Free A Great Kisser by Donna Kauffman Page A

once she got into town, find out what kind of man Arlen Thompson really was, especially to the people who knew him best. Riding herd on the media during Todd’s campaign had taught her a great deal about the dogged persistence of journalists and how they wheedled information out of even the most taciturn delegate. She’d always loathed their whatever-it-takes mentality, but now that she was on the fact-finding end of the stick, the education she’d inadvertently picked up was quite useful. Or would have been if she hadn’t landed in Cedar Springs as some kind of pseudo–local celebrity.
    She looked up as the walk light came on, and tucked the map back into her pocket before setting off again. The fact that she happened to be heading in the direction of the flight school was strictly coincidence. Jake had been kind enough to get her into town, then leave her be. She thought about their “date” and wondered if he’d even remember it come Sunday. That was days away from now. Or, perhaps after hearing the buzz of gossip spreading about the mayor’s estranged stepdaughter being in town, he might decide she was too much trouble.
    It should bother her, or at the very least be a red flag of some perspective-giving sort, that the idea he might back out on the date disappointed her the way it did. But, at the moment, he was the only person here she felt she could trust, ridiculous as that sounded. And now his school was on the map. She usually went with her gut, and she was rarely wrong. But maybe all the stress, combined with her rather abrupt, life-altering decision, had diluted her instincts. After all, she still had no idea what she was going to do with her life. Not exactly an instinctive move on her part.
    Still, she continued pedaling without turning back.

Chapter 5

    J ake hung up the phone and raked his hand through his hair. Again. It was amazing he hadn’t pulled it all out. He’d spent the better part of what was left of his day after returning from Holden, talking to the guy he hoped was going to be his first corporate sponsor, then updating his crew, who were all chomping at the bit on whether or not to plan on being ready and available for the National Air Races next month. To which he, yet again, had to tell them, he didn’t know.
    The most recent debate was on how, exactly, the corporate sponsorship of the Betty Sue would be marketed. Jake was not going to slap their company name on Betty Sue ’s perfectly restored and historically accurate skin. He’d agreed to a whole raft of corporate swag they wanted to hand out during the races, but he balked on plastering anything on the plane itself. Betty Sue had always been, and always would be, true to her original paint job. This was not NASCAR.
    The corporate boys—bankers and stock traders mostly, all connected with the same investment firm, but more important, decade-long frat brothers—were still, at heart, a bunch of kids. Really rich kids, in this case, who were really excited about having a part in one of the fastest races on earth, and just happened to have a whole lot of spare change between them to make their latest dream come true. But they couldn’t agree on anything to save their damn lives. Jake wouldn’t put himself through it, and realized why his grandfather had balked at ever allowing someone’s checkbook to dictate how he was going to take care of his baby, much less race her.
    But Jake was more pragmatic about it, and more realistic. Patrick McKenna—Paddy to his friends and grandchildren alike—hadn’t minded the side show aspect of the fair and air show circuit, and had made enough doing them to just barely maintain Betty Sue and, along with his old war buddies, get her race ready each year. Jake didn’t really have a love for that part of the flying culture. He just wanted to fly. He loved the history of the planes, and the restoration work was very fulfilling for him. That it all culminated once a year in a week filled with