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His Very Own Girl
birds.She edged up as ar orward as she could and peereddown through the lmy window glazing. The Hurricane’sront-mounted engine blocked most o her headwardview, but on the at side o its cowling, she sighted thebright white spire o the Methodist church in ThorpeAcre. Like every other Air Transport Auxiliary pilot,Lulu had learned to navigate entirely by sight at a lowelevation. No maps. No radios. She was only ve milesrom her destination.A ew minutes later, at an altitude o a thousandeet, she spotted the Royal Air Force aireld calledWymeswold. Ruts o mud cut lengthwise down thesnowy landing strip. With the winds so light, she’d simplyglide the throaty ghter right along those ruts. Out o long habit she ran through her checklist: petrol, brakes,uel booster, hydraulics. Ater landing she might be ableto squeeze in one more erry fight beore returninghome. Then her best riend, Paulie Travers, had saidsomething about a night at the club— The undercarriage lever wouldn’t budge.Lulu’s heart jumped.Once more she pulled on the cool metal lever, haulingdownward until her wrists burned. It didn’t shit aninch. Without being able to maneuver the undercarriageand the faps, she wouldn’t have wheels or landing orthe ability to slow her rate o descent. Lulu ought herbody’s appetite or shallow, panicky breaths by breathingthrough her nose.She tried to kick the lever down with the heel o herblack leather fight boot. Two attempts came to naught.Her awkward position in the tight cockpit allowed no
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chapter one
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Leicestershire, England January 1944
Lulu Davies wiggled and shited, then lexed both ankles.She twisted at the waist to ease the pinched knot at herlower back, but the Hurricane’s tight, narrow cockpitdidn’t allow room enough or a more satisying stretch.Her numb backside would just have to wait until shelanded. All the while the engine’s growling drone and theunavoidable smell o petrol made her head ache.But oh, the view.She lived or the view.The sky that day was entirely unlike Britain’s typicallyoverclouded winter. Brilliant blue stretched to the arhorizon. Lean winds, hardly strong enough to consider,brushed up rom the south. Snow like unurled boltso linen garbed the East Midlands in bridal white.Weakened winter sunshine fashed o lacy patches o ice.The distinct shadow o her ghter plane reached ar overthe countryside.Lulu smiled privately. She was as guilty as every otherBriton with regard to whinging good-naturedly aboutrationing, dissecting Prime Minister Churchill’s latestspeech, and gibbering on about every combat updatethat came over the wireless. When she was alone andfying, however, nothing else mattered. The world was ather nod. She was her own person, soaring high with the
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His Very Own Girl by Carrie Lofty
From the author of Flawless and Starlight comes an emotional, sensual romance set during World War II about a female British civilian pilot and the American paratrooper medic who opens her heart--only available as an eBook.
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