Elizabeth Lane – On the Wings of Love (страница 10)
Buck puffed furiously on his cigar, sending up volcanic clouds of smoke. “Lord, you’d have to see it to believe it! Miles of factories! More than fifty thousand workers! It was a city in itself—a damned kingdom! The Arms of Krupp!”
Rafe knew something of the world. He knew that the Krupp family had built their empire on the finest Bessemer steel ever made. Though they produced everything from railway wheels to razors, the fame and glory of the Krupps was vested in one thing: the manufacture of weapons.
Buck’s eyes glazed for a moment, as if the mind behind them were making a brief journey to some secret place. Then, chomping down on his cigar, he impaled Rafe with a gaze that was frightening in its intensity.
“That’s my dream, lad,” he rasped. “An empire. A family dynasty like the Krupps. That’s why I can’t go risking my neck in some damned flying machine. I want to live to see that dream come true!”
He paused long enough to twist the stopper off the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and pour two fingers of whiskey in each of the glasses. He handed one to Rafe, who was staring at him in disbelief. The man sounded slightly mad. But madmen with money weren’t to be taken lightly.
Buck took a swallow of the amber liquid. “Sounds damned far-fetched, doesn’t it? But I know a few things you don’t.” Buck paused long enough to wet his lips. “Between you and me, I’m just wrapping up a deal with Uncle Sam. Burnsides and Bromley will be making rifles for the United States Army! What do you think of that?”
“Impressive,” said Rafe.
“But that’s just the beginning,” Buck continued. “My engineers are already drawing up plans for light and heavy artillery pieces, mortars, shells and rockets.”
“Pity for you there’s no war going on,” Rafe remarked cynically, at once regretting his words. War had never made much sense to him, but the last thing he wanted to do was antagonize this man.
“True.” Buck had taken Rafe’s comment at face value. “But mark my words, the way things are going in Europe, there will be. Get a real man like Teddy Roosevelt back in power, instead of a fat pantywaist like Taft. That’s when you’ll see America show her fighting spirit!”
“And that’s when you’ll build your empire.”
“That’s right. I’m already expanding my factory. If war comes—
“Have you thought about the role of aeroplanes? They could be useful for reconnaissance in a war.” Rafe spoke casually, letting the words drop as if they weren’t of vital importance. There, he’d opened the door. The next move would be Buck Bromley’s.
Buck leaned backward in his chair and studied Rafe through narrowed, calculating eyes. Maybe his mind was formulating questions, Rafe thought. Maybe he was pondering the use of the aeroplane in modern warfare. Maybe—
Buck spoke, and his words caught Rafe completely by surprise.
“What do you think of my daughter?” he asked.
“What?”
“Alexandra. You look like a man of the world. What do you think of her?”
Rafe took a deep gulp of whiskey. Its mellow fire burned its way down his throat as he thought of Alex in his arms. He remembered the supple curve of her back as she struggled against him, the warm pressure of her hips against his groin, the rush of passion that had brought him to a throbbing arousal in an instant.
He remembered her soft, full mouth, resisting at first, then clinging to his in wild surrender. He remembered the fury in her violet eyes as she struck him, the sting of her palm on his cheek. He had deserved that slap, Rafe knew. He should never have crossed the forbidden barrier between them. He should never have touched her. But, by heaven, he wasn’t sorry.
What did he think of Buck Bromley’s daughter?
“Well?” demanded Buck.
Rafe drained the glass. “We were talking about aeroplanes.”
“I know. And I asked you what you thought of my daughter.”
“Oh, she seems to be a bright girl,” Rafe said cautiously. “A bit headstrong, but I suspect she gets that from you.”
Buck laughed, a hard, humorless sound. “Forgive me, but I’m just airing my fatherly frustrations. You do find her attractive, right?”
Rafe stared down into his empty glass. “Yes, in a coltish sort of way. Frankly, I prefer my women a bit more…shall we say, ripe?”
“Aha! I understand,” said Buck. “I’ll even admit to liking them that way myself. But Alex is hardly what you’d call a child. She’s twenty—old enough to be married and cranking out the next generation.”
Rafe willed away the urge to mention the aeroplane again. Clearly, this was a time to listen.
Buck opened the whiskey again and refilled both glasses. “The girl’s driving me crazy. You’d think she’d have suitors swarming all over her. But she doesn’t show any interest in the men she meets. I’ve begged her, threatened her. She claims she doesn’t want to get married. She wants to live her own life. Live her own life! Can you imagine? What would you do with a girl like that, Garrick?”
“Maybe you should stop pushing her so hard,” Rafe suggested cautiously. “Give her a little more time to come around.”
“More time? What the hell for?” Buck’s fist came crashing down on the nightstand. “Damn the girl! She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about my sweat, my blood or the future of the company! She wants her own life on her own terms. The selfish little—”
His words fell off into muttering as he rose to his feet and began pacing the carpet. Abruptly, he stopped.
“Never mind. My daughter’s my own problem.” He sat again and picked up the whiskey glass. “Garrick, I’m not a man who believes in mincing words. I have a business proposition for you!”
“Business?” Once more Rafe was caught off balance. They’d been discussing Buck’s daughter, not his business dealings.
“I’m a fair judge of men,” Buck continued. “There’s something you want from me, and I’m pretty sure I know what it is. Maybe I can help you out.”
Rafe waited, trying to look disinterested. Inside he was churning. If Buck was talking about the aeroplane, then the dream he’d worked for, starved for, for so long, could be within reach. He felt light-headed, afraid that if he reached out everything he wanted so badly would be snatched away from him.
“I’ll get to the point,” said Buck. “The empty carriage shed where we stashed your aeroplane has a furnished room on the second floor. It’s yours while you work on your machine. You can take your meals with the family, or in the kitchen if you’d rather not stand on formality.”
Rafe weighed the offer. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but it was bloody tempting. If he accepted, he wouldn’t need to rent new work space and move the aeroplane or dig into his hard-earned savings to live while his leg healed. But at what cost? Nothing in this world came free, especially from a man like Buck Bromley.
He picked up the cigar, studied it a moment, then put it down again. “Thanks for your generosity, but the answer is no. I won’t be a charity case.”
“Charity has nothing to do with it,” Buck said. “I’d like to buy your aeroplane with exclusive rights to its design and any others you might create. You’d be working for me.”
Something dropped in the pit of Rafe’s stomach. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted backing for his own company. He wanted the freedom to manufacture and sell his aeroplane under his own name and to improve the design as he went along, like Glenn Curtiss and the Wright brothers were doing. But maybe that was never going to happen. Maybe this was the best he could hope for. Right now everything he owned was tied up in a pile of twisted wreckage. His back was against the wall, and Buck Bromley knew it.
Rafe toyed with his whiskey glass, trying to look nonchalant. Behind that facade, all was turmoil and chaos. He wanted the success of his aeroplane more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He ached for it, hungered for it, and now it was within reach. All he had to do was grasp it.
But he was a proud man with a sense of his own worth. He knew the value of the aeroplane he’d built, knew its power, knew its beauty. He knew the sweat and sacrifice that had gone into its making.
Buck Bromley knew none of those things. To him, the aeroplane was just a pawn to provide him with the means of getting what he wanted—the services of someone who might otherwise emerge as a competitor. For a pile of garbage, Buck’s offer would have been the same. And what he had in mind would be like making a deal with the devil. Rafe would never be his own man again.
“Well, what’s your answer?” Buck’s manner was cocky. He seemed sure of what Rafe’s reply would be.
Rafe took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to wait and see how the aeroplane performs?”
Buck’s eyes narrowed.
“You hardly know anything about my aeroplane,” Rafe said. “You don’t even know if it’s any good. The risk you’d be taking—”
“What the hell has risk got to do with it?” Buck snapped. “I’ll make you a fair offer, and if the damned machine won’t fly you’ll make one that does. What’s wrong with that?”
“Just this,” Rafe said. “You’re welcome to back my aeroplane as a partner, but it’s not for sale. Lord knows I could use the money. But I want to be my own boss, not an employee. I won’t bargain away my future, and I won’t be bought. Not for any price.”