“What about this time?” He cupped a hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her back in.
From behind him, voices started hollering.
“What kind of umpire are you?” J.W. demanded.
“The boy was safe,” Matthew said. “I make the calls the way I see them.”
“Well, maybe the fact you’re wearing spectacles is a hint you shouldn’t be umpire!”
“And maybe the fact you’re not wearing them is a hint why you weren’t voted umpire in the first place.”
Hitch stopped kissing Jael, but kept her close, and looked over his shoulder.
Livingstone wheeled his way over to where Matthew and J.W. stood nose to nose. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, was this not supposed to be a friendly ballgame?” He turned to Hitch. “Perhaps our resident flight instructor might be persuaded to give free rides instead?”
Hitch looked at Jael. “What do you say?”
She tilted her head all the way back to see into his face. “I have lived in sky for as long as my life. Take me home, Hitch Hitchcock.”
“My home too.” And he didn’t mean just the sky this time.
He stepped away from her. “All right, who wants a ride?”
Several people whooped, Walter loudest of all.
Hitch hopped up into the rear cockpit. Almost before he’d settled, Walter scrambled into his lap. Taos jumped right in without so much as an invitation—barking his head off, of course—and somebody coaxed Nan and Molly into the front cockpit. Jael perched herself on a wing, while Earl swung the propeller. The Jenny couldn’t take off with all of them, but Hitch could taxi them around the field.
“Contact!” Earl shouted.
Hitch flipped the magneto switches. “Contact!”
Earl swung the prop again, and the engine started chugging. Inch by inch, the Jenny lurched forward, until she was bumping across the field. The wind touched their faces with the scent of cut grass.
Walter leaned back against Hitch’s chest, one hand on the stick, the other on Taos’s ruff.
Hitch glanced over at Jael, on the wing, and she laughed, delighted.
His stomach got that same old weightless feeling. He faced forward again, feeling the Jenny’s rhythm beneath him. Flying a biplane, especially one as rickety as a war-surplus Curtiss JN-4D, meant being ready for anything. He just hadn’t ever expected “anything” could turn out to be quite this good.