Hangar 13. Lindsay McKenna
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Mac eased out of the pantry. “I’ll bet the electric company doesn’t want to be paid in jars of fruit.”
She laughed. “No, but you’re missing my point. Not everyone who wants healing can afford the money, so I was taught to accept whatever gift the person had to give. On the reservation, it’s common to bring groceries, blankets or other goods to the medicine woman. My mother often gave the groceries, the blankets and other items to the poor of our reservation because my father made a decent living as a plumber in the area.”
“You were taught to be generous.”
“Exactly. Being a healer means you live in the community and are a part of its fabric. I have another client who is very poor, but she came over and helped me plant my garden one evening. It was her way of paying me back for my services.”
“I wish the rest of the world could operate on that kind of generosity.”
“Like you said,” Ellie murmured as she walked Mac to the front door, “the electric company doesn’t want jars of fruit for payment. They want cold, hard cash.”
Mac turned as he stepped out onto the front porch. “I like the world you live in.”
“At least, that part of it.”
Mac nodded and smiled slightly. “There’s a lot to like about you, about your style of living,” he told her seriously. “I may not believe in what you do, but I can respect you for it.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Then,” Mac said, opening his hand toward her, “I’d like to ‘pay’ you for your services by taking you out to dinner sometime afterward. What do you say?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ellie stared at Mac, her mouth dropping open. In the span of seconds, she ruthlessly scanned his eyes; they looked warm and sincere. His mouth was drawn into a slight, hopeful smile that she would say yes. Stunned by the offer, she scrambled for an answer.
“Major, I don’t really think that’s appropriate under the circumstances.”
With a shrug, Mac said, “I think it is.” For some reason, he was drawn to Ellie. He had surprised himself when the offer spilled from his lips, but after he’d asked her, he was glad. He could see the wariness in her eyes. Could he blame her for that kind of reaction, based on her past experiences with a man who didn’t share her beliefs?
Compressing her lips, Ellie said, “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re from two very different worlds. I think you see that.” She had made the biggest mistake of her life by marrying a white man who walked in a very different world than the one she had been raised in on the reservation. Ellie wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“I was raised to respect other people’s ways of life.”
Ellie shook her head. “I’ll do what I can for you, for the problem you have in Hangar 13, but I think we should keep our relationship strictly professional.” A part of her didn’t want to and laughed at her words. But the past was still too poignant, too painful, for her to risk any other kind of friendship with him.
Mac waited on the front porch, while Ellie went to get her purse. Ruby-colored climbing roses encircled the two dark green trellises that leaned against either side of the porch. Their fragrance was subtle and sweet. The sun had set, and the sky looked as if it was on fire, a combination of red and red-orange, thinning out to a light peach color. For some unknown reason, he was happy. It was a mood he’d felt very little of lately—unless he was flying.
As Ellie quietly reappeared with her shoulder purse and a green shawl across her arm, Mac smiled at her. She was right—they were exact opposites. Ellie was grounded, rooted in the earth. He was an unfettered eagle who loved the air far more than the ground. And yet he couldn’t help feeling some connection with her. He held his hand out.
“Want to ride over with me?”
Ellie looked at his hand. It was long and almost artistic looking. She had to remind herself that Mac Stanford was a throwback to another era. “Sure,” she said, and allowed him to cup her elbow and guide her down the walk. Her skin tingled wildly where Mac gently held her arm.
“You remind me of a bygone time,” Ellie told him, glancing up at his tall, proud form.
“Oh?”
“Military officers carry the weight of tradition on their shoulders. You’re a true gentleman.” Ellie felt him guide her toward a bright red sports car, a Corvette. She smiled to herself and thought the machine matched Mac’s world. He flew hot jets. Why not drive a hot car?
Mac smiled absently and unlocked the passenger-side door for her. “You mean, the fact I’d open a door for you? Escort you?” He gestured for her to seat herself. Amusement danced in Ellie’s eyes again, and he liked discovering how she thought or felt about things.
Ellie moved into the expensive, black leather seat. “I’m not saying you’re the typical Neanderthal male trapped back in the cave.”
With a chuckle, Mac shut the door. “That’s reassuring.” He moved around the rear of his sports car, opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Putting on his seat belt, he glanced over at Ellie. Her lips were still pulled in a soft smile. “I was just curious how you saw me and my world,” he said, easing the car away from the curb.
Ellie leaned back and enjoyed the ride in the sports car. It seemed appropriate that Mac was driving it; the instrument panel had a wraparound design, reminding her of the cockpit of an aircraft. “I think if this thing had wings, you’d fly it, too.”
With a laugh, Mac nodded. “There are no secrets about me, are there?”
“Once an eagle, always an eagle,” Ellie said. “You’re always happier in the air.”
“No argument there,” Mac said. He turned off the boulevard and headed toward the interstate that would take them to Luke Air Force Base. The streetlights broke up the darkening sky, the coverlet of the night now stretching from horizon to horizon.
“What led you into the life of a military pilot?” Ellie asked. She wanted to know more about Mac. The fact he’d already asked her out on a date had startled her out of her normal response to men. Did he live fast? Had he asked her out from mere curiosity about her, or from genuine liking? Those were questions Ellie dared not ask.
Mac kept most of his attention on the nighttime traffic, which was diminishing now. “Since my father was an electrical engineer, I grew up helping him fix things around the house. He had always wanted to be a pilot, but had bad eyes and flat feet.”
“So the military wasn’t an option for him?”
“Right. He couldn’t meet the physical qualifications.”
“But he passed on his love of flying to you?”
“Yes. He took me to the airport at least once a year and I saw the Air Force Thunderbirds fly. I knew when I was ten what I wanted to be.”
“A bird,” Ellie said.
Mac glanced at her and smiled. “Exactly.”
“Birds can fly above a situation and not get involved.”
“That’s an interesting observation,” he murmured.
“We all have our escape routes when things get bad or too painful for us to cope with.” Ellie opened her hands. “Look at me. When I’m unhappy or in pain, I work in my garden for a couple of hours and I come away feeling much better.”
“Oh,” Mac said. “And do you view this escapism as a cop-out?”
“Not necessarily. I see going to the garden as something positive, something life affirming. I’ll bet when things get bad around your