Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Whatever Jim was prepared to see, it wasn't the physical reality of Pepper Sinclair as she followed Harding into the room. She was tall—probably close to six feet—medium-boned, with dark walnut-colored hair softly brushing her proudly held shoulders. More surprising, she was wearing a long red-and-yellow calico skirt that touched the tops of her comfortable, brown leather shoes. Her white blouse, with touches of lace around the throat, was partly hidden by a pale golden deerskin vest adorned with conchs. Long beaded earrings nearly touched her shoulders, giving her a somewhat Native American look, except for her pale, almost-translucent skin with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
Pepper's face was oval. Her nose had a slight bump and fine nostrils. Jim looked downward to lips curved in an impish smile, then his gaze moved back up—and into eyes as blue and clear as a
Montana
sky. His heart gave a hard thump, underscoring the impact of those eyes—the pupils edged in breathtaking turquoise, the frame of thick, dark lashes. Her dark brows were arched and full, offering a second frame for the magnificent eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, their rosy pink enhancing her classic bone structure.
But more than her striking and unexpectedly feminine looks, it was Pepper's direct, fearless gaze that caught Jim completely off guard. The look combined maturity with a woman's confidence—yet glinted with a girlish aspect that somehow strengthened its impact. Jim was chagrined to feel his palms growing damp. Meanwhile, his errant heart refused to slow its pounding beat.
Jim tried to suppress his reaction to Pepper. It didn't help that he'd expected a sturdy, mannish sort of woman with a tough, no-nonsense attitude—a hardened outer shell for this female smoke jumper who damn near walked on water, according to Harding. Jim's gaze ranged from her long, narrow hands to the graceful way she walked toward him, to those mesmerizing blue eyes….
"Colonel Woodward? I'm Pepper Sinclair. Glad to meet you."
Her grip as she took his hand told Jim instantly that she wasn't as weak as she looked. Her firm, confident handshake, warm and dry, conveyed strength and capability. If it had been a man's handshake, he'd have been impressed. In a woman, he didn't know how to react.
"Ms. Sinclair," he said, hating the clipped abruptness in his tone as he stared challengingly at her.
"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," Wolf said dryly. He pointed to the counter on the left. "Pepper, if you want coffee, help yourself."
"You saved my life again, Wolf." Pepper laughed and waved to her friend as he stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She shifted the strap of her deerskin purse off her shoulder and laid the bag on the oak table, then moved toward the coffee machine. The tension in the room was palpable, and she knew full well it was emanating from the marine standing rigidly next to the table, watching her every move like a predator ready to strike.
"I don't know about you, but four hours on the red-eye makes me thirsty as a horse." She glanced back over her shoulder at the officer, who was scowling heavily. "Coffee, Colonel?" she asked pleasantly. "Or would you prefer to take out your weapon of choice right now, shoot me and put yourself out of your misery?"
Shocked, Jim opened his mouth,
then
closed it. Her eyes were serious, but her voice dripped with honey and her mouth curved in a rueful smile. "I see Harding has been talking behind my back," he said finally.
"On the contrary," Pepper said smoothly, finding a clean white mug and pouring the fresh coffee into it, "Wolf was merely honest with me about potential problems and dangers. He did inform me that you were against using a woman on this mission."
Jim moved to the table, hating himself more as he snapped, "Ms. Sinclair, when it comes to life-and-death matters, all the cards get laid on the table. Nothing and no one is spared. And you're right—I don't want a woman on this mission."
Pepper turned. "I couldn't agree more with the truth of your first statement, Colonel. We're both in the business of life and death, aren't we?" She took a sip of coffee. Too bad Woodward was such a sourpuss, she thought.
Because the man was undeniably a handsome devil, in a rugged kind of way.
His green eyes were
glittering
like shards of ice in her direction right now, though, and his square face was set—like concrete. His black hair was militarily short and neat, and she liked his darkly tanned looks. Lines in a face told her much, and Woodward had his share. Creases at the corners of his eyes spoke of a great deal of time spent outdoors. The lines bracketing his mouth said something different, though.
Lines of pain, possibly.
But from what?
Or who?
His size, posture and attitude reminded her of their local college football captain. Fleetingly, Pepper wondered if Jim had played football in college. She smiled to herself and decided not to ask. Pulling back a chair, she smoothed her skirt and sat. Woodward stiffly took a seat opposite her, his hand folded in front of him, his knuckles white.
"We aren't in the same business, Ms. Sinclair. Not by a mile," he said tightly.
Pepper held his angry, defiant gaze. "Let's talk about your anger at the idea of a woman going on this mission with you, shall we?" she
asked,
her voice calm and steady. "I believe in gut-level honesty, so maybe that would be a good place to start in this messy little situation we seem to find ourselves in."
Jim reeled internally at her unexpected bluntness. Her quiet voice belied the strength of her demand. He grasped at a notepad with several items neatly printed on it and slid it around in front of him on the table, using the moment to collect his scattered thoughts. "I'm not angry at you," he said coldly. "I'm angry at the concept of
Perseus
installing a two-person team on this mission, when I feel I'd be more successful alone."
Pepper's smile was equally chilly. "Spoken like a politically correct officer in line to make general someday. Congratulations, Colonel Woodward. It's a great reply, but it's hardly complete and honest, don't you think?"
Under any other circumstances, Jim had to admit, he would have liked Pepper immediately. She wasn't conventionally beautiful. Her chin was stubborn and pronounced, and her aristocratic nose didn't match her full mouth, the corners of which always seemed to curve slightly upward. Her features were like puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together, but somehow did, to create a whole more magical than the sum of its parts. A rebellious lock of hair fell across her broad brow, and she brushed it away, as if she'd made that effortless gesture unconsciously all her life. He bought more time by opening his briefcase and placing a couple of books on the table.
"Are you always this acerbic, or are you doing it as a special favor to me?" he asked finally, seeing the laughter flash in her eyes, though she didn't allow it to transfer to her mouth.
"I consider my answers honest," Pepper responded. "Maybe you're looking for political correctness or diplomacy. I'm neither of those, Colonel. I learned about both things early on as an army officer, but I'm a civilian now. I no longer have to play those word games with you or anyone else." She smiled slightly. "Thank goodness."
Jim found it difficult not to smile in response to the warmth shining from her eyes. In fact, he could feel her warmth—as real as if a beam of sunlight had suddenly struck him. Who was this woman? "It's not my nature to be base," he offered.
"Since when is honesty considered baseness, Colonel?"
His fingers tightened around the ballpoint pen in his hand. "If we're done sparring, can we get down to the business at hand?" he said through gritted teeth.
"Fine, let's do it." Pepper tried to feel anger toward Woodward, but it just wouldn't surface. He was obviously uncomfortable, backed into a corner of sorts and unhappy about her appearance on a mission he wanted to perform solo. She set the cup to one side and pulled out her own small notepad and a pen from her purse. "What's on your agenda, Colonel?"
"You.
I told Jake Randolph I intend to put you through your paces. If you don't measure up to my high standards, you aren't going."
"I believe you agreed that Mr. Randolph will make the final decision," Pepper said smoothly, holding his glare. "Besides, what gives you the right to question my credentials while assuming yours are beyond question?"
"I'm a Recon Marine. My credentials
are
beyond question."
Pepper leaned back, slowly tapping the table with her index finger. "I'm a country girl, Colonel, and I've lived most of my life in
Montana
. Maybe we're
kinda
simple folk out that way, but you know what? We let people prove themselves through their acts. Your walk is your talk. I could understand your concern if I didn't have a military background. I could also understand it if I'd never jumped out of a plane with a parachute. But what I see going down here is a wounded male ego overreacting to the fact that I'm a woman. If I were a man, I think you'd drop this pretense. Back where I come from, that doesn't go down well. I'm a team leader for twenty smoke jumpers. I'm responsible for a lot of lives, and I've never lost one. I'm not about to start now with yours or my own. I found out a long time ago that ego and pride are expendable."
Her voice dropped slightly. "Colonel, I appreciate your concern about my qualifications, but it's not necessary. I probably have more time logged in parachute jumps than you do."
"All at low altitude."
"I took Ranger training. I've participated in
HAHOs
."
Frustrated, Jim said, "I'm not going to fire any more shots across your bow. We need to get down to business. I've outlined the next three days." He pushed the neatly printed paper toward her. "I'm going to test your map-and compass-reading ability. I've arranged for a HAHO and have preplanned the jump zone with the military boys at Andrews Air Force Base. It's set up and ready to go for tomorrow at 0700. The jump onto
Nevis
will be at night. But as much as I'd like to schedule day and night practice
HAHOs
, we just don't have the time. A day jump will have to do." Jim watched the soft fullness of Pepper's lips tighten a little as she carefully read his outline. Her fingers were slim with largish knuckles, her nails closely trimmed. There was no wasted motion about her, he had to admit, and in spite of himself, he savored her unique mix of serenity and efficiency.
"I feel like I'm back in Ranger training," Pepper said mildly, sliding his notes gently back across the table. If Woodward weren't so intent on making her dislike him, she thought, she might like to explore him personally, as a human being and a man. But the set of his square jaw warned her off. He was trying to intimidate her into quitting. Well, it wouldn't work. As the only female ever to go through Ranger training, she'd had plenty of experience with intimidation attempts by men far more dangerous to her than Woodward—but he didn't know that. "I'm assuming you'll be with me on these exercises?
That you'll participate in the HAHO, too?"
"Of course."
Pepper grinned.
"To watch me fail?"
"I expect you to."
"Colonel, you've just pushed a favorite button of mine—I love a good challenge. My whole life has been about dancing on the edge of a sword."
Jim almost smiled. Again that unsettling turquoise warmth from her eyes enveloped him, and he felt his heart beating harder in his chest. There was something arresting about Pepper that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
At least, not yet.
"Tell me a little about yourself, Colonel.
Personal stuff."
Her directness scuttled him. He eyed her. "Why is that important to the mission?"
"If I'm going to succeed at all your tests, I need to know more about my partner than his military title. I want to know something about the man." Her eyes narrowed briefly. "What makes you run, Jim Woodward?"
Jim pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "You have a damn needling habit of being nosy, Ms. Sinclair."
"And you have a damn needling habit of questioning my credentials when what we really should be doing is planning how to save Laura
Trayhern
."
The set of her jaw, with her chin jutting out, challenged him, as did her incensed gaze. So she was angry, after all—but for the right reasons, Jim realized. "Believe me," he said, trying to hide his emotion in a gruff tone of voice, "no one wants to save Laura more than I do."