Page 79 of Soaring Sweethearts

“Get in.” The man shoved Jack into the back of the truck, and his back bumped up against crates.

Jack sat down and curled up his legs as best he could, and the man closed the back of the truck behind him.

The truck bounced, jerked, and swerved down the winding mountain for what seemed like hours, and Jack wished he could touch his breast pocket where he still had the metal ring from Constance.

I’m coming home, sweetheart! I swear it!

He’d tried so hard not to hurt her, to prove himself worthy of her love, and here he’d gone and broken her heart anyway. He never wanted to cause her a moment’s distress, but it was too late for that. Fortunately, Constance was stronger than she thought. She grieved losses deeply, but she came out the other side with hard-earned wisdom and compassion. Where most people were merely glad to escape pain, she took it in and transformed it into purpose and determination. After all, when she’d lost him to Myrtle, she redoubled her efforts to become a professional secretary and found companionship with Doug.

Through everything, she kept trying to find a path forward. She even agreed to marry him, despite the risks of his career. This had always been a possibility—maybe not getting kidnapped by bootleggers, but having his plane go down and fearing she’d lost him. She was willing to face that risk to be with him. He tried to imagine how he would feel if something had happened to her, and he wasn’t sure how he’d survive it. She had been the home of his heart for so long that the world would lose meaning if she wasn’t in it.

Jack was bruised and sore by the time the truck came rattling to a stop. At least he was still alive and hopefully a lot closer to getting home to Constance.

The doors opened, and the man said, “Get out.”

Jack struggled to his feet as best he could.

“The old man is too soft for his own good. He says I’m supposed to leave you here, but I have a more permanent solution in mind.”

“Please don’t kill me. I’ve got to get home to my girl. There’s got to be some way to convince you.” Pleading was probably useless, but he couldn’t very well make a run for it with a sack over his head. His heart pounded and cold sweat trickled down his back. This couldn’t be the end.

“Shut your trap. A dead man can’t tell tales.”

There had to be some way out of this. If the man was going to kill him anyway, there was no reason to listen to him, so he started bellowing, “Help! I’m being attacked! Help!”

They were probably out of help’s reach, but there was an off chance someone would hear him.

“Shut the hell up, or I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

The cold metal of a gun muzzle touched his temple, and Jack froze. This was it.

Goodbye, Constance! I tried so hard to get home to you, but I failed. I love you with all my heart in this world and the next. If we can’t be together here, I’ll find you in heaven.

A siren blared in the distance, and the man pulled away the gun. “Shit. The coppers. I can’t let them find me here with a dead body. They’d give me the death sentence for sure.”

Before Jack could react, something blunt and heavy hit his head, and everything went black.

31

When Jack came to, his head felt like a thousand knives were stabbing it. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he said a silent prayer of thanks that he wasn’t dead. But he was…in motion?

The surface he was on rocked rhythmically from side to side, and a steady clickety-clack sounded beneath him. Goddamnit all to hell! He was on a train. To God knew where. He might be in San Francisco by the time anyone found him. Would he survive that long if no one found him? How long could a man go without water before he died?

Shit. This was bad. He had to find a way off this train, which meant he had to get untied. Squirming around the car as best he could, he felt around for something sharp. He got a few splinters in his hands in the process, but that was a small price to pay for freedom.

At long last, he found a jagged metal piece sticking out of the side of the car near the bottom corner. It was fairly blunt, but if he worked hard enough, he was sure he could saw through his ropes.

Time passed, and his arms ached with the effort, but the ropes refused to break. His certainty that this would work was waning by the minute. It was so tempting just to sit back and let unconsciousness take him again. His head pulsed with pain, and he was so thirsty he would have drunk water from the Lavender Lake in Brooklyn, which was so polluted its water turned vibrant purple.

But he had to keep going. Every minute he was on this train, he was going farther away from Brooklyn, and he had to get back before she gave up all hope. Would she even take him back if she thought he died? Would the grief have convinced her once and for all that it was a mistake to marry a pilot?

A strand of the rope popped free, so he redoubled his efforts, despite his aching arms. He’d let her down for so many years. Myrtle. What was he thinking with Myrtle? What a misery his life would have been if he’d married her. How could he not have seen what was right in front of him, what was in his heart all along?

Another strand popped free, and he sawed even harder. He was going to spend his whole life dedicated to nothing but being worthy of her, if he ever got out of this. He would prove every single day that it was worth loving a pilot. That he wasn’t safe, but neither was she. There were depths to her that he’d only just begun to understand. She was strong in ways he could barely comprehend. He had to show her what a marvel she was, how deeply he loved and respected her.

And yes, he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her senseless and make love to her until she had forgotten any other man in the universe existing. But it was only because she was the most precious person in his life. He needed to hold her tight because she gave him everything—light, life, purpose, love, passion, compassion.

A third strand popped, and he could almost wriggle his hand free.