To the Limit

by Jo Leigh

  She felt her face flush and her anger rise. Had she actually told Gary something so personal? Or had Sharon? “Wait a minute—”

  “I’m not making that up. Sharon was there.”

  Wow, Emma didn’t remember that, which was pretty messed up. “Even if I did, that’s really none of your business.”

  He looked down, but only for a few seconds. When he met her gaze again, he was full of determination. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but I take being a friend seriously. And I believe you deserve better. Someone who can offer you stability, who’ll be around. Someone you can count on for the long run. Someone patient. Like me.”

  Emma could barely breathe she was so filled with confusion and, frankly, outrage. “You and Sharon been plotting this talk for a while?”

  He shook his head. “No. Although I’m sure she sees the same things I do. I’m not asking you to give up your friendship with Sam. Go for it. Not that I have any say. But you need to know that I’ll still be here on the other end.”

  “The other end of what?”

  “Sizzle like that only lasts for so long.”

  “You do know he’s not a fighter pilot any longer. He’s an instructor.”

  Gary nodded. “The job may have changed, but the man was and is a fighter pilot. He’ll always be that. Think about the retired pilots we both know. The ones with the speedboats, who do stunt flying in air shows. It’s in the blood, Emma.”

  “Well,” she said, gathering her purse and standing. “I appreciate your opinion. I’ll certainly keep it under advisement.”

  “Look, all you really need to know is I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay.” She barely managed a token smile. “Thanks for the chai.”

  “Running tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. “I’m having dinner with Sam, and I’m not sure how late I’ll be out.”

  “Either way, I’ll be at the track.”

  She nodded, then left the BX, her anger fueling her quick walk to her car. Of all the nerve. Gary had no business shoving his way into her business. No right. They were friends. Colleagues. So she ran with him in the mornings. And they’d palled around outside work sometimes. He didn’t get to have an opinion on who she dated or what she did with her private life.

  As she made her way out of the base, she had to brake suddenly for a motorcycle. It wasn’t the sports model that Sam was interested in, but it stopped her inner rant short.

  Okay, so Gary wasn’t completely wrong. She couldn’t deny that, at least not for long. He’d brought up most of her own arguments and held them in front of her face. But the thought of not seeing Sam tonight made her ache.

  What Gary didn’t know, what no one could know, including her, was how his nonflight status was going to change Sam’s life. He wanted a family. He knew what it was to have an absentee father. One of the things that kept popping up in articles about the new RPA fleet was how it gave active duty pilots an eight-to-five life, which they’d never had when flying the fast movers.

  Yes, she and Sam would have to discuss the motorcycle, but she had faith he would see reason. He wasn’t a kid anymore, just as she wasn’t. They weren’t destined to crash and burn. And she wasn’t going to bail when they’d barely started.

  * * *

  THE BANKS OF VIDEO SCREENS were spaced just far enough apart that Sam could efficiently keep his focus on one simulator bay at a time in short bursts of intense concentration. He and two other instructors that he barely knew had been assigned their individual sections, and as it was the first day for the trainees to be in the simulators, the instructors had fed in the same practice video, each spooled to run at the same time.

  Sam’s coffee was growing cold even though he held it in his hand. It would take some getting used to, this arrangement and the screen array. During his own training, things had been just different enough that he’d need to reprogram his movements and find a new rhythm.

  “Sandoval better be having first-day jitters.” Captain Cooper jiggled the keys in his uniform pocket. An unconscious habit, evidently, and one Sam refused to let under his skin. “Because he’s lost tracking on that vehicle three times already.”

  “I’d give it a week before coming to any conclusions about this batch,” Lieutenant Colonel Adams said. He’d been an instructor at Holloman for three years and had a lot of experience, which was why he was in the instructor’s bay with Sam and Cooper, who were the new kids in town. “Almost everyone gets a pass before we get down and dirty.”

  Even though they went through the first phase of instrument simulator flying and academics, the students would be piloting real MQ-9s and using live payloads.

  Not today, though. First three days were simulations only. Second through fifth week was tracking with no armaments. The students needed to get their bearings, but more important, the instructors needed those first weeks to get the true measure of their trainees. Not everyone made it through.

  Sam’s gaze went back to the top row of screens, and while there was some sloppy tracking going on, his section seemed to be doing okay.

  Something on middle row right caught his eye. The pilot was an 18X by the name of Second Lieutenant Zachary. The sensor in the next seat over was a former helicopter pilot, Lieutenant Wilson. It was Zachary whom Sam was watching, and the guy was moving lower than recommended and damned if he didn’t trigger an arms release. All the students had been given the mission of tracking a specific white SUV through desert terrain. Tracking did not mean blowing shit up, even if it was all pretend.

  “Colonel, I’ve got a problem in simulator bay 4A55.”

  “Go handle it,” Adams said, and Sam left the trailer.

  The sun was brutal outside, and the walk was a long one to Zachary’s bay. This was the kind of behavior that had to be nipped in the bud, and Sam used the time before he got to 4A55 to go over what he’d need to say.

  He surprised the two men, but they didn’t stop the mission, which was good, because he would have raised hell if they had. Positioning himself at the back of the crowded simulator bay, Sam crossed his arms, focusing on Zachary, but his sensor would take the heat as if he’d done the deed. “You know why I’m here, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zachary said. “I stepped outside the mission parameter, sir.”

  “Yes, you did. And it troubles me, Lieutenant, because every time you put your thumb on a red button, you are prepared to kill. Every time. This is not a video game where you get to try again. Just as with your service weapon, the only time you aim is when you are prepared to end lives. There is no room in this air force for men who treat these RPAs as anything less than the active and dangerous weapons they are. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Wilson, did you go over the mission parameters with your pilot before you put your MQ in the air?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Were you aware that Lieutenant Zachary had engaged the armaments?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I suggest you gentlemen reread your regulations, and go over your training materials, because this is the last warning you’ll ever receive about misuse and mishandling of an RPA. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Carry on,” he said, then stepped outside once again. Those two would be on their best behavior, knowing that getting called out on day one was no way to get ahead. And Wilson would probably have plenty to say to his partner. All Sam knew for sure was that he did not want one of his trainees to wash out. In fact, he didn’t want to hear of any kind of misconduct, malicious or not, from any member of his team.

  Frankly, the whole screwup pissed him off. God, they were young. Sam remembered the kind of stunts he, Danny and John had pulled during their initial training, but never in class, never with the equipment. They
’d gotten stupid in bars and cars and, God knew, with women.

  But the three of them had understood that when they were in a classroom or a simulator or a plane, it was all business, all the time. His students would learn the same thing before the initial phase of training was over. He’d see to it.

  As he headed back to his trailer, he pulled out his cell. Emma would be between classes at the moment. Her schedule was more complicated than half the missions he’d flown, but he’d memorized most of it.

  “Hey, Captain,” she said, answering on the first ring.

  “Got a minute?”

  “You bet.”

  “I just had to give one of my students hell.” When she didn’t reply, he realized his voice had probably clued her in that he wasn’t finished. “It was hard. I didn’t like it.”

  Emma laughed, and he wasn’t sure if it was with him or at him. “Oh, sweetie, you really are a rookie teacher. But don’t worry, it gets easier.”

  He was grinning himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to chew out a subordinate, but he’d still milk the situation for all it was worth. “Ah, so you were laughing at me.”

  “Completely.”

  “Fine. Be that way. The thing is, I want my people to want to do well. I want them to fight to be the best. It’s my job to motivate them to do exactly that.”

  “Ah, sweetie, it’s your first day. Give it a minute. I can’t imagine you being anything less than the best instructor at the base.”

  “Thank you,” he said, making it sound like he was pouting. “I think I deserve to go out for Mexican tonight. How late is your online class?”

  Emma cleared her throat, but she couldn’t completely hide her laugh behind it. “Wow, if you’re going to eat a couple of chimichangas every time you have to dress down a student, you won’t be fitting in those tight jeans of yours for long.”

  “How’d you remember I like those damn things?”

  “There’s lots I remember about you. And yet I still want to know more.”

  “I look forward to it.” Shit, he had to stop grinning like this while in uniform. “Starting tonight?”

  “Dinner still won’t work for me, but save room for dessert, will you? Oh, gotta go.”

  He hung up and slowed his walk, trying to convince his enthusiasm over dessert to settle the hell down so his fellow instructors wouldn’t think he got off on chastising students.

  12

  THE NIGHT WAS WARM, of course, but at the end of September, fall was beginning to sneak in during the evenings. Which made attending Music in the Park at the amphitheater all the better. Of course, just being with Sam was treat enough.

  Things were going amazingly well—it was sometimes hard to believe. There were still things to work out. His bachelor habits for one. He was trying to pick up after himself, but his idea of clean and hers were different. It had taken almost two weeks for Emma to realize he actually didn’t see clutter the way she did. Seriously, he could walk right past a screwdriver on the mantel a dozen times. She imagined he’d only look for it when he needed the tool again.

  The important thing was, he was trying. And she was trying to loosen up. Just because she was overly organized didn’t mean he had to follow suit.

  Danny certainly hadn’t, but that hadn’t been why she’d wanted to leave him. In fact, it was very low on the scale of grievances.

  Sam, on the other hand, had been crazy good about putting their relationship at the top of his priorities. Okay, it was a tie with his job, but that made perfect sense. If anything, she was the one who sometimes had to bail on dinner or evenings out because of her online class or to lend support to Sharon. The poor woman was an hour away from going into meltdown over her new play, and Sam was incredibly understanding when she had to be gone.

  “What’s all this thinking about?” he asked, holding out a paper cup of lemonade. “You haven’t touched your sandwich.”

  She smiled at him, his handsome face still setting off the butterflies in her stomach. At times it was a little overwhelming. She would find herself thinking, I’ve got the best one. Of all the men ever. She never said it out loud, but how she felt wasn’t exactly a secret.

  Taking her drink, she leaned over for a kiss. It took her plate almost slipping from her lap to bring them back to their picnic dinner on the grass, surrounded by half the population of Alamo, or so it seemed. Luckily people were too busy rocking out to one of the local bands to pay much attention.

  “I know that smile,” he said. “What do you want this time?”

  “Excuse me?” Her grin turned to a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, you can’t fool me. I’m onto you.” He put his plate down and went from sitting cross-legged to on his knees, hands on his thighs, his gaze unwavering. “You’re going to ask me to do something I don’t want to do. You’re plotting.” He pointed one finger at her. “That was the look you had when you took me shirt shopping.”

  “A man can’t live in polo shirts alone, sweetie.”

  “And when you made me watch that chick flick.” He shuddered as if he’d been scarred for life.

  “Fine. It wasn’t as good as I’d remembered. But you made me watch that zombie thing. Which was incredibly gross by the way.”

  “And watching Keanu Reeves be all brokenhearted wasn’t?”

  “Okay. Point taken. But just because that movie was a bomb doesn’t mean we’re never watching another romance.”

  He sighed, then kissed the tip of her nose. “Of course not. Wouldn’t dare presume. But I’m not wrong. You are plotting something.”

  “Well, you know there’s music happening soon.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Hence the name Music in the Park?”

  “Sometimes couples, you know, dance.”

  “Ah. I see your evil plan. And as long as you don’t care that people are probably going to point and laugh, I’ll be your dancing fool.”

  She almost lost hold of her dinner in her hurry to hug him, but both sandwich and potato salad were saved. The pickle, alas, was a goner.

  He pushed to his feet and took his paper plate to a trash can. She really had been lost in thought for him to have polished off his food without her knowing. But this was good because now she’d get to see his butt twice. He’d take her plate when she was finished. Sam was even more thoughtful than she’d remembered. Or maybe that came with age. Although Danny at thirty had still been the same kid he was at twenty. The thought had barely formed when she put the brakes on. She couldn’t think about him. It wasn’t fair to compare the two men. They’d both had healthy egos, but Sam had always been more steady.

  She was, however, awfully impressed with how he was handling his teaching duties. He took it very seriously, as if every single trainee was not just a student, but his personal responsibility. He’d stay late if needed, but he was strict as hell if one of his pupils stepped out of line.

  Once, when she was straightening his desk filing system, she’d gotten a look at his work notes. He might not have gotten to know their first names that initial week, but it was clear he’d homed in on their strengths and weaknesses, and approached the problems with real insight. Whether he believed it or not, he was a born teacher. She should know.

  Just as he was settling back next to her, a roar seemed to fill the bowl of the theater. At first, she thought planes, because there were always planes, but nope, this was different. She turned to look over her shoulder.

  “Hogs,” Sam said, his eyes lighting up.

  “You mean Harleys.”

  “I do. Lots of them, from the sound of it.”

  Emma studied her sandwich for a few seconds debating, then turned to Sam. “Have you given any more thought to that bike you were so interested in?”

  He blinked at her, mouth slig
htly parted, brow creased. “You know, I haven’t. Not at all.”

  Inside, Emma breathed a huge sigh of relief, but on the outside, she didn’t even smile. “Really?”

  “Nope. Between hanging out with you and the job, the idea kind of got lost.”

  “Huh. An adrenaline junky like you? I would have thought—”

  Sam leaned sideways until they bumped shoulders. “No motorcycle could possibly rev my engine the way you do, babe.”

  Her laugh was louder than she’d meant it to be, but maybe that was because she didn’t want him to see how grateful she was to hear those words. And twice as grateful to believe them.

  * * *

  AT LEAST HE WASN’T the only man without a hint of rhythm pretending to dance on the grass as the band played an unintelligible song. Emma, on the other hand, made it difficult not to throw her over his shoulder and take her somewhere more private to ravage her until they both couldn’t breathe.

  This was his life. Loud and messy and filled with joys he’d never dreamed of. Mostly in the form of his Emma, but just as strangely, he wasn’t hating his job. In fact, there was a certain satisfaction to guiding those eager trainees to serve their country using all this new tech. The variety of students was interesting, especially with the friction between the old-time cockpit pilots and the new era of straight-to-RPA pilots. He was dead center in the middle of a sea change in the military. Before his twenty was up, the number of drone pilots would dwarf the active flyers, at least when it came to fighting jets. They’d still need transport and cargo planes as long as there were troops on the ground, but he could envision a time when there were few all-manned aircraft units.

  He’d have given anything to have had more time in a cockpit, but this job was just as important.

  Emma grabbed his waist and tried to get him to move to her beat, but yeah, that probably wasn’t going to happen. God knew he was a freak for music, as anyone who dared touch his vinyl would attest, but the dancing thing? Next life, maybe.