Authors: Lindsay McKenna
“Of what?”
Megan shuddered, feeling his arms tighten momentarily around her. “I was afraid of ending up like my mother. Every time my father flew a test flight, she hit the bottle hard. When I’d get up in the morning, she was already roaring drunk. Father wouldn’t say anything. He’d just leave early to get away from her tears and yelling. Becky’s suicide attempt today brought all those horrible memories back to me.”
With a sigh, Sam rested his chin lightly against her shoulder. He wanted to protect Megan from the anguish in her voice, in the pain she still carried in her heart. “So you got the brunt of your mother’s anger over your father leaving without a word?”
“Yes.” Miserably, Megan added, “Monday, when you flew, I began feeling shaky and fearful inside. Mother used to describe to me how she felt before Father flew a test.” Her voice became thin, inaudible.
“And you felt the exact same way last Monday?” Sam asked.
To say the words was like admitting she was her mother. Something inside her couldn’t do that. “It was awful, Sam.” Megan gripped his hand.
He kissed her fingers and then rested her head against his chest, her ear over his heart. “I had a feeling you were worrying,” he confessed.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“More than anything,” Sam told her earnestly, “I don’t want you to worry. We have something special Megan, something I know can transcend your fears.” He saw the doubt in her eyes, not ever wanting to lose her now that she had trusted him enough to give herself to him. “Look, not every wife or girlfriend of a pilot has the fears your mother had. Or that Becky Merrill has. There have got to be ways to cope with this. The other wives do it.”
Could love overcome her fear? It hadn’t in her mother’s case. And Becky had made the ultimate cry for help, the fear too much for her to handle any longer. Megan was unsure about herself. Looking up, she studied Sam’s serious features. The ache to tell him that she loved him was real. It was too soon, their relationship, too tenuous. “I think,” she said softly, “we have to take what we have one day at a time. If I look at my past, I get afraid because of what happened to my parents. If I look to the future, my imagination runs away with me, and all I see are the negatives, a crash and,” Megan choked, “losing you. I thought I’d lost you today.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Sam agreed, “but more than anything else, we’ve got to talk. Communicate. Some of the other pilots I’ve overheard all say the same thing—talking helps dispel the fear.” He wanted so badly for Megan to see and understand his point of view. “What do you think? Feel?”
A quiver of a smile fled across her lips. “Sam Holt, you could sell anybody anything, do you realize that?”
“Honey, the only thing I want to sell you on is us. The day I met you, I felt like somebody clobbered me with a baseball bat. You stood out in that crowd, so beautiful, so independent and apart from everyone else.” Sam kissed her cheek and relished her velvet softness. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind or dreams. I didn’t want to.”
Giving him a shy look, Megan admitted, “I couldn’t get you off my mind, either.”
“Was I in your dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Want to share them?” He grinned.
Megan laughed fully, throwing her arms around his neck. “Sam Holt, you’re such a conceited male animal.”
It felt so good to stretch out across the bed and lie at Megan’s side. Sam skimmed his hand over her clean-limbed body, savoring her. Megan was responsive, the heated look in her green eyes telling him everything. He wanted to make passionate love with her again, a celebration of their joy. Holt stilled his hunger for a moment longer, his hand coming to rest on her hip.
“One day at a time, with lots of talking, right?”
Megan nodded. “I don’t know where this is going, Sam. No promises.”
He leaned over, tasting her lower lip with his tongue, and felt her press provocatively against him in response. “No promises, just hard work because we want this, deserve this,” he whispered, moving his hand to her breast and cupping it. “But we’re going to push the envelope on what we have, sweetheart. That’s the only way to find out.”
The test-pilot term “push the envelope” vaguely registered on Megan as she responded to his mouth trailing a lingering trail of kisses down her throat to her awaiting breasts that cried for his knowing touch. If a plane stayed within the limits of its flight envelope, it remained stable and flyable. If it went beyond it, the plane became out of control, frequently crashing. There were no guarantees, no promises to their relationship. Just risk, with huge gains and equally huge losses. Megan shut off her mind and centered on Holt’s searing touch, if just for a little while.
Megan was shaky and raw feeling the next day as she waited for Melody Stang to show up at the Antelope Valley Inn. Sam had slept overnight, leaving around 10:00 a.m. He was going in to visit Becky at the hospital, and then drop over to see if Curt needed help at the house. A fierce love for Sam welled through Megan as she sat with a glass of water, waiting for Melody to appear.
Sighing, she could do nothing but feel. Last night, a huge barrier had been torn down and taken from her by loving Sam. A part of her knew it had been right and good. This morning, Megan awoke not being sure at all. Sam had sensed her vulnerable state, and had wisely said nothing unless she wanted to talk about her feelings.
Frowning, Megan took a sip of the water, not tasting it. Too much had happened too quickly. She needed time to assimilate and absorb it all, and he uncannily sensed it. Sam’s sensitivity toward her did nothing but unstring more new emotions toward him she’d been hiding from herself.
“There you are,” Melody greeted, thanking the hostess and joining Megan.
Forcing herself back to the present, Megan managed a slight smile. “Mrs. Stang.”
“Please,” she said, taking off her black leather gloves, “call me Melody.”
Megan was dressed in a pale pink dolman-sleeve pullover tunic and a pair of tan tailored pants. It was Saturday, and she wasn’t going to dress up for anyone. On the other hand, Melody was elegant in what Megan was sure was a designer suit. Which designer, she didn’t know. The dark gray wool peplum jacket was set off by a jabot blouse of pale cream silk, and finished off with a sleek, narrow gray skirt. By any standards, Megan thought, Melody dressed the part of a successful officer’s wife on the way up the ladder to claim his general’s stars.
“Of course, Melody.”
She gave her a brittle smile, ordering a Manhattan from the waitress, taking no note of Megan’s disapproval. “Thank you for meeting me here. It was quite a surprise to see you at George’s.”
Megan smiled to herself. No one called the commanding general of any base by his first name. Especially a captain’s wife. How sure Melody must be of Jack’s forthcoming major’s leaves, and his power on the base. “My father knew General Dalton for twenty years. I more or less grew up in front of his eyes at the different bases he and my father were assigned to.”
The drink came, and Melody thanked the waitress. Lifting the tumbler, she took a small sip, and then set it down on the linen tablecloth. “I’m grateful you didn’t bring up Scotty’s predicament. Thank you.”
“I don’t believe any child should be used as a lever in any political situation or power play,” Megan said tightly.
“How honorable of you, Megan.” She laughed. “In our business, politics is the name of the game, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, it can become that.”
“Everyone’s fair game. That’s the rule.”
“Not in my book. Children are a sacred trust. They shouldn’t be used like pawns on a board to further someone else’s career.”
Melody’s eyes constricted as she studied her. “You wield considerable power at the base. That surprised me.”
“And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Taking another drink, a longer one this time, Melody nodded. “This is strictly off-the-record.”
Megan smiled, holding her cold gaze. What Melody meant was: none of their conversation had better leak out to anyone else, or Megan would pay a heavy price for that indiscretion. “Any conversation I have with parents about their child is always held in the utmost privacy.”
Melody stared hard at her. “You’re an Air Force brat. You know how the system works.”
“Yes, I do. But I don’t like using the system, Mrs. Stang. Only when I’m backed into a corner and my children are at risk, will I use it.”
“Like you did last Friday night.”
Megan shrugged, tense. “What I did isn’t important. All children will win if my program gets pushed through.”
“Brad Jamison doesn’t like your idea.”
Wondering how Melody knew Jamison, she shrugged again. “We’ve agreed to disagree, that’s all.”
“You fight for what you want. Your father was legendary for that same trait.”
Her lips compressed. “Mrs. Stang, don’t ever compare me to my father. His motives were entirely different than mine.”
“Still, you have his stubbornness, his grit.” She grinned. “I admire that in my enemies.”
“And I’m your enemy because I’m insisting that Scotty be tested for hyperactivity?”
Taken aback by Megan’s bluntness, Melody looked away for a moment. “I meant what I said—I want our conversation off-the-record. Will you promise me that?”
Melody’s voice was surprisingly husky with emotion. Megan nodded. “You have my promise,” she said softly, leaning back against the black leather seat.
Glancing around before she spoke, Melody made sure no one was within earshot. Lowering her voice, she leaned forward. “I’m aware of Scotty’s problem, Megan. I’ve got a degree in child psychology, and I can spot hyperactivity.”
Megan met her gaze. “So you agree, Scotty is hyperactive?”
“Yes.” Melody frittered with her leather gloves. “I’ve known it for some time. I’ve tried to help Scotty, but…he’s getting worse. I can barely control him at home, so I know what he must be like in your classroom.”
Anger sizzled through Megan, and she sat up, inches separating them. “Then why haven’t you gotten your son the help he needs?”
Brows knit, Melody refused to hold her furious green eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Really?” Megan’s voice held disgust. “Let me guess—your husband’s going up for early promotion and he doesn’t want anything to mar his perfect, flawless fitness report. God help the officer who has a child who’s less than perfect, who has a flaw in him or her.” She clenched her fist beneath the table. “Don’t sit here and tell me that’s not the reason why you haven’t done anything to help your son, Mrs. Stang.”
Glaring at her, Melody hissed, “You know that’s the reason! I came here today to ask you to stop putting in those weekly reports on Scotty. Jack finds out about his promotion in January. If you can just wait until then, I can promise you, I’ll take my son to a doctor and get him the drugs he needs.”
Eyes hardening, Megan rasped, “No deal, Mrs. Stang. How dare you put your husband’s career in front of your son’s needs! He’s a human being, for God’s sake! A human! Not a miserable promotion, not a pair of oak leaves on your husband’s shoulders.”
“Wait until January, Megan.”
When Megan spoke, her voice wobbled with fury, with barely withheld personal feelings. Long ago, her father had thrown her and her mother to the wolves, too, in search of his next promotion. She wouldn’t allow it to happen to Scotty. “No way.”
“You’ll be fired for this.”
Megan’s mouth barely curled. “So far, my union is backing me on the request for Scotty to be tested.”
“Jamison will have you fired!”
Getting up, Megan grabbed her purse, her body a line of tension as she looked down at Melody’s furious features. “I’ll take the risk, Mrs. Stang. At least I have my priorities and values straight—your son is more important to me than he ever was to either of you. What a pitifully sad commentary on you, as parents, and on a system that condones that kind of behavior. Someday, Scotty will recognize it, too.”
Getting to her feet, Melody, towered a good six inches over Megan. “I don’t care for judgmental bitches straight out of college, either.”
“I may be young, Mrs. Stang, but I’m old and wise to the way the military works. I’ve got more time in grade than you and your husband combined, so don’t try and get to me through any more power games. I think you realize General Dalton is on my side.”
Jerking on her gloves, Melody warned tautly, “You’ll be sorry for this. That’s a promise. I’m only asking for a little while before Scotty gets the help he needs.”
Megan straightened, as if throwing off tension in her shoulders. “I don’t compromise on the needs of my children. Not now. Not ever.”
Purse under her arm, Melody raised a brow. “Battle lines are drawn, Ms. Roberts. And no quarter will be given.”
Megan stood there, watching Melody march imperiously out of the inn. Her breathing was ragged with anger, and she took several gulps, trying to settle down. Thank God Sam didn’t know the extent of this.
There was one word Sam wanted to use to characterize Design on Monday morning. It was
tenterhooks
. Everyone was edgy, grim and uncommunicative. Lauren was utilizing the bulk of information he’d brought back from Maryland with him, her desk cluttered, civilian design engineers surrounding her like an enthusiastic wolf pack, all adding input.
Things were cooking over at Lauren’s desk, and that was good, but it was tense. Real tense, because they were behind schedule.
From his desk, he could see Merrill, who looked pale and shaken, his eyes dark with rings under them. Becky was still in the hospital, under observation. Today, she’d be coming home. Curt had withdrawn, been moody and silent, so Sam didn’t know what he was thinking—or feeling. In truth, when he looked into his mirror to shave this morning, he had shadows under his eyes, too. Holt tried to concentrate, but it was impossible.
Loving Megan Friday night was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And to her, he reminded himself. He’d remained at her apartment and slept with her that night. Megan had been restless, but at least she slept. Sam hadn’t, laying awake in the dim morning hours thinking.
Actually, Holt admitted to himself, it wasn’t thinking at all, it was worry coupled with anxiety. He was afraid when Megan had woken up on Saturday morning, she’d reverted back to her former decision, and would tell him to walk out of her life forever. Any moment, he could lose her, and he knew it. Everything was tentative with her, like walking on eggshells. Could the love they forged with one another hold them together through the coming days and weeks of stress, of the personal demands each of them wrestled with? God, he felt fragile this morning. And helpless.
“Hey, Holt!” Stang called from his desk, “you got a lady picked out to go to the Christmas ball over at the O Club?”
Sam studied him. What was Stang up to now? “Hadn’t even thought about it,” he mumbled, pretending to pay attention to the report in front of him. That was a bald-faced lie, of course, because he’d asked Megan to accompany him, and she’d agreed.
“Melody wanted to know what your lady was wearing. Yours, too, Merrill. What’s Becky got picked out for this mandatory dog-and-pony show?”
“Don’t bother me,” Merrill growled.
Undeterred, Jack continued. “Melody’s got this lavender designer dress, and she didn’t want to clash with what everyone else was wearing. You know how women are. Holt, who you taking to the ball, anyway?”
“I didn’t say.” After Becky’s suicide attempt, Sam wondered if Megan would want to go to the O Club, back to memories of her father, and his abandonment of her and her mother. There would be a lot of drinking, and he knew Megan hated being around liquor. Still, he had to show up for that, date or not. It would make the evening go faster and less painfully with Megan at his side.
Stang slid a glance in Porter’s direction, raising his voice a notch. “You know, Holt, there’s a hot little number over at the O Club. She’s got every single jet jock drooling over her. Her name is Liza Cooper. Now, there’s a willing filly.”
Sam was about to respond, but Porter’s head snapped up. She shoved her chair away from her desk and pinned Stang with a glare. “Captain, I think we’ve got a hell of a lot more to do in here this morning than gossip, don’t you?”
Grinning, Jack went back to work. “Sure thing, Major, sure thing.”
With a sigh, Holt took Lauren’s directive. She was in no mood to be pushed or pressured. She was under enough strain with the design changes to the engine structure. Making a mental note, Sam decided to buttonhole Curt at noon. Something was eating him up alive. He looked positively ill.
“Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” Sam cornered Merrill in the parking lot, where he was slowly walking around in deep thought. He noted Curt’s hands in his pockets, and the fact that his head was bowed, as if in defeat.
Curt turned, and then frowned. “Sam?”
“You looked like death warmed over in there, and I didn’t want to say anything with Stang around.” To make sure, Sam glanced toward Ops. No one was within earshot of their conversation, but he wouldn’t put it past Stang to invite himself over to eavesdrop.
Running his fingers through his hair, Curt replaced his dark blue garrison cap. “When Becky tried…” He couldn’t bring himself to say suicide. Instead he spoke in a raw voice. “In the hospital room, she said something I’d never thought I’d hear from her,” he told Holt, needing to share it with someone.
Frowning, Sam stared over at the jets sitting on the apron. The wind was cool because it was December, but the sun was pleasantly warm. “What’d she say?”
Agitated, Curt leaned against the wire fence that divided the parking lot from the runway area. “Becky asked me to quit.”
“Quit what?”
“Flying.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Flying?”
“Yeah.” Curt shook his head. “Christ, Sam, I can’t. I mean, it’s my life. I love it. My father brags to everybody how I’m a test pilot. I can’t let him down.”
A strange, unsettled feeling moved through Sam as he stood there, not knowing what to say. The choices weren’t many. Sam had seen too many marriages break up because the wives refused to live under such pressures. Somehow, he couldn’t envision Curt and Becky getting a divorce. They were just too right for one another. And then Sam laughed derisively to himself. He felt Megan and he were right for one another. The road they recently chose to walk together was just as unsafe and littered with land mines as the one Becky and Curt were on.
“What are you going to do?” Holt finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.
“Hell, I don’t know. I’ve tossed and turned every night since then. Couldn’t sleep. I mean, what can I do?”
“Do you love Becky?”
Curt lifted his chin and held Holt’s gaze. “Yeah, I love her.”
How much? The words almost came out, but Sam knew he wasn’t in any position to play devil’s advocate. The exact same scenario could be played on him by Megan at any time. And if she gave him that choice—quit flying or lose the relationship with her—which would he take? Holt didn’t even want to think about it.