On the Wings of Love
The last thing Alexandra Bromley wanted was a colourless marriage like her parents… Alex was all about adventure, and that’s exactly what she got when dashing pilot Rafe Garrick crashed – quite literally – into her life! The chemistry between them undeniable, Rafe couldn’t ignore the courageous spirit that matched his own. Or the fact that Alex was soon carrying his child…Now forced to wed, Rafe must find a way to give his adored new bride the freedom she so desperately craves!
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Sooner or later Alexandra would likely be married.
She would be vulnerable, open to the same hurt and betrayal her mother had suffered. And she was afraid.
Not all men were like her father, Alex reassured herself.
Or like Rafe Garrick.
Only a short time ago she had come up from the beach and gone into his room. She had stood beside his bed, her eyes tracing the strong, stubborn lines of his face, the wave of dark chestnut hair that tumbled onto his forehead. A warm sense of possession had stolen over her. Hadnât she saved him from the sea? It was almost as if part of his life belonged to her.
Then Rafe Garrick had awakened, banishing all her illusions. He was not the kind of man to be possessed by her or by anyone. He was arrogant. He was quarrelsome. For all she knew, he could be out of his mind. And she would be out of her own mind as well, Alex told herself, if she had anything more to do with him.
HIGH FLIGHT
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward Iâve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds â and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of â wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hovâring there, Iâve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of airâ¦
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
Iâve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew â And, while with silent, lifting mind Iâve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Thanks to the family of John Gillespie Magee, Junior for permission to publish this poem
Elizabeth Lane has lived and travelled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com
Previous novels by the same author:
ANGELS IN THE SNOW (part of Stay for Christmas anthology) HER DEAREST ENEMY THE STRANGER
On the Wings of Love
By
Table of Contents
The characters in this story are fictional, except for one.
This book is dedicated to the memory of a real-life heroine, Harriet Quimby.
Acknowledgements:
Iâm indebted to the authors who provided me with the
research needed to write this book. Most notable among my sources were The Pioneers of Flight by Phil Scott (Princeton University Press, 1999), A Picture History of Early Aviation, 1903-1913 by Joshua Stoff (Dover Publications, 1996), Long Island, by Bernie Bookbinder (Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1998), and Nassau County Long Island in Early Photographs by Bette S. Weidman and Linda B. Martin (Dover Publications, Inc. 1981).
Special thanks go to childrenâs author Linda Granfield,
who graciously helped with copyright information for the poem âHigh Flight.â Her fine book, High Flight, tells the story of the poem and the young pilot who died soon after writing it.
Finally, Iâd like to thank my editor, Demetria Lucas,
for her patience and wisdom in helping me transform an unwieldy epic into a love story.
Prologue
Long Island, New York
June 16, 1911
The wind struck without warning out of a calm summer sky. Sharp gusts buffeted the wings of the fragile biplane, causing the craft to pitch and heel like a stricken dragonfly.
Rafe Garrick cursed as he fought to stabilize his lurching aeroplane. His right hand clutched the lever that raised and lowered the ailerons. His feet shifted frantically on the rudder bar as he wrestled for control of his precious machine.
Blast! Heâd checked the weather reports carefully before taking off from the aerodrome at Hempstead Plains. This was to be the last test of his engine prior to next weekâs big air meetâhe was counting on that event to make all the difference. The sky had been flawless, the day pleasantly warm. Thereâd been no sign of wind. Not this kind of devil wind, at least.
Two hundred feet below, the waters of Long Island Sound rose and curled. White-winged sailboats rode the cresting waves off Matinecock Point, their wakes trailing foam. Rafe would have to get the aeroplane down at once. But for that he needed solid ground beneath the wheels. The field at Hempstead was too far to fly in this accursed wind. He would have no choice except to head straight for the nearest landfall and pray for a long, smooth stretch of beach.
On his right, the north shore of Long Island extended along the horizon. He should have known better than to fly so far out over water. But the sky had been a deep crystalline blue, the summer breeze a perfumed siren, luring him onward and upward. Drunk on sunlight, heâd surrendered to the call. Now it was time to pay.
