Free The Flyer by Marjorie Jones Page A

if she planted herself in his chair and demanded he cut her hair even shorter.
    A mischievous smile threatened the corner of her mouth.
    It was soon replaced with a frown. She wouldn’t do it. As soon as she could, she’d find someone to make her a dress more in keeping with the town’s … moral standard? She’d allow her hair to grow, and in a matter of months, perhaps a year, she would be the very picture of a rural Australian.
    She hated the mere thought of it. Not that she disliked the idea of staying in this ruggedly gorgeous country, of course. No, that wasn’t the problem. It was conforming that she hated. But what else could she do? She’d been forced out of the life she loved. If the truth were known, it had been entirely her doing. She deserved whatever sedate and ghastly peaceful life she could carve for herself here.
    Feeling as though the entire world had been dumped on her shoulders again, she turned the corner of Paul’s house. Instantly, she held her breath. The magnificent beauty that met her seemed to go on forever. She’d never seen quite so large a sky, not even at sea. It might have been because she expected the sky to go on forever at sea, but here … She’d had no earthly idea a landscape could be so wild, so untamed, or so amazing.
    For miles, light, muted green flora dotted a red-earth desert. Directly in front of her, a herd of kangaroos grazed. One massive creature lifted its oblong head and seemed to study her for a moment before returning to its feast.
    “Not bad, is it?” Paul’s voice held a note of awe, as though he couldn’t believe the beauty of this place, either.
    “It’s wonderful.”
    “Wait until you see the falls. We’ll fly over them at some point, I reckon.”
    “Falls? You mean, waterfalls?”
    “Too right. We do have water here, on occasion.” He winked. “Come on. We’ll get your things loaded.”
    Helen followed Paul to a shimmering yellow airplane. The paint shone brilliantly in the morning light, bright and welcoming. Two sets of wings, one stacked atop the other, gave way to two seating compartments. A series of taut black ties formed a web between the wings. The propeller had been painted with a red horizontal stripe across the tip of each oblong prop. The weight of the impressive machine rested on two wheels beneath the wings and a narrow skid, farther back, toward the tail. Heavy blocks of wood on either side of the tires were connected with a length of rope.
    When they reached it, Paul opened a compartment on the plane’s main body, just behind the double wing-structure. “You’ll be needing this, I’d imagine.” He handed her the jacket Doc had insisted she bring along. He must have collected it from the motorcar when she wasn’t looking. “It’s hotter than Hades down here, but once we’re up there,” he said, pointing to the sky, “you’ll be thankful you have it.”
    She took the jacket and forced it on. “Thank you.”
    “No sweat, love. You’ll be needing these, too.” This time, he handed her a pair of awkward, thick goggles and a leather cap he pulled from the body of the plane. She’d seen something like them before. Some of the girls back home wore them in honor of the increasing number of women pilots, but Helen had never picked up the fad.
    Helen rested the goggles on the wing and slid the cap over her hair while Paul rummaged through the compartment. By the time he rose to face her, she’d managed to squeeze her head into the small leather torture device. How did women wear these for fun?
    Paul laughed. It wasn’t the horrible, snickering kind of laugh people usually employed in her company. No, it was more like a heady, robust wine that made her insides feel like snow flurries, despite the heat.
    Still, he was laughing. She couldn’t help but smile. “What?”
    “Like this, love.” He took the cap off her head, turned it around, and slid it easily back into place. His touch was even more intoxicating than his