“This has got to be scary for them,” Ellie said to Gerry. “Flying’s always scary for me.”
“Jube will be fine.” Gerry patted the horse’s nose. “And Rose is a veteran. She won’t move a muscle.” He glanced at Ellie’s heavy jacket. “Sure you don’t want me to ride back here?”
She shook her head. “Thanks anyway, Gerry.”
“I’d better get going. We’re about ready for takeoff. Find yourself a seat and strap yourself in.”
Gerry and all but two of the other grooms left for their seats in the front of the plane, and Jake followed them out the door.
Ellie checked her watch. If the plane left on schedule, it would be backing away from the loading dock any minute. Folding down a narrow jump seat, she buckled herself in and settle back to prepare for takeoff. Across the way, two of the grooms did the same. She noticed one reading the June issue ofPlayboy Magazine.
Outside the plane, crewmen were closing the heavy cabin door. It was almost shut when the sound of boots ringing on the stairs caught her attention. Ellie’s mouth dropped open when Clayton Whitfield stepped into the converted cargo bay.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to no one in particular, then cocked an eyebrow and flashed Ellie a charming, cheek-dimpling grin. “I should have known you’d be back here.”
Ellie decided the remark was meant as a compliment and the last of her pique slipped away.
To her surprise, Clay took a seat beside her and strapped in his muscular frame. He draped the Navy issue trench coat he carried across his long legs, which looked uncomfortably cramped.
Ellie glanced at the coat. There was no way Clayton Whitfield had been in the military.
“It belonged to my half-brother,” Clay said as if reading her thoughts. “He was a Navy pilot.” He examined an invisible speck on the sleeve of the jacket. “He was killed in Nam in ’68.”
Surprise trickled through her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t talk about him often. It still bothers me after all these years. He was ten years older, but we were close just the same.” A sad smile touched his lips. “John was a really great guy. In his preflight training in Pensacola, he got the highest score ever received. He was so proud of being a pilot.” Clay glanced away. “I was lost when he died.”
Every time Ellie talked to Clay, she had the feeling there was something more to him than people believed, something he kept bottled up inside. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He smiled and changed the subject. “How’s Jubilee taking all this?”
“He’s okay so far. Rose is content. Your Max could care less.”
“He’s done this so many times he’s used to it, but on such a long flight, I like to keep an eye on him.” Just then the powerful jet engines roared to life and Ellie glanced worriedly at the horses. Inside their wooden pallets, they nickered and stamped their feet, but seemed okay.
The plane taxied down the tarmac, lined up on the runway, and revved its engines, the noise vibrating her less-than-padded chair and sending a shiver of dread up her spine. She gripped the armrests hard enough to make her knuckles ache. The scenery outside her window passed by in a colorful blur, reminding her of the world she’d lived in before her eye surgery.
Several horses whinnied as the plane angled upward on takeoff, but the pilot seemed concerned for his precious cargo, settled into a smooth steady climb, then leveled off.
“Are you alright?” Clay asked, frowning.
Ellie swallowed. “I usually have a couple of glasses of wine before I fly.”
“This time you’re out of luck.”
Ellie just nodded, her heartbeat beginning to slow. “More people were killed in train accidents last year than in airline crashes, but still...”
“But, still, it scares the hell out of you.”
Her lips edge up. “Now you know my deepest, darkest secret.”
Clay looked at her and grinned. “You mean we’re finally even?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Clay looked contrite, but his brown eyes flashed with mischief. “I guess you’re right.”
At forty-two thousand feet, the plane’s cruising altitude, they all put on their coats. It was cold and uncomfortable, but bearable. The horses seemed resigned, all but Julius Caesar, Prissy’s chestnut gelding, who nervously rolled his eyes and stamped his feet. Riding in the same pallet, her second horse, Lovely Lass grazed peacefully on a bit of hay.
