Night Flight Page 5

  What were the odds of both of them shopping at the same market at the same time? Fate had intervened, and happily, he intended to take advantage of the situation, wheeling his cart down in her direction. He savored her forthcoming reaction.

  “Well,” Sam drawled, leaning lazily against his cart, “I said I’d be seeing you again. I just didn’t realize it would be this soon.”

  Megan’s head snapped up. Sam Holt stood only a foot away from her, brazenly male and completely confident. He wore a blue plaid cowboy shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The jeans were faded, but perfectly molded to his narrow hips and long, powerful legs. His cowboy boots were old although highly polished. Her lips parted and she dropped the ear that was in her hand. It thunked to the tile floor.

  Both crouched down to pick it up at the same time. Their heads slammed together.

  “Ouch!” Megan rocked back on her heels.

  “Roger that,” Sam said ruefully, and gently rubbed his brow. He gave her an embarrassed look. “Great minds run in the same direction. We have great timing, too.”

  Miffed, Megan stared at him. She touched her forehead. “You’ve got a hard head, Captain!”

  “I thought you did.”

  Grabbing the fallen corn on the floor between them, she straightened. “You followed me here!”

  Sam got up. “No…I didn’t. Honest.”

  Jerking a plastic bag off the roll above the counter, Megan muttered, “Do you know the odds of us meeting at the same market at the same time, Captain? Come on!” She stuffed the errant ear into the bag and tried to concentrate on choosing several more. Her hand trembled imperceptibly as she randomly selected the corn.

  “They are rather phenomenal,” Sam admitted, going back to his cart and enjoying watching her. “But I believe in fate.”

  “I don’t! Especially with pushy pilots. You planned this.” She gave him her best glare, hoping to make him leave her alone once and for all. “Now stop following me!” She turned the cart around, heading off for another aisle—any aisle other than the one Holt was in.

  “Feisty. I like that.” Holt went in hot pursuit.

  Thinking she’d lost him by zooming up and down several aisles, Megan stopped in front of the spaghetti section. Looking over her shoulder, she saw no one coming. Leaning down, she looked over the canned tomato section. A squeaky sound alerted her a cart was coming from the opposite direction. Scowling, Megan looked up.

  “Hey, is it a crime to shop for spaghetti?” Holt asked, holding up both his hands in a sign of peace.

  “You followed me!”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t do that, Red.” It was a lie, but Sam didn’t care. She looked positively beautiful when she was angry, her green eyes narrowed with flecks of emerald fire.

  Mollified when Holt called her Red, Megan backed off. “I just don’t believe you. You followed me to this store.”

  “I don’t even know where you live. How could I?”

  “You could have followed me from the base earlier.”

  “I drive a black Corvette. Did you see it in your rearview mirror at any time?”

  “No,” Megan grudgingly admitted. Maybe Holt was right. Maybe this was a chance encounter. It had better be. She wouldn’t put up with any man’s pursuit of her.

  Leaning down, Sam picked up a box of spaghetti. “I go over to Captain Curt Merrill’s house once a week. He’s a fellow test pilot. We’ve been friends for over seven years. It’s my turn to bring a casserole,” he said conversationally, “so I figured spaghetti would be a good meal for all of us. Their daughter Patty is my godchild. She calls me Uncle Sammy.” He smiled fondly, putting the item in his basket, noticing Megan’s sudden interest. “I’m not really, but I like being part of a family even if I’m single.”

  Another generalization about pilots was blown. Megan stood there and watched as Holt put his hands on his hips. “You must be an academy graduate. They teach you guys to never quit once you’ve got a goal in mind.” In this case, Holt’s goal was her. Sam gave her that lopsided, boyish smile and it sent her heart pounding again.

  “Nah, not this guy.” He held up his hand. There was no ring on his hand to identify him as a graduate. “I’m not a member of the brotherhood of ring knockers. I came up the hard way. The real way—on my own.”

  Interesting. Megan kept that thought to herself this time. “Then it’s obvious you have a sponsor,” she replied, the anger draining out of her voice.

  Sponsors. The magic word that could make or break a career, and Holt knew it. He had the good grace to blush and look sheepishly down at his scuffed cowboy boots. “I wouldn’t know about that. I’d like to think I got here on my hard work, my flying skills, and savvy.” Looking up, he held her gaze. “I don’t like the idea some general saw me a few years back, liked the stuff I was made out of and decided to help me along by being at the right place and time to juggle my career for me.”

  Megan quirked her lips. Most officers would die to have a sponsor in the upper echelons of rank. “Sort of independent, aren’t you?”

  Grinning, Sam said, “I don’t know about that. Patty loves me just the way I am.”

  “That’s pretty unusual for a pilot to be interested in children.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is,” Megan said stubbornly.

  He cocked his head, assimilating the feelings behind her answer. “We do other things besides fly planes.”

  “Most of you don’t.”

  Sam reached down, choosing two cans of tomatoes and placing them in his cart. “I like kids. Patty likes the horsey-back rides I give her when I come over. That little gal is bright.”

  If only her father had the same kind of philosophy that Sam had. Trying to stuff all those feelings back down deep where she kept them, Megan mustered a partial smile.

  “I just hope Patty realizes what she’s found in you.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows, a careless smile breaking the planes of his face. Megan was so serious, and her eyes were dark with some unidentifiable pain. Wanting to make her smile, he teased, “How could any woman, even a seven-year-old little girl, resist my considerable charms? I mean, I’m single, no present lady friend, twenty-nine years old, handsome as hell, intelligent—”

  Megan stared at him. “You’re impossible, Captain! Impossible!” She quickly wheeled on by him.

  “Maybe,” Sam muttered under his breath, watching Megan hurry on down the aisle at almost a gallop. “Go ahead, Red, run away,” he called after her, his voice carrying strongly. “It won’t do you any good.”

  Megan disappeared around the corner and Sam chuckled indulgently. Let her go—this time. There would be other times. Damn, she was beautiful. And bullheaded about dating a man in uniform. I’ve got my gun sights on you, sweetheart, and you’re mine. You just don’t know it yet. But you will…

  4

  “Time for our nightly tac-and-strat session!” Melody called from the living room. Every night they got together about ten o’clock to compare notes of what went on for each of them during the day at the base, or in Lancaster. Jack had christened their tactics-and-strategy sessions. Their son, Scotty, who rarely went to bed before 11:00 p.m., was in his room at the end of the hall playing with computer games. Melody wore a colorful silk caftan of rose, plum and pink that outlined her curved body to perfection. She sat down on the intricately carved Queen Anne chair, placing her steno pad on the polished maple table.

  “Jack?” she called again.

  “Coming…”

  Smiling, she watched her husband come from the side room, where he had his study and office. At twenty-nine, he still looked like the college football quarterback she’d married eight years earlier. Whipcord-lean, Jack had always reminded her of a wolf. His eyes were hazel-colored, sometimes almost an amber tone when he made hot, hungry love with her. When he was going to fly a test flight, they were narrowed and green-looking, reminding her of a hawk intent upon his prey. Now, as he swaggered toward her in his red shirt,
dark brown slacks and loafers, she saw his eyes were a blue-green. That was a sign he was happy.

  She smiled and tilted her head up to receive his kiss. “Mmmm, this is almost my favorite time of night,” she said, returning his swift, hard kiss with equal fervor.

  Jack grinned, sat to her left and opened up his notebook. “I like a woman with long, thick black hair. Reminds me of a river moving quietly through the darkness. Never can tell how deep it is, or the currents that run under it.”

  “That’s why you married me, Captain Stang.”

  “Roger that, pretty one. You’re mysterious, elegant and no one but me knows what lurks below your surface.” He smiled and flipped open the notebook, ballpoint pen ready. “Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks here, and then I’ll court you properly in the bedroom later.”

  “Promise?” Melody liked the challenging smile on his long face. Jack wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but he had other assets. His eyes were large and intelligent. His aquiline nose had been broken two times during his four years at the Air Force Academy when he was their star quarterback. The thin, white scar across his left cheek only emphasized his bold, hawklike features. Jack’s chin warned everyone he was a warrior. It was square and strong. He took after his attorney father in looks a great deal, but his genetic scientist mother had given him her facile intelligence and remarkable eyes. A good combination, in Melody’s opinion.

  “Have I ever broken a promise to you, yet?” Jack reminded her archly.

  “Never. Okay, you go first.” She took a third piece of paper, a chart graph, and placed it between them.

  “Okay, today Merrill and Porter flew the F-15.”

  “How’d it go?” Melody was hoping Merrill screwed up in some way, to keep him pinned down in the number three slot.

  Grinning, Jack said, “Porter’s having to reschedule the test for tomorrow.”

  Melody clapped her hands. “Excellent! What happened?”

  “Roger that. Merrill couldn’t hit the landing spot with the bird because we had stiff crosswinds.”

  “Better him than you,” Melody said with genuine feeling. Bad weather was a fickle and unaccounted-for variable in testing. If it had to strike, Melody always hoped it was when one of the other test pilots was flying, so it would drag down their percentile rating, and not Jack’s. “So far, so good.”

  “Right. I fly tomorrow.”

  “And Holt?” She didn’t like the upstart bastard, and had no respect for anyone who wasn’t a graduate of the academy.

  “He flies the second test with Porter.”

  “Who’s your flight engineer?” She hoped it was Pete Johnson. He was a fellow ring knocker. Lauren Porter was, too, but Jack hated her with a passion.

  “Pete. I lucked out. Holt get’s sourpuss Porter, and I get my buddy.”

  Melody checked off several items, and made a red line on the graph, which charted all three test pilots concerned with the short-landing F-15 Eagle assignment. “I wish you would get on Porter’s good side. She’s a major, you know. One rank above you, and the boss of that project. Really, Jack, if you could just overlook her feminist attitude and get in good with her, she might boost your percentile rating.” Flight engineers had input on rating the test pilot’s flying skills; Melody sensed strongly that Porter deliberately lowered Jack’s scores to get even with him for constantly challenging her because she was one of the few women in a man’s world.

  Rearing back in the chair, Jack gave her an irritated look. “That bitch and I aren’t ever going to have a cease-fire, Melody. Every damn time I get around her, she jumps on me for something I said or did.”

  Sympathetically, Melody said, “You can’t help it if you’re a football hero, the number-one slotted golden arm heading for the next assignment—testing the B-2 bomber. Women like Porter want it all. They don’t want someone like you around to remind them of what they aren’t or can’t ever be. There’s no such thing as a woman star quarterback, so Porter is going to have to work hard to be recognized in other ways. She’s competitive, just like you.”

  “It’d be my luck she’ll get assigned to the B-2 project, too. Damn.” Jack brought the legs of the chair back down on the carpet, scowling. “Isn’t there anything you can do from your end? She’s engaged to Major Ryan Malone, who’s assigned to NASA on the base. What do your contacts have on him?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing. Judy, who works over at the NASA cafeteria, tells me he’s never made a pass at another woman over there. I’m afraid he’s true-blue to Porter.”

  “There isn’t a jet jock alive that’s single who wouldn’t respond to a pass from a good-looking body.”

  Melody tapped the pencil on the table in thought. “Well…”

  “Uh-oh, you’ve come up with a plan.” Jack was delighted, always intrigued with the way Melody thought.

  “What about Liza? She’s new, and according to my source over there, a blond bombshell who hangs around at the O Club every Friday night in a leather miniskirt and tube top. If I’m right, Malone likes the model type. Look at Porter—she’s thin as a toothpick.” Melody gestured to her full breasts.

  Jack grinned. “I like my woman with some flesh on her bones.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Melody was five feet, nine inches tall, weighing one hundred and forty pounds. Jack had always liked her full figure, and so had she.

  “I’ve heard on the grapevine this Liza is new and hot.”

  “Yes, she showed up at the O Club about a month ago. So far, she lays the jocks, but hasn’t got tangled up with one on a steady basis yet. She likes to play the crowd.”

  “Maybe you ought to send Judy over to talk to Liza about making a few passes at Malone. Have Judy slip her a twenty or fifty to do it.”

  Melody arched one eyebrow. “And Liza may do it for free because she thinks it’s a challenge, or fun. You know how those groupies are. And even if Malone doesn’t take the bait, everyone in the cafeteria will see Liza and him sitting together. She’s an outrageous flirt.”

  Rubbing his hands together, Jack grinned. “Yeah, I like that. Let me know when you set it up. I’ll make sure Lauren hears about it pronto. I’d like to see something knock her on her arrogant ass. Maybe stirring up some gossip and innuendos in her personal life will make her screw up on the software programming or testing.”

  “Just make sure it’s not a test you’re flying,” Melody warned darkly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Holt or Merrill is scheduled to fly with the bitch. I’ll just drop the bomb and then sit back and watch it explode.” Jack leaned forward. “Now, what have you heard today? Anything juicy or gossipy I can spread over at Ops tomorrow morning?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know. I had lunch with the NASA wives today. Of course, Sandy Yale, the wife of your boss, Colonel Bob Yale, was there. I made sure I sat with her.”

  “I’ll bet you out-aced all the rest of the captains’ wives who wanted to sit with her, too.”

  “Of course. I’m not a banker’s daughter for nothing, sweetheart,” Melody laughed.

  “Add to that a master’s degree in psychology,” Jack added, proud of her accomplishments. “Between the two, honey, you maneuver very well.”

  “In and out of bed,” she reminded him, laughing.

  Jack slid his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. He liked her maneuvers in bed. Never had he met a woman who matched his sexual appetite like Melody did. “So, what new gossip did you pick up today? Anything?”

  Melody consulted her notes she always kept on a steno pad. She carried it in her briefcase wherever she went on base. At luncheons, club meetings, or dinners, she would memorize names with places and gossip, later writing it down in the car where she wouldn’t be seen.

  “Well, Becky Merrill was supposed to be there, and wasn’t. It’s not like her not to be present. You know how Merrill pushes her on us. That Arkansas hillbilly will never make it as an Air Force wife.”

  “True,” Stang returned, thoughtful. “She wasn’t t
here?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder why?”

  “I asked Scotty if Patty was in school with him, and he said yes. So, it couldn’t be because Patty was ill and Becky had to stay home and take care of her today.”

  “Hmmm. Unusual.”

  “Yes, but we don’t have anything concrete to make a pro or con assessment on it.”

  “I think I’ll hit Merrill with it tomorrow morning and see how he reacts.”

  “Good idea. As my corporate father would say, keep the enemy off balance—attack.”

  “That’s another reason why I love you—your very successful family.”

  “Rich and successful family,” Melody corrected.

  “That doesn’t hurt, either.”

  “Yours is just as well off as mine.”

  “True. You can’t say that for the rest of these guys, though.”

  “No, they’re not as astute or business-oriented as we are,” Melody pointed out. “Or, they don’t cultivate those skills.”

  “Good thing they don’t,” Jack muttered, “or it would make my goal to become a major the first time around, harder.” Very few officers made their next rank the first time around when they came up for promotion. Usually, it was on the second, third, or even fourth try, that they managed to get the next rank. To make it the first time was spectacular, alerting everyone that the officer had a hell of a powerful sponsor behind him. Jack prayed that if he had a sponsor, he’d come through for him this February, when he was up for major the first time around.

  “You’ve got a sponsor,” Melody said, “so don’t worry. As long as you remain number one in the testing phase, no one will deny you your major’s leaves in February, darling.” She reached out and placed an inviting kiss on the grim line of his mouth. In moments, his mouth softened, became hungry, and she languished in the fire that always simmered so close to the surface of his needs.