Soaring Home. Christine Johnson

in a faint echo of his sparse mustache. “Aw, Darcy, I don’t even have a girl. There’s no sense talking about children.”

      “You’ll find someone.” It might be true, if he ever got up the nerve to ask a girl out. “She’ll appear one day, and you’ll know she’s the one. Who knows, maybe she’ll fly in on an aeroplane. But if a plane’s to come here, there needs to be a mechanic. You could be that mechanic. Imagine, she’d step out of that aeroplane and sweep you off your feet.”

      “Aw, Darcy,” he mumbled, burying his hands in his trouser pockets. “I don’t think…”

      Mrs. Lawrence—though to Darcy’s recollection there’d never been a Mr. Lawrence—threw open the door. Music and laughter emanated from inside, but Vanesia Lawrence’s orange silk gown filled the doorway. Even on tiptoes, Darcy couldn’t see past her.

      “What do you want?” the proprietress said.

      Darcy squared her shoulders. “Mr. Jack Hunter. Is he here?”

      Mrs. Lawrence hesitated long enough that Darcy knew he was. “Now why would he be here, sugar? I don’t even know the man.”

      “I saw him come here this afternoon.”

      Mrs. Lawrence smiled lazily. “You must be mistaken. Now run along home to your papa.”

      Darcy fumed at being treated like a child, but she couldn’t think up a deserving retort.

      “Let’s go,” Simmons whispered. “He’s not here.”

      “Yes he is.” Darcy faced off against Mrs. Lawrence. “I know what I saw, and I know what your business is, so you can stop pretending. Either you fetch Mr. Hunter now, or I write an editorial about your little establishment.”

      Mrs. Lawrence’s artificial smile curved slightly, the blood red of her lips garish against the orange gown. “A threat, Miss Darcy, needs teeth to be effective. Our newspaper would never print such a piece.”

      Which meant Devlin frequented the place, too. Darcy set her jaw. Vanesia Lawrence might block her now, but Darcy would not give up. “Then I’ll find him myself.” She darted past Mrs. Lawrence, but got only three steps into the dark, smoky hallway when she ran into something very solid and very alive.

      “Back you go, Miss Shea,” said that all-too familiar voice.

      A second later, Jack Hunter deposited her in the alley beside a wide-eyed Simmons, who looked ready to bolt. Mrs. Lawrence calmly closed the door, leaving Darcy alone with both her bait and her quarry.

      “What do you want?” Hunter sounded almost bored.

      “A moment of your time.” Darcy gave him her broadest smile.

      “Couldn’t it wait until morning? This is no place for respectable ladies.”

      “I know that, but—” she began, but he’d already turned on Simmons.

      “You should know better than to bring her here.”

      Simmons backed away.

      She was going to lose Hendrick unless she talked fast. “I have a proposition for you, Mr. Hunter.”

      “Is that so?”

      “A business proposition,” Darcy clarified. She dragged Simmons forward as witness to her honorable intentions. “We only need a few minutes.”

      Hunter looked faintly amused. “I already told you I’m not giving rides in my aeroplane, not to you or to anyone.”

      “I’m not talking about a plane ride. I’m talking about solving your problem. We can repair your motor.”

      To his credit, he didn’t laugh. “I have a mechanic. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

      “Late tomorrow,” she emphasized. “We can save you time, get you on your way more quickly.”

      “And you, out of pure goodness, want to help me leave as soon as possible.” The shadow of the doorway masked his expression. “That does run counter to your goal, doesn’t it?”

      “I do want to help you. Mr. Simmons here is a mechanic. He can fix anything.”

      “Good for Mr. Simmons.”

      She disregarded the sarcasm. “We can begin now.”

      “Listen Miss, didn’t you hear what I said before? This is a prototype. The motor isn’t like anything you have here. We need the correct parts. No matter how good you are,” he nodded at Simmons, “you just don’t have what that plane needs.”

      Simmons hung his head, but Darcy dwelled on the meaning behind Hunter’s words. “Then you know what caused the problem.”

      “I’m not a mechanic.”

      “But you have an idea. Pilots do know their planes, don’t they?”

      “It’s a prototype. I didn’t build it. Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Shea, I’d like to return to my business conversation.” He rapped twice on the door.

      Darcy very much doubted she’d interrupted business. More likely he wanted his drink, making him a man of dubious morals. Still, that didn’t disqualify him as a flight instructor, providing he didn’t imbibe before flying, and she’d seen no indication of that.

      “Conversation will not get you in the air, Mr. Hunter. Your job, if I understand correctly, is to test this aeroplane and get it in top working condition for military use.”

      “Very good. Apparently something I said is getting through to you.”

      Darcy wanted to toss back his sarcastic jibe, but that wouldn’t get her in the air, so she pasted on a smile that would make Beattie proud. “Everything you’ve said, Mr. Hunter, is getting through to me. In fact, I’m so concerned for your mission and helping our boys overseas that I want to offer my assistance. Mr. Simmons is perfectly capable of machining a part if need be. If that is not to your satisfaction, at least you’ll have the motor apart so your mechanic can repair it quickly. Considering how anxious you are to leave Pearlman, you should be pleased.”

      He took a moment. “You aren’t going to leave me alone until you get your way, are you?”

      Darcy curbed her triumph. “That’s right.”

      “If Burrows tells me you made it worse, you’ll pay for the damages.”

      She agreed with a nod. Papa would be furious.

      “And how do I know you have the money?”

      Simmons finally found his voice. “Her father’s the banker.”

      “The banker, eh? All right, you have a deal. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

      “Eight o’clock.” She stuck out a hand to shake on it.

      Hunter hesitated before grasping ahold. When he did, it was with a firmness and warmth and duration that sent a shock through her. She tried to breathe. She considered letting go, but couldn’t. She’d stalled, gone into free fall, and the whole world narrowed to just the two of them. Gone were the streets of Pearlman. Gone the moon. Gone Simmons.

      Then he smiled, the kind of smile he’d given Beattie, the warm one, the one that said she was beautiful, the one that sent every thought fleeing from her head.

      She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

      His smile curved back into a grin, but his hand still held hers.

      “Uh, it’s late,” Simmons said.

      “That it is.” Hunter finally let go, but as he did, his fingers brushed her palm.

      Her hand tingled. “We have an early start.” What a mindless thing to say.

      But he didn’t point out her lack of wit. He smiled softly. “So we do.”

      Once