His talk of motorcar models was beyond her knowledge, although even she knew what an elegant Silver Ghost looked like. From the way the truck coughed, jerked, and stuttered, Hattie guessed this clunky thing was nothing like that fancy automobile and that Hardy had driven rarely. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the seat, gripped tight and held her breath, as he made a too-fast turn into heavier traffic.
“Where are we going?” she finally thought to ask, shouting to be heard above the engine.
“My friend Will’s family home isn’t far from the city. We will park on the edge of the property and cycle the country roads. Carmody has given me directions to a picnic spot, although we will have to abandon the bicycles and walk a distance to reach it.”
Hattie nodded and stopped talking. They had cranked open the windows so air rushed through the cab, stealing one’s words and hurling them to the wind. Bumps and jostles as the truck bounced over gaps in the pavement soon had her stomach rolling. She wondered if a gleaming Silver Ghost glided more smoothly.
As city gave way to countryside, the roads improved somewhat and her stomach settled. It was a lark to watch the houses, fields, and woods flashing by. Whenever the truck passed a pedestrian or horse-drawn cart, Hardy gave a honk of warning, earning waves from youngsters or dour looks from drivers calming their nervous horses. Hattie’s blood rushed along with the exhilarating speed of nearly 64 kilometers an hour. Flying might be like this, except without the teeth-chattering gaps in the road.
At length, Hardy slowed the truck and pulled to a stop beneath the shelter of a tree. He turned to Hattie. “Feeling all right?”
“Yes. It was rather exciting. I’ve ridden in motor-taxis but, of course, they never go fast.”
He jumped from the truck and came around to open her door and hand her out of the vehicle. “Ready for your riding lesson?”
“I can’t promise I’ll be able to balance on the thing well enough to go very far,” she admitted. “Still, I’ll give it a go.”
“That’s my girl.” His affectionate tone prevented her from mentioning that she was neither “his” nor a “girl,” being an adult female. Instead, she accepted the phrase as a compliment and accepted the bicycle when he offered it to her.
Hattie studied the contraption with trepidation as Hardy showed her how it worked and suggested she mount it to get the feel of the machine beneath her. She would not betray any nervousness to him as she straddled the machine and awkwardly hopped up onto the seat.
“Your feet can still touch the ground, which means the seat is the right height. I’ll teach you to use the brake, but at any time you may also hop off. You are in control of the speed.”
Her heart thumped like a rabbit’s back foot. It didn’t help that his hand was warm on her back, holding her steady while he continued to support most of the weight of the bicycle.
“Lift your feet to the pedals. It’s all right. I won’t let you fall. Good. Now start to pedal—not too fast—while I trot alongside you. I promise not to let go. Your body must find its center of gravity in order to keep the bicycle steady.”
“Mm-hm,” she murmured, too busy absorbing his instructions to reply.
She moved the pedals with her feet and the wheels went around. Although the hunk of metal was heavy, once she got it moving, it wasn’t difficult to remain upright. But that may have been due to Hardy keeping her balanced with one hand gasping the bicycle seat—and grazing her bottom—while the other covered her left hand on the handlebar.
“Now you must try braking,” he panted as he continued to keep pace with the machine. “Press the pedal backward rather than forward and the band brakes will engage. But don’t do it too fast and hard or—”
Hattie lunged forward on the seat as the cycle stopped dead under the pressure of her foot. Hardy staggered and nearly lost his balance and control of the machine which leaned precariously. He dug in with his feet and hoisted both Hattie and the bicycle upright.
“Or you might throw yourself over the handlebars,” he concluded his sentence.
“There are too many things to remember. I can’t do it.” She was ready to get off the frightening apparatus she seemed unable to control.
“Stand for a moment. Take a breath, then we’ll try again.”
“Maybe I simply don’t have the balance for it.”
“You’re giving up already?” He raised his eyebrows. “The woman who owns her own business and doesn’t suffer flirtatious fools?”
“I didn’t say I was giving up,” she retorted. “Give me a second to get my bearings.”
“Take all the time you need,” he replied calmly.
But how was she to get her bearings when his very presence so nearby made her inner compass spin?
He’d set her a challenge and now she had a point to prove. Hattie gathered her scattered wits and focused on becoming the fastest learning, best bicycle rider ever. She hoisted herself onto the seat and began to pedal again, funnelling all her concentration on the road ahead and allowing her body to shift in sync with the machine. She scarcely noticed when Guy stopped helping her steer and only kept a light hand on the seat to catch her if she started to tumble.
“Letting go now,” he panted.
And then he did.
And then she was free-flying along under her own steam, avoiding rocks and ruts, and keeping the bicycle perfectly centered beneath her.
Speed gathered and she began to panic about being able to stop, which in turn made the machine wobble. Hattie applied the tiniest bit of backward pressure on the pedals and the cycle began to slow. Easy peasy. She sped up again. Slowed again. And finally came to a gradual, graceful stop, hopping off at
