Night Flight Page 12

  “My mother couldn’t handle my father’s flying, so when I turned nine, she went to bed to become an invalid of sorts. I was responsible for cooking and cleaning from that point on.” Megan saw the compassion in Holt’s face. For an instant, she wanted to continue, having never told anyone about it before. “Look, you didn’t come over here to listen about my childhood. I just wanted to let you know I’m no stranger to jet jocks who have bad days. What happened over there that has you looking so exhausted?”

  He remained silent, wrestling with very real anger toward her father. No wonder Megan hated the military establishment. What kind of parents did she have? Over at testing, Colonel Roberts had been idolized for his abilities. Even after his death, he was a hero to be looked up to, every test pilot aspiring to follow in his hallowed footsteps.

  Yet, looking at Megan, Colonel Roberts’s image tarnished before him—forever. To force a nine-year-old girl who wore her heart on her sleeve into the duties that should have been her mother’s was wrong. Holt tucked all the thoughts away, wanting time to digest them. It would help to understand Megan’s reactions to him, and now, she’d given him plenty of information to absorb.

  “Over at Ops where we test, nobody really tells anyone else how they feel,” Sam began wryly, holding her gaze. The shadows caressed her cheekbones, emphasized her eyes and parted lips. Lips that he desperately wanted to feel and taste beneath his—not out of lust, but out of care and sharing. “If I told anyone else about this, those guys would take it and use it against me. Right now I’m in a tight two-way race with Captain Jack Stang, the chief test pilot, for first place on the B-2 project coming down the line. If Stang knew this, he’d use it like a weapon and bludgeon me with it.”

  “I understand. There’s always infighting in the ranks, jostling for position, for the next brass ring.” Megan said it without rancor or accusation. The world of test piloting was the most competitive job she’d ever seen.

  “Right.” Holt slowly turned the cup around in his hands. The words came haltingly, filled with pain. “I, uh, never talked to anyone after Russ Davis died. I mean, he was my best friend. He was a flight engineer,” Sam explained.

  Megan grew very still inside as she saw Holt struggle to speak on a highly emotional topic. Her father never had. He knew how to give orders and became supercritical when in a nasty mood, but she’d never seen him lower his guard and become a human being with human needs like those Sam displayed without apology. “What happened?” she urged softly.

  Holt stared off into the distance. “Russ was riding the backseat with me on a test flight six months ago when the bird crashed. It was a night flight.” His throat constricted, the words strained. “I told him to eject. Three times. It was a mad race between us and the ground. The backseat always ejects first because if the front goes before it, the explosion from the eject could injure the other guy. So, I hung in there, yelling at him to bail out.”

  The terrible feeling that Holt could have been killed overwhelmed Megan. Her fingers tightened on the cup and saucer. The suffering in Sam’s face brought tears to her eyes, but she quickly forced them back. Her father had always been disgusted by her tears, so she learned not to cry. “Was there a problem with Russ’s seat?”

  “Yeah,” Sam croaked finally. “After the crash, the team found that the seat, or what was left of it, was inoperative.” He shut his eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind his lids. “Dammit, Megan, he died. I screamed at him to bail out, but it was too late. The ground was too close. I had to eject….”

  Reaching over, she placed her hand on his arm and felt the tautness of his muscles beneath her fingertips. “Sam, you did what you could.” Her fingers tightened as she saw tears appear and bead on his short, spiky lashes. The realization that he trusted her enough to show his tears shook her deeply. “Russ knew the only other option he had was to physically try and climb out. It sounds as if he panicked and didn’t try.”

  Forcing back the tears, Holt blinked his eyes several times, wildly aware of Megan’s hand on his arm. Her touch was electric and dredged up more feelings from the crash. He wanted to turn and find his way into her arms and be held. Containing himself, Sam looked over at her. Tears were trailing down her cheeks, silvery paths telling him of the pain she felt for him. The discovery was like a blow to his bruised heart.

  “You’re something else, you know that?” he said. Placing the tea on the lowboy, he captured her hand and held it between his. She fed him strength, a sense that it was all right to show his emotions. With Megan, he was safe, and he knew it.

  Sniffing, Megan put the teacup aside and reached up to brush the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry….”

  “No.” Holt captured her other hand, stopping her from wiping the tears away. “Tears…crying, is okay….”

  “For women, but not for men?” Megan asked him gently. She looked down at their hands. Holt had darkly tanned ones, his fingers long and capable. Hers were small and glaringly white against his. Another reminder of their differences.

  Bowing his head, Holt nodded. “For a second, I thought I was going to cry.”

  “It would have helped.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is this rule number twenty-two—test pilots never show any emotions and never cry?” she teased.

  With a weak laugh, Holt said, “I guess it is. You’ve got all those rules down pat, don’t you?”

  “I lived with those rules for eighteen years.”

  The pain in his chest widened. Not for Russ or for himself, but for Megan. Stroking her hand, Sam felt the firm softness of her flesh beneath his. “Sometime,” he murmured, holding her eyes that were awash with tears, “I’d like to talk to you more about your early life.”

  Megan laughed, but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Sam, you don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do.” His voice grew husky with undisguised emotion. “I want to know the woman who lives in this beautiful apartment. The one who dries rose petals and has a magic touch with African violets.”

  A frisson of panic shot through her. How easy it was to fall into Sam’s dark blue eyes and drown in the care he was extending to her. How easy it would be to seek and find his arms, kiss him, and touch the fire that smoldered in his eyes like banked coals. Megan pulled her hands from his. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t come over here tonight to do that. I just needed a civilian ear, a trustworthy one, to let me get this off my chest.” Holt rubbed his furrowed brow. “Stang is needling the hell out of me. This morning, on a test flight, it was raining just like the day of the crash. Stang kept reminding me of it, and I fell for his trap. By the time I got in the cockpit, I wasn’t on top of things. I blew the test, Megan.”

  “How?”

  “The exact flight conditions existed as on the day of the crash, except, it wasn’t at night. And it was a Monday on top of everything else. Stang knew it and kept mentioning it—by the time I got out to the bird, I was angry and upset. Port—Major Lauren Porter, the chief flight test engineer—knew it, too. She tried to calm me down, but it didn’t work.” Holt gave her a wry look. “The only thing that helped me was to picture your face in my mind. My nerves stopped jangling, and I was able to focus to a degree on the test.”

  Shaken, Megan looked away. “That’s quite a compliment.”

  “The highest,” Sam agreed quietly. “You’ve always had the ability to tame the beast in me since I met you.”

  Megan wrestled with her next statement. Sam’s honesty allowed her to say it. “When things get out of control at school, I think about you.”

  Holt smiled, warmth flooding him. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re good for one another, Red.”

  She liked the nickname he’d given her. “Sometimes…”

  Sam held on to his other comments. He wanted to say, No, all the time, Megan. All I need you to do is recognize it and not run away from it. He remained silent
, trying to give her that comfortable space she needed with him. “Well, whatever the percentages,” he added drolly, “you helped me out there today.”

  “What happened on the flight?”

  “Blips of the crash kept hitting me, and I blew both tests. I don’t even remember the landing speed or the attitude of the bird, Megan.” Holt shrugged. “I heard Russ screaming in my head, and I broke out in a sweat. The next thing I knew, we’d slammed onto the runway. A brake fire developed, so the rest of the testing was delayed.”

  “A fire?” Megan’s heart started a slow, dreaded pound. “A fire?”

  “Hey, take it easy. It was just a fire in the wheel well was all.” He reached over, grasping her hand. But the fear in her eyes spoke volumes. Slowly, Sam realized that she was terrified for him. That meant that she liked him—a lot. The discovery made him soar, but the downside made him wince. “The fire trucks had it out in seconds. It was no big deal.”

  “Yes, it is.” Megan withdrew deep within herself. She had told herself from the beginning that Sam meant nothing to her. Nothing! But that wasn’t true because her feelings were screaming out in sheer terror over the brake fire incident. Needing something to help steady her emotions, she picked up the cup, hands trembling. Worse, the realization that this must have been how her mother felt every time her father flew, nearly paralyzed Megan.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked, watching the darkness stalk her telltale eyes. “Megan? Talk to me.”

  “I—oh, God, I didn’t realize there was a fire aboard the bird. You could have been killed.”

  “No, now listen to me, it wasn’t anything. A lousy wheel well fire is nothing.”

  Sam was too vital, too alive, to die in a fire. Megan drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, not my—”

  “Sure it is.” He smiled gently. “We like each other, so we’re naturally concerned about one another.”

  The words, barely whispered, soothed some of her internal panic. Sam had spoken for both of them. And Megan was too tired, too torn up by his other admissions, to deny the truth any longer.

  He patted her hand. “Listen, I’d better go. It’s eleven-thirty, and we’ve both got to get some sleep.” The need to lean over and kiss her was real, and Sam barely resisted. More than anything, he wanted Megan’s trust in him. If he pushed too soon, took selfishly, she’d run just as she had run that morning of the balloon rally. Getting up, he took her cup and saucer from her lap. “Will you be okay?”

  Megan saw the genuine concern in his features. His hand was warm and comforting on her cool, damp one. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She stood and took the cups to the kitchen and set them on the drain-board. Sam halted at the entrance. When she turned around, a few feet separating them, she heard him speak in a low tone.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” Megan saw the intensity in his eyes change, and for the first time she yearned to lean upward and feel the strength of his mouth. She saw he wanted to kiss her. His eyes narrowed, and her breath caught in her throat. A cry, a sound of need, issued from her as she felt his arms go around her. Contact with his body was electric, galvanizing. Automatically, her lashes swept downward as she felt Sam draw her against him. The moment was fragile and exquisite. She felt his moist breath caress her cheek as he leaned down to claim her. Lips parting in advance of him, Megan surrendered to his arms, her name a prayer coming from him seconds before he captured her mouth beneath his.

  Megan had expected his kiss to be powerful, perhaps even hurting, from her own limited experience. Instead, the scrape of his beard against her cheek sent a delightful arc of prickles through her. The brush of his mouth was tentative and questing. She felt the inherent strength of it, yet the incredible gentleness with which he molded her lips to his. A bonelessness flowed through her as he ran his tongue fleetingly across her lower lip, and Megan moaned. But it was a moan of pure pleasure because he was sharing with her, not taking selfishly as most men did.

  Sliding her arms around his neck, Megan stretched upward, wanting more contact with him, wanting to relish him as a man who savored her as if she were some fragile, breakable being. Megan wasn’t disappointed, tasting the salt of him, the hungry fire of his returning, claiming kiss. Nostrils flaring, she caught his masculine scent and threaded her fingers through his thick, silky hair.

  Gradually, Sam broke contact with Megan. Their breath mingled in a ragged symphony as they stood, brows pressed against one another. His arms tightened around her, and he felt her willowy suppleness and the firmness of her small breasts against his chest. Nuzzling her hair, inhaling the sweet, spicy scent of her, he smiled.

  “God, I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” Sam admitted in an unsteady voice. Her lips were as soft as he’d imagined. Her response to him was bold, and he applauded her courage, her ability to be a woman sure of her own needs with him.

  Heart still pounding erratically, Megan lifted her chin and drowned in the brilliant blue of his hooded gaze. Never had she felt more a woman, never more aware of the beauty that a man could share with her. Words wouldn’t come, and she saw him give her a very male smile; one filled with tenderness. Sam caressed her hair and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  “I like what I see in your eyes,” he told her huskily. “They’re a deep green, with gold fire in them.” Stopping himself from touching her more intimately, Sam directed her attention to the desk.

  “I see you took the roses I sent to you and used the petals even after they bloomed.” Sam smiled, memorizing her lovely face, and wide, trusting eyes. “I like your old-fashioned ways.”

  He’d seen the basket of rose petals, Megan thought disjointedly, reeling from his tender kiss. Of course, Sam was a test pilot, and he was trained to notice nuances. Still, the observation made her feel good, and she smiled slightly. “Old-fashioned in all ways.”

  Reluctantly, Sam released her. “Fair enough,” he said. “Forewarned is forearmed.” He smiled fully, teasing her. “Good night, Red. I owe you one.”

  “Good night…” Megan stood there, a cry lodging in her throat. She wanted to ask Sam to stay. Stay and do what? Confused, feeling so many rich emotions brought about by Sam’s kiss, Megan decided to say nothing. Right now, she was feeling, not thinking. It wasn’t the right time to make coherent decisions.

  Sam left quietly without a backward glance. How long she stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, lost in the world of his hot, hungry kiss, Megan didn’t know. When the clock struck midnight, she realized she had to get a bath and some sleep. Work came early and was demanding. Once in bed, she tossed and turned, their entire conversation running through her head and heart. How easy it was for Sam to trust her, when she didn’t trust any pilot. Or did she? With a sigh, Megan shut her eyes. Tomorrow she had her own war to wage at school. Brad Jamison was continuing to block her proposal. The union was putting more pressure on him, but it wasn’t doing any good. Not only that, but Scotty Stang was also becoming an increasing problem. Perhaps Linda could help her thread through the delicate situation and she wouldn’t get fired.

  “As president of the union,” Linda Yarnell said, “Jamison told me he’s turning down your proposal because he says the entire military school curriculum would have to be changed.’’

  Megan frowned, sitting with Linda in the teachers’ lounge. They had half an hour between the morning and afternoon classes for lunch. Most of the teachers were outside eating their lunches at the picnic tables beneath the shade of the trees. It gave them a modicum of privacy to talk.

  “He knows as well as I do that we could use my second grade class as a test model. Nothing has to be changed for that.”

  Megan looked around the lounge. The plastic chairs were empty, cups and paper bags scattered on the three long wooden tables. “He’s blocking it because I turned down his advance.”

  “You can’t prove it, so we have to think of something else.”

  “I’m not above using my father’s considerable influ
ence here at Edwards to get someone other than Jamison to look at the idea, Linda.”

  “Such as?”

  “My father was good friends with George Dalton, the commanding general of the base. Maybe I could wrangle a dinner invitation out of him and make a pitch for it.”

  With a shrug, Linda said, “In this man’s Air Force, it’s who you know that counts, not what you know.”

  “Then, you don’t mind if I try it?”

  “No.” Linda smiled. “It would be a pleasure to see a woman use the system, for once.”

  “Great.”

  “What about your other problem with Scotty Stang?”

  “I’ve put in another report on him. This time, with the correct wording.”

  Linda’s dark blue shirt-dress matched the color of her eyes. Megan had purposefully worn a bright green blouse, beige slacks and a bright fall scarf to buoy her flagging spirits. “Something’s going on in admin. I filed four reports on Scotty Stang last year when he was in my class. They’ve disappeared.”

  “That’s why I didn’t have an inkling as to his behavior,” Megan said. “Well, this year will be different. I’m not going to forsake twenty-three other children just to babysit Scotty. He needs professional help. If I don’t get any action on it shortly, I’m going to the parents for help.”

  Linda sighed. “Captain Stang will hit the roof like he did last year when I confronted him about it.”

  “I’m not going to lose on this issue, Linda. Scotty’s well-being is at stake, too, even if his father doesn’t realize it.”

  “Not to change the subject, but you know there’s a cookies-and-punch Halloween party for the children of the officers and their families at the O Club tomorrow. That includes kindergarten through the third grade classes.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Megan said, “Don’t remind me.”