“Met a gorgeous redheaded lady Saturday out at the balloon rally,” Holt confided. He saw Lauren’s mouth curve into a doubtful smile. She was a feminist of the first order, and Sam respected her for it. “Now, don’t go getting that look, Port. It’s not what you think.”
“Usually you tell me about the gorgeous blonde, brunette, or raven-haired beauty you’ve met over at the O Club on the weekend.”
“Well…”
“Red’s your favorite color.”
He brightened. “Yeah. And she’s got the spirit of a redhead.”
“I know—you like your women hot, like the jets you fly.”
“Now, Port.”
Lauren gave him a one-eyebrow-raised look. “Sam, what you do in your free time’s your business. I just don’t like hearing about you guys chasing down these poor teenage groupies who don’t know any better. That’s like letting a fox into the chicken coop, and you guys aren’t the chickens.”
Smiling, Holt nodded. “Touché, Major. No, this lady’s different.”
“Sure.”
“Honest, Port, she is. Listen to this….” He filled her in on Megan Roberts from beginning to end. Sam saw interest in Lauren’s eyes when he was done with his story.
“A schoolteacher? That’s really blasé compared to what you normally like. I mean, a month ago, it was that black-haired sprint car driver from L.A. Two months ago, it was a blond-haired mountain climber from Europe. Isn’t Megan a bit pedestrian for your tastes?”
Raising his hands, Holt protested, “No way! She’s a fighter, and I like that.”
“It doesn’t sound like she’s too crazy about you.”
“Give her time. I rub off on people.”
“Don’t I know it.”
With a smile, Sam straightened, going for his second cup of coffee for the day. “Port, I’m your favorite pilot, and I know it.”
With a chuckle, Lauren wrote down a set of figures on her test flight form. “I know, Holt—nobody needs to tell test pilots how great they are. They’ll tell you themselves.”
The door opened. Holt barely turned his head and saw that it was Stang. He had a bunch of weather maps in hand.
“Hey, boys and girls, we’ve got excellent winds today,” Jack announced. He threw the data down on his desk and ambled over to the coffeepot.
“That your second or third cup, Holt?”
“Second.”
Jack reached for his ceramic mug that had Superstar written on the side of it. “Coffee makes the nerves jittery, Holt. And you’re flying in less than one hour.”
Watching the tall, lanky pilot, Sam leaned against the wall and sipped his coffee. “I’ll take my chances,” he returned dryly.
“Shaky hands,” Jack added, “are a bad start to your day. You could blow the test this morning.”
“I don’t think you’d mind,” Sam offered.
With a shrug, Stang wandered over to Lauren’s desk, looking over her shoulder. She ignored him. “Can’t say I’d cry over it, Holt. I need to put more distance between you and I in the percentile ratings. And I don’t have to worry about Merrill.”
Sam saw Merrill scowl, hard at work on some test flight reports that needed to be brought up-to-date in time for the Friday meeting of all concerned parties on the project. Curt was a good five percentage points behind and had had three weeks of bad luck on test flights. The winds had made the flights Curt flew tricky. As a result, many of the tests were blown and had to be rescheduled. It wasn’t Curt’s fault; he was a damn good pilot. It was just the luck of the draw.
“Well, maybe the winds will be with me this morning,” Holt said. He had to get down to the lockers, put on his G-suit chaps, pick up his helmet and get out to the apron, where the crew was preparing the Agile Eagle for his test flight. “Port, you coming?”
“Yes, I’ll meet you down at the lockers in about five,” she called, concentrating on the numbers before her.
“Hey,” Jack said, trying to get Lauren’s attention, “how’re you and that fianceé of yours doing?”
Quirking her lips, Lauren refused to look up at Stang. “That’s none of your business, Jack.”
“Oh…” He smiled slightly. “Set a date for the wedding yet? My wife wanted to know. She likes to buy gifts ahead of time.”
Sam slowed his walk toward the door, keying in on Stang’s latest needling. He had a habit of picking on the two individuals who had to fly a test. Did he do it consciously or unconsciously? Stang’s competitiveness didn’t have any honorable borders or lines. Anyone who didn’t fly with him was against him. And since Port wasn’t going to fly the test with him, Stang saw her as the enemy.
With a dramatic sigh, Lauren buttonholed Stang. “I keep my private life private, Captain. If and when we get married, you’ll probably be the last to know.”
Holt winced. Lauren’s voice was full of cold contempt. She hated Stang because he was a male chauvinist, while she was the ultimate feminist. “See you at the locker, Port,” he called merrily, disappearing out the door.
Jack ambled over to his desk. He didn’t have to fly today. Instead, he’d watch how Holt and Porter flew the test this morning. Hopefully, Holt would screw it up. Worried, he sat down, pulling over a manual on the F-15. Last week, he’d been responsible for putting a fracture in the gear assembly. They were still repairing the bird over at Palmdale as a result. Only one bird was still available for testing, slowing down the projected curve. That wasn’t good. It put pressure on everyone to make up for lost time.
Looking up from the open manual, Jack studied Merrill. The pilot was buried in a pile of meteorological data on his desk. “Hey, according to Scotty, Patty really throws some temper tantrums in Miss Roberts’s class. What’s going on with that kid of yours, Merrill?”
“What?’’ Curt scowled, jerking a look in Stang’s direction.
“Patty. Your kid’s causing havoc in Scotty’s class. He came home Friday and said she threw her pencil across the room and started screaming—for no reason at all.” He grinned. “Maybe she needs a little discipline.”
“Maybe,” Merrill said, anger vibrating in his voice, “you need to mind your own business.”
Jack sat back, rocking in his chair. “Can’t do that, Curt. Scotty’s education is getting interrupted with Patty’s antics. Maybe Miss Roberts needs to invoke the spanking paddle rule. That always quiets them down.”
Lauren glared at Stang and stood up. The pilot smiled easily, watching her pick up her briefcase and walk to the door.
Good, Jack thought, they were alone. Now was the time to really put the screws to Merrill. If he could keep the pilot agitated, he would continue to fly poorly. Getting up, he sauntered over to Curt’s desk.
“Hey, look, I’m concerned about Patty. And I’m sure you are, too.”
Merrill’s hand curled into a fist, and he stared up at Stang’s narrow, intent features. “Patty’s fine,” he growled.
“This isn’t the first time Scotty came home from school telling us about her.”
“Look, Patty’s just going through a stage.”
With a shrug, Jack muttered, “Some stage. Maybe that wife of your needs to show her a belt or switch instead of sweet-talking her.”
With a snort, Merrill forced himself to look down at the data, not really seeing it. “Stang, it’s well known you don’t believe in sparing the rod to spoil the child.”
“That’s right, buddy. My dad used to beat the hell out of me with a belt when I screwed up. But—” he grinned “—look at the results. I’m the chief test pilot, and number one in the ratings. A little punishment goes a long way. Maybe you ought to think of using a little on Patty so she doesn’t keep disrupting Scotty’s class.”
Taking a deep breath, Merrill groaned, “I’m busy, Jack.”
“Roger.” Sauntering back to his desk, Jack smiled, satisfied. Merrill was thoroughly agitated. He was overly sensitive about his wife and kid and responded like a porcupine to Stang’s comments. Excellent. H
is mind swung back to Holt. Only one thing seemed to get to that bastard: the crash five months ago. Yes, it was time to start reminding Holt about it again. Maybe it would shake his confidence.
Megan sat at her desk in the classroom and looked over her teaching guide for tomorrow’s activities. A week had gone by since she had run into Sam Holt in the market. The windows were open, providing some relief from the sweltering temperature, but it wasn’t enough. Three o’clock was the worst heat of the day, and she wiped a thin film of perspiration off her brow. Why couldn’t she concentrate? Why?
Looking up, Megan stared unseeingly across the quiet room. Since meeting Sam Holt, her concentration had been anywhere but on teaching. His smiling face with the deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes haunted her. How could it? He was a captain in the Air Force. A pilot was dangerous to any woman, to her heart, and the very survival of her soul.
“Damn,” she whispered, putting down the pen and staring at the lesson plan on the desk. Rubbing her eyes, her mind revolved back to her proposal on outdoor education. Under Linda Yarnell’s guidance, she had handed it over to her. She was president of their union. What was going on with it? Why hadn’t she heard anything yet?
Brad Jamison jerked open the door to her room and strode toward her, his round face screwed up in fury. Megan got to her feet, fingertips resting lightly on her desk.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jamison rasped. He halted at her desk and glared at her. “If you think you’re going to issue a weekly report on Scotty Stang for my office to handle, you’re mistaken.”
Megan’s mouth dropped open. She had expected Jamison to attack her on the union rep pushing her proposal. Taken aback, it took precious seconds to gather her thoughts. “Scotty Stang has been completely unmanageable the last week, Mr. Jamison.”
Savoring her discomfort, Brad jabbed a finger toward her. “There is nothing wrong with the boy, Miss Roberts.”
Anger flared through Megan. “Really? Well, why don’t you spend just an hour in my classroom and watch him. He’s hyperactive!”
“Now you’re a doctor and diagnosing.”
Her fingers curled into her palms. “No, I’m not a doctor, but when I see a child who can’t sit still for more than two minutes, who can’t retain focus, and has to move around continually, I can recognize the symptoms of hyperactivity.”
“Until the parents decide to get their son to a doctor, you have no business writing down such a diagnosis, Miss Roberts.” He threw her report on her desk. “Now, I suggest you forget this little fiasco.”
Megan stood there, digesting Jamison’s hate for her. His brown eyes were a muddy color, narrowed with fury. “I know why you’re doing this, Mr. Jamison, and you’re not getting away with it.”
One corner of his mouth jerked upward. “You’re new, Miss Roberts. And you don’t know the system…or how to play the game yet.” He pointed to her report. “You’d better get with your union rep and get filled in on how to make out a report.”
“I’ll do that.” Jamison swung away and Megan called out strongly, “But this isn’t going to be swept under the rug. Scotty has real problems. You can expect another report on your desk next week.”
Halting at the opened door, Jamison growled, “There’s nothing wrong with the boy. That’s my assessment, and it carries weight, Miss Roberts. You’d better think twice before writing up another report on the boy. It makes you look like an incompetent teacher.”
Megan was about to retort when Sam Holt appeared. She blinked, shocked by his presence. Jamison looked him over, glared, and then shouldered on by him. Holt frowned and watched him for a moment before returning his attention to her.
“Hi. Did I walk in on World War Three? I heard you two all the way down the hall.” Sam ambled into the room, concerned for Megan. She stood stiffly behind the desk, her green eyes filled with fury.
Megan’s eyes widened. Sam was wearing his olive-green flight suit, the dark blue garrison cap with silver piping at a cocky angle on his head. Holt removed his cap and walked across the room. He was darkly tanned, his blue eyes dancing with amusement and undisguised interest. Megan fumbled with the lesson plan, shutting it. “I thought it was World War Three, too,” she muttered. Trying to gather her strewn emotions, Megan added, “I didn’t expect to see you again.” Her voice sounded shaky and low. Dying inside because Holt affected her powerfully, Megan tried to cover up her response to him.
Sam smiled, stopping at the front of her desk. “Now, Red, did you really expect me to disappear from your life? How can I? I go to sleep thinking about you, I wake up thinking about you.”
“Lines, Captain. All lines.” Or were they? That disturbing, intense look in his eyes made her feel unsure, and thoroughly feminine. Holt was very good at getting a woman’s attention and response.
Sitting on the corner of the desk, Sam shrugged. “Not a line with you.” Megan looked nervous, so he added, “Really, I came over for a reason.”
Sitting back in her chair, Megan heard the sarcasm in her voice. “This had better be good, Captain, because I’ve heard every line in the book that you jet jocks wrote.”
Running his fingers along the silver piping on his garrison cap, he glanced over at her. “I heard Captain Stang say that Patty’s causing some disruption in her class. His son is Scotty Stang.”
Megan didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Holt had come about Patty. He wasn’t really stalking her. “I know you’re close to Patty, Captain, but I don’t think I ought to be discussing her family problems with you.”
“Yeah, I know the policy, but…” Holt pursed his lips for a moment. “I was just over at Curt and Becky’s house, and frankly, I’m worried about Becky, Patty’s mother.”
“She’s such a frail, sensitive thing,” Megan said more to herself than him.
“Becky’s just plain old hill folk. I’ve always felt this kind of life was rough on her,” Sam agreed, holding her gaze.
“This kind of life is tough on every woman and child of a pilot,” Megan said with feeling.
“I know it is.”
She gave him a nonplussed look. “You mean, a pilot is actually going to admit that?”
“Kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Sam responded. “I know pilots are supposed to be egotistical with no sensitivity or awareness of anyone but themselves, but Becky’s a hard-luck case. She just hasn’t adjusted to the demands the Air Force puts on its people.”
Megan had to shake herself. Her father never had that insight about herself or her mother. “I feel like I’m hearing things.” She got up, wanting to get away from Holt, from the feelings he was stirring to life within her on strictly a personal and feminine level.
Sam studied her as she walked over to the chalkboard and cleaned it with an eraser. Megan looked pretty in the flowery summer dress with dolman sleeves and a simple, lacy white collar. It brought out the highlights in her mass of red hair that was drawn behind her ears and captured with a pink ribbon. She was wearing that same wonderful spicy scent that made him want to nuzzle into her hair and kiss her until she was breathless. Sam got up, sauntering over to the chalkboard.
“Look, I feel like there’s a wedge between us, Megan.” He groped for the right words and watched her green eyes widen. “Ever since you found out I was a pilot in the Air Force, you’ve been taking shots at me. I’ve tried to figure out what I did or said to deserve it, but I haven’t come up with anything.”
She felt heat rush to her cheeks, and she turned away, continuing to erase the board. “Captain, I just don’t care for pilots.”
“Yeah, I kind of got the feeling you didn’t.” He opened his hands. “But I came here today to discuss Patty with you, one adult to another. Can you look past my uniform and maybe give me some hints on how to help the kid and her family? Curt’s like a brother to me, and frankly, he’s not flying well because he’s worried about his wife and daughter.”
Stung by his honesty, Megan stopped her activity
. She stared down at the dusty eraser. “Forgetting you wear a uniform isn’t the problem, Sam. I simply won’t discuss a child with someone other than the parents. I hope you understand.”
He nodded. “I like your morals and values.”
Oddly, Megan was relieved by his understanding that she couldn’t speak in confidence about teaching matters.
Changing the topic, Sam said, “Who was that guy that just left? Or is that another confidential matter you can’t speak about?” he teased.
Megan finished cleaning the board. “That’s Brad Jamison, the assistant principal. I can’t tell you what it was about, but I can say personally, between you and I, he doesn’t like me.”
“Why?” How could anyone dislike Megan?
Wiping off her hands on a cloth she kept in the drawer of her desk, Megan offered, “I’m bucking the system and it’s obvious Jamison doesn’t like a strong-willed woman who insists upon fighting for what she feels is right.”
“Oh, your outdoor education proposal?”
“That’s behind this latest episode with Jamison,” Megan confirmed.
“Look, maybe you ought to be more careful around this guy. He wasn’t very happy looking when I came in. He’s got the authority to hire and fire. I’d hate to lose you now that I’ve just found you.”
Warmth fled through Megan, and she tried to make light of his serious comment. “I’m not going to cower or quit just because Jamison has the ability to get me fired. I believe I can keep pushing and still get my way without losing my job.”
Admiration for her spirit made him smile. “My money’s on you, Red. I can’t believe any man would turn down anything you asked for.”
“I hope you’re right, Sam….” Then Megan caught herself. It was so easy to talk to him, and she groaned inwardly. He was a pilot! There was nothing they could share. Nothing!
Night Flight Page 7
