Love by Design. Christine Johnson

this one, too. If you decide not to wear it, nothing is lost. At least you’ll have a choice.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Who is he?”

      Jen felt a flush of heat. “No one.” What was wrong with her? She never blushed. Never. “I didn’t say anything about a gentleman coming to dinner.”

      “You didn’t have to. The fact that you want to wear a pretty dress says it all. Come now, you can tell me.”

      “Like I said, it’s just a dinner. And a celebration.”

      “Mmm-hmm. And who will be sharing that celebration?”

      Jen sighed. Since Darcy was Beattie’s closest friend, she’d find out soon enough. “Dan Wagner.”

      “Dan Wagner?” Beatrice frowned. “Who is that?”

      “Daring Dan? Surely you’ve heard of him.”

      Beattie shook her head.

      “He’s only the top stunt pilot in the world.”

      Beattie blanched. “Stunt pilot? Like Jack?”

      “Jack doesn’t do stunts. As far as I know, he’s only been a test pilot and a flight instructor. Nothing as exciting as doing loop-de-loops and the death drop.”

      “Death drop?” Beattie gasped.

      Jen closed her eyes and envisioned doing the death drop with Dan Wagner. “That and so much more.”

      “I see.” Beatrice’s voice hardened. “I thought you had grown up.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “That you’d stopped playing around with dangerous preoccupations.”

      “This isn’t a preoccupation.” Jen fought back. “This is my dream.”

      “What about Mother? Do you ever think about her?”

      “Of course. She’s the one who gave me the money to study for the examination.”

      Beatrice frowned. “What about the rest of the family? We need you. We couldn’t bear another loss.” She paused, probably to swallow the same knot that had formed in Jen’s throat. “You need to focus on the right priorities. Flying stunts is foolish.”

      “No, it’s not. Daddy wanted me to learn to fly. It was our dream.”

      “Daddy isn’t here anymore.”

      Jen reeled at her sister’s insensitivity. “Maybe that’s why I have to do this. Maybe I’m going to do something really important, like join the polar expedition.”

      “Are you quite out of your mind? That’s even more dangerous. Think of Mother. She’s just lost her husband and best friend. Do you want her to mourn the loss of a daughter, as well?”

      Jen brushed aside her sister’s ridiculous fretting. “I don’t intend to die.”

      “I doubt Daddy did, either.”

      “I’m not listening to this.” Beattie would never understand. “We disagree, and that’s that. I’m sorry I asked you for anything.” Jen tossed the garnet gown on the bed. “I’ll wear my Sunday dress.”

      Beattie’s eyes misted as she picked up the gown. “I’m sorry, Jen. I know you’re hurting. You were so close to Daddy. We all miss him, but you must miss him most. But think of Mother. Promise you’ll keep her in mind?”

      “I always do.”

      “And take the dress.”

      “No, thank you.” Jen forced a smile for Tillie, who still stood in the doorway, a stricken expression on her face. They shouldn’t have argued in front of her. She knelt before the little girl. “Don’t worry. Your mama and I just disagree on some things, but we still love each other, and we always will.” She kissed Tillie’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow for that tea party, all right?”

      At the promise, Tillie’s expression brightened, and she hurried back to the nursery. If only Jen’s spats with her sisters could be fixed so easily.

      “I’m sorry,” Beatrice whispered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Her lip trembled, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

      “Oh, bother.” Jen threw her arms around Beattie. “You only want the best for everyone.” She had to keep in mind how much Beattie had suffered this past year with her husband’s arrest and subsequent trial. Though he had avoided jail in exchange for testifying against the bootlegging ringleaders, his reputation had been tarnished. Beattie bore the shame. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

      “I’m sorry I said anything.” Beattie wiped her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Will you forgive me?”

      “Forgotten.”

      “Oh, Jen, I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

      “I know.”

      Beattie placed the garnet dress in a garment box. Then Jen linked her arm around her sister’s, and they walked downstairs.

      After Jen donned her coat, Beattie handed the box to Jen. “Whatever you wear, I hope he notices.”

      Jen opened the door.

      Beattie stopped her with a touch. “And I hope he’s worthy of your notice.”

      * * *

      Dan figured a home-cooked meal would be a welcome break from eating at restaurants. That was before he got the news from home.

      When he reached the boardinghouse, the plump proprietress handed him a telegram. The minute he saw that his pa had sent it, he knew it was bad news. Pa never wired for any other reason. Congratulations and pats on the back could wait until they could be given at no cost. Disaster couldn’t.

      His father kept it brief.

      Thirty head lost. Stop.

      Dan sat apart from the other boarders in the cluttered Victorian parlor and read the message again. It wasn’t clear. Were the cattle missing or dead? If the latter, Pa would need money, but he was too proud to ask outright. Dan scratched his head.

      If the ranch had telephone service, he would place a call, but wires hadn’t been run out that way yet. Even if they had, Pa would resist. He figured a real man stood on his own, and these newfangled contraptions made a man weak. Dan’s brothers favored progress. Eventually the younger generation would win out, but for the moment Pa’s stubborn independence ruled the day.

      On the other hand, it left Dan in a tough spot. Pa expected him to come home to clear up the problem. That meant packing up and heading back across the country before getting an answer on the new engine.

      “Great stars,” he muttered as he folded the telegram and tucked it in the pocket of his waistcoat. If his father had spent a little extra to explain the situation, Dan wouldn’t have to throw away this opportunity.

      He blew out his breath and considered the alternatives. He could place a call to Joe Portco at the feed store and hope he knew what was going on out at the Wagner ranch. Between Joe and his wife, no local happening went unreported. Joe might know enough to buy Dan time to examine the engine and see it in action.

      “Supper is served.” The boardinghouse proprietress, known by all as Mrs. Terchie, bustled through the parlor rounding up the boarders.

      Dan stood. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I need to place a long-distance telephone call. Do you know where I might find the exchange?”

      “Now, don’t you go running all the way downtown. Use the one out front,” she said with a wave toward the front hall.

      “That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” Dan pulled some bills from his wallet. “This ought to cover the cost.”

      After protesting sufficiently, she jammed the money in