“I’m working on it,” Vicki replied. She looked up at the tall flier. “But you’re tan enough for both of us.”
“This tan I got down in Mexico on my vacation,” Dean assured her proudly. “And you know what, Vicki? Remember that hidden valley we discovered down there? Darned if I didn’t find it again while I was flying around this time. And”—he grinned archly—“without you!”
“Impossible!”
“Look, you two,” Jean said. “Why don’t you dance while you talk? I’ll go help Mrs. Duff make the sandwiches.”
Dean Fletcher danced as well as he flew. And that, Vicki knew, was good.
“Think we’ll ever be assigned to the same crew again?” Vicki asked, as Dean whirled her around to the swing of the music.
“In this business”—Dean smiled—“you never can tell. But I have my fingers crossed. I miss you.”
At that moment the music stopped while the record player changed, and Pete Carmody came ambling over. The reporter was tall and thin, and unlike Dean Fletcher, his skin looked as if it hadn’t been exposed to the sun for years.
“Hi, Vic!” the reporter said. “We had a whale of a story on the wire today about Tampa. Aren’t you on that run?”
Vicki nodded her head.