Kindred Spirits

by Beth Ciotta

  He realized now why the ghosts had unnerved him, and why he was no longer panic-stricken about being in 1923. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he was connecting with himself, his true self, and with someone else.

  He felt true purpose. He felt complete.

  “There’s still a we,” he whispered into Grace’s ear. “You and me.”

  She snuggled against him, causing his heart to swell with joy. She sighed. “You and me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  GRACE WOKE WITH the dawn sun and slid from the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  She was fully dressed, though rumpled from falling asleep in her clothes with Rufus’s arms wrapped around her. She quickly crawled across the bed to peck him on the lips. “I didn’t want to wake you. I need to check the wing.” She tingled with anticipation and excitement. Surges of pure, thrilling emotion made her feel giddy.

  Giddy. Unbelievable.

  Instead of the full-body cringe at a word she’d once considered feminine and weak, she smiled. “Today’s the big day.”

  He grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth.

  She giggled. Giggled. Since when did she giggle? She blinked down at him. “We’re going to do this.”

  He looked her dead in the eye. “Yes. We are.”

  She basked in his naughty twinkle, knowing he had more in mind than flying when his hand slipped inside her shirt. She playfully slapped away the hand and wiggled away. Wiggled? “Later, Ace. Right now, I have a Jenny that needs attention.”

  “I have something that needs attention.” He grinned, and she felt a familiar flush of heat. Only Rufus could make her forget about flying.

  He sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. She bit her lip, still in awe of his handsome face and muscled body. He could have any woman in the world, and he wanted her. He loved her. Her.

  An insane burst of joy rocketed through her blood to her bones. Today she would win back her reputation, restore her name, with the man she loved at her side. Later they would make love. And somewhere in between she’d try to make it up to Izzy and Mick. She wanted them all to be one big happy family. It was possible. Heck, three days ago she’d never have believed she’d be madly in love, let alone potentially pregnant. At this rate, anything could happen.

  Instead of feeling scared about the future, she felt excited. She wanted it to start now.

  She backed toward the door, eager to get going but not wanting to leave Rufus. She’d never met anyone so remarkable. She thought of how he’d held her last night. Two warm arms simply wrapped around her, fingers clasped so they wouldn’t slip. He’d understood her need for comfort and reassurance as she’d absorbed the reality of her love for him. He’d taken care of her, made her feel safe, rather than used her vulnerability to take advantage of her. This morning she’d awakened feeling closer to him than ever, feeling lighter than she’d felt in years. It had never occurred to her that she might meet a man who could not only touch her heart and soul but also know them so well. A man so perfect for her that she’d welcome things into her life she’d never imagined.

  Maybe he was a gift from Heaven. Maybe Pop Pop had used his booming voice and untiring determination to finagle true love for her. Maybe Pop Pop had become her guardian angel. After her father died, Pop Pop told her stories about how everybody had one. It was a fantastical thought—one she’d believed as a child—but appropriate, since she was feeling fantastic. Absolutely, wonderfully fantastic.

  “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Rufus said, his lips twitching upward.

  “I guess it’s true what they say about a good cry,” she said. “Though I thought that only applied to emotional women.” She stuffed her shirttails into her waistband, grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t help it.

  He rose from the bed and skimmed one finger along her jaw, sending tingles down her spine. “It’s good to see you smile, Grace.”

  “Get used to it,” she said, then floated from the room on her heavy boots. If she stayed, they’d end up back in bed, and who knew when they’d surface? “Get moving, Ace,” she called. “We have work to do.”

  She hustled down the stairs and into the kitchen. She saw the intimate table set for two, the pots soaking in the sink. The smell of baked chicken still lingered in the air. They’d never eaten dinner. She wondered if he’d left it in the oven, then had a fuzzy memory of his stashing several covered plates into the icebox. Instead of insisting she eat what he’d worked so hard to prepare, he’d merely stowed it away, knowing she was too upset. She grinned.

  Idiot.

  She grinned wider.

  Pop Pop would want her to experience this kind of love. He hadn’t built this house to have it stand empty, echoing with memories instead of laughter. He’d built it for his family. It was a home, a place to live and love. One day she’d have a family here. The thought felt very warm.

  She had the feeling she’d fly higher and faster today than ever before. Uncharted territory. A new horizon. Yup, this might be the best flying day of her life. It might even be the best day of her life.

  She would win back her reputation.

  She would start her new life.

  With Rufus.

  SHE SLAPPED HIM on the shoulder.

  Rufus turned and smiled at her. Grace in her element—high in the sky, goggles secured, hair flying—made his blood sing.

  “Ready?”

  He’d dreamed of this moment since he was a boy. Hell, yes, he was ready. He gave her the thumbs-up. She’d drilled him on a series of hand signals so they could communicate once he maneuvered himself onto the wing. Thumbs-up meant “good to go.”

  She smiled and returned the gesture.

  He faced front, grabbed hold of the two wooden poles connecting the top wing and the fuselage—the cabanes, she’d called them—and hoisted himself up. Holding his breath, he stepped from the front cockpit onto the lower wing. The wind blasted him, trying to push him back like an invisible wall, and his adrenaline shot to the midmorning sun. She had warned him about the pressure. She’d spent two hours explaining the process of wing-walking, taking him through the steps time and again before they’d hit the sky. He’d known what to expect, but his muscles strained with the actual experience.

  He glanced out over the wing, staring down at the New Jersey countryside racing by hundreds of feet below. One wrong move and . . .

  She shouted over the roar of the engine, “Don’t look down!”

  Right. He focused on the struts—the braces that connected the top and bottom wings. They’d gone over this. “Hold on to the struts and flying wires, step on the ribs, and inch your way out to the end of the wing.” He grabbed hold, stepped . . . and his foot crashed through the wing. The torn fabric whipped in the wind. His heartbeat doubled, and he looked back at Grace. She was frowning, signaling for him to climb back in.

  Like hell.

  The Jenny was still flying just fine—his clumsiness hadn’t compromised Grace’s safety—so he drew a calming breath and yanked his leg from the hole. Careful not to miss the rib this time, he grabbed hold of the struts and worked his way toward the end of the bottom wing. He moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly, and concentrated—he’d told her he had incredible focus—and gritted his teeth with the strength it took to maneuver against the fierce backhand of wind. He understood why Grace had insisted he wear his leather jacket. The higher the altitude, the colder the air. He’d known that, but walking the wing in the open wind proved downright chilling.

  When he reached his mark, he turned his head to Grace, expecting her to beam with pride. Instead, she looked angry. Which, for Grace, translated to scared. She had a right to doubt his abilities, given his flubbed first step. She was worried he’d make another mistake or, worse, panic and seize up, endangering both their l
ives.

  Bookman’s words rang in his ears, echoing her expression. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  He didn’t plan to. He had too much to live for. He gave her the thumbs-up, then grabbed the last strut tightly and shimmied up onto the top wing. No struts here. Just blue sky and a specially designed metal tripod intended for stunts. Heart in his throat, he secured his legs around and within the metal cables, just as they’d practiced, and forced himself erect. His muscles strained to keep his body upright in the wind, but it was an exhilarating burn. “Whoo-hoo!” he shouted, punching his fist high into the air. Ready to go, he stretched both arms out and gave Grace the thumbs-up.

  He imagined her damning his cockiness and whispering a prayer as she accelerated and pointed the Jenny’s nose up.

  He whispered his own prayer, the second in twenty-four hours. His heart hammered. Here it comes. His first loop. He laughed as he soared through the clouds, free as a bird, free in a way he’d never known. His heart split open with joy as he hung upside down, his ankles and shins wedged in the tripod. His body surged with the wildest thrill of his life—aside from falling in love with Grace.

  Before he caught his breath, the plane completed the loop and leveled off. Following her signaled instruction, he disengaged himself from the cables and climbed down to the bottom wing. When he turned, she mimicked him and shoved a fist into the air. “Whoo-hoo!”

  “One’s life should be fueled by passion.”

  He smiled. As a boy, he’d dreamed of flying planes, of walking on wings. Just like Grace. But unlike Grace, he’d lost his way. Sidetracked by adult responsibilities and the trappings of false purpose, he’d spent the better part of his thirty-two years making sure other people’s lives zipped along without hitches while his own stagnated like pond water. Afraid of love, ignoring true passion, he’d settled for a second-rate existence.

  He’d had no idea what he was missing.

  Until Grace.

  Grinning like a fool, he carefully worked his way back to the fuselage and lowered himself into the front cockpit. The Jenny touched down moments later and rolled to a stop. They both jumped from their cockpits, hitting the ground in tandem.

  She snatched off her goggles. “I can’t believe you put your foot through my wing.”

  “I can’t believe I just walked on your wing!” He swiped off his own goggles and grinned. “Shaky start aside, teacher, what did you think of my performance?”

  “Not bad, Ace.” She quirked a lopsided smile and put her arms around him. “Not bad at all.”

  He kissed her deeply, drinking in her charged energy and one-of-a-kind charm. She’d saved him, and he hadn’t even known he’d needed saving. Easing away, he rested his chin on her head, stroking her back. “You’ve changed my life, Grace.”

  “I could say the same to you,” she whispered.

  “We’re going to be all right.” It had to be all right. He refused to believe he’d come this far, all the way back to 1923, to learn an important lesson, to start a new life, only to have it all snatched away.

  “Of course we’ll be all right,” she said. “We’re a team.”

  “Kindred spirits,” he said softly, awed by her absolute confidence in him, in them. So different from yesterday. He swallowed hard as he unpinned his treasured gold wings from his jacket lapel. “I want you to give you something.”

  “Rufus, I can’t—”

  “My sister gave me this pin after I learned to fly.”

  She swallowed. “Gee, a mom and a sister.”

  He attached the pin to her shirt collar. “She said this pin symbolized her pride in me. She said I’m one of those rare people who can accomplish anything, absolutely anything, if I put my mind to it. She called me her hero.” He tucked a wild curl behind her ear, thinking he’d be on bended knee right now if he had a ring . . . and if he didn’t think it would scare the hell out of her. So he’d pinned her instead, just like in those old fifties movies. She belonged to him. “You’re my hero, Grace.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I’ve never been anyone’s hero.”

  “Don’t be so sure, sweetheart. I saw hero worship glaze young Billy’s eyes. Not to mention all the little girls who’ve ever watched you fly. A woman excelling in a man’s world, living life by her own rules, chasing danger—you think they’re not awed by that? Imagine their open mouths and wide eyes, their tender hearts whirling . . .”

  She fingered the pin and blushed. “You always know what to say.”

  “I know the truth. Your accomplishments far outweigh mine, Grace, and I don’t mean only in aviation. You don’t shy away from life. You tackle it as it comes, honestly, passionately. You’re attuned to something most people never understand, something natural, something instinctive. No wonder Izzy feels inferior. I’d feel the same, except I aspire to follow your example.” He smiled. “Like I said, you’re my hero.”

  She blinked. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just wear my pin and know that you are truly loved.” He ran his fingers along her sweet, heart-shaped face, angled and hard at the jaw, soft on the cheeks. To him she was the most incredible woman in the world, yet she lived closer to Earth than anyone he’d known.

  What would she say if he told her he’d traveled back in time? If he revealed his secrets and let her know him, truly know him? Could their relationship absorb the impossible? He knew she wouldn’t call him crazy; she’d wait and listen for his facts. Facts he could provide with his cell phone and digital wristwatch. Did he want to introduce such a hurdle to their relationship when their time together might be short? Did he want to complicate things when they could simply skim along on their love? “We. You and me.”

  No more skimming. No more paths of least resistance.

  They’d never discussed what they each believed in beyond the earth, beyond the sky. They’d never discussed a lot of things. Grace was firmly rooted in reality. She drew her strength from her own muscles, sweat, and determination. She depended only on herself. At least, she had until he’d come along . . .

  He cleared his throat, never moving his eyes from hers, stunned at the words he was about to speak. “Um, Grace, I was wondering. Do you believe in ghosts, angels, intangible things like that?”

  She stood silently for a moment, then cocked her head to the side. “Funny thing. Just this morning I was thinking of guardian angels.”

  “Really?”

  “I caught a glimpse of Heaven with you. It made me start to think . . .”

  He grinned. “Really?”

  “I was thinking a lot of crazy things. They might shock you.”

  He laughed. “Trust me, honey, you can’t shock me. I’ve heard and seen things you couldn’t possibly believe—except I hope you’ll try to believe them.”

  “You’re not an alien, are you?” She smirked.

  He closed his eyes, wanting to come clean, desperately wanting to tell her the truth, but the timing was all wrong. She needed a clear head to perform her deadly stunts. Admitting he’d time-traveled would definitely mess with her head. Still, he could give her at least one truth. “I’m not an alien. Unless you consider Brooklyn another planet.”

  “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard things.” Then her blue eyes darkened. “I want you to know, Rufus, that I’m more ready to believe in unexplainable things today than I was yesterday. I can’t imagine that our bond, our feelings, are merely scientific. It’s something much deeper. I’d like to believe Pop Pop is pulling some strings for us up there, while he plays checkers with the other guardian angels. We all have one, you know.”

  He thought of Newborne, an angel trying to rescue the Van Burens from ghostly limbo. An angel who’d changed his life. His mind stumbled, trying to absorb the very real possibility of guardian angels. It had taken him long enough to admit the re
ality of ghosts. He hadn’t expected Grace to believe in such whimsy. There was so much about her he didn’t know, so much he wanted to learn. She constantly startled him. “I guess . . . I just wanted to know if you believe in miracles.”

  Her sweet mouth softened. “I do now.”

  Unwilling to take it further, he ended their conversation with a possessive kiss, binding them forever in his heart.

  When he eased away, he reeled with the zap of her hot blue stare.

  “I’m definitely open to exploring new worlds,” she said. She cradled the back of his head and took control, backing him against the Jenny and blowing his mind with a kiss that shook the earth beneath him. Overwhelmed with lust and urgency, he hoped with all his heart that she intended to explore a new world, here and now, on the wing, under the wing . . .

  Instead, she planted her palms on his chest and levered herself away. “We should head to the airfield,” she said, her voice throaty, breathless. “If we stay here, we might get distracted.”

  He smiled. “I’m already distracted.”

  She blushed. “Yes, well, I don’t want to throw the press sharks raw meat by being late. I’ll need to fuel up when I get there, wipe off the bugs . . .”

  “Appearance is everything.” He knew that better than most, and he glanced down at his attire. The pleated pinstripe trousers, the gray button-down shirt, the Oxfords—the clothing of a businessman, not of a barnstormer. The leather jacket was right, but the rest was all wrong. They had to knock those reporters dead. Win the public’s trust. He recalled something Roscoe Turner had once said, “A uniform is a walking advertisement that instills confidence in your business.”