Authors: Lindsay McKenna
“All week,” he confided to her quietly, staring off into the darkness, “I thought about you. I’d catch two or three hours of sleep over at the bachelor officers’ quarters between design sessions, and I’d dream of you, of being here.”
Megan caressed his hair, a sharp ache centering within her. Sam had the ability to share, to make her a part of his life and world. She managed a laugh. “I think my children thought I was daydreaming all the time.” And then, softly, she added “I like the fact you can share with me what’s in your head, your heart.”
A wry smile crossed his mouth, and he lifted his head, kissing her belly gently. “Red, you’re the most important thing in my life. Why shouldn’t I share with you how I feel?”
Old memories swam before her. “My father never did it with my mother or myself. I—I guess I expected the same of you.” She felt Sam squeeze her legs in an embrace meant to take away the memories.
“Old ways die hard,” Holt agreed. “But as long as we talk, we’ll be fine.”
Megan began to feel a delicious drowsiness overtake her; All she wanted to do now was sleep in Sam’s arms and look forward to waking up with him in the morning. “What about that dream that woke you, Sam?”
His mouth twitched. He wouldn’t lie to her. “It’s an old nightmare. Nothing to worry about.” Moving, he got up and came back to her side, and pulled the covers over them. When he saw the concern in Megan’s eyes over his explanation, he added, “There isn’t a pilot alive that hasn’t ejected and gotten bad dreams about it.”
Convinced, Megan smiled and settled into Sam’s awaiting arms, head nestled against his shoulder. He was warm and strong, giving her happiness that she had never known could exist. “Good night, Sam.”
He kissed her hair, smiling gently. “I’ll see you in the morning, Red.”
I love you.
“Well,” Sam goaded, holding out his gift to Megan, “go on. Open it.” He sat next to the tree, cross-legged. A cup of coffee was balanced on one knee. They had just finished a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. For the holiday season, he wore a pair of jeans and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The clock on the mantel read 9:00 a.m. A perfect time to open Christmas gifts in Sam’s opinion.
As Megan took the small box wrapped in red foil paper and a gold ribbon, she felt heat in her cheeks. “Oh, Sam, you didn’t have to get me anything. I knew you were out of town all last week.”
Sipping his coffee, he smiled. “I got this for you a long time before that.” How beautiful she was, dressed in the long, dark green velvet robe, her red hair a vivid contrast, and cheeks flushed the color of a pink rose. When Sam awoke this morning, he knew he held heaven in his arms. Their morning had been nothing but simmering happiness.
Megan sat down opposite him, arranging her voluminous gown so she could cross her legs. “I’m so excited,” she confided, tugging at the gold ribbon. “This has been such a wonderful morning.” The steamy shower they’d shared together earlier had been exquisite and molten.
Sam leaned forward, kissing her cheek. “I’ve liked it,” he told her huskily. When she lifted her chin and met his gaze, he added, “A lot.” Forever.
With a nervous laugh, Megan could hardly wait to find out what was inside the box. “I’m like a kid, Sam Holt,” she warned him, and tried to be ladylike about removing the wrapping.
“I like Megan Roberts, the kid.” And then his grin deepened. “Why don’t you tear into that thing and rip it open? I can see you hate doing it the slow way.”
Her laughter was rich and husky. “How could you possibly know that?”
He matched her joyous laughter with his own. Ruffling her hair playfully, he said, “Ladies with red hair are always precocious little girls at heart. Didn’t you know that?”
Megan sobered slightly and studied the unopened gift. “No…I didn’t know that.”
Sam slid his finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I like helping you discover parts of yourself that have always been there, sweetheart. It’s like watching a rose bloom before me, one beautiful petal at a time.”
Shaken, she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Sam…”
I love you, Megan. God, I love you so much I ache inside. Kissing her cheek, Sam whispered, “I hope you see me the same way—that’s what a relationship is all about, the discovery, the sharing. And it never stops. It can last a lifetime, if you want.”
Megan pulled away, and he was afraid he’d said too much. There was confusion in her forest-green eyes, but the happiness was still there.
“My mom and dad have been married a long time, Megan. She said she’s still learning something new about my dad every day.” He took a stray curl near her temple and placed it behind her ear. “Kind of nice, isn’t it?”
Touched, Megan nodded, staring at the gift in her hands. “Your experience, your family, is so different than what mine was like.”
“Thank God,” Holt said, meaning it. He cupped her cheek, absorbing her vulnerability that was a natural part of her beauty. “If we can trust one another, we can have the same thing my parents have. It doesn’t have to be the other way. You know that, don’t you?”
Compressing her lips, Megan mustered a smile. “I’m beginning to realize that, Sam.”
He sighed and pressed a kiss to her lips to erase the sadness he heard in her voice. “It’s going to take time, but we’ve got that. Now, open that package. I’ve got to see if you like it or not.”
Giggling, Megan tore it apart—just like a child. It felt good to be spontaneous, to have Sam’s belief and support in her. Pushing the wrapping and ribbon aside, she peeked inside the white jewelry box. A gasp escaped Megan. A delicate oval brooch made from jet, a popular stone in the Victorian era, stared back at her. On the brooch was carved a great blue heron standing next to a lake. Surrounding the brooch was an intricate gold filigree. It was breathtaking.
“Well?” Sam goaded, delighted with her reaction, absorbing the surprise and pleasure in her eyes.
Fingers trembling, Megan touched the brooch. “Th-this is the most beautiful piece of Victorian jewelry I’ve ever seen!”
“The best news is—it’s yours.”
Megan stole a look up at him. Never had Sam looked so handsome, his smile male and provocative. It made him look so young and incredibly desirable. “The cost…” It was real gold, the carving exquisite, without a flaw.
“You were worth it.”
Megan drowned in his tender blue gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You know, you’re like that blue heron,” Sam said, cradling her hand between his. “On weekends my dad always took us fishing. There’s plenty of lakes around Detroit. I was always fascinated with the great blue herons. They were huge—six feet tall with a seven-foot wing spread.” Sam smiled fondly. “Actually, they’re responsible for getting me to think about flying as a career. They were so graceful and huge in the sky. I spent hours watching them instead of fishing. They gave me a calmness, a kind of internal strength. A heron never gets flustered or out of control. She moves serenely, not causing any disturbance to the water she’s wading in.” He looked into Megan’s eyes. “You’re the same for me. You have that same quiet strength that stabilizes me when I’m feeling out of sorts or ready to blow after a bad day.”
Touched, Megan squeezed his hand. “I like being compared to the heron.”
“Ever see one?”
“No.”
It hurt not to say,
When I take you home to meet my family, I’ll take you to that lake and we’ll sit and watch them for hours—together.
Holt rankled impatiently beneath the strictures he’d placed upon himself for Megan’s benefit. But it was necessary. He had to gain her trust in him as a man so that she would overlook his pilot image. That took time. More time than he wanted to give her. “We’ll see one together, someday,” he promised her quietly.
Megan reached under the tree for her gift to him. “Here, it’s your turn!” Excitedly, she sat there, waiting for him to open it. It was a huge, rectangular box that weighed quite a bit, wrapped in bright red paper with a white velvet ribbon and a sprig of fresh mistletoe.
Delighted, Sam tore into the package. “In case I didn’t tell you, I’m a kid when it comes to gifts, too. My mother always liked to save the paper and ribbon for the next time around, but she never got mine.”
Holding the brooch in her hands, Megan laughed and watched paper fly right and left. Her heart pounded briefly as Sam settled the box on his lap and lifted the lid. Would he like her gift? She held her breath.
Sam murmured a sound of pleasure as he pulled off the crinkly green tissue paper revealing a set of Victorian hardwood and brass bellows. They were mounted on a brass wheel, to make pumping them easy. “Where did you ever get this?” he asked, completely stunned. “I contacted Sotheby’s in England trying to get bellows for my fireplace years ago. They never had them.”
Overjoyed, Megan smiled. “When I got my pair five years ago, which, by the way, isn’t as fancy as your pair, I bought a second pair. I knew how rare and hard to find they were.”
“Incredible,” Sam murmured, running his fingers across the polished, reddish-colored handles.
“That’s rosewood.”
With a shake of his head, Sam looked over at her. Rosewood was a rare and highly sought-after wood in the antique world. “Hell of a gift, Red. Thanks.”
“Not that you needed any more hot air than you already possess as a jet jock,” Megan added dryly.
Chuckling, Holt agreed. “We do have that reputation, don’t we?” He put the gift aside, reaching over, capturing her in his arms. Megan came without a struggle, flowing into his embrace, head resting against his shoulder. With a sigh, he held her tightly against him. “This is all I really want or need,” he admitted huskily. She smelled of her spicy perfume fragrance, her skin warm against his mouth as he kissed her brow, cheek and, finally, captured her awaiting lips, which parted eagerly to allow him entrance. No one could have had a better Christmas.
As Megan remained snuggled in his arms, the Christmas music unobtrusive, Holt wondered how Curt and Becky were getting along. He hurt for the family, and hoped that today, of all days, there might be some joy shared among them.
Curt stared out the living room window, hands behind his back, a parade rest stance. Behind him, he could hear Patty’s excited voice and Becky’s laughter. Turning, Curt studied them. They sat on the floor with four different kinds of colorful clay spread between them on some newspapers. Becky had given the clay to Patty as her Christmas gift.
Becky was dressed in a floor-length cotton dress of pale pink. The red satin ribbon around her waist complemented the color of her cheeks. His heart expanded with love for her when he heard her breathy laughter. She molded a duck out of the clay. His daughter was still in her red bathrobe and little Snoopy slippers, her pale blond hair caught up in a haphazard ponytail.
Struck by the fact that both his wife and daughter looked like two ageless children playing, entertaining themselves, Curt suddenly felt left out. Older. More mature. Becky’s eyes danced with such life as Patty made her own duck, albeit a poor copy of hers. Becky clapped her hands, reached over and kissed Patty soundly, rewarding her first effort.
So many firsts, Curt thought, feeling depressed. Becky had already taken pictures of Patty opening her gifts. All for the album, she’d told Curt excitedly. He’d bought Patty state-of-the-art toys. Toys, the manager of the store in Lancaster had assured him, that Patty would play with for hours. This morning, surrounded with all those modern gifts, Patty had eagerly opened Becky’s only gift: the clay. She had been playing with it for the last hour, ignoring all the other gifts.
Rubbing his brow, Merrill turned toward the window, an ache seizing him. It centered in his chest, and he absently rubbed his hand across that area. Becky was far more in touch with what her daughter loved to play with than he was. Patty was already seven years old. He couldn’t remember that many special times he’d shared with Patty growing up—because he hadn’t been around to be a part of them. Becky always showed him the photos when he got home from flight duty, TDY, or alert status: the first time she uttered her first word. The first time she crawled. He wasn’t even here when Patty had taken her first tottering steps.
Scowling, Curt winced inwardly as their laughter continued to hurt him. It wasn’t their fault. Letting his hands drop back to his side, he stood and watched them. Becky was now making up a story about a mama duck who had lost her baby ducks. Patty was enthralled. So was he. There was so much purity and honesty in Becky. Darkly, Curt admitted parts of himself had been sublimated by the Air Force. It stamped unwanted facets of personality out of the pilots and remolded them into something the military wanted, instead.
And his honesty? He said what the Air Force wanted him to say. He behaved as the Air Force demanded. Curt wanted to kneel down and join his wife and daughter. How long had it been since he’d played with clay? He couldn’t remember. Becky was completely spontaneous, and so was his daughter. Longing to recapture that elusive, perhaps destroyed part of himself, Merrill sighed.
Of course, not all Air Force pilots felt like he did. Or did they? Maybe they did and just never said anything about it. Maybe family life wasn’t the main priority in their life, but just a secondary extension of their career aims. Pilots didn’t share much of their personal or emotional side with anyone. Not even with their wives. His mind revolved forward and he stared down Sharon Drive. On the corner sat the Stang residence. Their home was gaily decorated for the Christmas season, even though it was 70 degrees and the sun shone brightly across the desert. Did Jack ever feel as if he’d lost something by not being around his family often enough?
“Now, for the greatest gift of all,” Melody announced, approaching her husband. Scotty was playing with his new video game on the television, completely absorbed in his gift. For once, he was sitting still, in one place, for more than five minutes. Melody was grateful. Jack sat in the leather wing chair, several opened gifts around his feet. He looked very appealing to her, dressed in a pair of cream-colored wool slacks, a dark green cable-knit sweater and brown loafers.