“No one saw us, Tess.” He leaned forward, a new urgency in his voice. “Look, one kiss doesn’t mean you’re having a full-blown affair. It’s not the end of the world. Put it into perspective.” His mouth thinned as he assessed her worriedly. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry for evoking this kind of pain in you. I never intended to do that, Tess, believe me. You didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of hurt.”
Tears slid down her cheeks and she brushed them away. Drawing a handkerchief from his back pocket, he placed it in her cool, damp fingers. Shakily she wiped the tears away. “All I want to do is see the B-1 and then leave, Shep.” How could she explain that her heart craved what Shep Ramsey had offered her? But her head was telling her that she was married to Cy.
“It’s not as simple as that,” he corrected gently. “You know well be seeing each other in the future because of the bomber. You can’t run away and hide from this, Tess. Neither of us can,” he concluded with more authority. “I promise not to make it any more awkward than it’s already become. But you’re going to have to put any guilt you feel over this into proper perspective and then lay it to rest. Otherwise you’ll only tear yourself apart.” He frowned, watching pain cross her mobile features. How could he have forgotten for one instant that emotionally she was a naive eighteen-year-old and not a mature woman of twenty-four? Agony slashed at his heart because he had selfishly inflicted this pain on her because of his own desire.
Shep idly sloshed the Scotch around in his glass, staring moodily at the ice cubes. He had done a great deal of thinking since kissing Tess. Most of his thoughts were centered on his disintegrating marriage. Allyson was a social climber. She lived for it. It hurt him to think that all she had seen in him when they married was a way to reach the top. But he knew she’d always dreamed of becoming a general’s wife. And God knew, he had the proper background to make him eligible in another twelve years. He took a sip of the Scotch, glancing over at Tess.
Her cheeks were tear-wet and flushed, her lashes thick and dark with tears. Instinctively, Shep knew Tess wasn’t concerned with the trappings of the material world. Hers was a world of emotional sensitivity. A world he had been craving to be a part of since he had been old enough to recognize it. And emotional sensitivity was something entirely foreign to Allyson.
“Come on, Tess. Finish your drink and I’ll take you to look at that bomber you’re building,” he said.
Tess raised her head, meeting his gray gaze. A new kind of warmth invaded her heart, soothing the ragged edges of the guilt. A tremulous smile touched her lips.
*
Shep escorted her inside a large, rectangular hangar. Inside sat the first two prototypes of the B-1 bomber. Workmen on tall, skeleton-like ladders swarmed over the two planes. Shep showed his security badge to the guard. Tess brought out her badge, too, and attached it to her camel hair coat.
“Compared to the B-52, the B-1 looks like a glamor girl,” Shep said, gesturing to the lean-looking bomber.
Tess nodded as her gaze traveled from the needlelike nose over the swept-back canopy of the cockpit to the sleek, aerodynamic shape of the main fuselage. “The B-1 looks more like the French Concorde,” she agreed, and then smiled. “Although, I think we have a better design.”
“The Concorde is designed for speeds of Mach 2. This bomber will hit subsonic speeds at low level.”
“Do you like the design, Shep?”
He turned, looking down at her. “As my friend Major Tom Cunningham put it, the plane is pure sex.”
She laughed with him. The B-1 was a Thoroughbred. It was a beautifully crafted plane and much smaller than the aging, eight-engined B-52. The B-1 could carry twice as many weapons, and once tested, it was hoped its overall performance would far surpass any existing bomber. “When you stop to think that there are over three thousand contractors and subcontractors working to put the B-1 together, it boggles your mind.”
Shep nodded, leading her around to the tricyclelike landing gear that raised the bomber twelve feet off the ground. A huge nacelle placed beneath each wing would hold two engines each.
“Speaking of contractors, I’d rather fly this thing than have to deal with them.” His slate-colored eyes sparkled with mirth. “Trying to handle the three thousand companies involved would be enough to give me gray hair long before my time.”
Tess sobered. “I know,” she answered, worry tinging her voice. “Cy deals directly with both the Air Force and the contractors. He works far too hard.”
Shep leaned against one of the thick white steel landing gear struts, studying her. “Your husband is in a very powerful and influential position at Rockwell. I’m sure he has to work hard to keep the whole thing moving. What’s the matter, don’t you like the prestige that goes with that position?” Shep was thinking that Allyson would revel in it.
Tess gave a vague shrug. “Money isn’t everything, Captain. Sure, it’s nice to have it but”—she smiled, her eyes crinkling with silent laughter—“sometimes, quite frankly, I’d rather be back in my jeans and pigtails.”
“And out walking in the woods. Right?”
She tilted her head, perplexed. “Now, how did you know that?”
“Anyone who has freckles is an outdoors girl,” Shep baited, grinning.
Tess blushed, avoiding his caressing gaze. Even with their truce, she still felt inexorably drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Noticing his bronzed skin, Tess countered, “You’re a country boy yourself.”
“Oh? Does my Maine heritage show through that strongly?” he asked, continuing to wander beneath the carriage of the bomber.
Tess turned, smiling up at him. “So! That’s where you get your poker face. You’re so hard to read when you don’t want to be read!”
He pursed his mouth, giving her a sidelong glance. “Hmm. Tom teases me a lot about my stone face sometimes. He tells a lot of jokes to get me to loosen up.”
“Always too serious?” she ventured.
“Yes.”
“The New England sense of responsibility?”
“Right again. Sure you aren’t a mind reader?”
Tess shared his smile.
“No. Just putting two and two together. I met a few young men back at Harvard who had that same serious look. Most of them came from poor families. They were used to working their way up through the ranks.” She glanced up at him. “Did you?”
“What?”
Tess sensed his hesitancy to talk about his past. “I’m sorry, I’m prying,” she said.
Shep halted near the large tail and stabilizer section, which rose loftily above them. “No, you’re not prying.” He studied her upturned face. She was the exact opposite of Allyson. In Tess’s eyes there was only curiosity and genuine concern. But in Allyson’s he could always detect signs of an ulterior motive. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I did come from a poor family, Tess. I was the oldest of six. My father was a potato farmer up in central Maine.” His brow wrinkled with memories. “Dad suffered a back injury when I was seven and I ended up doing most of the farm work. On top of that, Mom was never in good health. She was frail.” He smiled fondly. “I never could figure out how she had all six of us.”
“So you ended up not only with extra farm chores but helping to raise your other brothers and sisters?”
Shep nodded. “Yes. When Dad wasn’t around I ended up being like a second father to the younger ones. Mom expected me to keep them in line.”
“No wonder you don’t smile much,” Tess whispered, understanding the responsibility that had fallen on his shoulders as a youngster. “That must have been very tough on you.”
“It was, but it taught me discipline at an early age. I discovered I could do things I never thought I could.”
“Is that why you joined the Air Force?”
He halted, looking up at the hangar ceiling. “Let’s put it this way, Tess. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting poor soil conditions and severe weather trying to plant potatoes. I saw what it
did to my parents, I guess I wanted something better.”
In that instant, Tess saw Shep in a new light. He was a proud man. But his pride came from the knowledge that he had survived and gone on to be successful on his own terms. “I admire you, Shep. I really do,” she murmured, awed.
“Don’t be too impressed,” he answered gravely. “I really had no choice. I either worked or everybody starved.”
He slipped his hand beneath her elbow and led her out of the hangar. The Mojave winds were whipping tumbleweeds along the desert surface to their right. Opening the car door, he helped her in. Taking off his flight cap, he shut the door. Several strands of dark hair had dipped to his brow and he pushed them back with his long, tapered fingers. The interior of the car was warm from the sun and Tess leaned back.
“Why the Air Force? Why not industry? You certainly have the drive and motivation to do whatever you want.”
He rested his hands on the steering wheel, considering the question. “In the woods when I was waiting for a deer to come by, I’d sit quietly in a tree and watch the birds. There were several Bald Eagles that nested near my home and I used to watch them. I saw the freedom they had as they rose above everything, Tess.” He was quiet for nearly a minute. His voice grew softer as he continued. “I wanted to feel the wind tearing at me, to experience that sensation of soaring. I wanted their freedom to turn, wheel, dive, or glide thousands of feet on invisible air currents.” His voice became inaudible as he remembered his boyhood dream. Even now the thrill of flying was with him. He wanted to slip the grasp of the earth’s gravity and fling himself skyward, just as those magnificient eagles had done with such effortless grace. He glanced over at Tess, suddenly feeling shy. He had never shared his wishful childhood dream with anyone. Not even Allyson.
Shep turned from Tess to clear his throat and then continued in a more even voice, “I didn’t have the money to take private flying lessons. So, I put myself through college in five years and then joined the Air Force. I did very well in flight school and was assigned to fighters. Later on, I transferred to FB-111’s, a medium-range bomber and then to B-52’s just in time for the war over in Nam. I stayed with the Buffs until test pilot school came through for me. Next month I pin on my major’s leaf.”
She gazed at him admiringly. “And you have nowhere to go but up. You’re an inspiration to everyone, Shep.”
He shrugged, starting the car engine. “I wouldn’t know about that, lady. Don’t be so quick to put me up on a pedestal.”
“Why not? You certainly deserve to be there.”
“Every idol has feet of clay, just remember that, Tess,” he warned. He met her eyes. “And I’ve already shown you just how fallible I am with you. Come on, it’s almost four o’clock. Let’s get you back to the restaurant so you can pick up your car. I’m sure your husband will be wondering where you are.”
*
Derek Barton entered Cy Hamilton’s spacious, well-appointed office with a look of serious intent on his narrow face. The dark brown corduroy suit he wore seemed to accentuate the planes of his lean face and the darkness of his restless gaze. Hamilton looked up from his drafting table, a scowl already developing on his brow.
“I thought I told my secretary I wasn’t seeing anyone else today,” he growled, returning to the plans and ignoring Barton.
Barton halted at the desk, crossing his arms comfortably. “Everyone is gone for the day, Mr. Hamilton.” He gave Cy a plastic smile. “It’s nearly six o’clock. tow about taking a break and I’ll buy us some dinner over at—”
“No, thanks, Barton. What’s on your mind? Is it that subcontract of yours? I told you before, if you’ve got any problems with it, don’t bring them to me. It’s a performance contract. Your bearings meet our specifications or we don’t accept them. It’s as simple as that.” He glanced up at the contractor. “Now why don’t you leave?”
“Mmm, I don’t think you’ll want me to leave without talking to you first,” Barton hinted, a wolfish smile hovering around his almost lipless mouth. “No, this time it involves something I think you’ll be very interested in.”
Cy ignored him. Barton was one of the few subcontractors who could get under his skin. His bids were always late and incomplete. Then he whined until the Air Force accepted them even after the deadline. He was a wheedler, a conniver, and a weasel and Cy didn’t trust him or his company’s work. How many times had Tess gone to Rockwell’s lab to check the quality of the steel alloy that was used to make the bearings? Cy doubted that Barton’s work met the specs, but what was he going to do when low bid always got the job? He glared up at Barton. “I suggest you say your little spiel and then go.”
Barton shrugged. “Okay, Mr. Hamilton. Your wife has been over at our company offices a great deal lately—”
“I send her over there,” Hamilton growled. “As the specifying agent, Rockwell has the right to inspect your work, Barton. She’s done nothing wrong by going over there and picking up the lab reports on the bearings!”
“No—no, I agree,” Barton said slowly, barely able to hide the excitement he was feeling. “What I’m trying to say is that I recognize your wife when I see her.”
Cy raised his craggy head, staring at the contractor. “Meaning what?”
Barton hesitated, using the interim silence to build Cy’s curiosity. “Your wife’s very young and very attractive, Mr. Hamilton.” He didn’t want to come out and say, half your age. “It’s hard for a man not to take a long, appreciative glance at her. I’ve noticed that when she walks through our company’s various divisions. Every man stops work and looks up when she walks through the area.”
“What the hell are you getting at?”
Barton turned on his heel, ambling a few feet away before turning and facing Hamilton. He was enjoying Cy’s discomfort too much to rush. This was one way to get back at Hamilton for harassing him about the parts his company turned out for the bomber. The Rockwell engineer had interceded once and rejected a shipment of bearings after testing them. Barton remembered that day well. The general from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base had called, informing him that the bearings hadn’t met the specifications and his company would have to supply replacements. It had been a costly rejection. If it hadn’t been for Hamilton’s wife, he could have gotten away with the delivery. He’d almost saved sixty thousand dollars. And in the end, she had cost him half a million. That was what it had cost to replace the order with bearings satisfying Rockwell specifications.
“There’s been plenty of talk about your wife’s position in the industry.”
“She’s qualified in every way,” Cy snapped. “And I don’t give a damn if you good ole boys want to deal with a woman or not. As long as she knows what she’s doing, you’re just going to have to roll with the punches, Barton.”
“Looks like you’ll have to roll with a few punches yourself, Mr. Hamilton. I happen to know for a fact that your pretty little wife is having an affair.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He placed his pen on the desk, giving Barton his full, undivided attention. “You lying—”
The contractor’s face hardened. “Use your head, Hamilton. Why should I come in here with that kind of an accusation if it wasn’t true? I would have everything to lose and nothing to gain by such an accusation.”
There was some logic to that, Cy realized. Why would Barton come in stirring up unnecessary trouble when he’d been in hot water already? A pain began throbbing in his chest and he raised his hand, massaging the area absently. “All right. What do you know?”
“She’s seeing an Air Force officer. A test pilot.”
A coldness washed over Cy. Every fiber of his body experienced one sensation: fear. His voice sounded strangled. “Who?”
“Captain Shepherd Ramsey.”
“Where? When?”
Barton remained serious, delighting in the grayness now coming to Hamilton’s suddenly pale-looking features. “Saw ’em just the other night at that fancy party we a
ll attended. They met out on the balcony. I’m surprised more people didn’t see them kissing each other. I just happened to walk out to grab a breath of fresh air when I stumbled on them.”
The dull, heavy feeling was spreading in Cy’s chest and he pressed his fist harder against his body. “Is that all?” he demanded hoarsely.
“I understand she went up to Palmdale today,” Barton continued slowly. He looked at his watch, making the gesture significant. “It’s six-thirty. Where is she? I called earlier today and her secretary said she was having lunch with the captain. Long lunch, ain’t it, Hamilton?”
*
It was almost nine-thirty when Cy heard the front door of their home open. He raised his head, remaining on the couch with the newspaper thrown nervously across his lap. He had been too upset to read it. Tess hurried into the living room, her eyes dark with apprehension.
“Oh, Cy! I’m sorry I’m late. I had a flat tire on the way back, and there was no phone nearby so that I could call you.” She shrugged off her coat, allowing it to hang over the back of the couch as she walked over to him. Pushing back several tendrils that had escaped from behind her ear, she sat down. As she looked at him, she realized something was dreadfully wrong. His face was ashen. Reaching out she gripped his hand. “Darling, what’s wrong? You look awful!”
“I haven’t been feeling well since about six tonight,” he admitted heavily. It was true, the heavy pressure in his chest had continued after Barton told him about the affair. He looked up into her beautiful flushed features. She appeared so damned innocent looking. So untouched…
Tess leaned over, caressing his cheek. “My poor darling. Have you eaten yet? Probably not. You get so busy you forget. I’m starved, Cy.” She started to rise but he gripped her hand.
“Stay a moment, Tess. There’s something we have to talk about.”
Her brows knitted worriedly. He sounded like a man who was lost, without hope. Chewing on her lower lip, she sat back down. “What’s wrong, Cy? Has something happened at work? You aren’t well.”
Love Me Before Dawn Page 4
