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Daredevils

By Anne Greene

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DAREDEVILS
FIFTY STATES – NORTH CAROLINA By
Anne Greene
Micah 6:8b-What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.

CHAPTER 1
1925 – Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina

Gloria Richards didn’t have time to cry anymore. She scrubbed her hands over her wet cheeks, fluffed her bobbed hair, and straightened her shoulders.
If only she had family, then she wouldn’t feel so alone.
Her blonde rescue puppy tilted her head and gazed up with adoring brown eyes.
“You’re sweet, Daisy, but I need more family than you.”
Gloria plodded from the bathroom into the bedroom. “Daisy, we’ve no food in the cottage, so I need to have a heart-to-heart chat with Mr. Rand Maitland. He’s exactly the type of older man I prefer to work with.” No more fending off amorous bosses. “I need to find another partner like Buzz.” A tear slipped from her eye and wiggled down her cheek. “I miss you, Buzz. If you were still alive, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Thanks to Vincent and his lies, no other pilot will hire me.”
The small shaggy puppy bowed her front knees and wagged her tail so hard her entire body shook.
“Sorry. I can’t play just now.” Gloria swiped a fist across her cheek and snagged her only dress from a hanger, leaving the small closet empty. “I’ll force myself to be amusing and cheerful. Older men like that.” Anything to improve her chance of getting a job. According to Annie, Rand Maitland had been an ace fly boy during the war. She could trust his acrobatics.
Daisy’s tail thumped on the linoleum bedroom floor.
Gloria turned on the radio. The latest hit burst through the static. “Ev’ry morning, ev’ry evening, Ain’t we got fun? Not much money, Oh! But honey! Ain’t we got fun?”
Belting out the words, Gloria perched on the edge of the sagging bed, pulled shiny, silk stockings just above her knees and rolled in the garters. If she sang long enough, the song might raise her droopy spirits.
She stood and slid into the white dress that ended in a shocking way just below her knees. Well, older men liked that too. She’d need every advantage to capture this job.
Suited her just fine she didn’t need to flatten her bosom because God hadn’t overly endowed her. In her line of work a voluptuous bust got in the way. She reached behind her back to zip up her dress. Easy, because the fabric draped open to below her shoulder blades in the rear. Scandalous in the daytime, but she only had this one gown or her trousers. “Trousers won’t impress the old man, Daisy, and I can’t wear my costume. Being broke is just tedious.”
She smoothed the drop-waist dress and settled on the edge of the bed to slip on red, high-heeled shoes. She stood and pivoted in front of the blonde puppy. “How do I look?”
Daisy slid to her butter-ball stomach, hind legs splayed.
Gloria reached down to pet the silken head.
Daisy gave her a puppy smile.
Gloria blew out her breath. If only she had a bigger mirror than the small vanity above the bathroom sink. She shrugged and grabbed her gloves and hat. “You be a good girl and don’t make a mess while I’m gone.”
Daisy crouched on her haunches, head tilted and brown eyes sad.
“I know you don’t like to be left alone. I’ll be back before you can find the puppy treat I hid.”
Though her might-be-new boss lived close, she’d borrow Annie’s Model T roadster. “Rand Maitland’s bound to have his Jenny tied-down near the sand runway, and I don’t want to get grit inside my only pair of dress shoes.”
Daisy raised a paw to be shaken.
Gloria smiled, bent and shook the furry offering.
She didn’t need the auto since Kitty Hawk wasn’t more than five hundred yards or so from Annie’s cottage near Kill Devil Hills, but Mr. Maitland would be more impressed if she drove. He mustn’t know how desperately she needed this job or he wouldn’t hire her.
Her high heels tapped a determined rhythm on the uneven linoleum as she crossed the living room. She shut the door behind her and marched down the rickety wooden stairs to the beach. Stepping carefully to keep loose sand out of her shoes, she tiptoed around the cottage to where Annie had parked her Model T before she left for Europe.
Gloria bent, cupped the crank handle on the front of the car in her palm, pulled the choke wire with her left hand and gave the crank a quick half-turn. The engine sputtered to life. Her shoes slipped on the sandy driveway as she minced on tip-toes around to the driver’s seat and climbed inside.
Thank You, Father, for this quick-start engine. Setting her jaw, she steered down the hard-packed sand that passed for a road toward Kitty Hawk.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, frowned and snapped her fingers. Already close to the three bi-planes tied down just beyond a cluster of larger cottages on stilts, it was too late to turn back. She’d forgotten to apply that new chalk-white face powder that was all the rage. Nor had she painted her lips red. She’d wanted that color to bolster her confidence and hide her pain. She shook her head and shrugged. Well, she had a stiff spine and didn’t need to paint on courage.
She pulled up next to the closest home, stopped the automobile, turned off the ignition, set the brake, and slipped out the door. Just off the road, her red high-heeled shoes sank into loose sand. “Ain’t we got fun?” she murmured dryly. Her shoes had survived worse obstacles. These red high heels would outlast this setback too.
In the slanting morning light, three visiting bi-planes cast long shadows. All the other planes, snug inside hangars, waited for tomorrow’s barnstorming show.
A man wearing blue coveralls with his back to her, bent over the engine casing of the middle Jenny. Annie mentioned Mr. Maitland named his plane Jazzman, so that big fella had to be the man himself, right where she thought she’d find him.
Taking giant steps through the sifting sand between her and the hard-packed sand beneath the Jennies, she stopped directly behind him. She tugged her red cloche hat low over one eyebrow, held down the silky skirt flapping in the breeze, and straightened her shoulders.
“Hello!” She highlighted her voice to sound perky. Older men liked perky.
The man grunted, tightened a bolt on the engine with a large wrench and then turned.
She started, her hands flew up, and she almost lost her footing. Annie hadn’t mentioned her husband’s youngest brother was gorgeous.
He flashed a smile.
Dimples played around that dazzling grin and found an immediate place in her heart. He stared at her with eyes bluer than the bluest lapis. And he was no older man.
Too bad for her. She pressed her lips together. She’d so counted on Mr. Maitland being older. She’d learned her lesson about handsome men, and she better make sure she remembered it.
****
Rand planted the wrench on the engine casing, held out his hand, and then immediately withdrew the greasy thing. He reached for the rag in his rear pocket and wiped both palms until the grease vanished. Then he extended his hand again. “Hello, I’m Matthew Randolph Maitland, Jr. And you are?”
She was stunning. But she had to be one of those frivolous flappers because she wore the wrong clothes for the breezy, sunny beach. Her shoes sank almost ankle deep in the blowing sand, and she had to clutch her knees to hold that shining dress down. When the hem fringes blew, the dress shimmered.
Beneath that crazy, red cap, blonde hair fluttered around the most agreeable face he’d ever laid eyes on. He swallowed. Those surprised big eyes, the color of a gray mist, could haunt his dreams. If he hadn’t been holding her hand, warm and soft against his callouses, he’d think she was an apparition.
“I’m Gloria Richards. Good to meet you.”
The throaty voice sent shivers down his spine. “What can I do for you?” He glanced at the shiny black automobile parked on the road. “Auto trouble?” His hand moved to the wrench.
She smiled.
His heart missed a couple beats.
“No. I came to talk with you.”
“Yeah?” She belonged at a coming-out party in a fancy country club where she’d be surrounded by men sporting white tails and carnations in their buttonholes. He pulled in a deep breath. The pungent fumes of gasoline brought him down to earth, and made his aching head pound. He knew her kind. He’d met his belly full of spoiled debutantes. But this one had something winsome about her.
“I’m Annie Maitland’s friend.”
“Annie? Curt’s wife?” Rand scratched his head. “Oh, yeah. You’re the Richards girl. I’ve heard of you.” What had he heard? Didn’t pay much attention to girl talk. Something about her being an orphan, bobbing her hair, and wearing cosmetics ... though that clear skin didn’t look made-up. But what did he know?
“Could we go somewhere to talk?” She waved a graceful hand, then quickly swiped both palms down across her flying skirt.
“Sorry, but I’ve got a lot of work before the show tomorrow.” Did she think he could stop everything and take her across the inlet to the Blue Crab? “What’s on your mind?”
She was a bright thing and looked to have plenty of energy and pizzazz. But his words deflated the aura of radiance around her. He clenched his jaw. Blast his flat wallet. He wasn’t a cad. If she needed to talk, he’d take her somewhere cool and comfortable … if he could.
She glanced up and down the beach, empty except for the sleeping houses that announced the outskirts of Kitty Hawk, and then nodded toward the Model T. “We could sit in the auto.”
Umm…that wasn’t going to happen. Not in a Tin Lizzie. Judging by the weakness in his knees he’d fall under her spell the minute he sat on the plush seat next to her. “I’m busy.” He half-turned away and caught the scent of something sweet hovering around her. “Just tell me what you want.” His voice had turned husky. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got work to do.”
She took a step closer and frowned. “Please, this is hard enough without you making it more difficult.”
Once again that throaty voice riveted him. With a voice like that she had to be a song bird. With her looks she’d pack ‘em in at Sam’s Speakeasy. He pushed a heavy hand though his hair. Hard for her? What did she know? How many times did a man look up from a bad job and discover a beautiful woman standing behind him? He shoved his hands into his pockets. She had spirit. He admired a woman with backbone, even if she was one of those new-fangled flappers. “Okay, shoot.”
A small frown wrinkled her forehead. “Since you’ve heard of me, you know I’m a wing walker.”
His shoulders stiffened. Whoa! Impossible! This sprite of a girl! “I don’t believe you,” he spouted before he clamped his lips. He dug his hands out of his pockets, picked up the wrench, turned to the plane, and pretended to tighten a nut on his wing. This had to be a joke. He’d only been back in town one day and already the guys were setting him up. Another one of their practical jokes.
“You heard Buzz Greenwood took a nosedive?”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the engine. Looking at her rattled his brains.
“He was my pilot. Silver Lining was our plane.”
He jerked his head up.
She blinked those gray, misty eyes against sparkling tears.
He tightened his grip around the wrench to keep from patting her on the shoulder. He turned back to tighten his wing nut, swabbed off a few drops of excess grease and then swiveled back toward her. “The guys are carrying this prank too far.” He’d rub their faces in their joke. “What are you, some kind of actress?” He winked.
“Actress?” She heaved an exasperated-sounding sigh.
Those misty, gray eyes had turned as hard as ice picks.
“No. I’m a wing walker. The best wing walker on the east coast. If you hadn’t just blown in for the Nags Head Barnstorm, you’d have heard of me.” A definite jaw line angled her soft face.
She wanted to walk his wing?
She yanked off her smart hat and raised the soft thing as if she intended to hit him with it. Blonde curls glowed in the sunlight. Her dress flapped higher. She swatted the fringe down.
She wanted to walk his wing!
Why was he sweating like a rookie pilot? Him! He mopped his forehead with the grease rag. So that was her angle. “Buzz and the Silver Lining crashed two days ago. They’re memories. It’s sad but accidents happen all the time. Barnstorming’s a risky profession. We all take that chance.”
Curt had mentioned that Buzz had a swanky wing-walker, but he’d not paid any attention, been too busy thinking of his last several months down at Wilmington finalizing his real estate deal. He swallowed. He’d been out of barnstorming far too long. Time to get sharp again.
Sweat beaded between his shoulder blades. “Okay, say I believe you. I don’t need a wing walker. I’m a pilot. I do stunts. I’m a solo performer. I don’t play second fiddle to anyone.”
“Sure, you do aerial stunts during your show, but you need more air time.” She tilted her small, triangular chin high. “I’ll sit in the co-pilot’s seat until your act’s over, and then I’ll crawl out onto your wing, and you can fly for my act.”
“Unbelievable!” He turned away. “You want to butt in on my act and take over.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Just listen for a minute.”
Okay, he could give her that. He braced his back against the fuselage and crossed his arms.
She took a deep breath that puckered her lips. “I do it all, ballet on the wing, hang on a rope ladder by my teeth, switch from one plane to another in mid-air, and do handstands. There’s not a trick invented that I don’t perform.” She batted thick eyelashes.
His stomach did funny loop-de-loops. He knew what she was doing, yet …
“And, we can invent new ones.” She smiled.
He propped an elbow on the wing. He had to scram before she had him drooling. He had no place in his life for another woman. None. One proved too many. He’d lost all respect for his older brother when Annie tamed Curt. And look how a wife grounded Judd. And any spirit Dad had, Mom suppressed years ago. He was the only pilot left of the famous Maitland Brothers. Rand shook his head. No female would demolish him that way. Not today. Not even after he set the world record. Not ever.
One female in his life already tangled him with too many complications.
He didn’t need another debutant like the one Dad was bent on chaining him up with. Discouraging one woman was bad enough, he didn’t need another ritzy dish messing up his life.
He threw the dirty rag onto the cantankerous engine. He’d worked his way to where he stood on the threshold of flying further, faster, and higher than Charlie Lindbergh and Wiley Post. Rand Maitland would set the world’s record. Another woman in his life could slow him down. Or stop him.
Come hurricane or high water, he would set the world flight record. He’d fly around the world.
And for sure, women cost too much money. He barely had a dime to rub against a nickel that wasn’t tied up in The Jazzman and real estate venture.
Plus, this flapper couldn’t be as good as she painted herself.
The fellas had to be pulling a fast one. She was too good to be true. And when something was too good to be true—it wasn’t. He jumped up on the wing and climbed into the pilot’s seat. If there had been a door, he would have slammed it.
He called, “Hey, Blondie, spin the prop, will ya?”
He liked life just the way it was. He didn’t need any more upsets. If he hired this sweetheart, she would turn his world upside down and topple his ambition.
 

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