When a Rake Falls by Sally Orr Read Free Book Online Page B

remained steady, and the day continued to be an unusually warm one. Considering all of these facts, she gained the conviction they would eventually succeed and reach France.
    Parker, her all-too-handsome passenger, stood in front of the pigeon and cooed softly.
    She chuckled to herself. A coo really is a lovely sound . If he could speak duck, maybe he could speak pigeon as well. The thought of disappointing him now seemed unbearable. Besides, there was every indication his resolve to reach France had remained steadfast, so he’d probably tie her up if she tried to descend. Nevertheless, she explained the hazards of their current situation. “Knowing we may perish in the cold ocean, do you still want to continue?”
    After an examination of the heavens and the balloon, he hesitated, a soft empathy filling his emerald eyes. “Yes, I acknowledge your concerns and the dangers ahead. I take full responsibility for our journey, but I just have this feeling that we will reach the shores of France safely.”
    The pigeon took two hops down into its old cage.
    â€œHa,” he said, closing the cage door. “You were right, my smart miss. I have every confidence your abilities will guarantee our success. So what do we do now?”
    Eve stared at the golden tips on the gray clouds ahead. “Pray the wind holds.”

Four
    Boyce moved the pigeon to the end of the balloon’s basket and stacked several boxes in front of the bird’s cage. This would provide a shield from the cold wind after they gained altitude. He wondered how much higher she intended to go. “What elevation are you aiming for?”
    She cut a bag of sand and straightened to face him. “I estimate six thousand feet. That elevation should be high enough to clear the Channel at our current trajectory. Unfortunately, the wind might alter direction or fall off completely. Even with blue skies, a troublesome storm can brew within an hour. Success will also depend upon where we cross. A crossing further north is considerably wider and will take longer than if we cross near Dover. Still, my calculations indicate we have plenty of ballast for our descent, unless the conditions become steadily worse.”
    Boyce wondered why females had such an uncommon affinity with drama. Last week, one young miss had sought his opinion upon a new puce ribbon trimming her best bonnet. Now any gentleman alive would naturally condemn a puce ribbon, but seconds after his judgment escaped, the young lady indulged in a fit of hand waving, palpitations, and some disorder involving the nerves. He quickly admitted he must have been mistaken—the light insufficient—and the drama ended. In the future, he vowed to be more circumspect on the subject of ribbons.
    Now he watched the pretty female standing before him warning of the dangers ahead, but her emphatic life-or-death concerns sounded like another example of drama. So far, their balloon adventure had provided the most exciting moments of his life, the trip easier than planned. Nothing about the balloon seemed amiss. The glorious sky remained mostly cloudless, and the wind continued to propel them in the right direction. He harbored not the slightest apprehension of their fate. They would likely reach France in a few hours, perhaps just after the sun set.
    Still, this female was vastly different from the usual young miss of his acquaintance. So were her warnings wise words or another example of feminine drama? But then how many females of his acquaintance used words like estimate and calculations ? Come to think of it, he was not sure he had ever used them. “Eh, why do we need ballast? I thought releasing sand made you go up.”
    She turned to face him, the alluring apple–pout hanging on her lips. “When the air cools after sunset, the gas compresses, and we lose lift. So imagine you are in a rapid descent. Below is the ocean…” She crossed both arms. “No, for our