Ride the Thunder

by Lindsay McKenna

  “I’m so sorry, Nolan,” she whispered unsteadily, purposely using his first name. Her fingers dug a little more firmly into the shoulder of his flight suit. “Sometimes…sometimes just talking about it helps.” She gave him a tender, unsure smile. He could round on her, bite her head off, she knew. Yet Rhona took the risk out of simple human compassion—and something else that lurked in the nether world of her swiftly beating heart. Holding his gaze, she felt the tension in his shoulder muscles. Rhona could feel the backlog of grief, like a huge water-filled balloon, surrounding him. Nolan needed to cry. But would he? He was a marine. And marines didn’t cry no matter how bad it got. His hair was mussed, and several dark strands lay across his deeply furrowed brow. Her fingers itched to nudge them gently back into place. What Nolan needed was to be held. Nurtured. And Rhona could give him that as effortlessly as breathing; it came naturally to her. From the look in his narrowing eyes, he was surprised by her gesture, by her touch. Should she stop? Lift her hand away? No, her heart cried. Keep touching him. It’s helping.

  Obeying her instincts, which had never led her wrong, she continued on in a low tone. “I remember one mission during the Gulf War that I flew with my copilot. We got shot down by an Iraqi rocket.”

  Nolan scowled. “You took part in the Gulf War?” That instantly relegated her to a very high position in the military world. Any pilot who had seen combat was at the top of the pecking order. Combat pilots were the real warriors. They’d entered the gauntlet of war and survived. He felt the warmth and strength of Rhona’s hand on his shoulder. Like a starving man, he was taking whatever she was giving him. Right now, he needed her touch, her care, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Just the look on her deeply shadowed face, that whiskey voice flowing over him like balm to his bleeding wounds, were soothing him, healing him.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “What happened?”

  Seeing his interest, Rhona eased down and rested on her outstretched arm. There was less than a foot between them now, her other hand still lying protectively on his shoulder. His eyes were alive with a new look in them—admiration maybe, or at least respect for her. That made her breathe easier. Maybe Nolan wouldn’t bite her, after all.

  “We crashed. Jake Turner, my copilot, was badly wounded. We were flying in supplies to a forward marine position that was up against the Iraqi Guard. My crew chief, Stephen Reardon, who was in the back of the helo, was killed instantly. I got a broken left arm out of the deal, so I was the least injured. Jake was in a bad way. The helicopter caught fire and I had to haul him out of his harness and out the back door, which had popped open in the crash. I remember lying between sand dunes with Jake in my arms, crying. I knew the Iraqis were around, and I knew they were coming for us.”

  Swallowing hard, Nolan listened with bated breath. Rhona really had seen combat. She hadn’t just been a warm body waiting for orders. “What happened next?”

  Opening her hand on his shoulder, she gave him a helpless smile. “I cried some more. Jake was bleeding to death, from a severed artery in his neck, and I couldn’t stop the flow. I sat there and cried out of frustration and grief. I knew Jake’s wife. I knew his two beautiful little girls. In the middle of that very cold night, Jake died in my arms. And I was angry. I hated what had happened. He was a good man, Nolan. He loved his wife and worshipped those little girls of his. I hated what war had done to him…to my crew chief, who had just gotten engaged before we left for Saudi Arabia. I sat there in the sand, hurting so badly for Jake’s family, and for Steve’s fiancée.”

  “Were you captured?” he asked in a low tone.

  “No. When we were hit, Jake got off a mayday call, and we had a rescue crew come flying in about twenty minutes later, to pick us up.” She sighed and gently smoothed some of the wrinkles from the shoulder of his uniform. Rhona could feel the tension flowing out of him. His face was less sorrowful. Tears still glimmered in his narrowed eyes, however. Maybe this was what Nolan needed to hear from her; she wasn’t sure, but she kept following her heart.

  “A marine Super Cobra had accompanied the rescue helo and made mincemeat out of the advancing Iraqis that shot us down. As we took off, it did my heart good to see that Cobra come flying by.”

  “It still didn’t make up for the loss of Jake or Steve.”

  Shaking her head, she sighed, her hand once more coming to rest on his shoulder. “No, it didn’t. When I got back to base, we had the capacity to call Stateside. I cleared it with the Defense Department and they agreed to let me contact Jake’s wife, Ann, once they got the officers out to her house to let her know what had happened.” Rhona closed her eyes and felt again those old emotions. Opening her eyes once more, she saw Nolan’s eyes had an almost feral look in them. “I called her when I got the go-ahead to do so. I felt so bad, so guilty. I was the pilot in command. Why didn’t I see that guard unit with the rockets? I cried with Ann. I told her how sorry I was, how frustrated and helpless I’d felt as Jake died in my arms. The only good thing to come out of it was that I was able to hear his last words. He told me to tell Ann that he loved her and the girls. At least I could relay that to her.”

  “And then you called Steve’s fiancée?”

  “Yes,” Rhona murmured, “I did. It was my responsibility to do that. I wanted to, anyway. I didn’t want Patty to not know the truth of what happened—that Steve had died instantly. He didn’t feel any pain, and that was good.” Rhona gave Nolan a wry look. “I cried with her, too.”

  “Women always cry.”

  She chuckled softly. If she didn’t pull back her hand, she was going to reach out and caress Nolan’s dark, bearded face. His eyes were alive with grief. How badly he needed to cry for himself, for his friends and for the families who didn’t yet know of their loved ones’ fate.

  “Yeah, it’s a good habit we’re trying to pass on to you guys.”

  Laughter rumbled up from his chest. Nolan forced himself not to react to her touch, to her care. Rhona’s capacity to care, to reach out and touch his hurting heart, amazed him. It was as if she could see right through him and knew he was suffering deeply over the loss of his friends.

  “I wish…I wish I could contact their families….” There, it was out. Mouth thinning, Nolan felt her hand tighten briefly on his shoulder. It was enough. “I wish…want…to tell them what happened. They’re over in Oceanside and they don’t know a thing. They must be going through hell. There’re no phone lines, no way to get hold of us, or vice versa. They don’t even realize their husbands are dead—” His voice cracked.

  Lifting his hand, he angrily swiped at his eyes, embarrassed by his display of emotion in front of Rhona.

  “I have an ace in the hole, maybe,” she said gently. “I have a friend, a very powerful friend, in Logistics. His name is Morgan Trayhern. Maybe if we can talk to Lieutenant Mason and get two relief pilots to fly our route for a bit, we might be able to get you what you need to reach Oceanside to tell the families. Are you game?”

  Nolan sat up. He stared down at her. How soft and open her face was in the grayness. Her lips were parted…and kissable. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless moved through him, wiping out his grief momentarily.

  “You can do that?”

  “I can try, Nolan. No promises.”

  “Sure. That’s great. If we could just try…it would mean a lot to me…to them. I’d be grateful.”

  Rhona smiled tenderly. “Come on,” she urged, patting the ground, “lay down and get some sleep, Nolan. We’re both blasted. We need at least five hours to keep going.”

  This time he lay down facing her, on his left side. “You’re right,” he mumbled. Risking everything, he reached out and briefly grazed her hand with his. “Thanks…for everything. I think I can sleep now….”

  January 9: 0600

  “Rhona! How are you?” Laura cried warmly.

  Grinning, Rhona stepped through the door of the hospital room. “Hi, Laura. I was over here on business this morning and
thought I’d drop in and see you. I see you’re well occupied.” A bottle in her hand, Laura was feeding a baby girl swaddled in a soft pink blanket in her arms. Though her leg was still up in a cast, she looked better. The light blue nightgown she wore set off her fair features. Her hair was shining like gold coins, and she wore some makeup, which took away some of her paleness.

  Chuckling, Laura said, “Oh, yes. I call this little one Kamaria. That’s Swahili for ‘beautiful like the moon.’ Morgan has a good friend, a colonel in the army, stationed in an African embassy. His youngest daughter, who was born over there, has that name. When I met them, I was so taken with her beautiful name that I swore if I had another baby, and it was a girl, I’d name her after his daughter.” She smiled fondly down at the infant in her arms. The child was suckling strongly, her huge blue-gray eyes looking up into Laura’s with total trust and devotion.

  Moving over to the bed, Rhona gently touched the baby girl’s soft, dark hair. “That’s a lovely name, Laura. I really like it.” She smiled. “How are you doing? You’re still trussed up like a Christmas goose here, I see.”

  Rolling her eyes, Laura took a cotton cloth and, easing the bottle from the baby’s rosebud-shaped mouth, gently blotted the corners, where tiny bubbles of milk had formed. “I don’t like being down like this, Rhona. You know me—always moving around. Can’t stay in one place too long or too often.” She chuckled.

  “When do the docs say you can get out of this contraption?”

  Making a face, Laura said, “Not soon enough. I just suffered a blood clot in the area where they operated two days before you arrived, so they’ve finally got me on a blood-thinning drug, and want me to stay put at least another week before they even think of letting this leg down.”

  Frowning, Rhona pulled up a chair and sat down. “Bad news. But at least they found the clot before it moved, right?” She knew a clot like that could kill a person.

  Sighing, Laura eased the nipple of the bottle back into Kamaria’s mouth. “I know. Poor Morgan…He’s beside himself with worry over me. I tell him to just go to Logistics and work, and I’ll be fine over here. I have this beautiful baby to take care of, so I’m happy.” She looked out the venetian blinds, through which the gray morning light filtered into the room. “I’m a lot better off than most of the people out there. I feel so badly for everyone in this earthquake, Rhona.” She turned and studied her friend. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay…” she lied, her voice softer than usual.

  “You don’t look okay.”

  “Caught red-handed.”

  “Again.” Laura grinned and gently rocked the baby. “You were never any good at lying, Rhona. What’s wrong? I can see it in your eyes.”

  “You’re psychic,” Rhona grumbled good-naturedly.

  “Upon occasion. More a reader of body language, I think.”

  “Well—” she sighed “—here’s what’s going down….” And she told Laura everything. Just being able to talk out her fears, frustrations and problems with Nolan took a load off Rhona’s shoulders. When she finished, she saw Laura frown.

  “Will Morgan be able to get Nolan over to Oceanside? There are no highways working anywhere in the basin area. He’d have to get a helicopter off the flight line to get him over there and back.”

  “Yes,” Rhona agreed. “Morgan apparently has the connections, because once he heard Nolan’s needs, he took him by the arm and said he could arrange the flight.” She shrugged. “Morgan told me to come up here and keep you company. That Nolan would pick me up once he lands back here at the base after seeing the families of those two pilots and breaking the bad news to them.”

  Shaking her head, Laura watched as Kamaria’s tiny eyes closed, her lips relaxing around the nipple as she fell fast asleep. Smiling gently, Laura set the bottle aside and dabbed at the infant’s mouth one last time. “Nolan is heroic. He cares. You’re lucky to be flying with him, and that was wonderful of you to get him over here. Morgan usually can fix nearly anything that needs fixing.” She glanced at Rhona and gave her a tender smile.

  “Thank goodness he can. Morgan’s pure magic, in my book. I’m glad he—and you—are here. I’m sorry you got hurt, but this place can use someone of Morgan’s abilities right now. They need a master strategy advisor, and he does this every day with the fifty or so missions he has going at Perseus at any one time. Seems like he and his team are always dealing with some state of emergency. Morgan knows how to think on his feet, and he can develop a knee-jerk strategy that works. He’s an excellent crisis manager. He’s one of a kind, and I know the Marine Corps are grateful he’s here helping them.”

  “Morgan’s in his element, no doubt,” Laura murmured, gently rocking the baby in her arms. “He loves what he does, Rhona. And he knows he’s good at it. But enough of us. What about you? I see that every time you mention Nolan’s name, your voice softens. You like this guy? Is he handsome? Single? A real twenty-first century kind of guy like Morgan?”

  Laughing softly because she didn’t want to awaken the baby, Rhona crossed her legs and said, “Don’t go getting that look in your eyes, Laura. You’re a matchmaker at heart and I know it. And no, Nolan Galway is just the opposite—a throwback to the Neanderthals. Yes, he cares deeply about his missions, like Morgan does, but he’s stone age when it comes to accepting that a woman is as good as any man.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “You’ve had some pitched battles in the cockpit with him?”

  “Yep.”

  “Darn. Sorry to hear that. Still,” she said, brightening, “he doesn’t seem all bad. Look what he’s doing now.”

  “I didn’t say he was worthless,” Rhona retorted with a grin.

  “Is he married?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, shoot. Ask! I think you kinda like him.”

  Rhona chuckled, then sighed. “Men don’t like women asking personal questions of them—you know that, Laura. And yes, I do like him. But if he’s married, I’ll stop liking him and try to at least maintain a friendship, if I can even get that far.”

  “Humph. I’ll bet he’s single.”

  “Your intuition again?”

  Grinning, Laura said, “You bet.”

  “Well, he’s not going to be in a good mood when he gets back. I know what he’s going to go through with those families. In some ways, he’ll feel better, but in other ways…”

  “Grief has its own time and ways of working out of each of us,” Laura counseled her gently. “And Nolan has you to confide in, whether he realizes it yet or not.”

  Snorting, Rhona said, “He’d just as soon confide in a rock. No, I take that back—he doesn’t like to confide at all. Typical male, you know?”

  “We’ll see,” Laura murmured sagely. She ran her fingers gently across Kamaria’s tiny, smooth forehead and lifted several silky strands of dark hair back into place on her perfect little head. “My money’s on you to break this guy in right.”

  “Like I want to,” Rhona griped wryly.

  Laura nodded, her smile disappearing. “I understand. I’m so sorry your engagement worked out like it did.”

  Rubbing her hands down her thighs, Rhona frowned. “I’m glad it happened, Laura. At least the guy showed his true colors before I said ‘I do.’ I don’t want to ever be stuck with a caveman. Not ever. I’ll stay single and be glad of it, instead.”

  “It’s awful being lonely. I think everyone needs a friend, a partner. I wish every woman had a Morgan in her life.”

  Rhona’s lips lifted in a smile. “Laura, if you could clone that man, you’d make billions selling copies of him, believe me. Yeah, I’m looking for someone like Morgan. He hasn’t got a problem honoring women, and what they bring to the table. He believes in us, our smarts, our moxie, and the way we think and operate.”

  “Yes,” Laura murmured, “he does. Well, listen, don’t
give up on Nolan Galway. My intuition tells me this guy isn’t gold-plated, but he’s gold on the inside. You might just need to get past all the outer rust on his armor to discover that about him.”

  Chuckling, Rhona said, “Forever the optimist, aren’t you?”

  “Do you like the other choice?” her friend demanded archly, her blond brows lifting.

  “Heck no. But I’m not sure about Nolan…”

  “You’ll find out a lot about him real soon,” Laura counseled. “You’re going to be spending twenty-four hours a day with this guy for a while.”

  “Yeah,” Rhona griped, getting up and moving over to the window. “I’ll probably get to know him so well that I’ll be sorry I wanted to in the first place.”

  “Forever the pessimist.”

  Placing her hands on her hips, Rhona turned and smiled at Laura, who was grinning hugely, like a cat who knew something she didn’t. “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.”

  “I’m a realist with hope,” Laura parried. “You’ve just stopped hoping is all, Rhona.”

  “I have good reason not to hope,” she muttered, her brows drawing down.

  “I know you do. You’re still hurting from that broken engagement with Greg. But I think Nolan will heal that in you, if you’ll let him. At least, that’s what I feel.”

  “You and your intuition.”

  “Wait and see,” Laura said primly. She rocked the baby gently in her arms.

  “I won’t have to wait long,” Rhona said. “I figure Nolan will be back in another hour or two, and then we’ll hit the flight line and put in our twelve hours today.”

  “I’ll bet he’s not as unfeeling as you think him to be,” Laura said.

  Shrugging, Rhona walked back to her bedside and tenderly touched the baby’s smooth, pink cheek with her index finger. “He has one crybaby in the cockpit already. Me. He isn’t going to turn into one himself.”