Baroness (25 page)

She smoothed her dress, more nervous, suddenly, than when she'd climbed out onto the wing of Truman's plane, and stepped into the ballroom.

Right then, for a moment, she became Lillian Joy Hoyt Stewart again, daughter of an heiress. The music twined around her, and her finishing school lessons returned to her, useful for the first time. She recognized the waltz as an Irving Berlin tune. Her mother loved to play it on the piano. From the stage, a crooner pealed out the sad words. “The birds ceased their song, right turned to wrong, Sweetheart, when I lost you.”

“Jeepers, Lilly, you sure do clean up.” Rango, freshly bathed and in a clean white shirt and pair of wool pants, his dark hair brilliantined back to a shiny cap, came sauntering up to her from the open porch on the side. “I barely recognize you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He smiled, something like chagrin on his face. “Yep.” He glanced at the dance floor, back to her. “I'm useless, except for the spiked punch. I can't dance a lick.”

“That's okay, Rango. I don't need to dance.”

“Yes, actually, you do.”

She knew Truman's voice so well, it seemed impossible that it might have such an effect on her. A deep, calm voice, the kind that could reel her back to the cockpit or make her laugh with stories of flying. This voice could curl deep inside her and turn her body weak.

Lilly turned. “Hello, Truman.” She smiled, something she dug out of her finishing school years also, because it felt unnatural and too bright.

He made it difficult to breathe. Truman had turned into a New York banker, bathed, his hair combed back except for that dangerous, annoying lock that tickled his blue eyes. And where did he get that suit, not to mention the tie, the silver vest, the fedora?

He looked…dapper.

And the look he gave her matched the mischief in his smile. He ran his eyes down her, back up, pursing his lips. “Wowsa, doll, you
are
from New York, aren't you?”

Oh. “I…”

He leaned close, his lips right next to her ear. “You take my breath away.” Then he held out his arm. “I, unlike Rango, know how to dance. If your card isn't filled up…?”

“I can sneak you in,” she said, and let him sweep her to the dance floor.

He indeed knew how to waltz. Then, the band changed tempo. “Do you know how to foxtrot?”

“Of course,” she said, and thanked Oliver for the first time for tormenting her with dance lessons.

A soft breeze finally lured them out on the verandah and Truman fetched her a glass of punch. “Spiked?”

“You're safe,” he said. They walked out, down to the river, and watched it sparkle under the moonlight.

“It was a good day, a good crowd,” Lilly said.

“They loved you,” he said.

She searched for a falling star.

“Do you suppose you ever might…” He sighed and looked away. “Ever might consider opening up your own show?”

She couldn't help the laugh. “With what? My own wings?”

He gave her a wry smile. “No, with—with me.”

“You have a plane I don't know about?”

“Not yet.” He seemed suddenly so…so
not
Truman, it rattled her. Question, even fear in his eyes.

No, he couldn't be serious. Start their own show? “I—I like flying, but I'm headed to Montana. I have to get back there.”

He nodded, stared away from her. Finally, “Why? Why is it so important to get back to some ranch you haven't seen in seven years?”

She turned to look at the club, saw others drifting out into the night. Beck was on the verandah with a blond, leaning in, one hand perched on the railing behind her.

“Have you ever seen a buffalo, Truman?”

He glanced at her, frowning.

“They're really large cows that roamed the prairies, once upon a time. They're huge, about two thousand pounds, and they look like large, docile animals. They graze peacefully in their pasture for years. Every once in a while, however, they get a wild hair and have to roam, and when they get it in their blood, they can push down any fence, or traverse almost any obstacle. They're bullheaded. And yet, sometimes, when the pioneers crossed the country, they traveled for miles with them, tame as cats. ”

“And you know this how?”

“I'm one-fourth Crow Indian.”

“What?”

“Crow. My father was half-blood, and my grandmother, full Crow. My mother was a socialite from New York who ran away from a forced marriage. She fell in love with my father and married him. He died before I was born.”

“I'm sorry, Lilly.”

“It was a long time ago. But the point is, my grandmother knew the buffalo were being killed to the point of extinction, so she started a private herd. They live to be about thirty-five years old, so some of the calves who were born under her hand, and my father's hand, were the same ones I tended.”

“You herded buffalo?”

“I love buffalo. They're majestic animals. But the important thing is that they were being hunted, and they needed a safe place. We gave them that, and if my stepfather sells the ranch, they'll have nowhere to go. That's another reason why I have to return. My grandmother intended to protect the herd, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“You'd give up flying to protect a herd of buffalo?”

“I'd give up flying to be a part of my family's legacy.”

He stared into the night. “I came from a family of farmers. I think they wanted the same for me. But I wanted something bigger for my life.” A muscle pulled in his jaw when he turned to her. “You made me see, for the first time, what that might be.”

He touched her face, running his thumb down the side of it. “You really are breathtaking, Lilly,” he said softly. “I can't keep up with you. You're brave and smart and…we're a good team, right? We put together a spectacular show, you and me.”

“I—I don't know.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, moved away from him, but he caught her, turned her.

“We could save our money—I already have a stash put away— and I could buy Eddie's plane from Marvel. I know he needs the cash. And then…then one day we fly away. We start our own gig. We'd make a name for ourselves.”

“Hawk and Lola?” She tried to make light of it, to temper the earnestness in his expression.

“Truman and Lilly,” he said softly. And then he kissed her. Nothing like Rennie's kisses, Truman's had a sweet desperation in his touch, a sort of hunger that she understood. He tasted tangy, sweet from the punch, and he cradled her face in his strong hands, his smell cascading over her, his touch perfect as he deepened his kiss.

And right then, she became a fool and kissed him back. She dropped her punch cup and wound her arms around his waist, holding on. He was so much taller than she was, she had to rise on her tiptoes, but he bent for her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tighter.

She'd never been kissed like this. Yes, Rennie had been…urgent. But Truman kissed her like he'd lost her. As if she'd gone tumbling off the side of his plane, only to be recovered.

He kissed her like they belonged together.

Maybe she could fly with him. Maybe this
was
her future.

As the music waltzed out into the night, and as his lips whispered against her neck, she molded herself to him, feeling a new kind of flying. “How about Lilly and Truman?”

Chapter 11

“You got married?”

Lilly sank down on the metal lawn chair beside Moseby's wheelchair, where Moseby sat basking in the sun, a bottle of lemonade sweating in her hand, her eyes closed, her dark hair pulled back in a rag headband. Overhead shone a glorious blue sky, one of the precious few before summer vanished into the sharp winds of autumn. Indeed on the August Minnesota wind, Lilly smelled the hubris of autumn, and a few of the early crimson maple leaves splotched the grass like droplets of blood.

“Eddie asked, and I said yes. I figured, he felt so guilty about the accident that this might be the only time, so I took my chance.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Lilly. Held out her hand. “Go figure, he already had a ring.” A plain silver band encircled her left ring finger.

“But what about your career, wing walking, the Flying Stars?”

She leaned back. “The fact is, Lilly, once I said ‘I do,' it felt right to give it up. I want to stay here with Eddie and make a life, have babies. I never thought I'd end up in Minnesota, but these are good people, and this is where I am, so I'm going to hold on for the ride, with Eddie. Besides”—she looked over and winked at Lilly—“they have Lola, the Flying Angel. They don't need me.” Nothing of rancor hued her words. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Eddie and Moseby rented a tiny one-bedroom saggy blue house on the edge of town, but across the weedy road, the lake glistened, beckoning, waves combing the shore. Beck stood in the sand, his feet tunneled deep, the water sloshing at his ankles, looking as if he might be contemplating stripping off his pants and diving in. Rango, Dan, and Truman had gone to town to help Marvel put up bulletins in a desperate attempt to resurrect their show.

“So, how did you convince him to let you wing walk?”

She looked at Moseby. “Convince who? Marvel?”

“You know who.” Moseby gave her a look. “I can't imagine that after my accident Truman was thrilled to let you climb out on that wing.”

Lilly drew in a breath. “I'm not sure, actually. I found him wet to the gills down at some bar, dragged him home, and the next morning, he took me up. Gratitude, maybe.”

“Or maybe he thought you'd get it out of your system.”

“I nearly did. It's terrifying.”

“And exhilarating.” Moseby smiled.

Lilly smiled back. “That too.”

Moseby shook her head. “I remember the first time I got on the wing. I thought I was crazy. I held the wires so tightly they ripped into my hands. But I told myself that I wanted this, and I kept hanging on, one flight at a time, until I became the Flying Angel. Still, I can't believe he let you take over the act. I thought for sure my accident would drag up demons.”

“He hasn't had a drink since then either.”

Moseby raised an eyebrow. “He's up to something.”

We put together a spectacular show, you and me.

Truman's words niggled at her. He'd said nothing more about his offer since that night, almost a week ago, as if he'd forgotten. Instead, he found times to steal her away behind the tent to kiss her, moments when he swept her up into his strong arms and took her flying.

“Lilly?”

Oh. She shook away the memory of his kiss and smiled at Moseby. “What?”

Moseby considered her for a long moment, her green eyes running over her face, before she pursed her lips and looked away. “That scoundrel.”

“What?”

“Oh, Lilly, this is a bad idea.” Moseby reached out, took her hand. “Please tell me he hasn't gotten you into his…well, cockpit might be the right word.”

Lilly yanked her hand away. “No…what? No. Moseby!” But her entire body burned. “He's not that kind of guy.”

“He's exactly that kind of guy. I love my cousin, but Truman cares only about Truman. Everything he does is about him and advancing his future. About flying. It's more important to him than anything. Even…” She raised her eyebrows, nodded. “You know.”

Lilly couldn't breathe, just stared at her until the words formed. “I used to think that, but it's not like that. He…”

“Cares about you? He
loves
you?”

Her tone bit at Lilly. “I don't know…maybe.”

“More importantly, do you love him?”

Lilly watched Beck roll up his pant legs higher. Well, it was better than stripping off his britches.

“Lilly?”

“I don't know, okay? I'm not sure I know what that is. I thought I loved Rennie, that he wanted to be with me, but I was a fool. And now, maybe I can't recognize love when I see it.”

“I'll tell you when it shows up—when you agree to do stupid things because he asks. Like wing walk across an old, broken plane. And say yes to tricks you know will kill you.”

“I wouldn't do that. And Truman hasn't asked me to do anything—”

“Not dangle from a ladder? Because he came up with that cockamamie trick once, and I had to shoot him down.”

“No.”

“Not jump from Beck's plane to his, midair? Another of his brilliant ideas.”

She glanced at Beck, now stripping off his shirt. “You can do that?”

“Apparently, but I told him no. How about the outside loop? He ask you to do that yet?”

“No, and he won't, Moseby. It's not like that. He hasn't asked me to do anything dangerous. I'm the one who's coming up with all the new stunts, not him. It's…we're…”

“Aw, shucks, you
do
love him.”

“No! I just have more faith in him than you do.”

“I have every bit of faith that Truman will do exactly as Truman wants. Flying is all he has, and he's not going to give it up for anything…or anyone. Just make sure you remember that before he gets you killed.”

“I thought you trusted Truman. You wing walked for him.”

“I wing walked for myself.” She met Lilly's eyes. “Why are you doing it?”

Lilly stared at her. Listened to her heartbeat. Why, indeed. Because…because…

“Please tell me it's not to impress Truman.”

Lilly couldn't answer for the way her chest tightened.

“To find the person I want to be,” she finally whispered.

“You think you have to search for her,” Moseby said. “But you can be that person now, Lilly. Be who you're looking for. Don't spend your life looking for what you want to be, or you'll never stop searching. You are who you commit to be, doing what you commit to doing, not what Truman or anyone else tells you to do.” She reached out and touched Lilly's hand. “And don't you dare let him talk you into something foolish.” She waved to someone behind Lilly. “Eddie!”