He was driving himself too hard, Megan thought, moving to the kitchen to finish cleaning up the dishes. And she was determined to let him sleep until he woke up on his own. In her opinion, these 3:00 a.m. mornings spent studying were for the birds.
Megan didn’t have the heart to awaken Sam before she went to get her nightly bath. It was 11:30 p.m., and he was sleeping hard on the couch. It was important he get the maximum amount of sleep before the test flight, and she didn’t wake him.
A half an hour later, Megan emerged from the bathroom wearing a lace gown that brushed her bare feet. She had worn it especially for tonight, in keeping with the idea of a celebration. So far, it had kept her fear in check. The lace yoke was Venetian, showing off her neck and collarbone. The material, gossamer silk, shimmered against her as she moved. Brushing out her hair, Megan wandered back into the living room. She had shut off all but one small lamp, the room covered in gloom.
As she approached, Sam began muttering bits and pieces of unintelligible words. He threw up his hands, as if to protect himself from some invisible attacker, the afghan slipping off him. Concerned, Megan quickly drew closer. Sam’s face was bathed in a heavy film of sweat, his breathing raspy and hard.
Just as Megan leaned down to touch his shoulder to awaken him from the terror she saw etched on his twisted features, Sam shrieked. The brush dropped from Megan’s hand. She leaped back as Holt swung into a sitting position, his eyes dark, unseeing.
“Sam?” Hesitating fractionally, Megan sat down next to him and placed her arm around his hunched shoulders. He was wringing wet.
“Russ?”
“No—Megan.” Worriedly, she saw the terror dissolve in his eyes. Gripping his arm, she was alarmed. He was trembling. My God, what was wrong? And then, Megan remembered: it was probably the same nightmare that had struck Sam that night he’d slept over at her apartment. As she held him tightly in her arms, and allowed him to lie against her, she recalled the conversation he’d shared earlier with her about Russ Davis. That was it: the crash that had killed his best friend.
Rapidly, Megan put all the loose ends together. Sam was still breathing raggedly, his arms going around her, holding her tightly. Softly, in a singsong voice, she kept repeating that he was safe, and he was here, with her. It took a good ten minutes before his breathing evened out. Unnerved because his clothing was soaked, Megan tried to keep her fear at bay.
Finally, Holt sat up. He rested his head between his hands, elbows propped on his thighs. Megan’s soft hand moved reassuringly up and down his spine, as if to get rid of the tension that still gripped him. Remnants of the crash blipped before his tightly shut eyes, but so did the horror that Megan had caught him having the nightmare again. Inwardly, he was still shaking like a bowl of jelly. The test was coming up within hours. Could he fly it? Would he crash and kill himself and Port? What would it do to Megan if that happened?”
“Sam,” Megan whispered, resting her head against his shoulder, her arm around him, “It’s Russ, isn’t it? Let’s talk about it. I can handle anything you want to say.” Her arm tightened. “Please, talk to me, darling….”
Drawing in a ragged breath, Sam rasped, “Dammit, Megan, I can’t—won’t—subject you to my problem.”
His quavering voice struck her hard. “We love each other, Sam. Our problems belong to us. Your nightmare about Russ dying belongs to me, too.”
“You’re not ready for it,” he said hoarsely, raising his head. He looked into her compassionate eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep earlier. Just one more day, and I’d have gotten us past this point….”
Megan studied Sam for a long moment, digesting the fervor in his tone. His eyes were filled with anguish and fear. “This isn’t going to go away overnight, Sam.” Gently, she asked, “How long have you been having this nightmare?”
Something crumpled inside him. He wasn’t able to be strong on all fronts. Sam looked away, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “Ever since Russ died.”
“How often?”
“Maybe two or three times a week.”
Megan hurt for him. “And they come in the early morning. That’s why you didn’t want to go to sleep until 3:00 a.m.?”
His mouth had a bitter taste in it. “Christ, Megan, you don’t deserve to be dragged into this. You’re still recovering from that crash.”
She caressed his damp hair. “I don’t know what I’d have done without being able to talk to you, Sam, about my problems. Believe me, it was a relief to be able to dump all my feelings into your lap. I think I can handle whatever you have to say.”
He twisted his head, drowning in her shadowed features. “What about your parents? You’re still going through hell about them, about Edwards.”
Megan moved off the couch and sat between his legs, hands resting on his shoulders, and looked up into his exhausted face. “Let me be strong for you now, darling. Trust me enough to listen. I promise, I’m not going to run away from you, or lose what I’ve recently gained. Let me help you.”
Just the tone of Megan’s husky voice tore away the last misgivings he had. Wearily, Sam reached out, placing his hand on her small shoulder. In a low, tortured whisper, he told her everything. When he got to the part that scared him the worst, the words tore out of him in a torrent.
“I’m scared to fly again. I’m scared to death. Tomorrow morning, Port’s going to be in that cockpit with me. Jesus, what if I take her life, Megan? What if I die? What will it do to you? I can’t bear to think about it. How many lives will I ruin?”
Fighting back her tears, Megan cradled his face. Tears were streaming down his bristly cheeks, his eyes mirroring his anguish. “It’s all right to be afraid to fly, darling,” she whispered, a catch in her voice. “It’s natural to feel fear about these things.”
Gripping her hand, Sam hung his head, unable to maintain her gaze. “I’m afraid to die.” There, the admission was finally out. It was the real reason behind his fear. Sam waited, feeling Megan grow very quiet in his arms. Her hand was warm and comforting against the chills that racked him.
Murmuring his name, Megan got to her knees, and forced Sam to look up at her. Her mouth stretched into a tender smile meant to buoy him. “And I was afraid to live…until I met you, and you showed me that I could do it without the fear of the past controlling me.” Megan kissed his closed eyes, his cheek and finally his mouth, seeking to give him her warmth, her life that he’d given back to her.
Her mouth was wet and sweet, and Sam hungrily consumed her innocent offering, unable to get enough of her. Sweeping Megan into his arms, he plundered her lush mouth, taking her warmth, feeling it start to chase away the iciness that had him frozen with fear. Caressing the rounded beauty of her breast, he felt the nipple harden beneath the silk fabric, and new life flowed through him. Moving his hand across her rounded belly, Sam was stunned with the realization that he wanted her to carry his daughters and sons within her loving body. Those powerful realizations further grappled with his fear. He had so much to live for, to hope for, with Megan as a part of his future.
Easing from her mouth, Sam stared down at her in the darkness. Megan’s eyes were lustrous with love, her lips swollen from his assault. Moving his tongue across her lower lip, he wanted to ease any pain he’d caused her in the throes of wrestling with his ghosts.
“I want you to get a shower,” Megan whispered, “and then come to bed—with me. You won’t have any more bad dreams tonight, darling.”
Her bravery gave him the courage he needed. With his fingertips, he traced the outline of her small nose and cheek. Without a word, Sam stood and lifted her off the floor and into his arms. Currently, Megan was strong and he was weak. It felt good to have her arms go around his shoulders, her supple form pressed against his, infusing him with her strength, her love. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, the most important test of his life.
21
It was raining when Holt arrived at Ops at five-thirty the next morning. Megan had cal
led in sick at the school, to be with him. Shaken by her loyalty toward him, Sam was glad that she was there at his side. Getting her a visitor’s badge at the desk, he led her down the hall to Design. Just as Megan had promised, he’d slept deeply. This morning, he felt physically fit. Emotionally? Holt didn’t look too closely at the answer and took things one step at a time.
Lauren smiled when they entered Design. “Hi, Megan, Sam.”
Megan returned the major’s smile. “Hi, Lauren.”’
“Going to be Sam’s cheering section?” she teased.
“This time only,” Megan said, and sat down in a chair next to Sam’s desk. Worriedly, she watched him. He was paler than usual, and not talkative. A jag of terror moved through her when she saw his hand tremble as he opened the desk drawer. No, Megan told herself, don’t overreact. He’s scared, but he’s handling it.
“Ready to fly, Sam?”
“It could be a better day,” he answered Port dryly.
She sighed and frowned. “I know. The weatherman said it’s going to start raining shortly. We’ve really had rotten luck on this project.”
“It can only get better, Port.” Sam glanced down at Megan. She looked incredibly beautiful in the ankle-length dark blue ballet skirt and a white silk blouse. The simple gold earrings and choker emphasized her features to perfection. Despite all the pressures surrounding him, Holt felt his body tighten in desire for her. “I’ll take you over to the lounge,” he told Megan. “You can watch the test from there.”
“Fine,” Megan said, getting up. She gripped the small black leather purse and hoped she looked relaxed, as if nothing were wrong.
Lauren waved to her. “See you after the test, Megan!”
“Right.”
Outside in the hall after the door closed, Megan said, “I’ll find my way down to the lounge. I remember where it is. Why don’t you go get ready?”
Sam nodded. The hall was empty, so he leaned down and brushed her lips with a kiss. “I’ll see you just before I’ve got to leave,” he promised.
Megan stood tensely at the glass-paned windows that looked out across the tarmac and airstrip. Rain was going to fall any minute now, the sky bruised and swollen-looking. To her right stood the silent, poised F-15 Agile Eagle outfitted with its new canards along the nose.
Pressing her hands against the glass, Megan watched the ground crew moving methodically around the plane. Her heart was doing a slow pound, and she wrestled with her own ghosts, as well as those of Sam. He seemed tentative this morning, drawn taut, as if one wrong word would shatter him. All Megan could do was keep contact with him through a touch, a smile. She prayed it was enough.
Ops came to life around her. The tension was palpable as airmen hurried down the hall, civilian engineers came and went with harried looks on their faces. Phones rang. Buzzers behind the air desk buzzed. The crew outside with the Eagle were hurrying around the jet for last moment checks.
“Can you feel it?”
Megan jumped and jerked around. Sam stood just behind her.
He forced a smile he didn’t feel, reaching out and touching her briefly on the shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Red.”
Giving an inward sigh of relief that he was calling her Red, she took it as a hopeful sign. “I guess I’m jumpier than I thought,” Megan admitted. Sam wore the body-hugging G-suit on the lower half of his body. It made her hotly aware of his masculinity, his wonderful ability as a lover. “How are you doing?”
Sam stood at her shoulder and watched the last-minute preparations on the Eagle. “Okay.”
“Honest?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Honest.”
She turned, watching the Eagle crew. “I’ve been standing here thinking all kinds of crazy, weird things.”
“Me, too.”
“Scary things. Awful things. What-ifs. Wonderful things.”
The urge to reach out and embrace Megan was almost painful, but Sam stopped himself. Now was not the time or place. She looked pristine and out of place here at Ops. Refreshing. It gave him hope. Looking down, he caught and held her somber green eyes, a hint of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Want to share them with me tonight?”
Sam’s teasing capped her escaping feelings, and she rallied. “Yes.” And then, softly she added, “I’m always in awe of how we give each other strength.” Megan fought back the tears. Sam didn’t need to see her cry. Not now.
“I am, too.” He grazed her chin with his thumb. “I love you.”
Megan drowned in his devastating smile that held her heart gently in his hands. The words, low and husky, surrounded her. “I love you, too. Be safe, darling….”
Fighting the excruciating urge to lean down and kiss her one last time warred with protocol. Holt dropped his hand from her velvety skin. “For both of us, Red. I’ll meet you here after the test.”
Sam was gone. Megan blinked, wondering if he’d been with her at all, or if it was her fevered imagination. Minutes later, she saw Sam and Lauren climbing the ladder and getting into the Eagle. Hope warred with agony. His touch might have been the last she would ever experience. His words might be the last she’d ever hear from his lips.
Pressing her hands against the cool glass, Megan absorbed the scene, burning it into her memory. After the engines were started on the jet, she saw Sam lift his gloved hand and throw her a thumbs-up. It was a sign that everything was going to be fine. Would it be?
“This rain’s depressing,” Lauren muttered from the rear seat, the F-15 bumping along the concrete, heading for the takeoff point. The clouds had split open minutes after they had gotten in the plane. Puddles were already forming along the concrete surface.
Holt couldn’t agree more. He made a concerted effort to stick to business and not allow his emotions to interfere with what had to be done.
“My checklist’s completed, Sam.”
“Roger, Port.”
“God, I hope these canards do the trick.”
He smiled under his oxygen mask at Lauren’s frustration. “Ease off the throttles, Port, they’ll work.” They had to. The Eagle felt good under his boots, the engines making the bird quiver. To him, it felt like her pulse, reminding him that she was a living, breathing being. Most test pilots would have laughed him out of Ops if he confided that to them. That was another thing he wanted to share with Megan: how he felt about planes. Each jet was different, possessing an individual personality and temperament.
Looking up through the canopy, the sky was getting darker, which meant more rain. Sliding the clear visor down across his eyes, Sam made sure it was tight against his mask. The red flags on either side of the runway indicated the fifteen-hundred-foot marker. To the left was a truck with civilian design engineers on board. The new test pilot, Captain Chuck Hamilton, was with them. To the right, the videotape machines and people who would man them during the test flight were ready to videotape.
Swinging the Eagle around, Sam scowled. Making the last-minute checks, they were ready. His heart began a rapid pound in his chest as Port called for and received clearance from Edwards tower.
“Ready, ready, now,” Lauren said.
“Roger.” His gloved left hand wrapped around the throttle, easing them forward. As the F-15 began to howl, the fear rose in him. Last night, just before he’d fallen asleep in Megan’s arms, she’d told him how she handled her fear.
Just let it be there with you. Acknowledge it, but don’t fight it. Let it alone, and pretty soon, it will begin to fade away because you’re not putting any energy into denying it.
Compressing his lips, Sam pulled his boots off the rudders that also acted as the brakes. The F-15 lunged forward, shaking and growling like a greyhound running full-tilt. Well, he was going to take her advice and try it. He didn’t have any other options or ways to deal with his fear. All his previous efforts had failed.
The F-15 handled slightly differently with the canards on the nose. Holt was too busy feeling the jet out t
o pay much attention to anything else. After fifteen minutes, he decided to try a normal landing. Port gave him authorization, and he swung the bird into the landing pattern.
As the lip of the airstrip came up, Sam was wildly aware of the fear sitting in him. Purposefully, he left it alone, concentrating on the lift of the nose, and watched the speed indicator. As the ground came up, Holt broke into a sweat. Blinking, he held the bird steady, keeping the wings level.
“Touchdown!” Lauren announced. “Not bad, Sam. Two thousand feet. How’re the canards feeling?”
He lifted the F-15 back off the runway, pulled up slats, flaps and landing gear. “Good.”
“She felt easy at two thousand.”
“Roger.”
“Want to try fifteen hundred?”
His sweating increased. Fear was his best friend, still there, still twisting his gut, but he refused to fight it. “Roger.”
The rain worsened, the clouds gunmetal gray and hanging close to the one-thousand-foot ceiling where they flew. The winds were changing. All of this impinged on Sam, fed through the stick he held in his right hand and boots that caressed the rudders beneath him. Lining up the F-15, he aimed it at the beginning of the runway.
Russ’s face hung before him. Sam blinked away the sweat. They were descending now, four hundred feet…three hundred…two…The wind sheared unexpectedly across the runway. Instantly, Holt corrected, crabbing the jet sideways to get back on glide path. Come on, he told the jet, steady out. Steady out… Slats and flaps were at one hundred percent. The landing gear was down and locked. Beads of perspiration trickled down the sides of his taut face.
The F-15 was shuddering, growling at being held in check to just this side of stall speed. Holt’s grip on the stick tightened. He lifted the nose one degree beyond what it was supposed to be, anticipating the stall warning buzzer. Nothing happened. The plane slowed even more, the lip racing up to meet them.
Down! They were down! Instantly, Holt slammed on the brakes, reversing engine thrust, keeping the bird’s nose on the white centerline. His eyes bulged. The red flags were coming up! Then, the bird rolled to a halt, a hundred feet away from the red flags.
Night Flight Page 34
