“Aren’t you pleased?” She circled in front of him, hands clapped on her hips.
When she did that, her figure showed just a little. He tried not to look. “Yes. Of course.”
“Good.” She squeezed his elbow. “Come up to the cockpit and survey the work.”
He followed in a stupor. “Why did you do this?”
“To get ready for the transatlantic attempt, silly.” She said it so matter-of-factly that he almost believed.
“But there’s not enough time. By now, Raynham and Hawker will be on their way to Newfoundland.”
She shrugged. “Who cares about Raynham and Hawker? I only care about Jack Hunter.”
The ice that had encased Jack’s heart for so long cracked and started to slip away, like icebergs calving from a glacier. The soul beneath ached, raw and tender and unaccustomed to the air. And it was all because of her.
She climbed back into the plane, and the hem of each pant leg rose slightly when she bent her knee. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how her hair tumbled over her shoulder? When had it grown so long? Had it always been that shiny?
He climbed willingly into her net. Her plan wouldn’t work of course. Not enough time. But he couldn’t disappoint her. Not today.
She was attaching a bracing wire to the upper wing.
He settled into the forward cockpit and leaned over the back of the seat to watch her work. She was gorgeous, abloom with the scent of violets. “What’s that you’re wearing?”
She gave him a scathing look. “Overalls.”
“No. Your perfume.”
Her smile could have thawed Antarctica. “I’m not sure what scent it is. My aunt—the one in Buffalo—gave it to me.”
“Smells like violets.”
“Violets. Hmm, maybe you’re right. Or perhaps it’s the added aroma of engine oil that does it.”
“I happen to love the smell of motor oil.”
She laughed. “I’ll bet you do.”
She drove the screw with all her strength. Such determination. Such certainty.
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know where that had come from, but he knew without a doubt that it had to be said. “I shouldn’t have left.”
She turned those deep, dark eyes on him. “Don’t you ever leave me again, Jack Hunter.”
The force of her statement stunned him.
“Here I was, trying to recover, and I found you had left town without so much as a note. I thought we were working together on this.”
Jack gulped. “It was wrong of me.”
“Yes it was.” Her lip quivered slightly, and the sight tore through him.
He’d hurt her terribly, and not just in the plane crash. He hadn’t considered her feelings. He’d been too possessed by his own selfish guilt. Maybe Sissy was right.
“I’m sorry,” he said once more. It was inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“Well, don’t ever do it again.”
He nodded. He owed her that.
As the afternoon waned and daylight dimmed, the barn gradually emptied of workers. Jack personally thanked each one. Blake waited at the worktable, perusing the acquisition lists and navigation notes. It made Jack nervous. The man clearly wanted to tell him something that couldn’t be said in front of others. It had to be about the money.
As Jack shook the last hand, Blake walked toward him. With his pulse pumping, Jack extended a hand. “Thank you for organizing the repairs.”
“You’d better thank Darcy. She’s the one who did it all.”
The warmth returned, tugging at Jack’s heart. After he’d mishandled the landing and caused her injury, she’d done this for him.
“If you ask me, she didn’t do it just to get ready for the shot at the record.” Blake gave him a wink and a nudge.
The revelation that Darcy might have engineered the repairs because she cared for him distracted Jack for a moment from the rest of Blake’s statement.
“So, when can we ship?”
Jack wiped his mouth. “You still want to take a shot at the transatlantic crossing?”
Blake stared blankly, and then broke into a hearty laugh. “You fooled me for a minute, sport. Not go for the transatlantic record? Why do you think I’m pouring so much cash into this plane?”
Jack forced a chuckle. Darcy was right. This wasn’t his plane anymore. He calculated how long the test flights would take. Pohlman should arrive in a week. Add a couple weeks for the tests.
“Three weeks, maybe four if the weather doesn’t cooperate.”
“Great.” Blake clapped him on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Jack scrubbed his head. What if Pohlman canceled again?
He walked to the worktable where Darcy had left the requisition lists in perfect order, each item numbered. Each number had then been written on a crate or box stacked along the barn wall. Everything had arrived. He was ready to make the transatlantic attempt, except for the test flights.
“You can’t stop her, you know.” Simmons’s voice startled Jack. He hadn’t realized anyone else was still there.