She may have just had a bump on the head, but her brains were still intact. Charley had drummed into her that a pilot without any money must always be on the lookout for an airplane-lover who did have money. “Now, that's a marriage made in heaven,” he used to say. She wouldn't want to take advantage of this man, but if he was bored and had pots of money, maybe they could find something that would help him occupy his time.

She took a deep breath, trying to banish her feelings of guilt. If he wanted to do something for her, it was because he believed her to be an American heroine. But if Jackie took money from him, it would have to do with something much less altruistic, something much more primitive, such as putting bread on the table and maybe a few really nice dresses on her back. “A couple of good, light planes. A full-time mechanic, hangars, a few old planes I can cannibalize for parts, money for salaries until I can pay the pilots.”

“Anything else you need? A partner perhaps?”

Right away she knew that he was suggesting himself. Now was not the time to make such a decision. Her head was still seeping blood, and her thinking was fuzzy. However, it was delicious to think of this man as her partner. Smiling, she looked up at him, trying to place him. “Who are your parents?”

“Jace and Nellie.”

“Ah, that explains it. Half the town is parented by those two.”

William smiled. All his life he'd heard jokes about the number of children in his family. “Twelve in all.” He was emptying the big picnic basket that seemed to hold enough food for half a dozen loggers. Without saying a word, he began making her a sandwich. Jackie watched in astonishment as he made it just the way she would have made it for herself: chipped beef piled high, lots and lots of mustard, tomatoes; then he sliced a sweet pickle and placed the slices on top of the tomato, using two leaves of lettuce to protect the bread so it wouldn't get soggy. Watching his face, she could see that he wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing, that he was concentrating totally on whatever was running through his mind. But it was odd that he would make her a sandwich that was just what she would have made, especially since her sandwiches were, well, unique.

“Look what I've done,” William said. “I was going to make you a sandwich first and now I…” He looked at her. “What do you want?”

“Just like the one you made for yourself.”

His handsome face showed a moment's consternation before he smiled. “Honest? Everyone hates my sandwiches.”

“Mine too,” she said, reaching out her hand. “How about halves and I'll make the second one? I cut up olives instead of pickles.”

“And then everyone complains that the olives fall off.”

“The idiots don't know how to hold the bread.”

They looked at each other across the sandwich and smiled. “Do you think we'll be able to sandwich this friendship together?” Jackie asked and they both laughed. “What do you think of ketchup?”

“Hate the stuff.”

“Onions?”

“Overpowering. All you can taste is onions. Popcorn?”

“I could eat my weight in it. You?”

“Same here.” Leaning back on his elbows, he looked into the fire, and she could tell that he was getting ready to say something important. “If I came up with the money for a few planes and the other things, would you consider me as your partner?”

“Ever flown before?” It didn't matter if he had, but the question gave her time to think. Even if he weren't a Montgomery and endowed with all that that name meant, she was good at judging people and this man was salt of the earth, rock solid. Sometimes things around an airport could get hectic, maybe even frightening when there was a crash, but she doubted if this man would panic if caught in a volcano. The problem was that she knew she was ripe for involvement with a man. It had been two years since Charley's death and over a year since she'd returned to Chandler, and she was lonely. She was tired of eating alone, sleeping alone, tired of sitting alone in the evenings with no one to talk to. And this man was very, very attractive, both in looks and in disposition.

“I have been taking lessons for two years,” he said softly, looking at her with eyes that were almost pleading.

“All right,” she said just as softly, and when she did, she could feel little chills on her body. She liked this man, liked him very much. She liked the way he took responsibility, liked what he talked about, liked the way he moved, the way he ate, what he ate. She liked the way he kissed her, the way he made her feel when he kissed her. In all her life she didn't remember ever just plain old-fashioned
liking
a man as much as she did him. She'd been attracted to men before—she'd be a liar if she didn't admit that—but there was a difference between being sexually attracted to a man and wanting to cuddle up with him and eat popcorn and tell each other secrets.

Years ago there had been a gorgeous pilot whom Charley had hired to work with them. He was so divinely handsome that she could hardly speak to him; the first time she saw him she dropped a wrench straight through the engine and almost hit Charley on the head. For days she had been tongue-tied when she was near him. But after a few weeks she'd begun to grow used to his looks and soon found out that he liked his own looks even better than she did. After spending six months near him she couldn't remember that she'd ever thought he was handsome. She'd learned in her long, happy marriage with Charley that what was important between a man and a woman was friendship.

“All right,” she said, holding out her hand to shake his. “But on one condition.”

He took her hand and held it firmly. “Anything. Anything at all.”

“You have to tell me what
your
deepest darkest secret is. And I want the truth, no telling me about contracts that are a matter of public record.”

William groaned. “You are a fierce bargainer, Jackie O'Neill.”

She wouldn't release his hand. “Tell me or we don't work together.”

“All right,” he said, with a slow grin. “You make me an olive sandwich sometime and I'll tell you the truth about Mexico.”

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

There are times in a person's life that are magic, and that night was one of them. Later, Jackie thought the night was perfect, perfect in every way, from the storybook rescue, to a romantic cut on her forehead, to a handsome man taking care of her. And take care of her he did. He made sure she was fed and warm and comfortable. More than that, he made her feel good. He flattered her by knowing every aerobatic stunt she'd performed, every record she'd set, every accident she'd had. It was almost as though he'd been in love with her for years.

They talked as though they were old friends—friends, not lovers. Jackie often got tired of men whose only interest was in trying to get a woman into bed, who directed their every word, every gesture toward that end. They bragged about themselves, told how much money they had, how much land they owned, how they were better than other men. But William was as comfortable as a woman friend.

Somewhere during the evening, he had her stretch out on his pallet of blankets and put her head on his firm thigh. Leaning back against a tree, he stroked her hair and encouraged her to talk about herself. Within seconds she found herself telling him about Charley, about her years with him, of the frustrations and hardships, of the triumphs and the failures.

In return he told her about his life of perfection—or at least that was how he described what to Jackie seemed like an ideal situation. He had never had anyone be cruel to him, never had anyone take an instant dislike to him, never had to struggle for anything.

“My life makes me wonder about myself. If I were tested, would I hold up?” he asked, frowning into the fire. “Would I be able to do something without my father's money and the support of the Montgomery name?”

“Sure you would,” Jackie answered. “You'd be surprised at what you can do when you have to.”

“Like land a plane that's just had the propeller knocked off by an eagle?”

“Is that what that was?”

“You brought that plane down as easily as someone stepping off a chair. Were you frightened?”

“I had too much to do to be frightened. Hey!” She looked up at him in the soft light. “Why haven't you married? Why hasn't some woman snatched you up already?”

“I haven't met a woman I wanted. I like a woman to have a head on her shoulders.”

“A beautiful head, no doubt,” Jackie said sarcastically.

“That's of less importance than what's inside the head.”

“You know, I
like
you. I really do.”

“And I have always liked you.”

She was silent for a moment. “I wish I could remember you.”

“Time enough. Are you cold? Hungry? Thirsty?”

“No, nothing. I'm perfect.”

“That you are.”

Jackie was embarrassed by his compliment but pleased by it, too. “When do you want to start…ah, our partnership?” When do you want to start spending enormous amounts of time together? was what she wanted to ask him.

“Tomorrow I have to go to Denver for a few days, and I'll get money from the bank there. I'll return on Saturday. How about if I come to your place in the afternoon? Can you give me a list of what you need so I can pick it up in Denver?”