On Wings of Passion

by Lindsay McKenna

  Her hand shook imperceptibly as she ran her fingers along the stiff paper. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He dipped his head and added shyly, “You must be awful special.”

  Erin tilted her head. “Oh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He called from ah—let’s see…. Oh, yeah, a place I can’t even say right.”

  Her heart leaped. “Go on.”

  The florist scratched his head. “Some strange-sounding place in Australia.”

  Erin inhaled sharply; Ruth gasped openly. “Australia?” Erin echoed, looking at the envelope.

  “Yes, ma’am. We had a terrible phone connection. He kept repeating the message and I kept getting only bits and pieces of it.” He flushed scarlet. “He must think a whole lot of you to call all the way from there, much less spend twenty minutes on the phone gettin’ that letter to you. Hope you enjoy them,” he called, and disappeared out the door.

  Ruth clasped her hands to her breast, peering over the bouquet at Erin. “What a beautiful gesture.” She sighed. “Who is it? He must be a romantic. Just think. He called all the way from Australia.”

  “Ruth, don’t you have that article—”

  Her secretary laughed gaily. “Okay, I get the hint! I’ll shut the door to make sure you have absolute privacy as you read that letter.”

  Erin smiled and shook her head, watching her assistant leave. Silence settled around her, and she gazed up at the bird-of-paradise. She gently eased the envelope open. It had been painstakingly typed; several blotches of white erasure liquid were visible. A warm smile pulled at her lips as her gaze fell on the signature—“Ty.” Leaning back in her leather chair, she held the crisp letter in both hands.

  Dear Erin:

  Take my word for it, the leaves are turning up at K. I. Sawyer. They’ve had us on a secret mission since my return, so I couldn’t contact you at all until just now. I thought the bird-of-paradise best symbolized an aircraft—or maybe the colors here in the Upper Peninsula. I’ll meet you at the Marquette Airport on the 20th. I’ve got the picnic basket packed. All I need is you. Ty.

  Erin took a long, unsteady breath, allowing a growing warmth to fill her totally. Resting the letter against her breast, she looked over at the flowers. He was right—their arrow-shaped heads did look like aircraft with wings. She smiled wistfully, appreciating his thoughtful gesture.

  She had tried to ignore the fact that, since her return, she hadn’t heard one word from him. At first she had been crushed, then logic had rescued her. What she had felt toward Ty was simply infatuation, fleeting at best.

  But was it really only that? He had been away on a long mission, which explained his failure to communicate sooner. She reread the letter four times and finally forced herself to get back to work.

  An hour later, Bruce, her editor, knocked and sauntered in. He took the pipe from his mouth and his eyebrows shot upward in surprise at the sight of the flowers on her desk. “I heard Ruth raving about the bird-of-paradise you just got from a secret admirer in Australia.” He ambled over, studying them critically, then glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Must be a very rich secret admirer.”

  She tucked Ty’s letter in the top drawer of her desk and shut it gently, not wanting him to notice. “They’re from Captain Phillips, Bruce.”

  “Ah,” he said, his brows moving upward again. He sucked noisily on the pipe and then tamped it down methodically. “So, the air force is using him to butter you up so you’ll write a less negative article, huh?”

  Erin frowned at his suggestion. Bruce had been bothering her constantly about the article. She had known him to behave similarly with other reporters when an important article was in the making. Now it was her turn. “I don’t think so,” she said, reluctant to discuss the personal nature of her relationship with Ty.

  Bruce watched her closely. “Do I detect a note of irritation in your voice?” he asked.

  She stood up restlessly. “You do.” She turned to him. “We can’t be paranoid about this, Bruce. At first I was. I’m not now.” She gestured toward the flowers. “I think Captain Phillips probably felt bad about not contacting me for three weeks. He mentioned in his note that he plans to pick me up at Marquette Airport, nothing more. Just business.” At Bruce’s skeptical expression, her resentment increased.

  “Maybe we are a little paranoid.” He shifted, smiling in a way that Erin knew was intended to threaten her. He gestured toward the literature on her desk. “Looks like you’ve been going over all that information. What have you found to support the publisher’s view?”

  Erin breathed a sigh of relief, glad to get onto a safer subject. She sat back down in her chair. “You want the honest truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not much. If we take out the bomber wing, we have two types of missiles with which to defend our country, and neither can be recalled from a target once it’s set in motion.”

  “But the B-1 B bomber costs twenty billion dollars. How can you justify that?”

  Erin pulled out her notes, “The air force keeps the Buff—I mean, the B-52s—flying. It will cost upwards of ninety-two billion dollars to keep refitting them. So what’s the better buy here?” she challenged.

  Bruce gave her a slightly irritated look. “Give me reasons we should keep any bombers, Erin.”

  “First, you have to understand SAC’s entire concept of the Triad, Bruce. SAC feels that flexibility is the key to our strategic and tactical forces. Second, we can only ensure the survival of manned bombers. These bombers can be redirected or recalled with absolute confidence. Let’s say an unfriendly nation threatens us. In all probability SAC would lift off a certain number of bombers. Captain Phillips mentioned that they go out to preset coordinates and fly a pattern, waiting for further commands. If they’re in the air long enough, they’re refueled by KC-135 tankers. Therefore, they can act as a threat, to help deescalate a situation.”

  He snorted contemptuously. “Or escalate it, as the case may be.”

  Erin shrugged. “SAC has been around since World War Two, and so far, no nuclear wars. They might be doing something right.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, beginning to pace in front of her desk, puffing intently on his pipe. “Look at the mess the world’s in now.”

  Her patience lessened. “Bruce, we can’t blame SAC for aggression all over the world! Are you trying to use SAC as a scapegoat?”

  He turned, frowning. “Ian Wright, the publisher, has strong ties to Washington. He’s antidefense. Several lobbying groups and liberal senators feel that the B-1 program and B-52 refurbishing plan are a waste of money.”

  Erin pursed her lips, clamping down on her rising temper. “Then you don’t want a factual article on SAC?” she challenged.

  They stared at each other in silence. Finally, Bruce sighed and shook his head. “Look,” he said, “all the facts aren’t in yet. You still have to go to Sawyer. See what you can find out there.”

  “And when I do, Bruce, what if the facts still fall in favor of retaining a bomber in the Triad?” Erin asked tightly. He had never asked her to lie in an article, or even to hold a position that went against her conscience. If he wanted a biased article, he should write it himself. It was beneath her professional dignity to do it for him, and he knew it.

  “Let’s just wait and see, Erin.” He halted at the door. “You make a pretty good case for the B-1. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the air force had somehow brainwashed you.”

  “No one buys me,” she stated calmly, daring him to say one more word against her.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that, Erin. Sorry. It’s just that Ian is really pressuring me for this article and…” He left his sentence unfinished, waved at her and left the office.

  She sat down, exhausted and glanced at the material surrounding her and at the flowers. The information Bruce had supplied her with was blatantly anti-air force. But what of the air force material? As Bruce had suggested, was she being
bought? Was all her information slanted in favor of the B-52 and B-1? And how much had Ty influenced her?

  She recalled what her opinions had been before she’d met him. She’d been just as anxious to attack SAC in print as Bruce still was. But then she had met a bomber pilot, a man who was unique, no matter who she compared him to. Were the men of SAC all like Ty? Did they all have a similar idealism? A belief that they contributed to keeping peace in the world by providing a deterrent? Rubbing her face wearily, she decided to call it a day and go home.

  Then an idea struck her, and on an impulse she called a friend of hers. “Lisa, I want to take you up on that invitation to use your cabin in the Catskills. Is it going to be available this weekend?”

  “Sure! It’s about time you left the city and got some good earth beneath your feet.” Lisa laughed. “Just remember, the key is under the rubber mat on the porch.”

  Erin smiled, already feeling a pressing weight being lifted from her shoulders. “Great!”

  “The cabin’s stocked, but you’ll need to buy perishables. And if you want wine, better take some along.”

  “I will. I need some time alone to think,” she confided.

  “Well, enjoy! I’ll call you Monday morning to see if you got back to the city all right.”

  Erin laughed. “Don’t worry, I will. Thanks, Lisa. I owe you one.”

  She hung up and stared blankly at the opposite wall. Why was she going up to a cabin in the mountains now? Lisa had been offering her the cabin for the last two years, and she’d never felt inclined to use it. But now she needed some breathing room. Or, a voice whispered, are you trying to find a substitute for autumn in Michigan? Irritated, Erin dismissed the idea. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up the bouquet on her way out.

  A week later Erin glanced hurriedly at her watch as she finished packing all the material she’d need on the trip to K. I. Sawyer Air Force Base. Bruce ambled into her office.

  “You’re running late to catch that flight,” he noted.

  “I know,” she muttered. Snapping the briefcase shut, she moved quickly from behind her desk. “I’ll be in touch after I get there,” she promised.

  He gave her an incisive look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were excited about going.”

  She shrugged, trying to look casual when she was, indeed, brimming over with anticipation. Since spending the previous weekend at Lisa’s cabin, she’d been more honest with herself. The two days in the tranquillity of the forest had helped tremendously to restore her torn spirits. She had crunched through the fallen leaves, breathed in the musky smells and looked for signs of the coming winter. Slowly she had begun to understand why Ty loved the outdoors. She had returned to the office on Monday morning feeling refreshed and clear-minded.

  “I’m looking forward to getting back into the woods again,” she told Bruce.

  “Ah, so you enjoyed the Catskills?”

  “It was wonderful,” she said, stepping out into the lobby. She turned. “Wish me luck.”

  “Brother, do I! Think of me when you take that ride in the B-52. I have to admit I’m jealous. But remember our purpose,” he added darkly.

  On the flight to Michigan, Erin tried to quell her racing heart and relax. The plane landed at Detroit, where she spent several hours waiting for the connection to the small town of Marquette. The weather in New York had been cloudy and threatening rain. Here the sky was a turquoise-blue with a brilliant autumn sun. Glancing at her watch, Erin realized that it was nearly four-thirty and that she was hungry despite her excitement. The small commuter aircraft landed at Marquette County Airport at exactly 6 p.m. The sky had turned a dusky-apricot and the sun was dipping lower, silhouetting a stand of pine trees against the horizon.

  Erin tried to appear calm and collected as she stepped into the main waiting area of the tiny airport. Rapidly, she scanned the faces. Ty Phillips wasn’t here. Her soaring spirits plummeted and she wrestled with her disappointment. When had she ever felt like this? How could a man she had met and worked with for only two days have such a devastating effect on her a month later? You’ve got it bad, Erin, she chided herself silently. She picked up her suitcase and headed for the front doors where she peered outside. There was no sign of an air force car or any military personnel. Setting down her luggage next to a row of chairs, she dug into her purse for the phone number of the public-affairs office at the base.

  A frustrating fifteen minutes later, she was still trying to get the PA man on her cell phone. But he was nowhere to be found, and Security couldn’t locate Ty, either. With an exasperated sigh, Erin hung up. What next? She would not be allowed on base unless a sponsor signed her aboard, and right now no sponsor was to be found. She was beginning to get angry over the snafu. She walked slowly back to the chairs and sat down, mulling over the situation.

  Another ten minutes passed. Looking idly out the glass doors, she noticed a man in an olive-drab flight uniform walking quickly toward the building. Her heart beat strongly. It was Ty! She could tell by his confident walk and proud carriage. She rose, her gaze fixed on his exhausted features as he pulled open the second set of doors.

  She had never before seen an air force pilot in flight uniform. Around his neck he wore a rainbow-colored scarf, which was tucked haphazardly beneath the collar of the comfortable-looking, one-piece flight suit. A SAC patch decorated the right side of his chest, while squadron and wing patches adorned each shoulder. His name and rank were printed in silver on a black leather rectangle over his left breast pocket.

  So many different impressions assaulted her at once. Shadows darkened his eyes and his taut lips conveyed an angry tension. He pulled off his flight cap as he entered and immediately caught sight of her.

  He hesitated just an instant before hurrying over to her. Stopping only inches away, so close that she felt his warmth permeating the space between them, he hungrily assessed her upturned face, his appraisal intense and unsettling. “Gal, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he muttered fervently, placing his hands on his hips in a characteristic pilot gesture. He broke into a boyish, welcoming grin. “How did you grow more beautiful in just a month, Erin Quinlan?”

  Her heart leaped at the husky invitation in his voice and all her disappointment vanished. “Is this your way of atoning for being late?” she teased back, meeting his smile with her own. The urge to reach out and be enveloped in his arms was almost overwhelming. He was standing so close, so excruciatingly close. Regarding him more closely, she gave him a questioning look. “Did you just land?”

  Ty snorted and picked up her suitcase. “You got it, lady. Come on. I’ll fill you in as we drive back to the base.”

  She fell into the same easy pattern with him once again. He was always a gentleman in every way. He placed her luggage in the trunk of the car and held the door open for her. As Ty slid into the front seat, she said, “Are you sure you aren’t a throwback from medieval days? Or are all bomber pilots gallant knights in disguise?”

  “Comes with the territory, darlin’. The Air Force Academy pounded into our heads certain rules about manners and protocol. Why? You want me to stop being a gentleman?” He glanced over at her, smiling, and guided the black SUV into traffic.

  “Heavens, no! I rather look forward to it, if you want to know the truth,” she admitted.

  “I always want the truth from you, Erin,” Ty replied more seriously.

  She relaxed against the seat, happy to be sharing the same time and space with him once again. “As if an Irishwoman could lie,” she baited.

  “If you lied, I could see it in your face, darlin’. You couldn’t hide a single emotion if you tried.”

  Suddenly she felt vulnerable under his warming gaze. Had he seen how she really felt about meeting him? Had he sensed her sweet agony at not being able to reach out and touch him? To feel his arms around her once more? She could think of no rejoinder, and so she stared out at the thickly wooded land they drove through. “You looked a little harried when y
ou came to pick me up,” she said.

  Ty ran long fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve just finished a sixteen-hour mission and I really pushed the Buff to get back to base on time.” He flashed her a smile. “It was the fastest debriefing I’ve ever participated in.” He laughed. “Those poor guys had writer’s cramp before I got through with them.” He sobered slightly. “I’m sorry I was late, but my schedule screwed up my flight itinerary. I wasn’t supposed to fly today, but we were assigned to be the backup crew in case the other Buff broke down.”

  Erin widened her eyes. “What do you mean, broke down?”

  He shrugged. “You have to remember that these aircraft are fifty-three years old, Erin. The crew aboard S-31 experienced a hydraulic failure before taking off. As a consequence they remained at Sawyer and my crew had to take their intended flight plan instead.”

  “Does it happen very often?”

  “No. Just when I’m supposed to pick up a beautiful woman.”

  She joined in his laughter. “What now? Do you realize I’m starved?”

  “That makes two of us, darlin’. Let me get you installed over at the distinguished visitors’ quarters, and I’ll grab a shower at the BOQ. I’ll climb back into my uniform and take you over to the officers’ club for dinner. How does that sound?”

  “But aren’t you tired, Ty? You look exhausted.”

  The worry in her voice did not go unnoticed. He reached out, his hand covering hers for a brief moment. “It’s nice to see that you care,” he murmured. “Remember I gave you those two sayings about Buff crews?”

  “About being tough?”

  “Yup. It’s not uncommon to have a sixteen-hour mission, come back, grab some sleep, work the next day for six hours and then fly the day after on a twelve-or fourteen-hour mission. That’s what we mean by tough.”

  Erin drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “My God, why push crews like that, Ty? You can’t take that forever, can you?”

  “Mmm, depends on your attitude, your crew and how competitive you are.”