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
