Free The Flyer by Marjorie Jones Page B

laugh.
    “Oh,” she breathed, no longer in the mood to laugh with him.
    She should be more aware of her surroundings, she decided. She couldn’t ignore it. Not anymore. The simple fact was, she was in trouble. There was no denying her insatiable attraction to Paul Campbell. She could only hope she had enough strength to turn him away when, or if, he decided to act on impulse again. If he’d thought of her as a fast woman, like Mrs. McIntyre and her daughters at the mercantile had, then she would have been fine.
    But everything he’d done, from allowing her to treat him that first night, to defending her against that woman’s assault, told her he didn’t think of her that way. He saw her as a capable woman, and nothing more.
    His fingers lingered beside her cheek, and he tucked a stray lock of her hair beneath the leather cap. His touch was gentle, yet strong. It made her feel positively drunk.
    Yes, she was in grave trouble, indeed.
    She ignored the needling concern. She could be strong. She had to be. She would fight her weaknesses and win!
    As if proving that very point to herself, she hoisted herself into the front compartment. Surprisingly wide, it contained a bench seat built for two, with matching harnesses. There was plenty of legroom in front, as well. Paul strapped her to the seat, explaining how to fasten and release the buckles over her shoulders.
    Briefly, his hand brushed her breast when he secured the clip over her chest. Tingling, bell-like shivers raced through her.
    “Sit tight. We’ll be up and away in a few minutes,” he commented dryly. Something in his voice made her think he’d felt it, too.
    Not soon enough, Paul alighted from the craft, pulled on his own leather coat, cap, and goggles, then added a long white scarf around his neck. He then sauntered to the front of the plane. With strong hands and a sudden jerk of movements, he spun the propeller manually. After a small hiccup, the engine ignited, and the plane jumped.
    Paul jogged to the wheels and pulled away the blocks. The plane inched forward.
    “Paul?” she called, slightly concerned that the machine would move with no pilot to guide it. She swallowed her apprehension and inhaled a deep, soothing breath.
    “No worries,” he laughed. “I’ll catch up in a second.”
    He tossed the blocks into the storage compartment and slammed it closed, all the while keeping pace with the moving craft. Then he climbed into his seat and added power to the engine with a loud rumble. It whined for barely a second, then increased speed. Faster and faster, they shimmied down the landing strip until, all at once, the shaking ceased.
    Helen shouted with a sudden, immense freedom taking hold of her soul. They were airborne!
    Higher and higher they climbed—into the sun and the empty space of pure joy. Wide blue skies surrounded her in a freedom she hadn’t known existed. Even though the wind and the roar of the engine drowned out every sound save her deepest, most internal thoughts, she could have been reclining on a cloud. Far below, the earth hovered like a leaf in the breeze, unmoving and splendid. Miles upon miles of desert stretched to the horizon, which curved with the outline of the planet, far below Paul’s wonderful flying machine. Above her, the sky climbed heavenward.
    She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.
    With Paul’s careful touch on the controls, she wasn’t the least bit frightened.
    Gently, Paul banked the huge wings to the left—a gesture she understood to mean something of interest could be found on that side of the plane. She craned her neck to look down, and when she finally managed to peer almost directly over the high edge of her seating compartment, she smiled. No fewer than dozens of camels lumbered over the desert floor, reddish-orange dust billowing behind their comically awkward movements. Following the dust, she found the cause of their alarm. A pack of wild dogs chased the dromedaries, their malicious intentions