"You like planes," she said, then winced at her own banality.
"I like planes," he admitted without inflection.
"Have you thought about taking flying lessons?"
"Yes." He didn't add anything to that stark answer, however; he merely left the room and closed the door behind him.
She was thoughtful as she slowly removed her dress and pulled on the things Joe had brought. The collection of books indicated not merely an interest in flying, but an obsession. Obsessions were funny things; unhealthy ones could ruin lives, but some obsessions lifted people to higher planes of life, made them shine with a brighter light, burn with a hotter fire, and if those obsessions weren't fed, then the person withered, a life blighted by starvation of the soul. If she were right, she had a way to reach Joe and get him back in school.
The jeans fit. Disgusted at this further proof that she had the figure of a ten-year-old boy, she pulled on the too-big flannel shirt and buttoned it, then rolled the sleeves up over her hands. As Wolf had predicted, the worn boots were too big, but the two pairs of thick socks padded her feet enough that the boots didn't slip up and down on her heels too much. The warmth was heavenly, and she decided she would pinch pennies any way she could until she could afford a pair of boots.
Joe was adding wood to the fire in the enormous rock fireplace when she entered, and a little grin tugged at his mouth when he saw her. "You sure don't look like Mrs. Langdale, or any other teacher I've ever seen."
She folded her hands. "Looks have nothing to do with ability. I'm a very good teacher—even if I do look like a ten-year-old boy."
"Twelve. I wore those jeans when I was twelve."
"What a consolation."
He laughed aloud, and she felt pleased, because she had the feeling neither he nor his father laughed much. "Why did you quit school?"
She had learned that if you kept asking the same question, you would often get different answers, and eventually the evasions would cease and the real answer would emerge. But Joe looked at her steadily and gave the same answer as before. "There was nothing for me there."
"Nothing more for you to learn?"
"I'm Indian, Miss Potter. A mixed-breed. What I learned, I learned on my own."
Mary paused. "Mrs. Langdale didn't—" She stopped, unsure of how to phrase her question.
"I was invisible." His young voice was harsh. "From the time I started school. No one took the time to explain anything to me, ask me questions, or include me in anything. I'm surprised my papers were even graded."
"But you were number one in your class."
He shrugged. "I like books."
"Don't you miss school, miss learning?"
"I can read without going to school, and I can help Dad a lot more if I'm here all day. I know horses, ma'am, maybe better than anyone else around here except for Dad, and I didn't learn about them in school. This ranch will be mine someday. This is my life. Why should I waste time in school?"
Mary took a deep breath and played her ace. "To learn how to fly."
He couldn't prevent the avid gleam that shone briefly in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. "I can't learn how to fly in Ruth High School. Maybe someday I'll take lessons."
"I wasn't talking about flying lessons. I was talking about the Air Force Academy."
His bronze skin whitened. This time she didn't see a gleam of eagerness, but a deep, anguished need so powerful it shook her, as if he'd been shown a glimpse of heaven. Then he turned his head, and abruptly he looked older. "Don't try to make a fool of me. There's no way."
"Why isn't there a way? From what I saw in your school records, your grade average will be high enough."
"I dropped out."
"You can go back."
"As far behind as I am? I'd have to repeat this grade, and I won't sit still while those jerks call me a stupid Indian."
"You aren't that far behind. I could tutor you, bring you up fast enough that you could start your senior year in the fall. I'm a licensed teacher, Joe, and for your information, my credentials are very good. I'm qualified to tutor you in the classes you need."
He took a poker and jabbed at a log, sending a shower of sparks flying. "What if I do it?" he muttered. "The Academy isn't a college where you take an entrance exam, pay your money and walk in."
"No. The usual way is to be recommended by your congressman."
"Yeah, well, I don't think my congressman is going to recommend an Indian. We're way down on the list of people it's fashionable to help. Dead last, as a matter of fact."
"I think you're making too much of your heritage," Mary said calmly. "You can keep blaming everything on being Indian, or you can get on with your life. You can't do anything about other people's reactions to you, but you can do something about your own. You don't know what your congressman will do, so why give up when you haven't even tried yet? Are you a quitter?"
He straightened, his pale eyes fierce. "I don't reckon."
"Then it's time to find out, isn't it? Do you want to fly bad enough that you'll fight for the privilege? Or do you want to die without ever knowing what it's like to sit in the cockpit of a jet doing Mach 1?"
"You hit hard, lady," he whispered.
"Sometimes it takes a knock on the head to get someone's attention. Do you have the guts to try?"
"What about you? The folks in Ruth won't like it if you spend so much time with me. It would be bad enough if I were alone, but with Dad, it's twice as bad."