Night Flight (12 page)

“How?”

“The exact flight conditions existed as on the day of the crash, except, it wasn’t at night. And it was a Monday on top of everything else. Stang knew it and kept mentioning it—by the time I got out to the bird, I was angry and upset. Port—Major Lauren Porter, the chief flight test engineer—knew it, too. She tried to calm me down, but it didn’t work.” Holt gave her a wry look. “The only thing that helped me was to picture your face in my mind. My nerves stopped jangling, and I was able to focus to a degree on the test.”

Shaken, Megan looked away. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“The highest,” Sam agreed quietly. “You’ve always had the ability to tame the beast in me since I met you.”

Megan wrestled with her next statement. Sam’s honesty allowed her to say it. “When things get out of control at school, I think about you.”

Holt smiled, warmth flooding him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“We’re good for one another, Red.”

She liked the nickname he’d given her. “Sometimes…”

Sam held on to his other comments. He wanted to say,
No, all the time, Megan. All I need you to do is recognize it and not run away from it.
He remained silent, trying to give her that comfortable space she needed with him. “Well, whatever the percentages,” he added drolly, “you helped me out there today.”

“What happened on the flight?”

“Blips of the crash kept hitting me, and I blew both tests. I don’t even remember the landing speed or the attitude of the bird, Megan.” Holt shrugged. “I heard Russ screaming in my head, and I broke out in a sweat. The next thing I knew, we’d slammed onto the runway. A brake fire developed, so the rest of the testing was delayed.”

“A fire?” Megan’s heart started a slow, dreaded pound. “A fire?”

“Hey, take it easy. It was just a fire in the wheel well was all.” He reached over, grasping her hand. But the fear in her eyes spoke volumes. Slowly, Sam realized that she was terrified for him. That meant that she liked him—a lot. The discovery made him soar, but the downside made him wince. “The fire trucks had it out in seconds. It was no big deal.”

“Yes, it is.” Megan withdrew deep within herself. She had told herself from the beginning that Sam meant nothing to her. Nothing! But that wasn’t true because her feelings were screaming out in sheer terror over the brake fire incident. Needing something to help steady her emotions, she picked up the cup, hands trembling. Worse, the realization that this must have been how her mother felt every time her father flew, nearly paralyzed Megan.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, watching the darkness stalk her telltale eyes. “Megan? Talk to me.”

“I—oh, God, I didn’t realize there was a fire aboard the bird. You could have been killed.”

“No, now listen to me, it wasn’t anything. A lousy wheel well fire is nothing.”

Sam was too vital, too alive, to die in a fire. Megan drew in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, not my—”

“Sure it is.” He smiled gently. “We like each other, so we’re naturally concerned about one another.”

The words, barely whispered, soothed some of her internal panic. Sam had spoken for both of them. And Megan was too tired, too torn up by his other admissions, to deny the truth any longer.

He patted her hand. “Listen, I’d better go. It’s eleven-thirty, and we’ve both got to get some sleep.” The need to lean over and kiss her was real, and Sam barely resisted. More than anything, he wanted Megan’s trust in him. If he pushed too soon, took selfishly, she’d run just as she had run that morning of the balloon rally. Getting up, he took her cup and saucer from her lap. “Will you be okay?”

Megan saw the genuine concern in his features. His hand was warm and comforting on her cool, damp one. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She stood and took the cups to the kitchen and set them on the drain-board. Sam halted at the entrance. When she turned around, a few feet separating them, she heard him speak in a low tone.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Megan saw the intensity in his eyes change, and for the first time she yearned to lean upward and feel the strength of his mouth. She saw he wanted to kiss her. His eyes narrowed, and her breath caught in her throat. A cry, a sound of need, issued from her as she felt his arms go around her. Contact with his body was electric, galvanizing. Automatically, her lashes swept downward as she felt Sam draw her against him. The moment was fragile and exquisite. She felt his moist breath caress her cheek as he leaned down to claim her. Lips parting in advance of him, Megan surrendered to his arms, her name a prayer coming from him seconds before he captured her mouth beneath his.

Megan had expected his kiss to be powerful, perhaps even hurting, from her own limited experience. Instead, the scrape of his beard against her cheek sent a delightful arc of prickles through her. The brush of his mouth was tentative and questing. She felt the inherent strength of it, yet the incredible gentleness with which he molded her lips to his. A bonelessness flowed through her as he ran his tongue fleetingly across her lower lip, and Megan moaned. But it was a moan of pure pleasure because he was sharing with her, not taking selfishly as most men did.

Sliding her arms around his neck, Megan stretched upward, wanting more contact with him, wanting to relish him as a man who savored her as if she were some fragile, breakable being. Megan wasn’t disappointed, tasting the salt of him, the hungry fire of his returning, claiming kiss. Nostrils flaring, she caught his masculine scent and threaded her fingers through his thick, silky hair.

Gradually, Sam broke contact with Megan. Their breath mingled in a ragged symphony as they stood, brows pressed against one another. His arms tightened around her, and he felt her willowy suppleness and the firmness of her small breasts against his chest. Nuzzling her hair, inhaling the sweet, spicy scent of her, he smiled.

“God, I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” Sam admitted in an unsteady voice. Her lips were as soft as he’d imagined. Her response to him was bold, and he applauded her courage, her ability to be a woman sure of her own needs with him.

Heart still pounding erratically, Megan lifted her chin and drowned in the brilliant blue of his hooded gaze. Never had she felt more a woman, never more aware of the beauty that a man could share with her. Words wouldn’t come, and she saw him give her a very male smile; one filled with tenderness. Sam caressed her hair and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“I like what I see in your eyes,” he told her huskily. “They’re a deep green, with gold fire in them.” Stopping himself from touching her more intimately, Sam directed her attention to the desk.

“I see you took the roses I sent to you and used the petals even after they bloomed.” Sam smiled, memorizing her lovely face, and wide, trusting eyes. “I like your old-fashioned ways.”

He’d seen the basket of rose petals, Megan thought disjointedly, reeling from his tender kiss. Of course, Sam was a test pilot, and he was trained to notice nuances. Still, the observation made her feel good, and she smiled slightly. “Old-fashioned in all ways.”

Reluctantly, Sam released her. “Fair enough,” he said. “Forewarned is forearmed.” He smiled fully, teasing her. “Good night, Red. I owe you one.”

“Good night…” Megan stood there, a cry lodging in her throat. She wanted to ask Sam to stay. Stay and do what? Confused, feeling so many rich emotions brought about by Sam’s kiss, Megan decided to say nothing. Right now, she was feeling, not thinking. It wasn’t the right time to make coherent decisions.

Sam left quietly without a backward glance. How long she stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, lost in the world of his hot, hungry kiss, Megan didn’t know. When the clock struck midnight, she realized she had to get a bath and some sleep. Work came early and was demanding. Once in bed, she tossed and turned, their entire conversation running through her head and heart. How easy it was for Sam to trust her, when she didn’t trust any pilot. Or did she? With a sigh, Megan shut her eyes. Tomorrow she had her own war to wage at school. Brad Jamison was continuing to block her proposal. The union was putting more pressure on him, but it wasn’t doing any good. Not only that, but Scotty Stang was also becoming an increasing problem. Perhaps Linda could help her thread through the delicate situation and she wouldn’t get fired.

“As president of the union,” Linda Yarnell said, “Jamison told me he’s turning down your proposal because he says the entire military school curriculum would have to be changed.’’

Megan frowned, sitting with Linda in the teachers’ lounge. They had half an hour between the morning and afternoon classes for lunch. Most of the teachers were outside eating their lunches at the picnic tables beneath the shade of the trees. It gave them a modicum of privacy to talk.

“He knows as well as I do that we could use my second grade class as a test model. Nothing has to be changed for that.”

Megan looked around the lounge. The plastic chairs were empty, cups and paper bags scattered on the three long wooden tables. “He’s blocking it because I turned down his advance.”

“You can’t prove it, so we have to think of something else.”

“I’m not above using my father’s considerable influence here at Edwards to get someone other than Jamison to look at the idea, Linda.”

“Such as?”

“My father was good friends with George Dalton, the commanding general of the base. Maybe I could wrangle a dinner invitation out of him and make a pitch for it.”

With a shrug, Linda said, “In this man’s Air Force, it’s who you know that counts, not what you know.”

“Then, you don’t mind if I try it?”

“No.” Linda smiled. “It would be a pleasure to see a woman use the system, for once.”

“Great.”

“What about your other problem with Scotty Stang?”

“I’ve put in another report on him. This time, with the correct wording.”

Linda’s dark blue shirt-dress matched the color of her eyes. Megan had purposefully worn a bright green blouse, beige slacks and a bright fall scarf to buoy her flagging spirits. “Something’s going on in admin. I filed four reports on Scotty Stang last year when he was in my class. They’ve disappeared.”

“That’s why I didn’t have an inkling as to his behavior,” Megan said. “Well, this year will be different. I’m not going to forsake twenty-three other children just to babysit Scotty. He needs professional help. If I don’t get any action on it shortly, I’m going to the parents for help.”

Linda sighed. “Captain Stang will hit the roof like he did last year when I confronted him about it.”

“I’m not going to lose on this issue, Linda. Scotty’s well-being is at stake, too, even if his father doesn’t realize it.”

“Not to change the subject, but you know there’s a cookies-and-punch Halloween party for the children of the officers and their families at the O Club tomorrow. That includes kindergarten through the third grade classes.”

Wrinkling her nose, Megan said, “Don’t remind me.”

“Try and keep Scotty Stang and Patty Merrill apart, or I’m afraid their fighting with one another will cause you embarrassment.”

“I know. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“You bet. Gotta run! See you after school.” Going over to the sink, Megan rinsed her hands and dried them on a towel. Absorbing Linda’s advice, she centered her attention on her heart and instincts. Surprisingly, she felt calmer. Her plan to contact General Dalton was sound. Yes, she was making inroads here at Edwards and wrestling with the past. Sam Holt wasn’t supposed to be a part of that equation, but he was.

Old, disturbing memories hit Megan as soon as she entered the officers club with her class. It was 4:00 p.m., and time for the Halloween party. Her father always dragged her over here for every activity involving the children of officers. He wouldn’t think of missing any event, even if she was terribly shy and uncomfortable at them. Megan herded her twenty-five charges, all dressed in various costumes, into a side room far removed from the bar and dancing area. Her sensitive nose caught the stale smell of alcohol and cigarettes from the bar area at the other end of the hall. The interior of the O Club was prestigious, with dark-stained oak paneling and thick beams overhead. The walls were plastered with photo memorabilia of its world-famous test pilots and the planes they’d tamed.

She avoided looking at the photographs, not wanting to see her father’s picture she knew was there. Scotty Stang, dressed in his silver astronaut costume, helmet cocked on his head, led the group proudly through the doors. Megan kept her hand on Patty’s shoulder. The Merrill girl was dressed in a gossamer fairy-tale outfit, replete with a pointed hat and veil. Megan thought Patty looked like a beautiful little princess. It was obvious that the costume had taken many hours to make, had beenpainstakingly hand-sewn. Becky Merrill was quite a seamstress in Megan’s opinion.

Unfortunately, Patty wasn’t behaving like a well-heeled royal.

Inside, Megan saw a number of O Club waitresses and waiters acting as supervisors to get the children seated by grade groups at specially assigned tables. Along the walls were groups of proud, expectant parents. Her heart fell when she saw Sam Holt standing with Curt and Becky Merrill at the far end of the long, rectangular room. Why was he here?

Whether she wanted to or not, Megan quickly searched Holt’s face. Their talk must have helped him. He didn’t look as tired, the shadows beneath his eyes were fainter. Dressed in his dark blue uniform, she grudgingly admitted he looked devastatingly handsome in it. His gaze moved to her, and she quickly averted her eyes and focused on the task of getting her class served the orange-frosted cupcakes and red punch.

“Look,” Becky whispered eagerly to Curt, and gripped his arm, “doesn’t our Patty look cute?”

Curt grinned, watching his thin, gangly daughter lift the pale pink skirt with both hands in order to walk. “She does look cute,” he agreed, his heart swelling with pride. Becky had spent two weeks sewing late at night to make her costume. It had been a labor of love, the work worth it. His daughter was so careful in sitting down, arranging the transparent folds of her dress around her long, thin legs, in such a ladylike fashion.

Lifting the camera, Becky took several photos. “These will look so good in our album, Curt. My daddy and mama will be tickled to get these. Why, they’ll dote on Patty’s pictures. Mama will be proud of me for the sewing job I done.”

Worriedly, Curt looked down at his wife and gave her a reassuring smile. “Your parents will like the photos, Sparrow. I think you did a good job on the costume.” Becky was flighty today, dropping regularly into her hill accent. Tomorrow he’d fly a test, and that was why. Gently, Curt put his arm around her waist and tried to give her the unspoken support she needed. Official gatherings like this always made her nervous because she felt so terribly insecure among all the other well-groomed wives of officers.

Holt leaned over, whispering, “Take a gander, Curt.” To their left, Sam watched Jack Stang and his wife Melody make their entrance. All the rest of the parents stood in small groups, chatting. He was sure the Stangs had timed their arrival to be the last couple through the doors. The entire room seemed to shift and focus on them. Stang, as always, looked impeccable in his blue uniform, every crease in place, every ribbon straight and flush to the next one on his chest, and not a speck of lint on his clothing. Melody was stunning, as always. Her black hair was coiffed into a feminine style, emphasizing the Grecian planes of her face.

Holt leaned lazily against the wall and made a comparison between Megan, who wore a breezy, sleeveless gold sundress that complemented her red hair, and Melody. There was nothing but an air of business about the Stangs. Melody wore a carefully tailored designer suit of dark blue and white houndstooth made of light wool. The braid trim and frog closings complemented her husband’s uniform. Sam preferred to watch Megan. Her cheeks were flushed as she moved from one student to another, getting them settled down, ending squabbles and keeping them quiet for at least five minutes.

Holt watched Megan caress a boy’s hair here, place her hand on the shoulder of a little girl crying there, and then crouch down to kiss her brow to stop the tears. Megan had done as much for him the other night, their kiss hovering hotly in his memory. Watching her lips move and form words, that smile haunting him, her eyes expressive with each feeling as she coaxed the little girl past the crisis, made him ache to make love with her.

“She’s really something,” Becky said in a whisper to Sam, “isn’t she?”

Sam nodded, thinking Becky looked awfully pale today. “Ms. Roberts has a nice touch with the kids,” he agreed. And a nice touch with me. Sam wanted her open and vulnerable to him in the same way she was with the children. Would that ever happen? God, he hoped so. Never had he wanted anything more in his life.

“Patty just adores her,” Becky gushed. “She’s doing better at school since the teacher’s conference, too.”

“Honey, Sam doesn’t want to hear about that.”

Frowning, Becky looked up at her husband.

“No, it’s okay,” Sam quickly assured him, giving Becky a smile. “After all, I’m her ‘uncle.’ I’m interested in how Patty’s doing at school, too.”

Moving restively, Curt grimaced. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“Becky invited me. How could I turn her—or Patty—down?” Sam had been surprised when Becky had called him over at Ops and begged him to be there at the party for the children. She was worried that Scotty and Patty would fight, and wasn’t sure she could control Patty. Realizing it would be another chance to meet with Megan, Holt enthusiastically accepted her invitation.

Although Megan had given him a jaded, wary look when she saw him in the room, Sam felt being here was the right decision for Becky’s sake.
Megan probably thinks I’m stalking her.
He excused himself and went to retrieve Becky and Curt some red punch. Wasn’t he stalking Megan? Holt didn’t really want to answer his own question. There was such a driving need to be with her, explore her, know her, that it warred daily with his concentration on testing activities. As he poured the punch into the delicate cut-crystal glasses, he smiled to himself. At least he thought less about Russ since meeting Megan, and that was a good sign for his own peace of mind.

Megan got a breather when the waitresses served the cupcakes and punch. The children immediately settled down to the task of eating. Nervously, she knew she must greet each set of parents, make small talk and say something nice about their child to them. They hadn’t taught this phase of interpersonal relationships in college, either. Perhaps, if she’d been an extrovert, it would have come easier, but she wasn’t. Linda Yarnell, who was across the large room, gave her a game smile. Rallying, Megan went about her expected duties.

Holt waited patiently, watching Megan make the rounds. The Stangs glowed like proud parents when she talked to them. He watched Melody maneuver shortly thereafter, moving through the crowd to make small talk with each officer’s family. Probably collecting grist for her mill, Holt ruminated.

Megan grew nervous as she approached the Merrills. Sam stood next to Curt, a cup of punch in each hand, as if waiting for her. Mouth dry, she shook Becky’s hand, shocked at how cool it was, and how limp her handshake.

“Mrs. Merrill, are you all right?” Megan searched her face, saw darkness in her eyes and a light film of sweat on her face. Memories of her mother looking exactly that way slammed into her. It took everything Megan had to stand there and pretend to be unaffected and calm.

“Oh, I’m fine, fine, Miss Roberts. Don’t our Patty look> cute in her little princess costume?”

“Honey…” Curt begged, and gave Megan a look of apology, his arm going around his wife’s shoulders.

Cupping Becky’s hand between both of hers, Megan forced a smile. “She looks positively beautiful, Mrs. Merrill. I’ve never seen a prettier princess.” The scent of chocolate on Becky’s breath triggered another reaction in Megan. Many alcoholics ate chocolate or mint to cover the smell of liquor on their breath. And Becky had that same haunted look in her eyes her mother had had so often. Was Becky drinking? Was that part of Patty’s problem?

“I think,” Sam said, stepping in to rescue Megan from Becky’s planned barrage, “that Ms. Roberts needs a recess. Here, have a glass of punch. Come over here and stand next to me.” Holt didn’t wait for Megan to protest. In fact, he saw relief in her eyes, a silent thank-you going to him for his insight. It made him feel good. Damn good.

Taking the punch, Megan sipped it gratefully. Sam stood there, looking around, hovering protectively close, but not close enough to make her feel uncomfortable. The din of noise in the room was high, the children’s excited voices mingling with that of the parents talking to one another in cloistered groups. The captains flirted with the majors. The lieutenants all hung together, at the bottom rung of the officers’ ladder. A few brave ones worked their way over to speak with the captains, having the good sense to make their points with someone more powerful than themselves.

“You have a nice touch with those kids,” Sam complimented her, meaning it. He inhaled her spicy perfume that was made warm and fragrant by her skin. He wanted to drown in her large green eyes. “And you’re prettier than any lady here.”

Megan felt protection emanating from Holt. She heard the tremor in his husky voice, allowed it to cascade over her and stabilize her nerves. “Thanks, Sam.” She tried to make light of his sincere compliment. “But I’m afraid Melody Stang looks as if she walked straight out of
Vogue
magazine. She’s breathtakingly beautiful.”

Holt shrugged. “I guess.”

Megan stared up at him. “You guess? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

“If you like perfect women, I suppose she is.” Sam wanted to thread his fingers through that fiery mass of unruly red hair of hers like he’d done the night he’d kissed her. “I like a woman who doesn’t wear a lot of makeup and isn’t afraid if her hair is out of place, or if there’s a stain of red punch on her dress.’’ He had the good grace not to point out the stain, but it was on her skirt.

“Oh, dear…” Megan laughed softly, giving him a wry look. “All part of being a second grade teacher, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t apologize. On you, it looks becoming as hell.”

His voice vibrated through her, lifted her and put her in touch with a new and vital part of herself. At a loss for words, Megan discreetly cleaned off the stain as best she could and then sipped her punch.

“You’re far more beautiful than Mrs. Stang.”

“Now you’re patronizing me, Sam.”

He held up his hand. “No, honest, I’m not.”

“She’s the most stunning woman here in this room.” Megan said it almost wistfully, wishing that she would look that elegant, but she knew she didn’t, and never would. Melody’s fingernails were polished a deep red. She looked down at hers: two nails had been broken, two others needed attention and the last one was long and perfect thus far. It would probably be broken before the day was over.

“I like a woman who isn’t afraid to dress in a pair of jeans and forget that
Vogue
image,” Sam confided conspiratorially. His eyes glimmered with mirth. “You’re not afraid to wear your hair down, or get it blown by the wind. I lay you odds that Melody Stang has a ton of hair spray in hers to keep it looking like that.”

Laughing, Megan relaxed. “You’re right.”

“Not only that, you don’t see her over there with her son. She doesn’t want to get orange frosting on her suit, or—” Sam looked significantly down at the stain on Megan’s dress “—punch all over her. It would ruin her image.”

“You’re impossible, Holt.”

“But you like me anyway?”

The smile died on her lips, and Megan looked away from him. She felt his hand on her arm briefly.

“Just a little bit? Come on, it’s not going to kill you to admit it. I’m not the village idiot, I can see you like me.”

His touch was fleeting, evocative. For an instant, Megan wondered what it would be like to he loved by Sam Holt. She was powerfully drawn to his tender, sensitive side he always displayed shamelessly and without apology with her. Swallowing hard, she croaked, “You are likable, Captain.”

Sam snorted, watching the red flush sweep across her freckled cheeks. She was chewing nervously on her full lower lip, and he wanted to lean over, capture that luscious mouth and soothe her with a slow, thorough kiss. “But do you like me, Ms. Roberts?”

Squirming, Megan said, “Excuse me, but I’ve got to get back to my children.”

“Minx,” Holt said under his breath as she left his side. He grinned and watched her walk away. No one moved like Megan. There was such a refined grace to her, such fluidity. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall and knew he was in heaven.

Before Megan could reach her class, she heard Patty let out a shriek, get up and race down to where Scotty Stang was sitting. The girl raised her arm, hitting the boy on top of the helmet. Scotty immediately put up a wail that careened around the room. She heard Becky Merrill yell at Patty, and saw Captain Jack Stang form a soundless curse with his lips.

“Patty,” Megan breathed softly, gripped the girl by her arm and hauled her off Scotty. “No, you can’t hit him!” Megan wanted to die of embarrassment. All the other teachers had their charges under control. Hers was the only table where problems had erupted.

“He said I couldn’t fly!” Patty wailed, tears forming and falling down her cheeks. “And I can! I can!”

Scotty’s small square face screwed up with renewed fury as he launched off his chair and hit Patty on the shoulder in a glancing blow. “I did not! I’m the astronaut! I’ll fly! Your stupid fairy wings won’t get you to the moon!”