Читать книгу Love by Design - Christine Johnson - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“What did you say?” Jen’s oldest sister, Beatrice, stood rooted to the slate floor of her foyer, her jaw dropped.

“I need to borrow one of your dresses.” Jen thought she’d stated that plainly the first time. “I need a dress, and you’re closest to my size.” It also didn’t hurt that Beatrice had a sizable wardrobe of fine gowns, courtesy of marrying into the most prominent local family. True, they’d hit hard times lately, but even an outdated gown from Beattie’s closet was better than anything in Jen’s.

“You need a dress? You? What on earth for?” Beatrice asked. “You only wear dresses to church and special occasions, like weddings and...um, dances and such.”

“I have a dinner engagement.”

“Dinner engagement?” Beattie echoed, still shocked. “Such as with a gentleman?”

“Such as at the Hunter’s house.”

“Darcy and Jack won’t care if you wear a dress or not.”

“They’re not the only ones who will be there.” Jen hesitated to reveal that Dan Wagner would be in attendance. Beattie would leap to the wrong conclusion, thinking Jen was sweet on him, which she wasn’t. She was only interested, in a general and businesslike sort of way.

“Ohhhh.” Naturally, Beatrice still assumed a man was involved.

“It’s not what you think. It’s just a dinner.”

“You need to borrow a dress for that? Surely your Sunday best would suffice.”

“It’s old and worn.” Jen gritted her teeth. She would not feed Beatrice’s matchmaking inclinations. “Besides, I think Jack and Darcy are inviting others, people interested in the expedition and whatnot. I don’t want to ruin the night for them.”

“Oh.” Beatrice’s hopeful expression fell. “I suppose I could find something that would do, but none of my gowns are in the latest fashion. We haven’t been able to...um...afford many new things lately.”

“Old is fine. It’s bound to be in better shape than mine.”

“All right.” Beatrice flinched at the screeching and squealing coming from the nursery upstairs. “Excuse me.” Her heels tapped across the slate to the thick carpet at the base of the staircase. “Branford! Tillie! That’s enough. Your Aunt Jen is visiting.”

“Auntie Jen, Auntie Jen,” Jen’s nephew and niece cried in high-pitched voices. The squeals of delight were soon followed by the clatter of two sets of small feet racing down the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice apologized, though she knew full well that her children would come running the minute she mentioned Jen was here. “You know how much they love their aunt’s company. I’ll look for an appropriate gown while you spend time with them.”

Seconds later, five-year-old Tillie and three-year-old Branford grabbed Jen by the hands and dragged her upstairs to the nursery. Books and dolls and wooden blocks were strewn across the floor. After Jen played a game of jacks with her nephew, ensuring he won, she received an invitation to a tea party from Tillie. Thankfully Beatrice returned before Jen had to join her niece and three dolls for the formal affair.

“I’ve laid out a few gowns that I think might work,” Beattie said as they walked across the hallway to the bedroom. Five dresses were lined up on top of the quilt. Every one of them was covered with lace or ruffles or bows.

Jen cringed. “These aren’t exactly my style.”

“You want to look nice for all those expedition supporters, don’t you?” Beattie’s tone made it perfectly clear that she doubted even one subscriber was invited.

Jen saw no reason to confirm her sister’s suspicions, even if it meant wearing a ghastly dress covered in ruffles. She looked for the least frilly gown. “Maybe we are celebrating something else.”

“Oh! I almost forgot. Today was the day you were taking the examination, wasn’t it? Darcy mentioned it earlier this week when she stopped to look at Branford’s and Tillie’s old baby clothes. So, how did it go?”

“I passed.”

“You did?” If at all possible, Beattie looked more surprised than when Jen had asked to borrow a dress. “Congratulations.” The automatic response lacked warmth.

Beattie had never liked airplanes. She didn’t understand her friend Darcy’s interest in aviation and couldn’t believe she continued to fly after crashing twice. From the first time Jen had mentioned her desire to fly, Beatrice had tried to talk her out of it. The reasons varied—unladylike, too dangerous, unbecoming—but the message was always the same.

“Flying is safer now,” Jen reassured her.

Instead of responding, Beattie picked up a garnet-colored velvet gown. “This one would suit your coloring.”

Despite the hideous gown, Jen was glad for the change of subject. “It has lace. You know I don’t like lace.”

“There’s only a little.”

“There must be ten yards of it around the waist and neck and hem.”

Beattie, the fair beauty of the family, pursed her heart-shaped mouth. “When did you say the dinner was? If there’s enough time, you could ask Ruth to remove the lace.”

“The dinner is tonight.” Jen tossed down the gown she was holding. “These are all too frilly for me. Do you have something...plainer?” That was probably a futile hope. Beatrice had always chosen the most elaborate, feminine styles.

“My everyday maternity dress.”

“Definitely not.” She held up the garnet-colored gown. Though it was a couple years old, it had the dropped waist currently in fashion. With Jen’s greater height, it fell at exactly the right length. Beattie was right about the color suiting her, but she would feel ridiculous with all that lace.

Beattie shooed away Tillie, who had come to watch the spectacle, and turned back to Jen. “Perhaps you could cover the lace. A sash around the waist might help. Or a cardigan. It is winter. A sweater would not be out of place except at the most formal occasions. Is this formal?”

“No.” Darcy and Jack Hunter definitely would not host a formal dinner. Given that Dan Wagner wore an old Stetson and Levi’s to the flight school, she doubted he’d appear in a tuxedo or tails. “Maybe I should wear my Sunday dress.”

“Take 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 her apron pocket. “Ain’t you the gentleman, Mr. Dan?”

“And I’ll be eating elsewhere tonight.”

Her cheery smile vanished. “You not like my food?”

“No, ma’am,” he hurried to assure her. “That is, I do favor your cooking. Why, it’s the finest I’ve tasted in years, but I’m obligated. I expect the food I’ll get tonight won’t come close to what I could’ve had here.”

The woman beamed at him before following the boarders into the dining room.

Once the door closed behind her, Dan pulled out the telegram. It was a couple hours earlier back home. The feed store would be open. He could catch Joe.

For a moment he considered sending his regrets to the Hunters. He had no taste for dinner parties. They inevitably included the overbearing and the clinging sorts. Considering Hunter was planning a costly polar expedition, he would no doubt invite potential subscribers. Rubbing shoulders with Daring Dan Wagner would bring in the financial support.

The whole thing made him feel like an organ grinder’s monkey, doing tricks to line other men’s pockets. He hadn’t figured Hunter for that sort. He’d seemed a straight shooter whose interests happened to align with his. Since Hunter had been working on the engine for years, his expertise couldn’t be overlooked. Dan needed that engine. So he’d go to the party and play the famed aviator for Hunter’s potential subscribers.

For a moment he wondered if the lively Miss Fox would attend. She didn’t look as if she had two pennies to her name, but Dan had been misled by looks before. After she and Mrs. Hunter left the room, Jack Hunter had told him that Miss Fox aimed to fly air shows. That meant she had enough money to afford costly flight time and instruction. It also meant he had to nip her aspirations in the bud. That spunky gal was just crazy enough to attempt dangerous stunts. She was too young and too full of life to end up like Agnes Finette.

The pall of memory pushed down on him, heavier than the burgundy brocade drapes shrouding the darkened parlor windows. The gathering gloom could not blot out the memories that raced through his mind like scenes from a tragic film. Agnes had laughed and turned back to look at him. Her bright red lips opened wide. She reached for him. The plane dipped. He pushed on the pedals. They wouldn’t respond. She screamed and crawled out of her seat. And then...

Panting, he hurried from the parlor and grabbed the earpiece on the wall telephone. When the operator answered, he prayed she wouldn’t hear the tremor in his voice.

“Would you like to place a call?” A woman’s voice scratched over the line.

“Yes, please.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to place a long-distance call to Boynton, Montana.” He reeled off the number.

“One moment, please.”

While waiting, he leaned against the papered wall and breathed in slowly, eyes closed, until his heart stopped racing. I have to make it through this. I have to repay the debt.

One life saved might assuage the guilt, but many lives helped would erase it.

When the call connected and Joe assured him that the thirty head were missing in a blizzard and might still be found, he could stay for the engine test run.

“Call here if things get worse,” Dan said. “I’ll pay the charges.”

“I’ll put ’em on yer tab,” Joe answered before the connection broke.

Dan took a deep breath. The first life he’d save belonged to one spunky gal with dreams too big for her ill-advised britches. Another starstruck girl would not die before her time. Not if he had anything to do with it.

* * *

Despite telling her oldest sister that there might be expedition supporters in attendance, Jen had expected an intimate supper. She was horrified to find Mayor and Mrs. Kensington chatting with Dan Wagner in the Hunter’s small parlor.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy mouthed, nodding toward her husband to indicate he had invited the prominent pair.

It didn’t take long for Jen to figure out why. Although he had refused to pay off his only son’s debts—consequently hurting Beatrice and the children—Mr. Kensington had given Jack a considerable amount toward the polar expedition. Now he blustered on about the adventure to Wagner.

Jen wanted to join that conversation. She took the tray of punch glasses from Darcy and angled toward the men, but Mrs. Kensington artfully stepped in her way.

“I’ll take one of those.” After plucking a glass from the tray, Mrs. Kensington looked Jen up and down. “That is one of Beatrice’s old gowns, is it not? I believe I remember it from three Christmases ago.”

Mrs. Kensington clearly intended to embarrass her, but Jen didn’t care two pins what the woman thought.

She lifted her chin and put on the most lethal smile she could muster. “Why, yes, it is. How perceptive of you to notice. In my opinion, it’s better to use a garment than stuff it in a closet, don’t you agree?”

Mrs. Kensington’s pinched lips tightened. “That might be the case if one has no need to make a good impression.”

The first comment had been a veiled insult. This barb was out in the open. Though Jen was tempted to accidentally dump the tray of punch glasses down the front of Mrs. Kensington’s navy suit, the ruckus would ruin Darcy’s party and cost Jack a big subscriber. It wouldn’t impress Dan Wagner, either.

So she pretended not to understand. “How true, and I have you as an inspiration.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed.

“More punch?” Jen asked with excessive cheerfulness.

“Don’t think for a minute that I didn’t understand your rude comment. If your sister wasn’t married to my son, I would make the hosts aware of your insulting behavior. As it is, I suppose we should be grateful that you at least wore a dress.” Having delivered her crowning blow, Mrs. Kensington glided off to offer advice to Darcy.

Though Jen was thoroughly miffed, at least the pretentious woman’s departure gave Jen a chance to join the men. Naturally, Mr. Kensington dominated the small group, shoulder to shoulder with Jack and Dan Wagner, who looked perfectly at ease with the statesman and town father. Wagner made a joke. Mr. Kensington belly-laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You should have seen the one I shot back in ’09,” the mayor chortled. “Big as a locomotive.”

Jen could only imagine. Mr. Kensington had gone on game hunts out west. He’d traveled from one side of the country to the other and loved to tell anyone and everyone about it. He owned half the property in town and a handful of the businesses. He’d served as mayor most of Jen’s life. Yet his only son had managed to run amok without the slightest notice.

Wagner, however, couldn’t know that, so he laughed and traded tall tales, each one more outlandish than the last.

“Punch, anyone?” Jen thrust the tray in front of the men.

Mr. Kensington took a glass without breaking the flow of conversation. Jack nodded his thanks, but Dan Wagner winked.

Winked? Jen drew back, jiggling the remaining glasses on the tray.

“Nice dress.” Dan’s grin revealed perfectly aligned teeth. “You clean up pretty good.”

Jen’s stomach fluttered again. Her mind turned to mush. “Uh, thank you.”

Thank you? Was that the best she could muster for a man who’d winked at her and paid her a compliment?

His attention had returned to Mr. Kensington’s tale of landing a thirty-pound trout in the midst of a thunderstorm with the rising waters tearing him from his feet.

“I don’t wear them often,” Jen blurted out, drawing puzzled looks from all three men.

Oh, no. That was just about the most idiotic thing she could have said. Moreover, she’d interrupted Mayor Kensington’s story to inform them that she seldom wore a dress.

She forced a smile that probably came off more like a sick grin. “What do you think of the flight school, Mr. Wagner? It’s got everything a student could need, right, Jack?”

Jack grimaced.

“Sure.” Wagner examined his dusty boots.

As she’d suspected, he hadn’t bothered to change, though he’d left the Stetson at the door. Considering the Hunters also dressed informally and the Kensingtons wore everyday attire, Jen stuck out like a sore thumb in Beattie’s holiday dress. Moreover, the cardigan didn’t match and hid little of the frilly lace.

“I’ll get more punch.” She scooted away, drawing only Wagner’s notice.

He winked again, and she nearly dropped the tray of bright red punch. According to the reflection in the mirrored glass of the china cabinet, her face was nearly as red as the punch. The little glass cups jiggled against each other, drawing a sharp glare from Mrs. Kensington.

“What do you think of our Jack, Mr. Wagner?” Kensington bellowed, his exuberant voice impossible not to hear. “Flying to the North Pole. Quite an endeavor.”

“Yes, it is,” Wagner said slowly, “but with the right backing, planning and personnel, it can be done.”

Jen set the tray next to the punch bowl before she dropped it.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kensington said. “Seems like an accomplished aviator like you would be chomping at the bit to come on board.”

Jen’s pulse raced. If Dan Wagner joined the expedition, he would stay in Pearlman. He could help her hone her navigation skills and supervise her flight training.

“I already have obligations,” Wagner said.

“Come now, this kind of opportunity happens once in a lifetime.” Mr. Kensington seldom took no for an answer. “It’ll never come around again.”

Jen lifted her gaze only to find Dan watching her.

“My family depends on me,” he said.

Family? Dan Wagner had a family? He couldn’t be married. The newspapers followed each new lady friend with avid attention, speculating if she would be the one to capture the elusive aviator.

“You’re not married,” she stated.

Wagner’s chin tucked back, and his gaze narrowed.

In fact the entire room grew embarrassingly quiet.

His gaze locked on her. “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have family. They depend on my income to keep the ranch running.”

“Oh. You have a ranch.” Her head spun. Family. Ranch. That sounded a great deal like the sort of family that involved children. “Are you widowed? Or divorced?”

Mrs. Kensington gasped. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The mayor guffawed.

Dan Wagner didn’t bat an eye. “Neither. My parents, brothers and their families run the ranch. It’s beautiful land but tough to eke out a living.”

Darcy attempted to rescue Jen by steering the conversation in another direction. “Is that why you want the airmail contract? Jack told me you’re trying to get the contract for a route in Montana. I didn’t realize the Post Office was offering routes to individual pilots. Or did they hire you?”

“They’re still running the service, but they’re beginning to turn over some routes to qualified contractors. It’s the perfect opportunity to return home.” Though Dan answered Darcy, his gaze never left Jen. “Family is more important than records or fame. They come first, and they could use the extra income.”

“Why didn’t you say that, son?” Kensington said. “If money’s the problem, I can ease your mind. A top-notch aviator like you commands top dollar. Name your price.”

That drew Wagner’s attention away from Jen. “Are you offering to hire me?”

“Didn’t I just say that, son?” Kensington looked at Jack. “Back me up, Hunter. You could use someone like Wagner here on your side.”

“Sure could. In fact, we’re in need of a navigator.”

“What?” Jen squeaked. That’s the position she wanted, the one she’d worked so hard to get.

The men didn’t hear her.

“A navigator, eh?” Wagner smoothed a thumb across his lower lip. “If the pay’s right—”

“I’ll make it right,” Kensington interrupted.

“If the pay’s right,” Dan Wagner reiterated slowly, “I don’t know how I could turn it down.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Kensington bellowed.

The two men shook on it, and, in the matter of a moment, the dream that Jen and her daddy had shared slipped quietly away.