14
Curt stared miserably across the empty waiting room, uncomfortable in the plastic chair. Megan sat next to him, and Holt paced slowly back and forth out in the hall. Rubbing his face tiredly, he shook his head.
“God, how did this happen?” he uttered softly. “How? Becky seemed happy this morning when I left…or at least, I thought she was.”
Megan placed her arm across his slumped shoulders. “When I had that teacher’s conference with Becky in September, she told me how afraid she was of you flying.”
“Her folks live in the mountains of Arkansas. They’re pretty basic people, but nice. They really aren’t a part of the twentieth century in a lot of ways.”
Megan knew many women became enamored with a man’s uniform, and they fell for the image he projected. None of them foresaw the terrible days or months of loneliness without him. She’d seen many marriages torn apart by less than Curt testing jets for a living. “You don’t have to be from rural Arkansas to have a fear of losing your husband to a plane.” Her mother was an ideal example of that. Fear chose no particular economic stratum.
“I guess not,” he said tiredly. Fear that Becky was dying dug into his gut and was slowly clawing its way up through him, into his heart, and he kept swallowing, trying to keep it at bay. Closing his eyes, Curt felt the sting of tears against his lids. What was wrong with Becky? If alcohol or drugs hadn’t caused her unconscious state, what had? How could he not have noticed if something was that wrong with Becky?
“Captain Merrill?”
Curt snapped up his head, unashamed of the tears streaking down his cheeks. A woman doctor, a major, stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her. She wore her gray hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. The white jacket and pants increased the aura of power surrounding her. “Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Anna Cartwright, and I’m in charge of Becky’s case. Your wife is resting well, now. Becky’s conscious.” She smiled slightly, reaching over and squeezing his shoulder.
“Thank God,” Curt choked. “Is she going to be all right?
“Yes.”
Megan gasped. She saw Sam halt at the door and grin. “Wonderful!” she whispered, gripping Curt’s hand. Seeing that the doctor wanted to talk to him further, she got up, offering her the seat. Cartwright nodded her thanks and sat down.
Glancing up at Megan and Sam, she told them, “I’d like to speak to Captain Merrill in private.”
“Sure,” Sam said, “no problem.” He put his arm around Megan’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s celebrate. We’ll get a cup of coffee. Curt, when you can, come down and join us in the cafeteria.”
Gratefully, Curt gave them both a wobbly smile, relief that Becky was going to live showering through him. “Sure…”
Dr. Cartwright waited until the couple had left. She turned her attention back to the husband. “Your wife tried to commit suicide, Captain. She took an overdose of a tranquilizer along with at least a quart of whiskey. We pumped her stomach and have her on IV to rebalance her electrolytes. She’s out of the woods—this time.”
Blinking, Curt gawked at the doctor. “Suicide?” His heart lurched with agony that Becky had attempted it. Guilt strangled him. How much had he to do with her near death?
His mind whirled. Was Cartwright going to make out a report on Becky’s condition and notify Colonel Yale? If she did, his career was shot down. Looking at the silver-haired woman, Curt hoped the compassion in her blue eyes was just that.
“I’ve checked Mrs. Merrill’s record. There’s no previous history of suicide attempts. At home, has she ever taken a combination of drugs and alcohol, Captain?”
Merrill wanted to cry for Becky, for himself. “I—yes, sometimes she’d have a couple of drinks before I flew a test flight. But nothing like this!”
“Has Becky always drank? Or is this a recent pattern of behavior?”
“She never touched a drop. Not until she married me,” he said hollowly. “That was eight years ago.”
“I see. Is there a history of alcoholism in Becky’s family?”
Rubbing his brow, he answered, “No…not that I know of. Doctor, may I see her? She needs me.” Curt needed her.
Grimly, Cartwright rose with him. “Of course you can.” She gripped his arm before he started to move away. “Captain, I’m strongly suggesting you and your wife get some counseling. Suicide attempts are a cry for help. I can recommend several fine psychiatrists here at the hospital.”
Stung, he stared straight ahead, his jaw tightening. “This was an accident, that’s all.” Curt didn’t want any records floating around on base or from Lancaster showing Becky receiving psychiatric evaluation. She wouldn’t want to go anyway, afraid people would call her crazy.
Gently, Anna said, “People who are in trouble, Captain Merrill, usually don’t know what’s good for them, or what they really need. I hope you can get her to someone, even if it’s a civilian agency off base.”
Heat nettled Merrill’s cheeks. The doctor wasn’t fooled in the least by his defensive attitude. She knew he was balking because he didn’t want anything on Becky’s medical records that the commanding officer was privy to. “Becky didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to mix a drink with tranquilizers. She’s from a simple way of life. It was just an accident.”
Cartwright pursed her lips, but said nothing more. “Becky’s in room 105, down at the end of the hall on the right. Don’t stay long. She’s very tired and emotionally exhausted.”
Curt felt shaky as he entered Becky’s room. His gaze went to her. How small and fragile she looked in the huge bed, but then, Becky was a bird-size person anyway. The white sheets and the light blue gown she wore emphasized her waxen features. At first, as he approached, he thought she was asleep.
Holding her hand, Curt noticed there were IVs in both her arms. She would be terribly bruised by them, and that made him ache for her. As he gently caressed her cool, almost cold fingers, he saw her lashes flutter against her cheeks.
“Sparrow?” he whispered, leaning across her. Placing his arm next to her head, Curt kissed her brow.
Dragging her lashes open, Becky stared dazedly up at her husband. “Curt?”
He managed a lame smile, tears burning his eyes. “It’s me. Everything’s going to be okay, Sparrow.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her flesh was frighteningly cool, and it scared him badly. “The doctor said you were out of the woods. All you have to do is rest and get well.”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to be here.”
“Sshhh, it’s okay.” He shut his eyes and rested his head lightly against her brow. “I was so scared, Sparrow. I—I tried to get ahold of you when the crash siren went off. It was a lousy fluke. There was no crash. The firefighting crews were simulating a crash exercise and the smoke you saw was from the tires they were burning.”
“Oh, dear…ya’ll be in trouble with the Design people if ya’ll left early.”
A sob caught in his throat, and Curt gripped her fingers tightly in his. “No, don’t worry about me, Sparrow. It’s you I’m worried about.” He lifted his head and saw the confusion in her eyes. “The doctor said you took tranquilizers and alcohol. You know better than that. You can’t mix those two and get away with it.”
With a small sigh, Becky closed her eyes. “I just fell apart when that crash siren went off. I—I thought you’d died in that crash. I couldn’t face it, Curt. I couldn’t face you being gone.”
“Honey, listen to me, please.” He gave her a small shake, forcing her to open her eyes. “You’ve got to stop this! What about Patty? She was found by Megan Roberts sitting outside your room crying. She was scared to death.”
“Oh, dear…”
Merrill mentally kicked himself and watched the darkness come back to Becky’s eyes. “Never mind,” he said, “it’s over. Patty’s okay and so am I. The important thing is that you get well, Sparrow. God, I love you so much.”
“You’re crying.” Weakly, she lifted her hand and tou
ched his damp cheek. “You never cry….”
“I’m crying,” Curt choked out hoarsely, “because I thought you were dead this afternoon when I got home.”
Tears formed and fell from Becky’s eyes. Sniffing, she whispered almost inaudibly, “Please, Curt, quit. Quit flying. I—I can’t take it no more….” She lapsed into a deep, troubled sleep.
Gently kissing her damp forehead, Curt made sure she was well covered and left to tell Sam and Megan that Becky was going to be all right. He ran his fingers through his hair as he slowly walked down the hall toward the elevator. Guilt plagued him, and he no longer knew what to do, because Becky wasn’t all right.
Sam took Megan home afterward. Her silence ate at him, and he felt such explosive emotions around Megan that it was simply a matter of time until they overwhelmed him. All he could do was hold her hand and be there for her until she was ready to cope with the horror of today.
Megan leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. Right now, she was barely coherent, finally giving in to her raw, bleeding feelings. Her hammering heart wrenched with the terror that she could have lost Sam today. If she could get to her apartment, she would be safe, insulated from a violent world that had already taken so much from her.
At the apartment, Megan opened the door. Sam stood there, watching her gravely. With a one-shouldered shrug, she said softly, “I don’t want to be alone right now. Will you…”
Guiding her into the apartment, Sam quietly closed the door. “I’ll stay as long as you need me, Red.”
Just the hushed whisper of the endearment unstrung Megan. Everything in front of her blurred because of the tears jamming into her eyes. Trying valiantly to stem the tide of tears, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “I—I feel as if someone’s tearing me up into pieces inside.” She turned, only a few feet separating them.
Holt stood there, poised, eyes narrowed upon her. To Megan, the way he was dressed in the body-hugging G-suit that framed his lower body, and the olive-green flight suit, he looked like a warrior torn out of the pages of a war story. There was agitation on his tense features, the worry in his eyes was reflected in the grim line of his mouth. His name slipped from her lips, and she took a hesitant step forward.
So many impressions assailed Sam as he put his arms around Megan and dragged her against him. He held her tightly, never wanting to let her go. Megan’s eyes were huge with anguish. Her skin was so pale that he could see the blue veins beneath her flesh. Her mouth was parted and pulled into a tortured line of pain. The storm in her eyes was going to break any second now.
“It’s okay,” he breathed raggedly. “I’m alive and safe. It’s okay….” All he could do was crush her warm, yielding form against him, and try to convince her he was alive, not dead.
The strong odor of his perspiration struck Megan’s nostrils as she leaned heavily against Holt. His voice was urgent, shaking with raw feeling. Alive. Sam was alive! She felt the rough creases of his flight suit beneath her damp cheek, smelled his fear and, more than anything, felt his arms, strong and protective, around her. His heart was a staccato beat beneath her ear, and he was breathing heavily. Alive. His words slowly impinged upon Megan, and blindly, she followed her heart’s need because he could have died today.
She slid her hand up across the material of his flight suit and felt the taut response of muscles across his chest beneath her fingertips. Yes, Sam was real. This was real. They were real. Megan shut her eyes tightly, absorbing every particle of his being into herself. She was shaking like a leaf, and couldn’t stop it.
“Hang on,” Holt said grimly, picking her up, bringing her into his arms. Turning, he headed down the hall, searched for and found her bedroom. Sam deposited Megan on the dark blue bedspread that was finished in fine ivory lace. Sitting down next to her, he bracketed her head with his hands. Every tear that formed in her troubled green eyes tore at him. Helplessly, he caressed her red hair that lay in disarray around her drawn features.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It was a stupid mistake that triggered everything this afternoon. Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Megan’s brow wrinkled. She stared up into Holt’s suffering features, his words barely registering upon her shocked senses. Only his touch and the concern burning in his azure eyes were real. Her breathing was sporadic, because it hurt to breathe, to feel.
“I—I thought you were dead.” Her voice cracked. “I felt as if someone had killed me when I heard that siren go off.”
Taking Megan in his arms, Sam held and rocked her. He slowly repeated the same information to her, realizing she was in shock. Wouldn’t he be, too? Yes. Every second was painful as he witnessed the devastating results the day’s events had had on Megan. If ever he needed convincing that she loved him, the proof was in her eyes, in her reactions. With a shake of his head, Holt hadn’t wanted it to happen this way.
Gently, Sam brushed her wrinkled brow and then her tear-dampened cheek with a kiss and tried to convince her he was here, uninjured. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he promised her thickly. The urge to claim her parted lips was too much, and he covered them with his, tasted the bitter salt of her tears, the yielding texture of her mouth and the inner sweetness that was uniquely Megan.
With a moan, Megan returned his hungry, searching kiss, as his mouth moved in abandon against hers. Sam was alive! He was here, with her, where he belonged. The shock had torn away all her defenses and silenced her suspicious mind. Only her heart, her untrammeled emotions, ruled her now. Nostrils flaring, she caught his male scent, dragging it deep into her lungs, as if breathing life back into her cold, numbed depths.
Megan moved her hands upward, sliding them along the coarse fabric of his flight suit, and touched Sam’s face, convincing herself he wasn’t a ghost, but so very real, so very warm and human. She couldn’t get enough of him, and devoured his kisses, the roughness of his sandpapery face against her cheek, heightening her need of him. Nothing mattered except now. They were both alive. Suddenly, life had to be proven to Megan all over again. Finding the zipper to the flight suit, she pulled it downward.
Holt gripped her hand and stared intently into her eyes. “Megan,” he rasped unsteadily, “is this what you want?”
His voice, deep and dark, vibrated through her. She held his smoldering eyes that promised so much. Her hand stilled at his waist where the G-suit prevented the zipper from moving any farther. “Yes,” she whispered. Megan felt his fingers tighten around hers, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Love me, Sam.” It was a plea, a need torn from her heart. Megan was helpless to stop herself, and didn’t want to. The man sitting with her, his features taut, was who she wanted. Megan didn’t see his uniform, she saw only the man. Humbling herself because she saw him waver on her request, she murmured, “Please?”
Holt released Megan and stood, his gaze never leaving hers. The G-suit chaps came off easily, and he tossed them to one side. He was troubled as he unzipped the rest of his flight suit, shrugged out of it, and allowed it to pool around his feet. Did Megan want to be loved by him for the right reasons or the wrong ones? If she were reacting to the trauma of believing she had lost him, it could destroy what trust he’d built up with Megan. On the other hand, if the news had shocked her into realizing she honestly loved him, then coming together like this would be the most right thing in the world. Which one was it? Pushing the suit aside, he pulled off the dark green cotton T-shirt, revealing his chest. Next came the socks, and then he stripped out of the cotton briefs.
Megan sat there, staring up at him, and absorbed his very male form through her eyes, her senses. Holt was tightly muscled, his chest broad with dark hair, and it tapered into a hard belly, narrow waist and hips. His thighs were powerful, knees and calves well-proportioned to the rest of him. She saw the question in his eyes as he stood there beneath her appraisal. He made no move to touch her, and allowed her to make the decision, to tell him what she wanted next. There was such raw, primal energy radiating from him, that
she felt dizzy with expectancy. He was beautiful, his lines cleanly sculpted, shouting of his inherent maleness. Megan lifted her hands, and began to unbutton her pale gold blouse. She fumbled with them, feeling suddenly inadequate against Holt’s strong, potent presence.
“Let me help you,” he said, and sat down next to her. The instant his fingers touched hers, she allowed him to finish unbuttoning the blouse. A new yearning careened through Megan as he slid his hands beneath the blouse, barely skimming her flesh, and easing it off her shoulders. As his gaze caressed her breasts, Megan felt them tighten, begging to be touched by him. Fractionally, she leaned toward him, closed her eyes and silently asked for his contact.
“Are you protected? Do I need to use a condom?” Sam demanded, searching her eyes.
“It’s all right,” Megan whispered. “I’m on birth control pills.”
Sam searched her eyes intently, wanting to be sure this was what Megan really wanted; that it wasn’t because of the trauma they’d all just gone through. “Okay,” he growled, lifting his fingers.
Megan wasn’t disappointed. His hands slid around her breasts, cupping them, the thin fabric of her pink lingerie a meaningless barrier between them. A small sigh escaped Megan as she rested her brow against the hard line of his jaw. His fingers outlined and stroked her taut nipples, and a flood of sensations jolted through her.
“You’re so beautiful,” Holt whispered against her ear, nuzzling the lobe, the silk of her hair tickling his nose and cheek. Sweet God, was she ever. In moments, he released the filmy bra, recapturing her small, lovely breasts. With his tongue, he caressed each nipple, feeling her soft intake of breath, a wild, fine quiver racing through her. Her lashes swept downward and she grew restless beneath his moist, heated onslaught. The moment spun to a halt, and instinctively he sensed that each touch, each stroke, suspended them in the present. Their past was forgotten. No future existed.
Night Flight Page 22
