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* * *
Dan figured a home-cooked meal would be a welcome break from eating at restaurants. That was before he got the news from home.
When he reached the boardinghouse, the plump proprietress handed him a telegram. The minute he saw that his pa had sent it, he knew it was bad news. Pa never wired for any other reason. Congratulations and pats on the back could wait until they could be given at no cost. Disaster couldn’t.
His father kept it brief.
Thirty head lost. Stop.
Dan sat apart from the other boarders in the cluttered Victorian parlor and read the message again. It wasn’t clear. Were the cattle missing or dead? If the latter, Pa would need money, but he was too proud to ask outright. Dan scratched his head.
If the ranch had telephone service, he would place a call, but wires hadn’t been run out that way yet. Even if they had, Pa would resist. He figured a real man stood on his own, and these newfangled contraptions made a man weak. Dan’s brothers favored progress. Eventually the younger generation would win out, but for the moment Pa’s stubborn independence ruled the day.
On the other hand, it left Dan in a tough spot. Pa expected him to come home to clear up the problem. That meant packing up and heading back across the country before getting an answer on the new engine.
“Great stars,” he muttered as he folded the telegram and tucked it in the pocket of his waistcoat. If his father had spent a little extra to explain the situation, Dan wouldn’t have to throw away this opportunity.
He blew out his breath and considered the alternatives. He could place a call to Joe Portco at the feed store and hope he knew what was going on out at the Wagner ranch. Between Joe and his wife, no local happening went unreported. Joe might know enough to buy Dan time to examine the engine and see it in action.
“Supper is served.” The boardinghouse proprietress, known by all as Mrs. Terchie, bustled through the parlor rounding up the boarders.
Dan stood. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I need to place a long-distance telephone call. Do you know where I might find the exchange?”
“Now, don’t you go running all the way downtown. Use the one out front,” she said with a wave toward the front hall.
“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” Dan pulled some bills from his wallet. “This ought to cover the cost.”
After protesting sufficiently, she jammed the money in her apron pocket. “Ain’t you the gentleman, Mr. Dan?”
“And I’ll be eating elsewhere tonight.”
Her cheery smile vanished. “You not like my food?”
“No, ma’am,” he hurried to assure her. “That is, I do favor your cooking. Why, it’s the finest I’ve tasted in years, but I’m obligated. I expect the food I’ll get tonight won’t come close to what I could’ve had here.”
The woman beamed at him before following the boarders into the dining room.
Once the door closed behind her, Dan pulled out the telegram. It was a couple hours earlier back home. The feed store would be open. He could catch Joe.
For a moment he considered sending his regrets to the Hunters. He had no taste for dinner parties. They inevitably included the overbearing and the clinging sorts. Considering Hunter was planning a costly polar expedition, he would no doubt invite potential subscribers. Rubbing shoulders with Daring Dan Wagner would bring in the financial support.
The whole thing made him feel like an organ grinder’s monkey, doing tricks to line other men’s pockets. He hadn’t figured Hunter for that sort. He’d seemed a straight shooter whose interests happened to align with his. Since Hunter had been working on the engine for years, his expertise couldn’t be overlooked. Dan needed that engine. So he’d go to the party and play the famed aviator for Hunter’s potential subscribers.
For a moment he wondered if the lively Miss Fox would attend. She didn’t look as if she had two pennies to her name, but Dan had been misled by looks before. After she and Mrs. Hunter left the room, Jack Hunter had told him that Miss Fox aimed to fly air shows. That meant she had enough money to afford costly flight time and instruction. It also meant he had to nip her aspirations in the bud. That spunky gal was just crazy enough to attempt dangerous stunts. She was too young and too full of life to end up like Agnes Finette.
The pall of memory pushed down on him, heavier than the burgundy brocade drapes shrouding the darkened parlor windows. The gathering gloom could not blot out the memories that raced through his mind like scenes from a tragic film. Agnes had laughed and turned back to look at him. Her bright red lips opened wide. She reached for him. The plane dipped. He pushed on the pedals. They wouldn’t respond. She screamed and crawled out of her seat. And then...
Panting, he hurried from the parlor and grabbed the earpiece on the wall telephone. When the operator answered, he prayed she wouldn’t hear the tremor in his voice.
“Would you like to place a call?” A woman’s voice scratched over the line.
“Yes, please.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to place a long-distance call to Boynton, Montana.” He reeled off the number.
“One moment, please.”
While waiting, he leaned against the papered wall and breathed in slowly, eyes closed, until his heart stopped racing. I have to make it through this. I have to repay the debt.
One life saved might assuage the guilt, but many lives helped would erase it.
When the call connected and Joe assured him that the thirty head were missing in a blizzard and might still be found, he could stay for the engine test run.
“Call here if things get worse,” Dan said. “I’ll pay the charges.”
“I’ll put ’em on yer tab,” Joe answered before the connection broke.
Dan took a deep breath. The first life he’d save belonged to one spunky gal with dreams too big for her ill-advised britches. Another starstruck girl would not die before her time. Not if he had anything to do with it.
* * *
Despite telling her oldest sister that there might be expedition supporters in attendance, Jen had expected an intimate supper. She was horrified to find Mayor and Mrs. Kensington chatting with Dan Wagner in the Hunter’s small parlor.
“I’m sorry,” Darcy mouthed, nodding toward her husband to indicate he had invited the prominent pair.
It didn’t take long for Jen to figure out why. Although he had refused to pay off his only son’s debts—consequently hurting Beatrice and the children—Mr. Kensington had given Jack a considerable amount toward the polar expedition. Now he blustered on about the adventure to Wagner.
Jen wanted to join that conversation. She took the tray of punch glasses from Darcy and angled toward the men, but Mrs. Kensington artfully stepped in her way.
“I’ll take one of those.” After plucking a glass from the tray, Mrs. Kensington looked Jen up and down. “That is one of Beatrice’s old gowns, is it not? I believe I remember it from three Christmases ago.”
Mrs. Kensington clearly intended to embarrass her, but Jen didn’t care two pins what the woman thought.
She lifted her chin and put on the most lethal smile she could muster. “Why, yes, it is. How perceptive of you to notice. In my opinion, it’s better to use a garment than stuff it in a closet, don’t you agree?”
Mrs. Kensington’s pinched lips tightened. “That might be the case if one has no need to make a good impression.”
The first comment had been a veiled insult. This barb was out in the open. Though Jen was tempted to accidentally dump the tray of punch glasses down the front of Mrs. Kensington’s navy suit, the ruckus would ruin Darcy’s party and cost Jack a big subscriber. It wouldn’t impress Dan Wagner, either.
So she pretended not to understand. “How true, and I have you as an inspiration.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed.
“More punch?” Jen asked with excessive cheerfulness.
“Don’t think for a minute that I didn’t understand your rude comment. If your sister wasn’t married to my son, I would make the hosts aware of your insulting behavior. As it is, I suppose we should be grateful that you at least wore a dress.” Having delivered her crowning blow, Mrs. Kensington glided off to offer advice to Darcy.
Though Jen was thoroughly miffed, at least the pretentious woman’s departure gave Jen a chance to join the men. Naturally, Mr. Kensington dominated the small group, shoulder to shoulder with Jack and Dan Wagner, who looked perfectly at ease with the statesman and town father. Wagner made a joke. Mr. Kensington belly-laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You should have seen the one I shot back in ’09,” the mayor chortled. “Big as a locomotive.”
Jen could only imagine. Mr. Kensington had gone on game hunts out west. He’d traveled from one side of the country to the other and loved to tell anyone and everyone about it. He owned half the property in town and a handful of the businesses. He’d served as mayor most of Jen’s life. Yet his only son had managed to run amok without the slightest notice.
Wagner, however, couldn’t know that, so he laughed and traded tall tales, each one more outlandish than the last.
“Punch, anyone?” Jen thrust the tray in front of the men.
Mr. Kensington took a glass without breaking the flow of conversation. Jack nodded his thanks, but Dan Wagner winked.
Winked? Jen drew back, jiggling the remaining glasses on the tray.
“Nice dress.” Dan’s grin revealed perfectly aligned teeth. “You clean up pretty good.”
Jen’s stomach fluttered again. Her mind turned to mush. “Uh, thank you.”
Thank you? Was that the best she could muster for a man who’d winked at her and paid her a compliment?
His attention had returned to Mr. Kensington’s tale of landing a thirty-pound trout in the midst of a thunderstorm with the rising waters tearing him from his feet.
“I don’t wear them often,” Jen blurted out, drawing puzzled looks from all three men.
Oh, no. That was just about the most idiotic thing she could have said. Moreover, she’d interrupted Mayor Kensington’s story to inform them that she seldom wore a dress.
She forced a smile that probably came off more like a sick grin. “What do you think of the flight school, Mr. Wagner? It’s got everything a student could need, right, Jack?”
Jack grimaced.
“Sure.” Wagner examined his dusty boots.
As she’d suspected, he hadn’t bothered to change, though he’d left the Stetson at the door. Considering the Hunters also dressed informally and the Kensingtons wore everyday attire, Jen stuck out like a sore thumb in Beattie’s holiday dress. Moreover, the cardigan didn’t match and hid little of the frilly lace.
“I’ll get more punch.” She scooted away, drawing only Wagner’s notice.
He winked again, and she nearly dropped the tray of bright red punch. According to the reflection in the mirrored glass of the china cabinet, her face was nearly as red as the punch. The little glass cups jiggled against each other, drawing a sharp glare from Mrs. Kensington.
“What do you think of our Jack, Mr. Wagner?” Kensington bellowed, his exuberant voice impossible not to hear. “Flying to the North Pole. Quite an endeavor.”
“Yes, it is,” Wagner said slowly, “but with the right backing, planning and personnel, it can be done.”
Jen set the tray next to the punch bowl before she dropped it.
“My thoughts exactly,” Kensington said. “Seems like an accomplished aviator like you would be chomping at the bit to come on board.”
Jen’s pulse raced. If Dan Wagner joined the expedition, he would stay in Pearlman. He could help her hone her navigation skills and supervise her flight training.
“I already have obligations,” Wagner said.
“Come now, this kind of opportunity happens once in a lifetime.” Mr. Kensington seldom took no for an answer. “It’ll never come around again.”
Jen lifted her gaze only to find Dan watching her.
“My family depends on me,” he said.
Family? Dan Wagner had a family? He couldn’t be married. The newspapers followed each new lady friend with avid attention, speculating if she would be the one to capture the elusive aviator.
“You’re not married,” she stated.
Wagner’s chin tucked back, and his gaze narrowed.
In fact the entire room grew embarrassingly quiet.
His gaze locked on her. “No, I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have family. They depend on my income to keep the ranch running.”
“Oh. You have a ranch.” Her head spun. Family. Ranch. That sounded a great deal like the sort of family that involved children. “Are you widowed? Or divorced?”
Mrs. Kensington gasped. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The mayor guffawed.
Dan Wagner didn’t bat an eye. “Neither. My parents, brothers and their families run the ranch. It’s beautiful land but tough to eke out a living.”
Darcy attempted to rescue Jen by steering the conversation in another direction. “Is that why you want the airmail contract? Jack told me you’re trying to get the contract for a route in Montana. I didn’t realize the Post Office was offering routes to individual pilots. Or did they hire you?”
“They’re still running the service, but they’re beginning to turn over some routes to qualified contractors. It’s the perfect opportunity to return home.” Though Dan answered Darcy, his gaze never left Jen. “Family is more important than records or fame. They come first, and they could use the extra income.”
“Why didn’t you say that, son?” Kensington said. “If money’s the problem, I can ease your mind. A top-notch aviator like you commands top dollar. Name your price.”
That drew Wagner’s attention away from Jen. “Are you offering to hire me?”
“Didn’t I just say that, son?” Kensington looked at Jack. “Back me up, Hunter. You could use someone like Wagner here on your side.”
“Sure could. In fact, we’re in need of a navigator.”
“What?” Jen squeaked. That’s the position she wanted, the one she’d worked so hard to get.
The men didn’t hear her.
“A navigator, eh?” Wagner smoothed a thumb across his lower lip. “If the pay’s right—”
“I’ll make it right,” Kensington interrupted.
“If the pay’s right,” Dan Wagner reiterated slowly, “I don’t know how I could turn it down.”
“That’s what I want to hear,” Kensington bellowed.
The two men shook on it, and, in the matter of a moment, the dream that Jen and her daddy had shared slipped quietly away.
Chapter Three (#ulink_7ab53417-98a3-5065-9b1c-35b700654fd8)
Dan had figured Kensington for a blustering fool until he offered to pay him to join the polar expedition. Then he knew the man was. No one hired an expedition crew. Either a crewman paid his own way or gathered support from home in exchange for the privilege of risking his life in the pursuit of glory. Financial rewards came later, if at all.
Even with the generous wage, Dan would have hesitated to sign on if not for the look on Jen Fox’s face. She wanted to fly on that expedition. He’d heard that squeak of dismay she’d let out when Hunter asked him to join as navigator. She must think she deserved the position. From what he’d heard earlier, she must have passed some sort of written exam, even though she hadn’t yet started the flight training. Passing a written exam did not qualify her to fly on the polar expedition. She had no flight experience. None. No one—man or woman—belonged on a risky flight unless he or she had a lot of experience in the air. It took massive accumulated experience to deal with unexpected changes in weather, fickle air currents and fallible machinery.
