Megan’s fear was beginning to recede. Sam had lifted his hands from her shoulders. Although she ached for his continued touch, Megan stepped away. “I know Ph.D.’s who are much less sensitive about people than you are.” And then she added, “Somehow, Sam Holt, I think you got the most out of your mom’s stories and examples.”
With a shrug, Sam said, “I don’t know. Maybe I did. What’s important is what I’ve seen it do to you. You’re a racehorse in a plow horse harness.” He grinned, reaching out, gently ruffling her hair. The evening sunlight bathed the strands and set them ablaze. “You can’t have red hair and not be a hellion.”
“I’m a hellion.” Jamison would find that out tomorrow, first thing. Megan had no intention of being fired without a fight.
“No argument out of me.”
“You’re gloating, Holt.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Laughing, Megan crossed her arms against her chest. She saw Sam’s mouth compress as he took those few steps forward.
“You never have to be defensive around me,” Sam told her quietly, allowing her arms to fall back to her sides. “I’m not going to take advantage of the trust you just gave to me.”
Rolling her eyes, Megan muttered, “It’s dangerous being around you! Not only are you an amateur psychologist, but you read body language as well.”
“Now you’re getting flighty,” Holt teased, wanting to place his arms around her. Right now, Megan needed protection. And he was the one who could give it to her.
Nervously, Megan turned, beginning to walk once again. “With my red hair,” she said across her shoulder, “I’m allowed to get flighty.”
With a laugh, Sam easily caught up with her and captured her hand once again. “That’s my lady,” he said, “get spunky and rebellious. It becomes you.”
An incredible ribbon of joy feathered through Megan, and she laughed uninhibitedly. Sam was magic. This moment was magic. And then, reality settled on her shoulders once again. That was all it was: a magic moment out of time. Away from the real world, Megan thought sadly. He was a test pilot. The military was his real wife—his entire life. She was but an addendum to it, of secondary importance. Had her mother had moments like this with her father? Surely, they must have, she hoped. Love had brought them together, but somewhere along the way it had been destroyed by both of them and their inability to compromise. And somewhere in the middle, she had been growing up.
Frowning, Megan looked toward the sky. A robin sailed noisily across the playground. Sam was accurate about what had happened to her. She wanted to know more of how he saw her. He seemed to know her much better than she knew herself.
“I’ve got a busy week of testing ahead of me,” Sam said, interrupting her far-off look. “How about you?”
Guilt needled her. “My week is going to be crazy.” At least that wasn’t a lie, because she never wanted to lie to him. She couldn’t help herself when she asked, “When are you flying the Eagle?”
“Monday and Friday.”
Both days, she would live in fear of the crash siren going off. When a plane went down, that siren could be heard everywhere on Edwards, even over at the schools. And it was always broadcast on every Lancaster radio station to alert military families who lived in town instead of on the base. Hands damp, she curled her fingers into her palms. Was this how Becky Merrill felt? Her mother? There was dread mixed with vague anxiety, and a terrible sensation of fear dominating her. Sam was wrong: her mother’s fear was her fear.
“What’s on your schedule after that?”
Uncomfortable with his interest, and realizing he wanted to see her again, Megan halted. The setting sun’s rays bathed everything in a golden wash, Sam’s face radiant. “Why?”
“Well,” he said, “I’d like to ask you out to dinner. Tonight was kind of unexpected, and not a real date.”
She tensed at the word date. “Sam, please…I like you as my friend…nothing more.” Megan cringed inwardly over the lie. Sam was much more than a friend to her. Much more. She didn’t want to hurt him, but couldn’t help herself. She took a deep breath. “If-you were a civilian, in any other kind of job, I would really think about it. But—”
“I’m a pilot,” he said, a terrible sadness filling him. He saw Megan hesitantly nod, and then lift her chin to shyly meet his eyes. Frustration blotted out his grief. “Dammit, Megan, I’m Sam Holt, the human being! Test piloting gives me a paycheck every two weeks, that’s all.”
“It’s more than that,” she accused, her voice growing strong with conviction. “I’ve never met a pilot yet who flew just because of the money offered for doing it. It’s not that kind of career.”
Grimacing, Sam stepped back throwing his hands on his hips. “Look, what we’ve got between us is good and solid, Megan. I feel it here,” he said, pointing at his chest. “My heart doesn’t lie to me, and yours doesn’t, either.” He probed her features mercilessly. “Hasn’t the last month or so proven to you that I’m more than just a pilot? Don’t you like me as a man, and not because I wear a damn uniform and a set of wings?”
Fear drenched her happiness that had been there moments before. “Sam, I can’t separate the man from the uniform and pilot’s wings! I’ve never lied to you about this. I’ve always been up front with you about my fears.”
Holt wanted to shake some sense into her. “Your fears are your mother’s fears, not necessarily yours!”
“That’s not true! And don’t shout at me!”
“I’m not shouting. I’m just trying to make a point. Megan, you don’t have to live your life exactly like your mother did. You are your own person. Don’t you realize that? Your mother’s fear became yours. What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to own them. They aren’t yours. If you’d give us just half a chance, you’d find out that you wouldn’t get scared if I went up and tested a jet.”
Hurt, Megan whispered, “It’s not going to ever get that far, Sam.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “It doesn’t matter whether I have my mother’s fear or not. I saw the end result of her marrying my father. The Air Force killed her as much as he did! How can I forget that? How can I ignore that? It’s part of my experience, Sam, and dammit, that’s valid!” Megan whirled around. Her small apartment sat only six blocks from the playground, an easy walk home. She had to get away from Sam. He was making her hurt too much, look at herself and her life too closely.
“Hold it,” Sam ordered. He gripped her by the arm and pulled her to a stop. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Let go of me!”
Nostrils flaring, Sam held her furious green eyes as she tried to pull out of his grasp. “Running?” he taunted. Her eyes widened, and he saw his question strike home. Instantly, Megan stopped fighting him.
“You have no right to stand there and accuse me of running or not running,” she said, jerking her arm out of his grip.
“Oh, yes, I do. I happen to like you one hell of a lot, Megan. That gives me the right.”
“Well,” she railed, “I’m taking that right away from you! Just stay away from me, Sam! Leave me alone!” She spun around on her heel and ran across the playground.
“Dammit,” Holt cursed savagely, watching her run away from him because he was a pilot. Scuffing the grass with the toe of his shoe, Sam was angry at himself, not her. And then, a grin leaked through his serious demeanor. “Little hellion made a command decision and carried through with it. Good for her.”
He didn’t mind that she expressed her independence and acted on it. Sam applauded that in Megan. Within a minute, Megan had disappeared from view. Holt stood there, watching the sky gradually darken after the sun had set. Mulling over their searching conversation with one another today, he felt hope. Strong, vibrant hope. With a rolling laugh that filled the air, Holt turned around and headed back toward the Italian restaurant where his Corvette was parked. Yes, positive headway had been made with Megan today. Slowly, but inexorably, she was beginning to accept him as a man, not a
pilot. Her reaction at the latter was simply old fear raising its head.
Rubbing his hands together, he silently congratulated himself. If he continued to be patient and understanding, Megan would gradually accept him as a man and forget he was a pilot. And when that happened—not if—they were both going to be the happiest people in the world. “Red,” he murmured, “you’re mine. You just don’t know it yet, but you’re getting used to the idea….”
Megan wore a suit the next morning. After an hour-long conference with Linda on her union options regarding the school wanting to fire her, they both went to Jamison’s office.
Jamison motioned them in. Megan shut the door, and remained standing. Linda Yarnell sat down, handing Jamison several papers.
“We’re contesting the administration’s proposed firing of Megan,” she told Jamison quietly.
Jerking the papers toward him, Brad frowned. “You can’t be serious! You want Scotty Stang to be tested for hyperactivity?”
“That’s right,” Megan said tautly, coming forward, glaring down at him. “By union rights, I can request it to be done to prove my reports have validation so I can’t be accused of incompetence in teaching.”
Dammit. Jamison pursed his thin lips, studying the request. He was caught. And he hadn’t expected Megan to fight back.
“All right,” he muttered irritably, “I’ll contact the Stangs and request their cooperation.”
“And if they don’t?” Megan demanded.
“Then, I’ll withdraw my request for your firing.”
Linda nodded. “Until we know what the parents’ decision is, Megan is reinstated into her class?”
“Yes,” he groaned. This morning, Brad had called in a substitute for Megan’s class. Now, he’d send her home.
A flutter of relief fled through Megan, and she managed a smile at Linda as she stood up. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’ve got a class to teach.” But first, she was going to call Grace Dalton, the general’s influential wife. It was time to use some of the leverage her father had built here at Edwards. Could she get Grace to agree on a dinner that would include Principal Jake Hamilton and herself? She wanted to alert General Dalton to her outdoor education proposal, knowing full well that Hamilton wasn’t even aware of it, thanks to Jamison. There was more than one way to play this game, and Megan was going to use the system.
Jamison sat there for a long time, seething. Finally, he picked up the phone and called Melody Stang. If they wanted Megan fired, they would have to go for the test. Would they?
When Megan arrived home that night, she found a huge bouquet of springtime flowers in a pot next to the door. Frowning, she wondered if Sam had given them to her, but that was impossible. Leaning down, she picked up the card and opened it. Inside was a handwritten note.
Dear Megan,
I must speak to you soon about Scotty and his problem. Let’s get together for lunch next Saturday. I’ll meet you at the Antelope Valley Inn at noon. Melody Stang.
Wrinkling her nose, Megan tucked the note away in her pocket and unlocked the door to her apartment. A major part of herself wanted to throw the flowers out, but they were so fresh and beautiful, she didn’t have the heart to do it.
Going to her small office, Megan had to get her lesson plans done. As she sat down at her desk, her mind moved ahead to this coming week. Sam flew Monday and Friday.
Oh, God, those days would crawl by for her. Rubbing her brow, Megan closed her eyes and experienced a sense of helplessness she never knew existed. Right now, she wished her mother were alive, so that she could ask her if this is what she felt before her father would go up to test fly. How was she going to handle her worry? How?
Megan’s mind refused to stay centered on the lesson plans. Inevitably, it swung back to Sam, to their kiss, their searching, poignant conversation with one another. With a stubborn shake of her head, Megan forced him out of her thoughts. But she had no way to remove him from her heart. She wondered how Becky was handling her husband’s flying, aware that she worried a great deal, too.
Curt tossed his garrison cap on the couch in disgust. Becky looked out from the kitchen.
“You look tired. Curt.”
He picked up Patty, giving her a kiss, and then set her down. Entering the kitchen, he kissed Becky. “It was a bad day, Sparrow.” Curt poured himself coffee and sat down at the table.
Becky watched him covertly, putting the finishing touches on the nightly salad. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just not getting the breaks I should over at Ops,” he growled, rubbing his face tiredly. “Stang and Holt are in solid. Promotion for early major is coming up. I need those oak leaves.” And then, he leaned back in the chair and tipped it back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I wish to hell my sponsor would kick in. Right now, I need his help. I’m not getting as much flying in as the other two pilots. If only he could schedule me in for more testing, I could raise my percentile and get out of third place.”
Risking Curt’s anger, Becky said, “Maybe you don’t have a sponsor like you thought.” Right now, she’d do anything to get Curt away from Edwards. If he couldn’t make the cut as a test pilot, he would be put back into a fighter squadron. That was something she could deal with better than his testing planes.
“I’d better have. How could I have gotten this far without one?”
She shrugged, pretending innocence. “Other officers have gone a long way without a sponsor, Curt.”
“Christ, what would I do if I didn’t have one? I’m dead in the water.”
Becky sat at the table. After a few minutes she asked, “There’s no shame in being a pilot in a fighter squadron,” she said softly.
The chair thunked down on the floor. Curt grimaced. “My father expects great things from me. He brags to everybody I’m a test pilot, now. How can I let him down?”
Wincing inwardly, Becky turned and said nothing, going to the silver drawer. Didn’t Curt ever think that he was letting her and Patty down by fighting so hard to remain a test pilot?
“Did you know that the Stangs got an invitation to eat with General Dalton? We didn’t get one. Why them and not me?”
“Because Jack has a sponsor, that’s why,” Becky boldly offered. Perhaps, if she could pick away at Curt’s belief that he had a sponsor, he might seriously think of transferring back to a fighter squadron.
12
Megan dressed carefully for the dinner with the Daltons and Jake Hamilton. She arrived at the general’s sprawling residence on Edwards at exactly 7:00 p.m., Friday night. She wore a stylish lavender silk shirt and a long skirt of the same color. The sash was hot pink, her white silk scarf simple but elegant. A pair of low-heeled shoes rounded out her wardrobe. Megan wanted to be casual and relaxed. With her possible firing from the school still hanging over her head, she felt unsure of the dinner, or of Hamilton’s reception to her presence, much less making a pitch for her proposal.
The single-story stucco home was yellow with a red tile roof, and many well-manicured bushes surrounded the residence. Pushing the doorbell, Megan tried to calm her hammering heart. This was one time when Sam’s presence would be wonderful, but this was something she had to do on her own. Guilt niggled at her because she had withheld so much information from Sam despite his concern for her welfare the past week. When it was all over—one way or another—she’d tell him everything.
A black man dressed in a starched white jacket and black pants opened the door. Megan smiled and handed him the invitation. “Right this way, Ms. Roberts,” he invited.
Megan had been in this home a number of times before as a teenager, when her father had been invited over for dinner by other commanding generals. The rich interior was distinctively Persian, with rare and expensive rugs covering the highly polished oak floors. However, a military veneer still pervaded, the antique swords on the wall reminding everyone a warrior lived here. She heard voices, snapping her attention back to the reason why she’d come.
In t
he dining room, Megan halted. Her mouth nearly dropped opened. There, standing next to George Dalton, were Jack and Melody Stang. Swallowing hard, Megan saw Melody’s eyes widen enormously. Captain Stang was in his dark blue uniform, and Melody was dressed in a black cocktail gown that emphasized her Raphael-like figure. She looked stunning. Megan felt underdressed, but shoved away the feeling.
“My dear,” Grace said, coming over to her, “how long it’s been since we last saw you. Come in, come in.”
Megan gave Grace a quick hug, liking the trim fifty-five-year-old woman with steel-gray hair. She wore a bright yellow silk dress that spoke of her station on the base; understated, and yet expensive. “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Dalton.”
“Oh, pooh! You always called me Gracie when you were a teenager. Why change now, Megan?” She smiled and gripped her shoulders. “My, you’ve turned into a lovely young lady. George, come and meet Megan!”
Megan watched the Stangs’ as well as Hamilton’s reactions to the general’s enthusiastic welcome for her. She knew Hamilton was ex-Air Force, so her warm reception by the most powerful man on base wasn’t wasted on him, either. Normally, a general shook hands with his guests, but George gave Megan a huge bear hug.
Smiling at the short, squat general, Megan returned the hug. “Thanks for having me, General.”
“It’s an honor to have you dine with us, Megan,” he assured her heartily, and he turned to his other guests. “You know that Megan is the daughter of Colonel Steven Roberts?” He frowned. “I miss him, Megan. I’m sure you do, too.”
She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Yes, I do.” If her father had only lived after her graduation. Megan had planned to have many long, serious talks with him once she arrived back at Edwards. Now, it was too late.
When the general introduced her to the Stangs, Megan pretended nothing was wrong, greeting them warmly. The panic in Melody’s eyes, coupled with Jack’s anxious look, told her they were just as shocked that she was here with them. It was obvious the Daltons, and perhaps Hamilton, knew nothing of what was going on with Scotty or her job. The Stangs probably were worried that she’d tell Dalton about the infighting going on over their son. Were they stupid enough to bring it up in dinner conversation? Megan prayed they were going to be as discreet about the topic, as she was, and say nothing. She had larger fish to fry tonight.
Night Flight Page 18
