K. Weiland - Storming

“Why not?”

Bonney Livingstone could talk a man into picking his own pocket. He was as phony as they came and that much crookeder. Plus, he cheated at cards.

But he was no fool. What Hitch had done could either drown his circus in the excitement of a scandal—or raise it even higher with the anticipation of some good clean fun. Farm towns liked scandals well enough, so long as they didn’t upset the equilibrium too bad. Good clean fun, however, paid the better by far.

And if there was one thing Livingstone was good at, it was getting paid.

The man shot a sideways look at the crowd gathering behind him, then back at Hitch. “My pilots will be hard to beat this week.” He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

He was going for the bait.

Hitch let a sigh of relief sift past his teeth. “And when have you known me not to be up to beating you?”

Livingstone slapped Hitch’s shoulder, a little harder than he needed to. “My dear boy, you always were in the habit of biting off more than you could chew.”

“Don’t you worry about me. Earl here—you remember my mechanic?” He gestured to Earl, who managed a terse nod but didn’t manage to stop scowling. “He’s given my Jenny a reinforced frame and hooked her up to a Hispano-Suiza.”

Livingstone straightened. He shot a look around the field, probably trying to spot Hitch’s plane. “Is that so?” When his gaze came back to Hitch, he scanned him up and down. “Well now, that does sound interesting.”

“Pulls like an elephant. More speed and power than half your boys would know what to do with.” Hitch reined up a smidge. “Excepting you, of course.”

Livingstone glanced around the field again. He smoothed a hand over his Vandyke. “This Hispano-Suiza of yours just might put a new light on things.”

An uncomfortable feeling knotted in Hitch’s middle. He looked back at Livingstone’s Jenny. “What things?”

Jael had stayed in the front cockpit this whole time, leaning forward to peer at the hot click of the Curtiss OX-5 engine’s exposed cylinders. She cast a nervous glance at Livingstone and Earl, then swung herself out of the plane and dropped to the ground. Gaze alternating between Livingstone and her feet, she sidled toward them, evidently headed for a closer look at the engine.

Livingstone swept off his hat and set it over his heart. “Well, now, my dear. If my ship must be commandeered, I can hardly complain if it is commandeered by a brigand as lovely as yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes, but kept coming.

“May I have an introduction to your fair companion?” Livingstone asked Hitch. “A new addition to your act, I take it? What do you do, my dear? Wing walk, parachute?”

“She’s not exactly part of the act.”

Livingstone snagged her hand and raised it to his lips. “Charmed to the living end, my dear.”

With any luck, she’d bat her eyes and curtsy and let it go at that.

Hitch gave her an encouraging smile.

Her eyes got big and shocked, and she yanked her hand back. “ Nikogda bez moego razreshenia !”

Livingstone’s smile slipped. “Well.” He coughed. Probably, this was the first time his southern gentleman act had come up short. He clamped the smile back in place. “I’ll give you this, Mr. Hitchcock, you’ve always had the knack for picking up the most interesting people. That is showmanship, sir.”

Earl rolled his eyes. “Brother.”

Hitch glared at Earl. Let Livingstone talk. The longer he talked, the better the chance he’d decide this whole stunt had been his own idea.

Livingstone straightened the lapels of his white suit coat. It was a crazy getup for flying in, but it had become his trademark.

He smiled, almost genuinely, at Jael. “It’s quite all right, my dear.” His gaze seemed to snag on something. “Now, that’s an interesting piece.”

Hitch turned to see.

On a chain around her neck, she wore a heavy brass pendant. Round like a compass and intricate with clockwork gears, it had a little crank in the center, the handle of which was shaped like a leaf.

She darted a look at it, as if shocked to find it there.

“Might I have a better view?” Livingstone asked.

What he was doing, of course, was asking her to let him save face after the rejected hand-kissing. Hitch knew it. Earl probably knew it. But in light of her record so far today, Jael was likely to take it as a threat and punch him in the face.

She snatched the pendant and held it against her chest. Her other hand tensed into a fist.

Hitch reached for Livingstone’s shoulder. “You best leave her alone. She’s a little… unsettled today.”

“Nonsense. She wears it with pride. I’m sure she’d like to exhibit it.” And then Livingstone actually reached for it.

Jael scrambled back two steps. “You stop! Or I—I kill you!”

Livingstone probably had no real interest in the pendant. But now it was a test of wills—and he had made his reputation winning those battles.

He laughed and followed her two steps. “Don’t be ridiculous, child.”

She threw a wild punch, all strength and no precision. Her fist clipped his Adam’s apple, and his breath exploded in a noise too much like a hen’s clucking to be good for his pride or anybody else’s well-being.

Hitch ducked under the wing and snagged her free hand before she could swing again. He rose to his feet, facing Livingstone. “She didn’t mean that.”

Earl choked on something suspiciously like a laugh. “I’ll say she didn’t.”

All Livingstone’s blood rushed right back to his face. “You little— Is she mad? You’re all mad!”

Hitch pushed her farther behind him. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She put her free hand on his back, either to reassure herself he was there protecting her—or, more likely, getting ready to hit him too if he did something she didn’t fancy.

“You scared her is all,” he said.

Livingstone grasped his throat. “I am pressing charges for this one!” His voice sounded just fine, so she couldn’t have hit him hard enough to do damage. “She can spend the rest of the week in custody, that’s what!”

“Oh, c’mon.” Hitch’s own temper rose. “She hardly speaks any English. She didn’t understand what you meant.” He lowered his voice. “You really want the kind of publicity you’re going to get for chucking a girl like this into jail?”

“You are not exactly in a position to be talking about who belongs in jail and who does not.” Livingstone clamped his lips. Then, finally, he released his throat and straightened up. “Fine. But I want her off this field. You get rid of her, you understand? She is no longer a part of your act.”

“She’s not mine to get rid of. And anyway, you’ve got no right telling me who can be in my act and who can’t.” He kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. What was he doing? He didn’t want the girl on the field or in the act. He needed to just let Livingstone have his way. Calm him down and get him off his back before it was too late.

But he said it anyway. “She stays.”

Livingstone glared at him. Then once again, he glanced across the field to where the other planes were parked. “All right.” With the backs of his fingers, he slowly knocked the dust from his hat. “If that’s the way you want it, then let us reach a compromise. I will allow your”—he scowled at Jael—“ gamine to stay, if you agree to a small wager I have in mind.”

“What kind of wager?”

“You say you’ll win the competition with your machine’s new engine. But I will wager you do not, and if you do not, ownership of your plane will be transferred to me.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip.