the best of its kind. I only hope it’s not ruined.”
“It’s hanging loose from its mountings, but aside from that it doesn’t look too bad.” Buck lit his own cigar. The smoke obscured his face as he puffed on it. “If you can fix the framework, your aeroplane ought to fly again.”
“No matter.” Rafe tried to sound disinterested, though inwardly he sensed that his whole future could be teetering in the balance. “I could build another one from the same design. I could build a hundred if I had the resources.”
“The design is your own?”
“All mine.” Rafe directed a puff of smoke toward the ceiling. “I’ve got others on the drawing board, mind you, including a monoplane, but this is the only one I’ve perfected.”
“Perfected?” Buck snorted with laughter. “Then why the hell did it fall out of the sky with you?”
“I don’t know. But as soon as I’m able, I mean to find out.” Rafe tapped the end of the cigar into a black onyx ashtray. “For whatever it’s worth, that flying machine out there has taken me as close to heaven as it’s possible for a man to get!”
“Not as close as a few of the women I’ve known could take you, I’ll wager.”
“Have you ever flown?” Rafe asked earnestly.
“Not in an aeroplane!” Buck’s strong white teeth flashed in a devilish grin.
Rafe put the cigar down on the edge of the ashtray. “My aeroplane’s built to carry a passenger. Why not let me take you up after it’s repaired? I promise you, it’s an experience like you’ve never—”
“Oh, no. Not me, lad. Flying is for young fools with nothing to lose. Me, I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got plans. Listen.” He leaned toward Rafe. His eyes gleamed like the eyes of the mounted tiger head on the wall behind him. “Last fall I made a trip to Germany. Shook hands with Kaiser Bill himself, the cheeky bastard! But that was the least of it. The real high point of the trip was a visit to Essen and a tour of the Krupp Works!”
Buck puffed furiously on his cigar, sending up volcanic clouds of smoke. “Lord, you’d have to see it to believe it! Miles of factories! More than fifty thousand workers! It was a city in itself—a damned kingdom! The Arms of Krupp!”
Rafe knew something of the world. He knew that the Krupp family had built their empire on the finest Bessemer steel ever made. Though they produced everything from railway wheels to razors, the fame and glory of the Krupps was vested in one thing: the manufacture of weapons.
Buck’s eyes glazed for a moment, as if the mind behind them were making a brief journey to some secret place. Then, chomping down on his cigar, he impaled Rafe with a gaze that was frightening in its intensity.
“That’s my dream, lad,” he rasped. “An empire. A family dynasty like the Krupps. That’s why I can’t go risking my neck in some damned flying machine. I want to live to see that dream come true!”
He paused long enough to twist the stopper off the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and pour two fingers of whiskey in each of the glasses. He handed one to Rafe, who was staring at him in disbelief. The man sounded slightly mad. But madmen with money weren’t to be taken lightly.
Buck took a swallow of the amber liquid. “Sounds damned far-fetched, doesn’t it? But I know a few things you don’t.” Buck paused long enough to wet his lips. “Between you and me, I’m just wrapping up a deal with Uncle Sam. Burnsides and Bromley will be making rifles for the United States Army! What do you think of that?”
“Impressive,” said Rafe.
“But that’s just the beginning,” Buck continued. “My engineers are already drawing up plans for light and heavy artillery pieces, mortars, shells and rockets.”
“Pity for you there’s no war going on,” Rafe remarked cynically, at once regretting his words. War had never made much sense to him, but the last thing he wanted to do was antagonize this man.
“True.” Buck had taken Rafe’s comment at face value. “But mark my words, the way things are going in Europe, there will be. Get a real man like Teddy Roosevelt back in power, instead of a fat pantywaist like Taft. That’s when you’ll see America show her fighting spirit!”
“And that’s when you’ll build your empire.”
“That’s right. I’m already expanding my factory. If war comes—when it comes—we’ll be ready to produce more than rifles! We’ll be cranking out motormounted artillery, howitzers, shells, bombs—”
“Have you thought about the role of aeroplanes? They could be useful for reconnaissance in a war.” Rafe spoke casually, letting the words drop as if they weren’t of vital importance. There, he’d opened the door. The next move would be Buck Bromley’s.
Buck leaned backward in his chair and studied Rafe through narrowed, calculating eyes. Maybe his mind was formulating questions, Rafe thought. Maybe he was pondering the use of the aeroplane in modern warfare. Maybe—
Buck spoke, and his words caught Rafe completely by surprise.
“What do you think of my daughter?” he asked.
“What?”
“Alexandra. You look like a man of the world. What do you think of her?”
Rafe took a deep gulp of whiskey. Its mellow fire burned its way down his throat as he thought of Alex in his arms. He remembered the supple curve of her back as she struggled against him, the warm pressure of her hips against his groin, the rush of passion that had brought him to a throbbing arousal in an instant.
He remembered her soft, full mouth, resisting at first, then clinging to his in wild surrender. He remembered the fury in her violet eyes as she struck him, the sting of her palm on his cheek. He had deserved that slap, Rafe knew. He should never have crossed the forbidden barrier between them. He should never have touched her. But, by heaven, he wasn’t sorry.
What did he think of Buck Bromley’s daughter?
“Well?” demanded Buck.
Rafe drained the glass. “We were talking about aeroplanes.”
“I know. And I asked you what you thought of my daughter.”
“Oh, she seems to be a bright girl,” Rafe said cautiously. “A bit headstrong, but I suspect she gets that from you.”
Buck laughed, a hard, humorless sound. “Forgive me, but I’m just airing my fatherly frustrations. You do find her attractive, right?”
Rafe stared down into his empty glass. “Yes, in a coltish sort of way. Frankly, I prefer my women a bit more…shall we say, ripe?”
“Aha! I understand,” said Buck. “I’ll even admit to liking them that way myself. But Alex is hardly what you’d call a child. She’s twenty—old enough to be married and cranking out the next generation.”
Rafe willed away the urge to mention the aeroplane again. Clearly, this was a time to listen.
Buck opened
