She grabbed a book off the top of a stack that had to be a foot and a half high. “I thought maybe you’d hurt yourself.”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” he snapped. “I’m working on this piece of junk engine. What on earth are all those books for?”
She stood bolt upright, as if offended. He waited for the retort, but oddly enough, she clamped her mouth shut and turned back to the books. “I’ll have the supply requisition lists for you soon.” Her voice sounded peculiar, like she had a sore throat.
“You feeling all right?”
She jutted that little chin out again. “Perfect.”
“Great. Good.” He rubbed his hands. “Well then, Mr. Simmons, let’s dig into this motor.”
Everyone worked in silence for a while. Simmons was right. There was too much oil in the cylinders. Piece by piece, they tore it apart until their hands and overalls were coated with black grease.
“Did you meet anyone new in Buffalo after I left?” Darcy suddenly asked.
“Huh?” He’d been concentrating so hard on the motor that he wasn’t prepared for conversation.
“Did you meet anyone new? Like new students.”
“All the inquiries were written.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“All of what?” Jack held a lamp over the engine so Simmons could see into the deepest recesses of the cylinders.
“All of the people you met.”
“What?”
Darcy had stopped working on the supply list. She watched him, arms crossed and pencil tucked behind her ear. “You never seem to go anywhere or do anything other than work. I thought you might have visited Mr. Burrows or—or someone else.”
Jack would never understand the way women’s minds worked. “I work. I sleep. My life is routine.”
“Oh. I thought if you happened to visit Mr. Burrows, you might have heard some news about the other group interested in the transatlantic attempt. You know, the people with the flying boat.”
So that’s what this was about. “No word yet.”
“Oh.”
He squinted to make out her expression. “You sound disappointed.”
“Not at all. I just figured you might have heard something.” She wiped her forehead. “Well, I guess not.”
“That’s right.”
“Too bad.” She went back to her books.
“Could you move the lamp a little more this way?” asked Simmons.
Jack obliged, glad to get back to work.
“So,” said Darcy, “is your sister married?”
He glared. “She’s in the hospital.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not married. Of course not every woman wants to marry. Me, for instance.” She paused dramatically.
Clearly, that point was for his benefit, but it didn’t make him any happier. “Is that so?”
“You either, I hear, but I’m sure you’ve had female friends.”
Why was she asking about old girlfriends? And where had she heard that bit about not marrying? It was true, but he didn’t generally reveal the fact until necessary. He was certain he’d never told her. “If you’re asking whether I consider you a friend, I do.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She sounded disappointed.
Jack hazarded a glance. Darcy was leaning over the table, writing something down, looking like she didn’t care one bit about their conversation. But her coffee cup was still jiggling, betraying the fact that she’d knocked against the table on a quick turnaround. So, she wasn’t as disinterested as she claimed. He went back to working on the motor with smug satisfaction.
“Are any of your female friends beautiful?”
So that was it. She was looking for a compliment. “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly attractive.”
Simmons accidentally cracked him on the knuckle with a wrench. “Sor-ry.”
Jack rubbed the sore finger on his overalls.
“That’s not what I meant,” Darcy said. “I was trying to learn what your friends are like.”
“My friends.”
“Exactly. You can tell a lot about a man by the friends he chooses, but I’m having a difficult time figuring you out.”
Even though she didn’t look up, he could tell she was nervous by the number of times she shoved her hair behind her ear. That could mean only one thing.
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to be figured out.”
“Why not?”
“Takes the mystery out of it, don’t you think?”
Simmons slipped again with the wrench. Jack shook his aching hand.
“Maybe I don’t like mystery,” she said in that wonderfully determined way she had. “Maybe I like to know.”
“Maybe you don’t always get what you want.”
“I see.” Instead of playing along with the banter, she frowned and went back to her books.
Now what had he done? Jack searched for a compliment.
“I understand you’re doing a fine job taking care of your nieces and nephew.”
Her head snapped up, fire in her eye. “Thank you, I suppose.”
Oh no. He’d hit a tender nerve. “I meant it as a compliment. Children need love and care and someone to teach them what’s right. It’s an important job.”
Her expression only got tenser.
“Someday I hope to have children,” he said. “The next generation. Hope for the future.”