Читать книгу The Gauntlet - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

Chapter Four

“Well, how did your first flight test go?” Scott wanted to know.

Molly gripped the phone hard, pacing back and forth in front of her couch in the large living room. She’d just gotten home at 1700 when the phone rang. “It went,” she said, refusing to lie. If Scott wanted details, he was going to have to ask the questions to drag it out of her.

“What kind of a grade did you get?”

Wincing, Molly sat down and shakily began to unlace her black flight boots. “I got a seventy-five percent.”

“Is that good?”

“It wasn’t failing.”

“What’d the other flight engineers get?”

“The grades went all the way from seventy-five to ninety-five, Scott.”

“Jeez, were you at the bottom of the barrel, Molly?”

Pushing the boots to one side, Molly unzipped the lower legs of her suit and tugged the thick white cotton socks from her feet. “Yes, I was last on the list.” She tried to laugh. “Look at it this way, Scott—I’ve got nowhere to go but up.”

“Well, did they give you the hardest of the flight tests? Is that why you almost flunked?”

Molly felt a cry deep within her. “Look, Scott, I’m really tired. You’re calling me a day early. I need to get supper and then I’m going to hit the books. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

“Oh…yeah. Well, I was just real excited, Molly. You said the test was Friday, and I couldn’t wait until Saturday to find out how you did.”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell Dad about my grade just yet, okay? He’ll be calling tomorrow, and I’ll tell him then.”

“Sure, Molly.”

“Gotta run, Scott. I love you, and I’ll see you later. Bye.” Molly hung up the phone as if it were burning her hand. She stared blackly down at it, almost wanting to unplug it from the wall. The thought was tempting, especially under the circumstances. Right now, all Molly wanted was someplace where there wasn’t a phone or anyone who wanted a piece of her.

She walked to her bedroom and shed her flight suit to get a quick, hot shower. Lee Bard had told her about the rolling beach at the air station that few people ever utilized—mostly because it was part of the naval facility and off-limits to tourists and locals.

Dressing in a pair of comfortable white cotton slacks and a pale pink tank top, Molly picked up her lavender windbreaker as she headed out the door of her apartment. The sun was still bright in the sky for the Friday evening. Under her left arm were a couple of textbooks and a notepad. Maybe the beach would be an ideal place to relax, read a little and just “chill out,” as Scott would say.

Getting directions at the gate from the Marine Corps guard on duty, Molly drove her station wagon to what appeared to be one of many parking areas for the point. As she got out, the salt air filled her lungs, and she inhaled it deeply. Some of the tension she’d carried since flying with Chuck Martin at midday sloughed off.

The beach was a golden color—picture perfect, in her estimation. For as far as she could see in either direction, the beach was empty, dotted with plenty of sand dunes shaped and created by the winds that sprang up off Chesapeake Bay. It was June, and the storms for the year had passed into history.

Molly allowed the tranquillity of the beach and the glassy-smooth cobalt water to soak into her. She muddled through the grasping sand in her tennis shoes. With a slight laugh, she stopped and took them off, then carried them in her left hand. It felt good to dig her toes into the grainy texture of the sand as she wove in and around the many dunes.

Nearly a mile from the parking lot, Molly found her spot. It was a cul-de-sac nestled between two fairly large hills laden with salt grass. In front of her, as she spread out her well-used purple beach blanket, was an unobstructed view of the bay. Although the sun’s rays were sliding across the eastern expanse of the bay, she could barely make out white sails of yachts dipping up and down on the surface. More tension flowed from her as she shrugged out of her backpack which contained a sack dinner and her textbooks.

Her legs crossed, her elbows resting on her knees as she munched on a tuna sandwich, Molly thought about Cam Sinclair. Funny, all week, at every turn, she’d seemed to run into him. And always he was a gentleman, nodding deferentially in her direction, opening doors for her or whatever, but never offering a smile or any indication of emotion in the depths of his haunting pale blue eyes or his continually pursed mouth.

Did Cam ever smile? Molly wondered, munching on the sandwich. What would his face look like if he did? She closed her eyes, trying to imagine just that. And then, when a keening sea gull flew low, she reopened them. With a laugh, Molly tossed a bit of her sandwich up in the air. The gull dived, catching the choice morsel with grace and quickly gobbling it down.

In no time, Molly had a plethora of gulls circling above her between the two dunes. She gave her potato chips to the beggars, and time spun to a halt. The slight breeze, the salt air, the warmth of the sun’s rays, plus the dozens of gulls who cautiously edged toward her towel or flew around her head, made it a magical time for Molly.

Finally out of food, she shrugged her shoulders at the birds. All she had left was an apple, and Molly used her small pocketknife to cut off bits of it to toss to the gulls who stayed around her blanket, begging. Test-pilot school was forgotten. Chuck Martin no longer existed. Her laughter was full and lilting, absorbed by the inconstant breeze and pleading cries of the seabirds.

The flock of gulls suddenly took wing as a unit. Molly saw the black shape of a dog hurtle up and across a nearby dune. Before she could move, she saw a sleek black Labrador bounding toward her, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Startled but pleased, Molly stood.

“Hi there, fella.” As the dog came up to her, she saw the Lab was female. Extending her hand, Molly smiled as the dog fearlessly approached, wagging her thick tail furiously. She was wet, with water glistening on her ebony coat.

“Excuse me. I mean girl. Hi. How are you? And who do you belong to?” Molly leaned down. The dog wore a leather collar with a rabies tag, as well as another tag. Looking closer, Molly smiled.

“So, you’re Miracle. I wonder what you did to earn a name like that?” She petted the dog’s sleek, damp head, taken by the animal’s affectionate nature.

Molly had crouched down, her arm around the dog’s neck as she patted her, when she saw the outline of a man appear on the crest of the same dune. The sunlight was behind him, and she narrowed her eyes to try to make out who it might be. Obviously, the dog’s owner.

“Miracle! Heel!”

Molly straightened, her heart racing. No, it couldn’t be! The voice was excruciatingly familiar. Yes, the man dressed in jeans and a polo shirt certainly might be Cam Sinclair. The sunlight was blinding, and Molly lifted her hand to shade her eyes as Miracle scooted away, obeying her master’s sharp command. Halfway down the dune, the Lab met the man and dutifully sat, her tail thumping hard on the sand.

“Hi,” Molly greeted him uncertainly. It was Cam Sinclair, all right. As he looked at her, she felt herself go all shaky inside—a response that was new and startling.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here at this time of day,” Cam replied. Miracle whined, looking eagerly toward Molly. He stood, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry if she mauled you. Miracle’s still a puppy at heart.”

Smiling, Molly walked to the bottom of the dune. How handsome and relaxed Cam looked now. Almost human! “That’s okay. I love animals.”

“She was after all those gulls she saw flying around these two dunes.”

“I was feeding them my dinner.”

Cam watched as the breeze blew a number of strands of Molly’s hair across her shoulder. She looked pretty in her civilian clothes, her bare feet giving her a decidedly childlike appearance. “Oh.”

Without warning, Miracle turned and bounded back down the dune, leaping up on Molly, her black paws landing on Molly’s chest. Cam yelled at the Lab but she didn’t listen. He came down the dune and reached for the dog’s collar, to jerk her away from Molly.

“No…it’s okay.” Molly laughed breathlessly, affectionately roughing up Miracle. She played with her, and the dog leapt and bounded around her in high spirits.

Embarrassed by Miracle’s inexplicable antics, Cam stood helplessly by and watched her and Molly play with each other. They were like children. The light in Miracle’s eyes was alive as she dodged and leapt playfully, avoiding Molly’s hand. It was Molly’s laughter that sent a sharp shaft of longing through Cam’s heart, through his entire body.

Suddenly Molly wasn’t the Annapolis grad or the TPS student. She was simply a woman. A beautiful one, who melted into the texture of the sand dunes, the peaceful lap of the bay water and turquoise sky laced with sunset colors of pale pink, lavender and gold. Cam didn’t have the heart to scold Miracle for not minding him. How long had it been since he’d really, honestly played with the Lab? A year, he admitted.

Finally, Molly fell to the blanket, giggling. Miracle collapsed beside her, panting heavily. Placing her arm around the dog’s shoulders Molly looked up at Cam. There was a dark scowl on his face, as if he totally disapproved of what she’d done. Feeling too good from the unexpected romp and exercise with the dog, Molly gasped, “She’s great for aerobics, isn’t she?”

Cam edged a bit closer to the blanket, his hands still deep in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, she was—I mean, is.”

“How did Miracle get her name?” Molly shifted her gaze back to the dog, who responded by licking Molly’s hand.

“Four years ago I wanted to get a dog. I went to the dog pound over in Lexington Park. They were going to put her to sleep the next day, so I took her because I didn’t want to see her killed. That’s why I decided to call her Miracle.”

Molly sized him up. “I like someone with a kind heart,” she whispered.

Flushing, Cam negligently dug the toe of his tennis shoe into the sand. “I don’t know about a kind heart. I felt the dog was worth saving.”

Smiling, Molly ruffled Miracle’s head between her hands. “Soft heart or not, you did a good thing. She’s wonderful! I’ll bet you get your share of exercise when you walk her.”

“I do. I come down here a couple of times a week to run her. She gets cooped up in my apartment, and I can’t let a big dog sit for too long.”

Molly liked Cam’s thoughtful nature. “They say animals mirror their owners. Does she?”

Cam grimaced. “I don’t think so.”

He was so serious. And there was such sadness in his eyes and around his mouth. Something in her wanted to alleviate it, but Molly didn’t know how. “When I was growing up, I had a dog. She was a purebred, because my father said they were the only kind to have, but it really didn’t make any difference to me. Pooky, that was her name, was a Border collie. Father wanted to get me a German shepherd or a Doberman pinscher, but my mom wouldn’t allow it, saying they were too temperamental and moody to trust around a child.

“So I ended up with Pooky.” Molly looked past Cam, the memories coming back deep and strong. “She loved me so much, and my whole life revolved around her. My brother was the firstborn, and he was always the center of attention. Pooky and I stayed in my bedroom where I served her tea, shared my dolls with her and read her fairy tales.” Molly smiled shyly down at Miracle, who had her head cocked to one side, as if listening intently to each word.

“Pooky died a month after my mother did. I never felt so alone.”

Cam frowned. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Ten.” Molly rallied, petting Miracle fondly. “Father wanted to get me another dog, but I just couldn’t do it. Pooky was one of a kind. And even at that age, I knew nothing or no one could ever replace her.”

Pain widened in Cam’s chest—not only for himself, but for Molly. What had her mother’s passing when Molly was at such a young age done to her? He tried to ferret out the damage, but found none. Surely it had scarred her. Jeanne’s passing and the loss of Sean had certainly scarred him for life. “Did you love your mother?” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted the stupid question.

“Very much. We were close. Father’s a workaholic, and it was Mom who kept things going at home for Scott and me. Yes, I loved her more than life.” Molly stroked Miracle’s neck and shoulders. “This is wonderful, getting to meet a dog like yours. She reminds me so much of Pooky—loyal and loving. I’m really glad I ran into you here on the beach, even if it was an accident.” Molly smiled, meaning it.

Uncomfortable with Molly’s openness, Cam called Miracle to his side. The black Lab hesitated, licked Molly’s hand one more time, then slowly rose and trudged hesitantly to his side. Cam felt like a heel. He wasn’t able to give Miracle the kind of open, loving warmth Jeanne had bestowed on her. Now Molly was offering what Miracle so missed. He wondered hotly what it would be like to be stroked by Molly’s small, graceful hand. For a moment, he envied Miracle.

“I’ve got to get going,” Cam stumbled. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

“Sure…” Molly tried to smile, but it was impossible. She’d totally embarrassed herself in front of Captain Sinclair, who was obviously uncomfortable in her presence. Miracle hesitated at the top of the dune, turned toward her and barked. Then she spun around, disappearing down the other side with her master.

Packing up her items, Molly thought she’d never felt as alive as she had in those few minutes with Cam and his dog. At least he hadn’t been icy with her, as he was at school. There had been a change in him, although it was subtle. Why was he so unhappy? As Molly shrugged into her knapsack and folded her towel, she cringed at the thought of going home. The weekend stretched in front of her. On Saturday her father would call, demanding a detailed verbal report of her week’s activities.

Slowly, Molly walked through the sand. The sun hovered on the horizon, the sky a pale pink tinged with lavender. Its setting was going to be spectacular, and the beauty momentarily raised her plummeting spirits. How she longed for the kind of freedom Miracle had.

Cam’s face swam in front of her. All her worry lifted, and a ribbon of warmth spread through Molly. What kind of magic did he hold over her to lift her unaccountably from her own private hell? Whatever it was, Molly thanked the Fates for bringing them together this evening. That had been a miracle in itself.

* * *

“Stop whining.” Standing in the living-room doorway, Cam scowled. Miracle stood at the front door, as if waiting to be let out. Cam knew the dog was thinking of Molly. Wasn’t he, too?

Running his hand through his hair, he entered the living room, sat down on the overstuffed couch and picked up a newspaper. The six o’clock news was on TV, and Cam watched it with disinterest. Miracle came over to sit primly near his feet. She whined again.

“Stop,” Cam pleaded, putting the newspaper aside and patting the Lab. “I know you liked her a lot. And yes, she played with you.” Cam frowned. “I’m sorry, I should play more with you. Maybe I’ll try from here on out. Okay?”