Rook began awkwardly. She had never really had to describe her mother to anyone before. “Her name was Melody, because she had such a beautiful singing voice.”
Jim ran his fingers around the gold frame, “She looks a lot like her name—fragile and sensitive.”
Sitting down on the floor, back propped against the couch, Rook nodded. “Yeah, Mom was incredibly sensitive to all things. She could smell rain before anyone was aware that it was coming And hear sounds that maybe only a dog could hear.” Rook’s voice grew with enthusiasm. “When I was a kid, and not working a paper route, we used to go out in the country and pick wildflowers, or hunt for special rocks or wild bird feathers. She knew so much about nature and animals.”
Warmth flowed through Jim as he studied Rook’s animated features. She didn’t realize how much she was like her mother. He said nothing, cherishing all the information, because it confirmed what he’d sensed about Rook all along. “I’ll bet you like to do those things even today.”
Laughing, Rook nodded. “I love animals. And flowers! I used to stop at certain houses on my paper route and smell them.”
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Roses. Mom had this wonderful bed of roses that she tended. As her heart condition got worse, she couldn’t go out every day….” Sadness flooded Rook. “I tried to send her a bouquet every time I got some extra money when I was at school.”
He slid his hand over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I have a hunch you really made her day doing that.”
Picking at a piece of lint on her jeans, Rook shrugged. “I hope so. She deserved so much more happiness than she ever got, Jim. From the minute she married Jack, her life was one miserable nightmare after another. He just kept beating her down. Every time the detectives located our new address and took me back to Washington, D.C., it killed another part of her.” Sighing, Rook glanced over her shoulder at Jim. His hand felt reassuring to her. “That’s what made me run away. I knew she needed me.”
“She loved you.”
The words struck deeply through Rook and she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Valiantly, she swallowed the reaction. “Yeah, she loved me a lot. And I loved her, too. I always will.”
“She’s alive in your heart and mind. That’s all that counts.” Jim didn’t want to remove his hand, but he knew he must or Rook would interpret his action the wrong way. Now he understood so much more about her distrust of him. If he was careful and planned his steps, maybe he could get her to like him as much as he liked her.
When Jim removed his hand Rook felt suddenly bereft. It was a startling realization. And then she remembered his words about a man being a friend. At no time in the last hour had Jim made a sexual advance. That in itself was jolting to Rook. The pilots at the school had always been making remarks about taking her to bed. It had been the same in college.
Looking up, Rook studied Jim Barton in the gathering silence. She compared him with the men she had known. There were differences. His face was open and honest, and so were his guileless azure eyes, which contained such life in their depths. He had a broad, generous face with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and lines around his mouth, indicating that he laughed a great deal. He gave her a slow smile that found its way into her guarded heart. It was a smile that welcomed her examination of him.
“You don’t play games, do you?”
Jim shrugged. “No.”
“Why?”
“A long time ago, when I was a lot younger, I found out it wasn’t a very smart thing to do,” he admitted, lulled by the softness coming to her fatigued eyes. “Being myself is important to me. If a woman wants labels, she’s looking at the wrong man.”
Jim didn’t want to overstay his welcome now that he had gained her trust. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work. My dad will be stripping gears if I’m not hauling a load of timber out of Alpha area by two o’clock.” He rose, rubbing his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans.
Rook scrambled to her feet, giving him a shy smile. “Listen, I owe you—”
Opening the door, Jim hesitated, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Friends don’t owe each other anything. Deal?”
Heat flooded her cheeks and Rook died inwardly. Would she ever outgrow blushing? “If you say so. To tell you the truth, I haven’t ever had a man for a friend, so this is new ground to me. I don’t know the rules.”
Stepping out onto the concrete steps, Jim gave her a nod. “What do you say we make them up as we go?”
“Sounds good,” Rook answered fervently.
“I’m going to be kinda busy the next week—”
“So am I.”
“Mind if I call you sometime after we both get past our individual workloads?”
Lowering her lashes, Rook saw the longing in Jim’s eyes. Panic ate at her. “I don’t know. Call me then. I’m going to have a terribly busy schedule….”
“Fair enough. See you later, Wild Rose.” Jim skipped down the stairs, not even feeling his feet touch the ground.
Rook stood there, watching him walk toward the battered red Ford pickup with the company name emblazoned on the door. Jim walked so proudly, his head held high, his grace undeniable. Wild Rose…a flutter swept through Rook as she went back inside, mulling over the endearment. The words had come out soft and deep, feathering through her.
“Hey,” Tag called in a conspiratorial whisper as he poked his head into the communications room opposite the SAR desk. “You know why your first wedding anniversary is called the paper anniversary?” He looked expectantly at both people. When they shook their heads he said, “After one year you’re beaten to a pulp, that’s why.”
Rook grinned and the enlisted man laughed. She was standing to the rear of the communications room, where the officer on duty was explaining some of the intricacies of the air station’s radio procedures. She liked the tall, gangly officer immediately.
“Your jokes are as bad as ever, Mr. Welsh,” Radioman Third Class Joe Lieber said with a smile.
“I know, but what would you people do without my sick sense of humor around here?” Tag slipped in and offered his hand to Rook. “Hi, we haven’t been formally introduced, but I’m Tag Welsh, AEO officer. Gil said you’d probably be in before 0800 this morning, and I wanted to be the second guy to welcome you on board.”
She shook his thin hand. His grip was warm and firm. “Thanks, Lieutenant Welsh. I’m Rook Caldwell.”
“Call me Tag. Rook’s an unusual name. How’d you get nailed with it?”
Noticing that Lieber was listening, she smiled. “Because I was the black crow of my family.”
“Is that anything like the black sheep?”
“One and the same. How about your name? Tag.”
“Ahhh, my wife Paula chased me until I let her catch me. You know, play tag.”
He was incorrigible, Rook decided, with a broad grin. But there was something wrong; she could see desperation in his eyes.
“Hey,” Logan called from across the SAR desk. “The skipper wants to chat with you, Tag.”
With a good-natured groan, Tag mock saluted Rook. “My turn on the firing line.”
“I already had mine.”
“Is he as mean as he looks?”
Rook followed Tag out into the hall. “He appears to be a decent CO.”
“They all do, at first.” Tag scratched his head. “But anything’s an improvement over the one we just got rid of, believe me. See ya later, boys and girls.”
Ward made a cursory inspection of Tag Welsh when he entered the office and shut the door quietly behind him. He invited the AEO to sit down.
“Your record is impressive, Mr. Welsh.”
“Tag, sir.”
‘Tag? As in catch as catch can?”
A grin spread across Tag’s long face. “Being aviation engineer officer sometimes forces you into that position, sir.”
“I know it does. Tell me about the state of our aircraft.”
“All h
elos are operational.”
“Excellent.” Ward looked into Welsh’s eyes. “And the morale of our people out in the hangar?”
Tag squirmed. So far this morning, Stuart had interviewed nearly all the key officers. He was one of the last to be called in to brief the CO. Had anyone else spilled the beans yet? Breaking out in a sweat, he muttered off-handedly, “Well, sir, you know…”
“No, I don’t know. Spell it out for me, Tag. I can’t help you or your people if I’m not apprised of a potential crisis.”
Crisis was the correct word. Someone must have hinted to the captain about the problems out in the hangar. Tag felt slightly relieved. “Uh…well, there is a morale problem in general, sir.”
“Why?”
“The last CO sort of let things slide around here…sir.”
Ward saw the officer break out in a sweat, making him look paler than before. The man had to be ill or something. “Let slide in what way?”
“Well, uh, to give you an example, right now, all helo pilots are standing duty every second day.”
“I noticed that this morning. How did that occur?” Ward had talked earlier with Bruce Lipton, who had hemmed and hawed around, but not really explained the situation. He was protecting his backside politically by refusing to make an accusation against a fellow officer.
“Two of our pilots requested leave, for different reasons, sir. Both put in for thirty days. I brought it to the attention of Lt. Cmdr. Bob Nelson, the Ops officer, who immediately denied their requests. Both pilots asked to see the captain, and he gave it to them without ever consulting the Ops officer. The entire station got shortchanged as a result. It’s created plenty of hard feelings between the helo pilots, generally.”
“Didn’t Commander Nelson try to deny their leave?”
“Yes, sir, he tried to, but the XO said the captain didn’t care, so it was approved.”
“Didn’t care?” The words came out in a grate. Holding on to his simmering anger, Ward switched topics. “You followed correct procedure, Tag. Otherwise, how’s the morale out in the hangar, in general?”
“Pretty low, sir.”
“Why?”
Tag stared down at his highly polished shoes for a moment. “I don’t know if I should say anything, sir. But I am AEO, and people’s lives are in my hands.”
“Go on.”
“We’ve got a chief aviation machinist by the name of Chappie Jarvis who, I believe, is an alcoholic.”
Ward’s brows dipped immediately. One thing the Coast Guard would not tolerate was drug addicts and alcoholics in its ranks. They got an automatic release from the service if they didn’t agree to get off the substance and get professional help. He picked up a pencil, studying it darkly after writing Jarvis’s name. “You can prove this?”
“I’ve tried, sir.”
“What are Chief Jarvis’s duties over there?”
“He was the line crew chief, in charge of air crew and maintenance, sir.”
Ward held the panic deep inside him. The line crew chief oversaw the servicing and maintenance of the aircraft. “What do you mean, was?” If Welsh was telling the truth, it would be only a matter of time until a helo wasn’t serviced properly and an accident occurred.
“I tried to bring this to the attention of the last skipper, but he told me to handle it. Captain Crane is from the old guard, sir. I feel that, since Chief Jarvis has only two years until retirement, a number of people, including the skipper, felt his problem should remain hidden. My people’s lives were on the line over there, and although I couldn’t prove the chief was drinking directly, I took matters into my own hands. Without support above me, I isolated Chief Jarvis into a paper chase job to keep him away from the helos as much as possible. As a result, the crews are pretty competitive with each other.”
“Because Jarvis plays favorites on the duty roster?” Ward guessed grimly.
“Yes, sir. Some flight mechs stand more duty than others.”
Making notes, Ward nodded. “You’re to be commended for your action on this matter.” He knew that a young officer like Welsh could have had his entire career destroyed because he bucked the system and went over the CO’s authority. Grimly, Ward added, “I’m ordering Jarvis in for alcohol screening. We can demand that he go whether there’s actual proof of his drinking problem or not. I won’t tolerate drugs or alcohol among my people. I’ll look into this, Tag.”
Welsh had no doubt that the CO would by the set of his jaw and the flash of contained anger he saw in Stuart’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Are there any other problems?”
“No, sir.”
Ward scrutinized Tag closely, the silence growing in volume. “Sure?”
With a scowl, Tag muttered, “None that I can think of, sir. If you can help me help our people over there, I’d be deeply grateful. They’re a fine bunch, but they’ve been beaten down for the past year pretty badly. That schedule has to be straightened out so that it’s fair to everyone.”
Ward glanced down at Welsh’s personnel file. “How about your personal life? Everything all right?”
Tag squirmed. Crane’s attitude about bringing family problems to work had been well known—he didn’t want to hear about them. “Great, sir,” he lied. And then he managed a nervous laugh. “That’s the only thing that’s gone right for me since I got to this base. If it weren’t for the support and understanding of my wife, Paula, I’d probably have thought about hitting the bottle, too.” And then he quickly added, “That was just a joke, Captain. I joke a lot, so don’t take me seriously unless I tell you to.”
“Fair enough. So, how long have you been married to this fine woman of yours?”
‘Ten years, sir. Paula and I met right after I graduated from high school. She’s stuck with me through thick and thin.”
“Sounds like a fine partner you have on your team, Tag.”
Tag felt a warm flush crawl up his face, his voice fervent. “She’s made my life worth living, sir. I’d always heard about these dream marriages, but never personally believed in that myth. I came out of a broken home, where my old man kicked us kids around a lot. I was used to shouting matches. Paula taught me love could be gentle, giving.”
Ward nodded, understanding all too well what Tag was saying. Marcia was his mainstay, too. There weren’t too many women who were as strong as the men they married. He gently hedged toward the next problem he saw with Tag. “There’s a comment here on your record from the XO that your wife’s been ill. Can you fill me in, Tag?”
Tag remembered the last skipper’s attitude about bringing serious family problems to work. He tried to gauge Stuart’s show of concern. “She’s dying of leukemia, sir.”
“I’m sorry.”
Wrestling with an unexpected surge of emotion, Tag choked up. He could only nod.
“How long have the doctors given her?”
Eyes watering dangerously, Tag got up. He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and turned away, staring out the window toward the hangar. “Six months, maybe less…”
Ward got up, poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Welsh. Tag nodded his thanks and gripped the mug tightly between his fingers.
“She’s a fighter, sir. Paula started getting tired about two years ago, but she just shrugged it off. She was teaching kindergarten. She loves kids, sir. We tried for so many years to have some of our own. The doctors said that her state of health before she contracted the disease could possibly have made her infertile.” He gulped down the scaldingly hot coffee.
Ward waited several minutes while Tag stood stiffly at the window, drinking his coffee. His mind swung to other questions—ones of equal importance. How was Welsh flying? Was his attention one hundred percent on his job, or was part of his mind and heart back with his ailing wife? How much did he worry, and how did it affect his performance? Welsh was an easygoing, likable sort of individual. The air crew personnel probably worshipped him. But with his present stress, Welsh could be slipping in his
assigned duties. How were the crews affected? He’d have to find out. Was air safety deteriorating as a result? Morale could plummet dangerously in a situation of this magnitude. And if it did, people could make mistakes—deadly ones—in servicing the helos.
“You know,” Tag spoke softly, breaking the silence. “She refused chemotherapy and any other kind of treatment. She said that leukemia was sort of like going to sleep. You just get tired, close your eyes and one day you don’t wake up.” Tag shut his eyes tightly, a tidal wave of grief overwhelming him. The captain wouldn’t want to hear his sob story—he had a base to run. How many times a night would he suddenly jerk awake and roll over to see if Paula was still breathing? God, how many times had he thought she wasn’t? Her breath was so shallow that Tag had to lie above her, his ear close to her lips, to hear that soft, wispy breath that promised him she was still alive.
“I’d like to meet her,” Ward said, meaning it. “I’m sure our wives would have a lot in common.”
Tag turned and set the mug on the desk. He managed a painful smile. “Oh, you’ll get to meet my Paula, sir. Your wife is having a luncheon for all the officers’ wives next week. Paula promised that she’d be there.”
“Anything else you’d like to discuss with me, Tag?”
“Uh, no, sir.” He smiled shyly. “Here I am, dumping my problems on you. You’ve got a base to run.”
“It’s my business and nature to know my people, Tag. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Any time you want to talk again, come and see me.”
“Sure you aren’t part preacher, sir?”
Stuart grinned and walked Tag to the door, opening it for him. “Oh, I’ve got a preacher part, all right. But most people wouldn’t say it was the inspirational kind.”
Tag responded to Stuart’s teasing. “I see, sir. More like raining fire and brimstone?”
“You’ve got it. Thanks for coming in and talking with me, Tag. With your help and care, we’ll get this station back on its feet.”
Beginning with You Page 8
