eBookOriginal (Original)
Related collections and offers
Overview
He's always been most at home with the sea—not with beautiful, sophisticated women like reporter Madeline Casey. So Aaron can hardly believe it when the newspaperwoman from the big city seems smitten with him. But soon he begins to suspect she'll do anything to get a scoop—even feign love.
Madeline's desperate to save her family's newspaper. And a breaking story about two secretive brothers and their flying machine could be just the headline she needs. But as she chases her lead with Aaron's help, Madeline just might find herself sailing toward a happily-ever-after with the rugged seaman.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781460383261 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Harlequin |
| Publication date: | 06/01/2015 |
| Sold by: | HARLEQUIN |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| File size: | 570 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
North Carolina, 1903
&334;You're young yet. Wait."
Aaron Harris blinked and tried to stand taller. "I'm nearly twenty, sir."
"You're young," the keeper repeated. "And inexperienced."
Aaron felt the frustration building. "Sir, I know I am capable. I have taken to boats since I was seven. I just need some experience in the beach patrol and the beach apparatus drill. My father was a surfman—"
"Yes, I know about your father," the captain interrupted. "Jacob Harris was a rogue in his younger days. He challenged authority. Got into fights. I cannot have any of that happening here at this station."
Aaron wondered how his father's work habits at Hatteras could cast a sudden pall over what he wanted to do here at the Kill Devil Hills Lifesaving Station. After all, years ago Papa had rescued Mum from her ailing ship and then came to her aid once more when she was accused of piracy. He stood by her side when no one else would. In the end, they were both exonerated by Aaron's great uncle. Jacob Harris was a hero.
But the keeper of the lifesaving station waved Aaron away when another surfman burst in to share some news. Aaron sighed long and hard. Since he was hired on at the station six months ago, he had only scrubbed floors, put away equipment and run errands. Six months had passed and he hadn't done any of the usual tasks a surfman like his father was famous for. No shooting of the Lyle gun. No manning the breeches buoy. No sailing the surfboat to assist a ship in distress. He had not even performed a beach patrol, one of the easier but still important tasks done by the surfmen.
Aaron left the station, hoping the warm sunshine would lift his spirits. The call of the ocean waves begged his soul to try something new. He thought he had found his purpose at this lifesaving station. Instead of finding a call on his life, he'd found stagnation. The more he thought about it, the more discontented he became. He took his time on the beach, pondering it all. Life had become a lesson in dealing with boredom.
He thought of his good friend Peter, who helped him get the position at the station. When he'd told Peter of his frustration, the older man also encouraged him to wait, to make the most of this job, to learn all he could.
"But I haven't even gone on a rescue," Aaron complained to his friend. "I'm only good for chores."
"Everything takes patience and practice, Aaron. You need to know what to do before lives are put in your hands. Even if you're only doing simple errands at the station, you're still performing a necessary work."
Aaron couldn't see how.
Peter had continued. "What if a frayed rope is used during a rescue? If it's not mended and it breaks apart, lives could be lost. Think of these simple tasks you do as important ones that will help someone in the future."
Aaron would like nothing better than to be patient, but it wore thin as day after day he awaited a change in his routine. Finally he returned to the boathouse and his simple task of mending rope, wondering if it might be used to save a shipwrecked passenger. Even so, he yearned to be a tried-and-true surfman.
Suddenly Aaron felt a hand jostle his arm, sending him to his feet in a start. The rope he had been mending slipped to the ground, along with his cap.
"Are you deaf?" the man complained. "I've been calling for you!"
"Sorry," Aaron said sheepishly to his fellow surf-man as he bent to scoop his cap off the ground.
"The keeper wants to see you right away. Better hurry."
Aaron followed the man, wondering if he would be reprimanded for entering the keeper's domain and demanding a change of duty. He stood warily in the doorway. The keeper stood behind his desk.
"So you want more responsibility, eh?"
"Yes, sir," he answered shakily. "I believe I can do most anything you give me."
"All right, then. I need you to stop by the weather station and pick up a report. Take it on to the camp up there by the dune about a mile away. Some fellows named Wright will be waiting for you. They are expecting it. After that you may go to the pier and check on some supplies."
Aaron nodded but his expectation quickly disintegrated. This was no surfman's duty. Perhaps, though, if he did this well, the beach patrol would be his next assignment. He could only hope.
After obtaining the report, Aaron had no idea what he would find as he walked the desolate stretch of sand to the dune on the horizon. He'd seen the ramshackle camp buildings said to have been built there the previous year by two eccentric inventors. He wondered why inventors camped on some sandy plain would need a maritime weather report. It made no sense, but neither did much of anything these days.
As Aaron neared the dwellings there, he could see the outline of several men fighting to bring out some kind of large, rectangular object made of sticks and material. Aaron walked up, peeling his cap from his head. At first he found the words difficult to say, staring at these men and their strange-looking contraption. "Hello. I'm from the lifesaving station and—"
"Good, you're just in time," said a man with a large auburn moustache. "Grab hold of the glider before we lose her. We don't need the wind taking it in the wrong direction—or worse."
Aaron stuffed the paper in his pocket and did as he was told. Together they fought against the wind to maneuver the cumbersome object through the sand toward a large dune. Pausing in their duty, Aaron noticed the man with the thick moustache turn to converse with a balding man, finely dressed in tailored trousers and a short coat, appearing more like a businessman than an inventor.
"I will be glad when we no longer have to fight the wind taking the glider up the hill, Wilbur," the dapper man declared.
"You're taking this thing up the big dune?" Aaron asked.
"Yes," said the man named Wilbur. "We can then fly it into the wind. Although I am still saddened by our lack of distance on the flights. I will be glad, like Orville says, when we can get on with the next part of our experiment."
All at once the two men stopped conversing. "I don't recognize you," Orville said to Aaron.
"Aaron Harris, from the lifesaving station. Oh, and I have your weather report." Aaron fished the paper from his pocket.
"Excellent! Just what we need." The two men scanned the report. Smiles erupted on their faces. "Let's do it, then," Orville replied enthusiastically. "Come help us," he directed Aaron. Once more they worked to drag the contraption all the way up The Hill—as the two men called the large dune made by the shifting winds.
"Do you actually plan to fly this like a bird?" Aaron asked.
The two men exchanged glances. Their hesitation made Aaron all the more curious and excited at the same time. "We already have," Wilbur said, "or perfected the glide, that is. Soon we will begin our greatest achievement yet, once certain things are worked out."
Aaron's heart pattered in excitement, hoping to discover what it was they planned to do. Watching the brothers handling the cumbersome object before them, Aaron couldn't help but marvel at what men could do with ingenuity and determination. Aaron stood to one side as Orville stretched his lean frame along the middle length of the glider and grasped the makeshift controls. With men on either side of the winged craft, they pushed the glider forward to the crest of the hill, just as a burst of wind came. The glider took off from the hill, the wind capturing its papery wings, sending it soaring like a gigantic box butterfly to a soft landing below.
Wilbur cheered. "Excellent! Now, if we can do a controlled motorized flight, we will make history." He ran down the hill and Aaron followed. Orville stood up, none the worse for the flight save his clothing now covered in sand.
Aaron stood staring, even as the brothers looked at him. "What is it?" Wilbur asked.
"I—I have never seen men fly before…" Aaron began.
The men looked at each other and shook their heads. "Nor will you tell anyone, either, young man," Wilbur said carefully. "We've already had the promise of the other men helping us that they will not speak of our experiments."
"We do mean it," Orville repeated. "We trust we can hold you to secrecy for the progress of humanity…what was your name…?"
"Uh…Harris, sir. Aaron Harris."
"Mr. Harris." Wilbur and Orville each held out their hand, which Aaron shook. "Have we your word?"
"Yes, sir." Aaron managed a small smile, pulled his cap down on his head and hurried off. His feet scuffed up sand as he walked the barren land, heading for Kitty Hawk Woods. He thought on the brothers and the seriousness with which they'd asked him to keep their work on The Hill a secret. At the same time he wondered what it would be like to soar like an eagle above sand and water. But for now he rather liked having his feet on the sand. Even if that sand seemed ready to shift with the events swirling around him.
Madeline Casey could not believe she was here. She stood on the pier, inhaling the pungent odor of bay water mixed with fish as she waited for Mr. Sentry to load her trunk aboard his small boat. No one would believe she had actually done such a thing as this.
A few weeks earlier, she'd received a letter from her cousin Alice, who lived by the ocean with her fisherman husband, Eric. Alice's description of her peaceful home made Madeline yearn for an ocean holiday. She'd wired a telegram asking if she could visit, and after a lengthy time, received a reply to come anytime she wished. Now was that time.
She had taken a train from Asheville to Elizabeth City, boarded with a kind family in town, and then driven to this point where she would take a boat ride to Point Harbor near Kitty Hawk Woods. Mr. Sentry helped her board the boat, which pitched weightily beneath her feet.
Snow-white gulls flew above, ushering their calls as if welcoming her to their part of this world. She tried to dismiss the fact she was a stranger to this kind of life. She only knew carriages on cobblestone streets, fancy dinners, a large home and the busy office of the Register. She cringed at the thought of the newspaper. Papa's red face. His angry words. His demands. And her helplessness to stop anything, it seemed.
"The passage should be quick, ma'am, what with the good winds." Mr. Sentry's bubbly voice interrupted her thoughts. She smiled and thanked him.
Along the way he talked about life on the coast. He mentioned the lifesaving stations and the strange activity that occupied the area near a place called Kill Devil Hills. "The men on the sand dune there had the strangest contraption I'd ever seen. They looked like boys playing with a monstrous kite."
"Really," Madeline said absently.
"Yes. Strange indeed. They were here for a time and then left. Now they are back. I'm not certain why they chose to go there and do their little tests. I guess if you want to invent something, you have to do it somewhere."
Madeline could understand. She was facing a reinvention of her life. She was the daughter of a struggling newspaper owner and editor, and a reporter in her own right, but now she was supposed to save everything. According to Papa, marrying Saul Danielson, the owner of the Observer, would help them all. She wasn't certain how a trip to Kitty Hawk could change the inevitable, but she'd had to get away. She told Papa she would come back with a good story, she was certain, and hoped this would help solve the problem.
Saul had stopped by just as Madeline was snapping closed the trunk she had packed for the trip. He'd stared at her with his coal-colored eyes. The tips of his black moustache quivered, the same moustache that once caressed her cheek in an untimely kiss. He was a gentleman in appearance, dressed in tailored clothing. What plans lay within his heart, however, were an entirely different matter. Including his plans to swallow up the Register. "What trip is this?" he'd inquired.
"My cousin has invited me to visit her and her husband at Kitty Hawk."
"Kitty Hawk? Where on earth is that?"
When Madeline explained that her cousins lived beside the bay on the far eastern shore of North Carolina, he shook his head and frowned.
"This all seems rather sudden. I'm not certain it makes sense to go to the ocean this time of year."
"Visiting family relations makes good sense any time of year, Mr. Danielson," she replied. "And I need time to think, as does any good writer."
He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. "I would believe you if I didn't think you might be leaving for other reasons."
She turned aside, fearing he would notice the color entering her cheeks and sense her desperation. "I'm sorry, but I have many things to do. I—I can't speak right now."
"Humph." He turned and strode off, presumably to hunt down Papa for another private meeting.
Likewise, Papa had been suspicious and even angry when he'd heard of her impromptu trip. "You're leaving now?" he shouted. "I told you things are desperate here with the paper. How can you leave at a time like this?"
"It's the right time for me to go. Our paper needs new life. You're always complaining how boring the stories have become. Who knows what great news can be found in a place beside a grand ocean." She refused to tell him the other reason, how she sought an escape from the plans he and Saul were creating for her in the dark shadows when they thought she was unaware. She had heard them, after all. Saul promised Papa money and support for the Register under certain conditions. And then he declared his love for her, which sent jitters racing through her. I have to get away! Oh God, help me!
Papa paced the floor, his beefy face reddening. "I don't like it at all. Not at all." He whirled to face her. "Promise me you will send regular telegrams. If you don't, I'll be forced to send someone to check on you."
"Of course I will." She drew close to kiss his grizzly cheek and to her dismay, smelled the odor of whiskey on his breath. She opened her mouth, wanting to ask him about it. But what could she do? She was leaving, after all. She could do nothing. But despite everything, she believed One greater than she still held the keys to her future and to love. She had to believe it.