Beginning with You

by Lindsay McKenna

  Rook hesitated. “Are we allowed to do this?”

  Grinning, Gil took over flying and pointed the nose of the ’60 downward. “Of course—it’s part of your training. Right now, I’m going to show you some beeps to a hover.”

  With a shake of her head, Rook reached behind his metal seat and drew out the camera. “I like your training methods, Gil.”

  “Stick with me, kid, and I’ll show you a whole new world.”

  Rook saw the entire herd dive as the ’60 came closer to them. The altimeter registered fifty feet. She got the camera ready, aiming it down in front of the nose, adjusting the focus.

  “I’m going to try and guesstimate where they’ll surface from here,” Gil told her, jockeying the ’60 forward and hovering at fifteen feet above the ocean. “They gotta come up for air. We just have to figure out where.”

  Smiling, Rook waited. Minutes passed without a sign of the mammals.

  Gil was almost ready to move ahead when suddenly, a huge whale came boiling out of the depths of the Pacific, water churning and frothing in its wake.

  Rook gasped, jerking back in her seat as the whale flipped its huge tail and propelled itself up…up…until finally, she could see its jet-black eye through the cockpit window. Her mouth fell open as she watched its nose come within two feet of the whirling rotor blade above them. His gleaming body filled the entire cockpit window surface, each barnacle and sucker fish attached to him visible. He hovered there briefly before gracefully sinking downward. A huge surge of water shot skyward as he disappeared back into the ocean.

  Gil stared, stunned. Marchetti, who had wedged himself between the two seats, gasped. so did Jones. The camera dropped out of Rook’s hands and landed in her lap. Finally, reason interceded, and Gil quickly lifted the ’60 well out of range of the playful whale.

  “Man, I don’t believe this,” Marchetti whispered. “Did you see that whale, Mr. Logan? I swear, he knew what he was doing and just how close he could get to those blades! That sucker jumped fifteen feet straight up in front of our windows. Outrageous!”

  Gil shook his head, exchanging glances with Rook, who had paled. “Incredible,” he muttered.

  “Impossible,” Rook stammered. “How was he able to judge the distance? His nose was barely two feet away from our rotors. My God, what if he’d hit them?”

  Gil didn’t even want to think about that possibility—his ass would have been strung up so fast it would have made his head swim.

  Managing a choked bit of laughter, Marchetti slapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Going out with you is downright dangerous, Mr. Logan.”

  The shock began to wear off Rook as they flew back to the air station. She gave Gil an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I forgot to snap the photo.”

  “Don’t worry, none of us were thinking too straight when that bastard decided to scare the hell out of us,” he grumbled.

  Her eyes rounded. “Do you really think that whale knew what he was doing?”

  “If he didn’t, he sure as hell fooled me.”

  “And me,” Marchetti chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “Man, wait ‘til the guys hear about this one. The one that got away, Mr. Logan!”

  Gil turned and nailed Marchetti with a dark look. “Not one word of this to anyone, Marchetti. You either, Jones. That’s an order. Understood?”

  Glumly, the flight mech nodded. “Yes, sir, Mr. Logan.” And then he brightened. “But what a story! I mean, it’s fantastic, sir!”

  “My court martial would be fantastic, and my career would be hung out to dry if anyone hears about this little stunt. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Couldn’t I just tell my wife?”

  “No!”

  Marchetti slunk back to his seat near the door and strapped in for the coming landing.

  Rook switched both pilots’ channels to Private so that she could speak to Gil without the flight mech overhearing their conversation. “Has this ever happened to you before? I mean, a whale playing tag with a helicopter?”

  He gave a morose shake of his head. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen, Rook. I swear to God, that animal knew exactly what he was doing! Incredible, just incredible.”

  “And beautiful. Do you know, I could see his eye? He was looking right at us, Gil.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll bet if that whale could have smiled, there would’ve been a big grin spread across his chops, too.”

  Laughing, Rook reached over, touching his arm momentarily. “What a FAM flight. Thanks, Gil.”

  Smiling sheepishly, he brought the ’60 in for a landing “Don’t breathe a word to anyone, okay?”

  “I won’t, I promise.” And then Rook looked over at him. “My God, do you realize what could have happened if that whale had hit our rotors?”

  “Yeah. The score would be whale one and Coast Guard zero. We’d have bought some Pacific Ocean real estate at the cost of half a million dollars for a lost ’60. We’d be an overnight viral ‘Net sensation. Not a very pretty picture, is it?”

  Sober now, Rook agreed. She unharnessed after Gil shut the ’60 down. Before leaving the cockpit, they went over their individual procedures. Rook then climbed out on the ramp and turned to wait for Gil. His hair was mussed as he took off the white-and orange helmet. She moved her hand to her own hair, thinking it must look just as bad. Good ol’ helmet hair, as they called it.

  And then she laughed to herself. Since when did she care about her looks? Gil joined her and they walked back into the hangar together, their respective helmet bags in hand. Marchetti caught up with them.

  “This is one time Bucky Beaver didn’t get all the action,” he crowed proudly, thumping his chest.

  Frowning, Rook said, “Bucky Beaver? Who’s he?” Often, the flight mechs had nicknames for one another.

  Logan scowled at Marchetti, then answered Rook. “He’s referring to Annie Locke.”

  “Oh?” Rook sized up Marchetti. “She gave herself that nickname?” she asked, thinking that she was terribly self-conscious about her teeth.

  “No, ma’am. It’s what we call her.”

  Rook slowed her pace. Gil did, too. “To her face, Marchetti?” she challenged, holding his confused gaze.

  Marchetti glanced up at Gil and then back to her, not understanding the sudden anger he heard in Rook’s voice. “Well…uh, no, ma’am.” And then he saw her eyes narrow in fury. “Hey! It’s just a joke! The boys call her that when she’s not around.”

  Rook blocked Marchetti’s path. “I don’t ever want to hear you or anyone else refer to Annie Locke in that derogatory manner again. Do you understand, Marchetti?”

  Looking to Gil for help, Marchetti realized with a sinking feeling that the pilot was siding with her. Meekly, he hung his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Rook stalked off, anger in every stride she took.

  Gil caught up with her in the line shack. Rook gave him a measured look when he entered the small, confined room.

  “I suppose you think I was too hard on him.”

  “No.” He opened his flight log and began to write down the hours logged.

  “What, then? You’re giving me a funny look.”

  “Don’t take it as a negative, Rook.” Gil waited until the line shack emptied of enlisted personnel before continuing. “Annie’s a good kid. I heard a couple of the other flight mechs call her that nickname off and on, only I didn’t say anything.”

  “The woman’s terribly sensitive about how she looks, Gil. You know how much it would hurt her if she heard that.”

  He smiled faintly, signing the pink sheet. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Then, why are you looking at me that way?”

  “Let’s just call it a look of admiration. I think you’re going to add a dimension of sensitivity that’s been absent from the air station. You’re absolutely right. Annie would cry if she knew these guys were calling her Bucky Beaver behind her back. The rest of us clods just neglected to speak up, but that’s going to change. Come on. Let�
��s grab a cup of coffee over at the SAR desk. We’re celebrating your first official flight.”

  Relieved that Gil wasn’t going to chew her out for making Marchetti toe the line, Rook managed a strained smile. “Better, let’s celebrate that potential whale strike as an almost ‘first’ in Coast Guard history, performed by an intrepid, if not dumb, H-60 crew.”

  Gil laughed. “Agreed!”

  Chapter Nine

  Jim took a deep breath before pressing the buzzer to Rook’s apartment. It had been a week since his debacle with her at the Coast Guard station. Maybe she’d cooled down by now and understood the real reason he’d brought her flowers. He fervently hoped so.

  Sunshine fell around his denim-jacketed shoulders. It was Sunday, a rare sunny day for April, and he wanted to take advantage of it in every way. Jim pressed the button. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly eleven o’clock. Rook should be up and about by now. Ruefully, Jim laughed at himself as he stood there, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. Here he was, at thirty-two, his palms sweating like an eighteen-year-old boy on his first big date.

  As Rook opened the door, her eyes first noticed Jim’s broad chest. She blinked once to underscore her surprise at seeing him. “Jim…”

  Shrugging nervously, he gave her a quick smile. “Hi.”

  Pleasure flooded Rook, and so did compassion. It was obvious he was nervous. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted.

  “You are?”

  “I had that coming, didn’t I? Yes, come in.”

  Rook’s usual defenses seemed to be down. He was seeing her pleasant side now. Some of his nervousness dissolved.

  “Look, I don’t want to take up your time or botch any plans you might have for today. I just thought I’d drop over on the chance that you might like to go sailing for a couple of hours with me.” He gestured to the brilliant blue sky and blinding sunshine. “It doesn’t get sunny like this in late April very often, and the straits are calm today. There’s just enough of a breeze to fill the sails.” He pinned her with a hopeful look. Rook appeared interested.

  All of her worries about the station and the people evaporated under Jim’s invitation. “I didn’t want to do housework, anyway,” she began wryly. “Come in, please.”

  Jim entered. The apartment was neat and clean; there was no evidence that she’d only moved in a week ago. “Place looks nice.”

  Rook stood in the center of the living room, a few feet from him. ‘Thanks.” For once, she wanted to be wearing something more feminine and flattering than a white shirt with tails that hung to her thighs and a pair of jeans. She wriggled her toes in the dusty rose carpet. It was her turn to be nervous.

  “Listen, I owe you an apology for last week—about the roses, I mean. They were lovely, and I did appreciate them.”

  Jim glowed beneath her breathless tone. “Looking back on it, I can see why you were upset. You do have an image to protect. I should have called first, but I often do things on the spur of the moment.”

  Relieved that he understood, Rook chuckled. “I was uptight that day, anyway. You coming in unexpectedly corked it. But it wasn’t your fault—not really.”

  The day was looking sunnier by the moment. Jim ran his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes spontaneity pays off, sometimes it doesn’t.”

  “Sailing sounds like fun. I’ve never done it before,” Rook admitted, moving to the couch and sitting down. Jim remained standing. He filled the room with his presence, and Rook felt as if she were basking in his personal sunlight.

  “And you’re in the Coast Guard?”

  Grinning, Rook tucked her legs beneath her body. “I’m in the air wing, Jim.”

  “And a landlubber at heart?” he guessed, the tension draining away from him. Even in a simple white shirt and blue jeans, Rook looked spectacular. There was less tension around her eyes and mouth. And he noticed a dancing, silvery quality in her eyes. Was that glint a sign of happiness over seeing him once again?

  “Yes, I am. Sit down.”

  Sitting on the other end of the couch, Jim said, “I don’t think you have to worry about seasickness. I’ve got a sweet little sailboat called The Rainbow. She’s got a good, steady hull and the waters in the straits today are almost glassy smooth.”

  “You’ve sold me.”

  “Great. Just put on a pair of tennis shoes and grab a Wind-breaker, and we’ll be off.”

  Suddenly, the last week’s tension and responsibility fell away from Rook. She leaned down, pulling her sneakers from beneath the couch and wriggling into them. “Sounds wonderful. What about lunch?”

  “I brought a picnic basket.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Rook said, “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  Grinning bashfully, Jim nodded. “I hope I have.”

  “Friends?” Rook pressed.

  “This is a day for friendship,” Jim agreed huskily. Already his mind was racing ahead to the time when they would be on the water of the straits.

  When the thirty-foot racer-cruiser listed to port after catching the wind around Ediz Hook, Rook gasped. She had been sitting with Jim in the stern, the tiller between them. Automatically Rook threw out her arm, caught off balance by the unexpected movement of the boat.

  Jim switched hands, holding the tiller steady and lifting his arm to wrap it protectively around Rook’s shoulders so she wouldn’t fall. Both Rook and the boat steadied simulta neously. She was warm and pliant against his side and he laughed, the sea air intoxicating.

  Gulping back her initial fear, Rook was grateful for Jim’s arm around her, holding her steady as the cruiser leaned even more precariously on her side, the deck nearly in the blue waters.

  “A-aren’t we going to tip over?” she squeaked.

  Laughing, Jim looked straight into her eyes. They were large and wide, like those of a child. He glanced at her cheeks, flushed with color, and her beautifully sculpted mouth. It looked excruciatingly inviting. “Relax. She’s got a keel under her that won’t allow that to happen.”

  Not quite sure, Rook stayed beneath Jim’s arm. The wind came in brisk and fresh from the northwest. She might not trust the boat, but she trusted Jim.

  Guiding the boat farther out into the straits, Jim leaned over, his mouth near her ear because the wind was rushing around them. “I think we’ll head toward Victoria. You ever been there?”

  His moist breath feathered against her temple and ear, sending a ribbon of heat through her. “No, I never have.” Rook drowned in the warmth of his eyes, her gaze settling on his strong, smiling mouth. An intense stab of longing for him caught her off guard. It was the first time in her life she had ever felt that kind of molten desire. Shaken, Rook looked away, losing herself in the vivid green-and-blue beauty that surrounded them.

  Jim leaned back, bringing Rook with him. He’d seen the smoldering arousal in her gray eyes and watched her lips unconsciously part. God knew, he wanted to kiss her, but it was too soon. Content that she was in his arms, he guided The Rainbow past a buoy. The hull lifted up and then fell, slicing cleanly through the clear water.

  “Victoria is beautiful. It looks like Old England. There are quaint houses, and all the buildings have flower boxes—even in the city center. It’s a garden spot, and a lot of very rich Canadians live there.”

  “Sounds beautiful,” Rook said wistfully. Giving him a glance, she added, “Someone in the office said you were rich. Is that true?”

  “What if it is?” Too many women stalked him to marry his money. His gut told him that Rook might be bothered by the fact, but he didn’t know why. She didn’t seem the kind of woman who would marry for money or security.

  Rook’s mouth compressed. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  He grinned, measuring the wind in the sail. For once, the breeze in the straits was holding steady. The gleaming white mainsail and jib were filled, and didn’t need any trimming. “My family worked half a century to build our lumber business. Money hasn’
t changed what I am.”

  “What are you?” Rook asked seriously, studying his rugged profile as he lifted his chin to study the sails through squinted eyes.

  Jim slanted a glance down at her, seeing that she was sincere. It pleased him that she was interested in him. It was a good sign….

  “Instead of giving you a list of adjectives, why don’t you tell me how you see me?”

  Beginning to believe that The Rainbow wasn’t going to tip over, Rook pulled up one of her legs and rested her foot on the helm where they sat. “Easygoing,” she began hesitantly, mulling over their previous meetings.

  “Usually. That comes from my Scottish mother’s genes.”

  “Irish and Scottish. What a combination,” Rook teased. “Hot tempered and stubborn to boot.”

  “Have I been either?” he chided her playfully, watching that wonderful smile he knew had always been there come to life on her lips.

  “No. I have, that’s for sure. I do have some Irish blood in me, but mostly English. My mother came from English stock, and I always said I was a clone of her in most ways.”

  “You are,” Jim complimented. And equally sensitive, too, which appealed strongly to him. “So, what else do you see in me?”

  “You’re spontaneous to a fault—and dogged. You go after what you want.”

  “Such as showing up in your life three days in a row after we met?”

  Laughter pealed from Rook. She felt the load she normally carried on her shoulders lift. The brisk April wind sifted through the strands of her hair, blowing her troubles away. The salty ocean scent mingled with the tangy pine fragrance of the forest that embraced them on two sides, its towering trees lifting their arms toward the cerulean sky that was dotted with calling sea gulls.

  “It was a bit much,” Rook said.

  Jim gave her a lopsided smile. “You’re right, it was. But you were new in town, and you didn’t have a car. I felt responsible, and I wanted to right the wrongs I’d caused.”