Baroness (29 page)

The strand of pearls shattered, cascading to the floor.

Guthrie jerked into action, his reflexes quick as he put his fist into the face of Cesar's driver. She saw blood as Guthrie caught her elbow. “Run!”

She took off, Guthrie a step behind her, toward the gated area. The conductor stood at their gate, and Guthrie shoved the tickets into his hand. She dared a look behind her and saw the driver scrambling to his feet, Cesar wiping his face with his coat, searching for her.

They were through the gate before he found them. “Red! I swear if you ever come back to New York, I'll kill you dead!”

“Don't listen to him,” Guthrie said as he lifted her onto the train stairs.

But she stood at the window of their car, watching as Cesar glared at her from the gate, and tried to pry the words from her soul.

Guthrie drew the shade. Then he unwound the remains of the shattered pearls from her neck. They made a well of shiny broken eggs in his hand. He tucked them into his jacket pocket then pulled her against him, his amazing arms tight around her shoulders. “You're safe now, Red. I promise, no matter what happens, I'll keep you safe.”

Chapter 12

Finally, they were headed west.

“Lusk, Wyoming?” Lilly climbed out of the cockpit and landed on the dry, dusty ground. A tumbleweed chased the wind down the runway. Still, despite the dry, chilly air, she breathed in the smell of the West—sage and prairie grasses and bitterroot flowers. To the north, she could make out the hazy purple cutout of the mountains against the sky, white-capped and breathing winter upon them.

“Listen, I got wind that Daily's Air Devils is coming in next week, and we need to make sure that everyone in the town of Lusk spends their cash on us. We need the money to head south for the winter.” Marvel shucked off his leather jacket, shoved it into his airplane. “It'll take a couple of days for Rango to find us. In that time, I need you two lovebirds to figure out a new act. Something that will really rake in the dough.” He pointed at her, then at Truman, and raised a dark eyebrow. “No honeymooning on this hop.”

Lilly turned away, heat climbing up her neck. Truman had been rather demanding of their time alone—using their combined cash on hotels and the occasional fancy meal, as if trying to make up for their hasty wedding in Detroit Lakes in front of the local justice of the peace.

A month later, it was just starting to sink in. Mrs. Truman Hawk. Lilly Hawk. The name felt unwieldy on her, despite the fact that slowly she'd begun to feel connected to something bigger than herself. Mr. and Mrs. Truman Hawk.

She said it again under her breath as she pulled her belongings from the cockpit. “We need to get into town and see if we can find a place to stay. Nothing fancy, not with Marvel breathing down our necks. Someplace cozy.” He smiled at her, and it could still stop her world.

“Then we should come back and practice something new. Something fabulous.”

He turned, still holding her bag, his smile gone. “No, Lilly.”

“You heard Marvel. We need to be spectacular—”

“No.” He dropped her bag, his. Came over to her and put those huge hands on her shoulders. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

She caught his face between her hands. “You won't let me get hurt. C'mon, we can think of something. How about a ladder trick? You could attach a ladder to the bracing between the wheels, with a rope holding it up to the wing. I'll climb out, untie the rope, and swing down.”

“Lilly—”

“Or a car-to-rope transfer? Rango could drive the truck, and I'll stand on the roof, you swoop down and I'll grab a hold of the rope—”

“I don't want—”

“Oh, how about an outside loop? You were going to do it with Moseby, remember?”

“No!” His tone rocketed through her. “Listen, the outside loop is hard enough to pull off without a wing walker. That's why they call it the
suicide loop
. No. Over my dead body.”

She occasionally saw him like this. Like when Suicide Dan's shoot hadn't opened and he'd had to deploy his second one, barely getting it out before he hit the ground. And when Rango's motorcycle stalled and threw him into the ring of fire in front of five hundred people. He'd been the one to drag the kid out before he burned. Or the time she'd put her foot through the top fabric of the upper wing. He'd grounded them for three days while he replaced the entire section.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Tru,” she said softly.

“You're making promises you can't keep.” He turned and picked up the bag and walked away from her.

“I'm a wing walker, Truman!” She ran after him. “It's what I do!”

He rounded on her, his eyes red. “You're just a girl who's getting in over her head. Again.”

She recoiled, stung, and didn't follow him as he stalked away toward town.

He didn't take her up later that day as he practiced his loops and rolls. She watched, her stomach tight, as he executed an outside loop, his head twenty feet from the ground. Apparently he planned on saving their air circus on his own.

They'd found a room in a boardinghouse, the iron bed narrow and squeaky. She lay there, watching the night pass, trying to figure out handholds.

She could do the outside loop. All she had to do was hold on with her legs, like she had that day in Duluth. Truman just needed to give her a chance.

A low drone woke her, something rippling into her bones, down to her core. She opened her eyes and found Truman already up, staring out the second-story window. He let out a word she rarely heard him use.

“It's Daily's. They're here, and buzzing the town.” He retrieved his pants, then his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. “I'm going to find Marvel and figure out what to do.”

She sat up, threw back her covers. “Let me go with you.”

He plowed a hand through his hair. “No. Stay. I'll come back for you.” He shut the door behind him.

She got up anyway, probably too fast, because the room swam, turned over. Catching herself on the bed frame, she took a couple of deep breaths. They'd eaten something gamey last night, and probably it hadn't settled right.

Getting dressed, she went downstairs. Marvel and Truman sat at the dining room table, their voices low. Truman was shaking his head. A creak on the stairs made them look up.

“There she is, our Flying Angel.” Marvel got up, spread out his arms. “What would you say about flying in your bathing suit today?”

She looked at Truman, who appeared like he might openly tear Marvel limb from limb. “I'd say no. But how about Truman and I do an outside loop?”

Truman stared at her, such fury on his face she had to look away.

Marvel looked like he just might kiss her. “I'll add it to the bulletins! Top that, Daily's!” He picked up his hat. “Now, get dressed. We have to fly through town and drum up some business. It'll be the battle of the air shows today, and I intend to win.”

He walked out, and Lilly couldn't look at Truman. Instead she held up her hand. “I know you're against this, but the bigger question is, can you do it? Can you pull us up, out of the loop, with me on the wing?”

“Can you hang on?”

She looked up at him. She hadn't seen that curious, enigmatic look for months, but there it appeared again, as if he didn't know, or couldn't understand her. As if she amazed him.

“Yes.”

“Then I'll keep us in the air.”

It was a gorgeous day for flying, the wind cooperating, and when they arrived at the field, three more planes had joined them, painted black along the bodies, with an emblem of fire on their tails. Marvel was arguing with what appeared to be his counterpart, a man in a suit, hat, and a look of annoyance.

Rango's truck was parked behind their planes, Dan and Beck setting up the tent. Lilly followed Truman over to their rig.

“They just got here, but they plan on flying today. Said that the show belongs to them. Marvel is giving them the what for.”

“But we were here first.”

“But they sent their promoter.” Rango squatted, began to pound in a tent pole. “A few weeks ago. He said, by rights
they
were here first.”

“So, what are we going to do?” She gathered the tent pegs from the canvas bag and held the next one out to Rango.

“We're going to give them a show,” Dan said, and pointed to the boil of dust rising from the town. Cars, motoring out to the field. “Better get ready to hop.”

She handed the pegs to Rango and went to find Truman. He was fueling his plane, his hands greasy from where he'd checked the engine. “Here they come. I'll round them up for flights and we'll have a line across the state of Wyoming. You get in the air and show them what you can do.”

There was that smile she knew. And loved.

She propped the plane for him, and he bumped it out onto the grass, picking up speed, then lifting from the ground like a bird. She watched him, her hand cupped over her eyes. He truly belonged in the skies.

He did a few loops and rolls then angled toward the incoming spectators, buzzing by them, wagging his wings. His job was to impress them.

She had to convince them that it was safe.

Running out with a white flag, she waved it above her head. “Fly with the World War One Ace Truman Hawk for the ride of your life! Safe. Exhilarating! Only five dollars.”

Not a hard pitch when she meant every word.

Cars lined up, and while the Daily flyer also took to the sky, their ballyhoo drumming up business, most of the cowboys who lined up drifted to her side of the field. Especially when Marvel put up a sign that said M
EET
T
HE
F
LYING
A
NGEL
. She signed autographs as she waited for Truman's plane to set down.

“We'll split today's take, but only one show gets to stay on. The city council will decide,” Marvel said as he met them for lunch, handing out the Daily's lineup of antics. Lilly read the menu. “Consecutive loops, tail spins, whip tails, a stall, barrel rolls, and inverted flying. A five-thousandfoot parachute jump. And thrilling, dangerous stunts by their wing walker, a man named Geronimo.” She shoved the menu back into Marvel's hand. “We can outfly them and outstunt them. The city council will be begging us to stay after they see what Truman and I have put together.”

Truman's mouth tightened into a dark line.

She'd never seen so many airplanes at once taking to the sky. Perhaps it had been like this over Germany, planes chasing one another, twisting, looping. She cupped her hands over her eyes, watching Truman's plane barrel down on one of Daily's; if he'd been a gunner, the plane would have become shrapnel. It seemed the entire town, and then some, had come out to sit on the hillside. Marvel charged them a penny per pound if they walked in. Cowboys arrived on their horses, and they reminded her of Abel and how long it had been since she'd ridden Charity.

The air reeked of gasoline and exhaust, and she could taste adrenaline lining her stomach, rising to curl around her heart. She could do this. She'd already mastered the inside loop and Truman's barrel rolls. She just had to hold on and not look down. What had Moseby said? Be who she was searching for?

Today she would be brave. More than that—a daredevil. Truman's Flying Angel.

Dan leaped from the sky, so high that he was a speck of white. His trick of cutting the flour bag on his back worked to follow his trail down until his parachute pillowed out at the last moment. She could almost hear the crowd begin to breathe.

Then, suddenly she heard her name, and it was time. She paraded out onto the field, watching as the other wing walker, a lanky boy no older than herself, did the same. They waved to the crowd then she climbed into the cockpit. Turning around, she smiled at Truman. “Lola and Hawk!” she said above the wash of the props.

Truman's face betrayed nothing as he lifted them off the ground. As soon as they were level, he maneuvered them in front of the crowd while she climbed out. She always started by waving from one wing, then the next on the following pass. Then she climbed to the upper wing and sat on the leading edge, her legs twined around the rope, her hands holding tight to her lifeline. She couldn't hear anything but the rush of wind, but saw the other wing walker standing behind the upper wing, probably belting himself in.

Watch this. She gave Truman the all-clear, and suddenly she was rolling, over and over and over, a triple-barrel roll. He rolled upright, and she gulped back her stomach, waving her hands in the air. Truman buzzed the crowd once for their approval. Then back up to the sky for an inside loop. She loved this trick, the way he dove straight for the heavens, only to curve them upside down at the top, and then fall back to earth, leveling out at the last moment. She indeed felt as if she might have grown wings.

He buzzed the crowd again, and she waved. Then he flipped the plane and flew low, across the field. She held on, her body lifting off the wing, only the ropes holding her to the plane, her head fifty feet from the ground.

See, they could do this. The suicide loop. It had a showman name too. Truman righted the plane and flew another pass. She watched as the other wing walker finished his course, settled back into the cockpit.

Now. They should do the loop now and show Lusk just what the Flying Stars could do.

Truman buzzed the crowd again, and she waved then shot a look back at him. He didn't meet her eyes.

He wasn't going to do it. But she wasn't coming in until he did. He'd just have to land with her here, on top of the wings.

He buzzed again and she waved both hands above her head.

And then, she felt it—his ascent into the skies to start the loop. She wrapped her legs around the rope, tightened her hold, her stomach dropping out of her body. Then, suddenly, he crested the top of the loop and dove for the earth. This felt different than the inside loop that curled forward. This loop began to duck her underneath, invert her, and if he didn't have the speed, he'd never be able to pull up and out.