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“No.” Jack winced. The last thing he needed was O’Donnell prying into his business. While he counted the man as a close friend, O’Donnell was the biggest gossip Jack had ever known. Marriage had mellowed him somewhat, but he was still relentless when he sensed someone was hiding a juicy tidbit.

“Bad weather forecast?” O’Donnell rinsed his razor in the sink.

“No.”

“Oh, I know. It must be a woman. Am I right?”

Damn it all to hell.

“No,” he said with a bit too much force.

O’Donnell grinned widely. “So, it is a woman! Interesting. You’ve been so unenthusiastic ever since Myrtle. I was beginning to give up hope you’d ever take an interest again. Tell me about her.”

“Not a chance,” he answered a bit too quickly. Oh no. Now he’d as good as admitted it.

“Why would you hide it from little old me? It’s not as if you’ve been shy about women in the past.”

The eager look on O’Donnell’s face made Jack’s stomach churn. “Look. I’m in a hurry. Can we have this conversation later?”

O’Donnell’s eyes narrowed. “There must be a reason you’re so tight-lipped. Is this a forbidden romance?” He gasped. “Do I know the young lady in question? That must be it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so nervous about telling me. Let me see⁠—”

“Goodbye, O’Donnell,” he said, cutting off his friend’s unwelcome speculation. Buttoning the last button of his flight suit and donning his aviator cap and goggles, he grabbed his ditty bag and headed for the door.

“Fine. Keep your secret for now. But you can’t avoid me forever,” O’Donnell said, waving his razor. “I’ll winkle it out of you eventually.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid passing Constance again on his way out to the hangar. She was on the phone when he passed, but she looked up, waved, and smiled. God, she was beautiful. The walls around his heart cracked open the slightest bit more at the sight, and he paused to wave back, unable to look away.

Be safe, she mouthed.

He closed his eyes and nodded, then hurried down the whitewashed hall to the hangar.

There were a dozen planes parked in the giant, echoing structure. The familiar clank of mechanics at work blended with the buzzing of a propellor as he made his way to the Jenny he always flew. Peterson waved as he taxied out to the runway, presumably on his way to Boston.

Jack waved back, then tossed his ditty bag into the rear cockpit of his plane.

As always, he examined the condition of the plane before climbing in. She was an aging machine, and even with the constant care the mechanics provided, she broke down far too often. He couldn’t count the number of emergency landings he’d had to make over the years. Best to head trouble off at the pass.

No nicks in the fabric that covered the wooden skeleton of the wings. The wires that connected the dual wings in a crisscross pattern all seemed to be holding their tension. No cracks in the wooden propeller. He checked the motion of the elevators, ailerons, and rudder, and everything was in working order.

Waving over a mechanic, he climbed into the rear cockpit. The mechanic gave the propellor a swing and backed away quickly as Jack opened the throttle.

Jack taxied out to the too-short dirt runway. Heller was a terrible place to take off and land if one didn’t know the trick of it. But he’d done this so many times, it hardly took any thought to steer clear of the factories that surrounded it and take off soaring in the crisp, clear April morning.

The ground receded below him, and with it the tension he’d been carrying. The familiar bliss of flight filled him as he piloted his plane northwest toward his first stop, Bellefonte, PA. He’d be in Cleveland by nightfall. Then on to Chicago the next day.

Up here a man could truly feel free. Nothing could compare to the feeling of flying up above the clouds with the wind in your face.

Much as he resented the bankers and accountants of the world, he could never give this up for a safe job on the ground. He loved this too much. It had become a part of him. He couldn’t imagine life as anything but a pilot, though running a school would be significantly safer than flying the mail.

When Myrtle left him, he thought about quitting. His long trips away had certainly contributed to her wandering eye. And the danger, which seemed to appeal to her at first, had become a bone of contention between them. In the end, it was flying that got him through the break-up. Hours up in the air soothed the soul and mended his damaged heart.

Flying would help him get over Constance as well. It would hurt to watch her marry another man, but he’d get through it. And he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he’d done the right thing.

Still…

Thoughts of Constance crept into his reverie. Her gentle touch. Those big brown eyes a man could drown in. The pink lips he could practically feel whispering against his own.

He imagined reaching out to caress her face, as he’d been longing to do, and she didn’t recoil. Her skin was soft as silk as he traced his thumb across her cheek, losing himself in the depths of her eyes. She nuzzled his hand, welcoming his touch, and pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist. Fire rushed through his veins, and his heart skipped a beat.