Love by Design. Christine JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
sure wasn’t asking for money. “Good. I figure with my experience at the flight school and all the time I’ve spent learning about the engines, I can at least help out with the supply lists and ordering.”
“That’s true,” Darcy seconded, though her sly smile indicated she figured Jen had an ulterior motive that was centered on one arrogant stunt pilot.
Jen was just about to correct her assumption when Jack added, “But we can’t pay you.”
That was her opportunity. “Maybe you can. Not in cash but in flight time.”
“Flight time?” Jack looked lost.
“I need flight training to get my license. I’ll exchange work for training.” It made perfect sense to her, but Jack looked less than enthused.
“It costs us fuel and oil every time we take the planes up. You know that.”
Jen stuck to her plan. “It’s a fair exchange, and I’ll only use the minimum amount needed to get my license.”
Jack tugged a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Darcy, however, backed Jen. “It’s a good trade-off. Jen understands all the terminology. She knows a plane inside and out. She’s familiar with our filing system and knows all the suppliers. Any other volunteer would take hours of training.”
Jack still looked concerned. He whispered something to his wife.
Jen couldn’t hear what he said.
Darcy countered her husband’s misgivings. “We won’t be able to start flight training for a couple months. By then, we’ll have student deposits.”
A couple months? Jen fidgeted. That was the traditional start of the flight school, but by then it would be too late to join the expedition. She would have to train for weeks and weeks. “Are you sure you couldn’t start sooner?”
Darcy looked sympathetic, but she didn’t give her approval. “You know that it depends on the weather and a whole host of other issues. The training planes are all laid up for the winter. Taking any of them out of storage means fitting them out and then laying them up again if the temperatures drop too low.”
“It’s January,” Jack pointed out. “Snow and ice make flying difficult for professionals. I’m not comfortable with the risk, especially since there’s no reason for it.”
But there was. Her whole chance at the polar attempt rested on getting her license now. She could be that backup aviator.
“But there are occasional days perfect for flying. Calm. No precipitation,” Jen pointed out. “Couldn’t we start then? After all, I’m here. The school is here.”
“You wouldn’t build up any continuity,” Jack insisted. “That’s no way to learn to fly. I’d never send a student out in the worst weather.” He cast a tender look at his wife. “Darcy might disagree, but without a good reason, the risk just isn’t worth it. I promise we’ll start as soon as the conditions warrant.”
Jen heaved a sigh. “Then there’s no hope.”
Jack looked perplexed, but Darcy understood.
“Jen wants to learn the basics in case she’s needed at any point leading up to the expedition.”
“The expedition?” Dan Wagner blurted out. “You can’t seriously expect an inexperienced student to take part in a risky flight into bitter cold conditions.”
“That’s why it’s important to learn now, in the winter,” Jen pointed out.
Dan shook his head. “You can’t possibly get enough experience in that short a time. Any flight instructor with an ounce of self-respect would never risk a student’s life.”
“I expect a flight instructor to use proper caution,” Darcy countered, “but Jen has a point. If the weather is fair, why not take advantage of the situation?”
“Because I will be testing the expedition airplane,” Jack answered bluntly and turned to his wife. “And you are grounded. That means no lessons until the weather is good on a consistent basis.”
Under those criteria, Jen wouldn’t be flying until May. By then, they’d all be gone to Spitsbergen.
Darcy must have noticed her consternation. “Perhaps Mr. Wagner would be willing to train Jen. From what I’ve heard, he is quite the cold-weather aviator.”
“What?” His face darkened along with his scowl. “You can’t be serious. I was hired on to a polar expedition, not to fulfill some starry-eyed woman’s daydreams. No. Never. Impossible.” He stood and tossed some money on the table. “It’s not going to happen. If I have to teach, the deal is off.”
Instead of looking threatened, Jack grinned. “All right, but I do need you to work with Jen on the supply lists.”
Dan looked as if he might refuse that, too. Instead, he turned and stomped out of the restaurant without another word.
* * *
Teach Miss Fox to fly. In the winter, no less. Dan fumed all the way back to the boardinghouse. He had his bag packed when the proprietress, Mrs. Terchie, knocked on the door to his room.
“Mr. Dan? Message come for you.”
Dan whipped open the door and took the handwritten note. “Long-distance telephone call?”
She nodded. “Joe Something-or-other.”
“Portco. Joe Portco. He runs the feed store back home.” He had no idea why he was blathering except that he was still furious with Jack Hunter. The man might let his wife take a plane up in bad weather, but Dan sure wouldn’t risk a young woman’s life just to fulfill her whim. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She looked past him with a frown. “You leaving?”
Dan sighed. He might have overreacted. After all, he had a verbal contract. And the train only left this small town once a day. He couldn’t storm out of here at a moment’s notice. “No, ma’am. Not just yet.”
Her plump cheeks rounded above her broad smile. “That good, Mr. Dan. I glad to hear it.” Her smile vanished. “Sorry about the bad news.”
Then she toddled off down the hall, broom in hand.
Dan closed the door and looked down at the note. Mrs. Terchie’s handwriting was a little peculiar, and the spelling was poor, but he could make it out.
Blizerd kilt cows. More then 30. More like 50. Woovs got em.
He figured Joe had told her the wolves ate the carcasses. Wolves, coyotes, dogs. It didn’t much matter what got to the cattle. Fifty head were lost. They wouldn’t make one cent off them. Moreover, Dan would have to replace them come spring.
He growled. Why couldn’t his pa corral them at the ranch during the winter like his neighbors? Why was he so stubborn about doing things the way they’d always done them? Every time Dan argued with him about it, his pa would point out that the land was made for grazing. It had once supported hundreds of thousands of bison. The natives didn’t pen them up. They didn’t pen their cattle now.
Tradition, Pa called it.
Dan had no use for tradition when it meant unnecessary loss.
When Pa added to that his confidence that God would see them through, it took all of Dan’s patience not to point out that his air-show money was the only thing seeing them through. Without that, the ranch would have gone on the auction block years ago.
He’d counted on his brothers to bring Pa around, but Dale and David didn’t like to stir up controversy. Dale’s wife had backbone, but over time she’d swallowed Pa’s ideas to the point that she was spouting them, too. David’s new bride was too shy to speak up. That left Dan.
He crumpled the note and tossed it in the wastepaper bin. Then he unpacked