Rachel Van Dyken Read Free

softly with him.
    “Y’all ready?” the dark-haired man gestured toward the hatch and nodded to the stewardess. “After you, m a’am.”
    A brief glimpse of disappointment seemed to flash in her brown eyes, but she hid it well behind her polite smile and led the way down the stairs to the ground.
    “Thanks, m an,” Blaine whispered.
    “A brother in need, s on,” drawled the co-pilot. “ I think she’s got a torch for you.”
    “ You think so?” He glanced at her walking a few steps ahead of him. She was a pretty girl. Particularly from this angle.
    His companion poked him in the ribs and chuckled. “Oughta ask her dancin’.”
    The girl inclined her head slightly, as if she had heard the comment. Blaine looked at the ground in embarrassment, though the early morning dusk offered adequate cover to hide him from her view . “Shhh,” he warned, but her pace seemed to slacken, perhaps in hope Blaine would take his co-pilot’s advice. He caught up to her without meaning too, and she fell into step beside him.
    Blaine’s mind whirred frantically. He had spent so little time with women; any proximity to one flustered him. His mother had died when he was eleven . W ith the onset of puberty, the lack of a female influence had made him awkward and shy with the girls, and his old man had never been any help in any capacity, so he relied on his buddies. Their often misguided suggestions had a tendency to ma k e matters worse .
    T he silence seemed to suck the moisture from his mouth . Finally she broke in, “Are you stationed in Boston, Captain?”
    His voice caught somewhere in his throat, so he coughed gently to clear its way . “Yes.” She glanced at him again, expectantly . Blaine hated this part of conversation. If she would just keep asking him questions, he would have something say; otherwise, his mind was a blank.
    “Okay,” whispered the saving grace from his other side. “I know it’s been a long night, but this is r idiculous.” Blaine didn’t know his co-pilot very well. It was only the second t ime they had flown together, but he had an easy-going confidence with the dames Blaine wished he had.
    “Old Cool Hand here is a smooth fly-boy, but he ain’t so cool with the ladies, Miss Bell,” the man chimed. “I reckon if he could talk, he’d say ‘Miss Bell, I’d sure love to take you dancin’ some time.’”
    The stewardess laughed and played along. “And then I’d say, ‘Why, Captain Graham, I’d be delighted.’” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she cast a sidelong glance back to Blaine.
    “Well, I’d say that settles the matter. Are you game, Sir?” His companion nudged his arm questioningly.
    Blaine shrugged and offered an uncertain , awkward smile to Miss Bell. “Sure. I’d like that.”
    “You’ll have to excuse him, Miss Bell. He’s a million laughs in the cockpit, but ‘comes downright taciturn whenever he leaves the safety of the flight deck.”
    She giggled again and la id a petite hand on Blaine’s bi cep. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m a wonderful dancer, and I promise I don’t bite.”
    Her lingering touch did little to settle the knots in his churning stomach, and already he was regretting the concession to take her out.
    “So all’s settled but the shoutin’. When and where, Miss Bell?” Fate seemed to be in the hands of the co-pilot now, and his current was sweeping away Blaine’s sense of control. He started to interject, but his two companions stepped closer together to work out the details of his “date . ” If there were a guarantee he wouldn’t have to see either of them again, he would duck out now and forget the whole thing.
    ****
    When the taxi pulled up in front of the brownstone boarding house , it was close to eight o’clock in the morning. Blaine’s exhaustion was bone deep, and his movements were slow and deliberate as he slung his overnight bag across his shoulder s and dragged himself up the st e p s to the front door.