The Invitation (Montgomery/Taggert 19)

“The idiots don’t know how to hold the bread.”

They looked at each other across the sandwich and smiled. “Do you think we’ll be able to sandwich this friendship together?” Jackie asked and they both laughed. “What do you think of ketchup?”

“Hate the stuff.”

“Onions?”

“Overpowering. All you can taste is onions. Popcorn?”

“I could eat my weight in it. You?”

“Same here.” Leaning back on his elbows, he looked into the fire, and she could tell that he was getting ready to say something important. “If I came up with the money for a few planes and the other things, would you consider me as your partner?”

“Ever flown before?” It didn’t matter if he had, but the question gave her time to think. Even if he weren’t a Montgomery and endowed with all that that name meant, she was good at judging people and this man was salt of the earth, rock solid. Sometimes things around an airport could get hectic, maybe even frightening when there was a crash, but she doubted if this man would panic if caught in a volcano. The problem was that she knew she was ripe for involvement with a man. It had been two years since Charley’s death and over a year since she’d returned to Chandler, and she was lonely. She was tired of eating alone, sleeping alone, tired of sitting alone in the evenings with no one to talk to. And this man was very, very attractive, both in looks and in disposition.

“I have been taking lessons for two years,” he said softly, looking at her with eyes that were almost pleading.

“All right,” she said just as softly, and when she did, she could feel little chills on her body. She liked this man, liked him very much. She liked the way he took responsibility, liked what he talked about, liked the way he moved, the way he ate, what he ate. She liked the way he kissed her, the way he made her feel when he kissed her. In all her life she didn’t remember ever just plain old-fashioned liking a man as much as she did him. She’d been attracted to men before—she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that—but there was a difference between being sexually attracted to a man and wanting to cuddle up with him and eat popcorn and tell each other secrets.

Years ago there had been a gorgeous pilot whom Charley had hired to work with them. He was so divinely handsome that she could hardly speak to him; the first time she saw him she dropped a wrench straight through the engine and almost hit Charley on the head. For days she had been tongue-tied when she was near him. But after a few weeks she’d begun to grow used to his looks and soon found out that he liked his own looks even better than she did. After spending six months near him she couldn’t remember that she’d ever thought he was handsome. She’d learned in her long, happy marriage with Charley that what was important between a man and a woman was friendship.

“All right,” she said, holding out her hand to shake his. “But on one condition.”

He took her hand and held it firmly. “Anything. Anything at all.”

“You have to tell me what your deepest darkest secret is. And I want the truth, no telling me about contracts that are a matter of public record.”

William groaned. “You are a fierce bargainer, Jackie O’Neill.”

She wouldn’t release his hand. “Tell me or we don’t work together.”

“All right,” he said, with a slow grin. “You make me an olive sandwich sometime and I’ll tell you the truth about Mexico.”

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

There are times in a person’s life that are magic, and that night was one of them. Later, Jackie thought the night was perfect, perfect in every way, from the storybook rescue, to a romantic cut on her forehead, to a handsome man taking care of her. And take care of her he did. He made sure she was fed and warm and comfortable. More than that, he made her feel good. He flattered her by knowing every aerobatic stunt she’d performed, every record she’d set, every accident she’d had. It was almost as though he’d been in love with her for years.

They talked as though they were old friends—friends, not lovers. Jackie often got tired of men whose only interest was in trying to get a woman into bed, who directed their every word, every gesture toward that end. They bragged about themselves, told how much money they had, how much land they owned, how they were better than other men. But William was as comfortable as a woman friend.

Somewhere during the evening, he had her stretch out on his pallet of blankets and put her head on his firm thigh. Leaning back against a tree, he stroked her hair and encouraged her to talk about herself. Within seconds she found herself telling him about Charley, about her years with him, of the frustrations and hardships, of the triumphs and the failures.

In return he told her about his life of perfection—or at least that was how he described what to Jackie seemed like an ideal situation. He had never had anyone be cruel to him, never had anyone take an instant dislike to him, never had to struggle for anything.

“My life makes me wonder about myself. If I were tested, would I hold up?” he asked, frowning into the fire. “Would I be able to do something without my father’s money and the support of the Montgomery name?”

“Sure you would,” Jackie answered. “You’d be surprised at what you can do when you have to.”

“Like land a plane that’s just had the propeller knocked off by an eagle?”

“Is that what that was?”

“You brought that plane down as easily as someone stepping off a chair. Were you frightened?”

“I had too much to do to be frightened. Hey!” She looked up at him in the soft light. “Why haven’t you married? Why hasn’t some woman snatched you up already?”

“I haven’t met a woman I wanted. I like a woman to have a head on her shoulders.”

“A beautiful head, no doubt,” Jackie said sarcastically.