Читать книгу No Quarter Given - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7
ОглавлениеChapter Two
“Dana! What happened to you?” Molly stepped forward between the stacks of boxes that had yet to be unpacked in their airy three-bedroom apartment. Dana stood at the doorway, her face puffy and bruised.
Gratefully, Dana allowed Molly to take her luggage. She shut the screen door. “I had a run-in with a jerk at the airport who wanted to steal an old lady’s purse.” Tenderly she touched her swollen cheek that ached like fire. “I tackled him.”
Molly’s eyes widened and she put the luggage down, going back to Dana. “Come and sit down. You look awful! Let me get a cold washcloth and some ice. Come on.”
Ordinarily, Dana refused any kind of mothering, but right now, Molly’s warmth and care were exactly what she needed. “Okay,” she agreed. Crossing to the peach-colored couch, she slowly sat down, holding a hand to her head.
“No. Lie down,” Molly told her as she removed two small boxes and placed them on the floor. “It’s a good thing Maggie isn’t here. She’d hit the roof! You know how she feels about the elderly in this country, always saying they aren’t properly taken care of, and all.”
A bit of a laugh escaped Dana as she lay down. The couch felt heavenly. “That’s one thing we happen to agree on. Knowing Maggie, she’d go hunt down that bastard and clobber him all over again for the old woman and me.” Maggie was fiercely loyal to those she loved and cared for.
“She would,” Molly agreed. Worriedly she watched Dana for a moment. “You really look terrible.”
“Thanks, Mol. You’re a fountain of good news.”
“Back to your black humor again, I see.”
“It’s saved my tail every time.”
“Stay put. I’ll get the ice pack.”
Wearily, Dana placed her arm across her forehead, still seeing Molly’s blond hair framing her oval face and soft features, her hazel eyes filled with worry. Molly had always been the “mother” of their group, caring for Dana and Maggie when they were down-and-out—which wasn’t often. She watched her friend, dressed in a pair of pale green cotton shorts and a white blouse, disappear into another room.
Looking around the quiet apartment, Dana thought how beautiful it was compared to the dorm they’d lived in at Annapolis. They had sent Molly ahead to choose something for the three of them. It was the first time Dana had seen it. The walls were an ivory color to match the carpet. Molly had brought her furniture from Boston and it was bamboo with cushions in pastel peaches, plums and pale greens. Soft, quiet colors, Dana thought, like warmhearted, serene Molly.
Closing her eyes, she released a long, ragged sigh. It felt good to relax, to know she was safe again. In a way, Dana really was glad Maggie wasn’t here. The Irishwoman’s red hair and quick temper would have created instant passion and emotion—two things she’d had plenty of in the past couple of hours. No, she needed Molly’s more tranquil personality.
“Here you go.” Molly came back and sat down facing Dana. Gently she placed the ice pack over Dana’s eye. “Gosh, that looks awful, Dana. Maybe we ought to get you over to the dispensary of Whiting Field and have a doctor look at it.”
Grimacing, Dana held the pack firmly against her eye. “No way, Mol. It’s going to be tough enough going there tomorrow with this black eye. If I can’t get this swelling down enough, the doc might ground me. I don’t want to be grounded for a week waiting for this thing to heal. I’d be a week behind my class. That wouldn’t bode well for me or my chances of getting my wings.”
“You poor dear.” Molly pushed strands of black hair away from Dana’s forehead.
“You got any old recipes from your grandma Inez for black eyes?” Molly was close with her rich and influential Boston family, particularly her twin brother, Scott, who was confined to a wheelchair for life. Molly loved to cook, and had used old-time remedies from her beloved granny to help the three of them through the cold-and-flu seasons at Annapolis every year.
“Let’s see…” Molly glanced around at the stacks of boxes. The room was filled with them. “Grandma Inez put all her remedies in one book. Where did I pack it?”
“Didn’t you number your boxes and what was in them?” Dana smiled to herself, loving Molly fiercely. In some ways, she felt Molly was too soft to have graduated from Annapolis, but she had. Did she have the toughness it would take to get her wings?
Her finger on her chin, Molly scowled. “No…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dana whispered. “Look, you go ahead and keep unpacking. I’m just going to lie here and regroup, okay?”
“Are you sure? At least let me clean up that arm of yours. It’s awful looking.”
Dana grinned, though it hurt to do it. “Is everything about me ‘awful,’ Mol?”
Laughing, Molly stood. “Of course not! How many times have you come in looking beat-up like this?”
“Never,” Dana agreed. Not since she’d left home at eighteen for Annapolis, she thought, where her father couldn’t reach her.
“I’m allowed to be concerned, then. I just unpacked the bathroom stuff. At least we can clean and bandage your arm.”
It felt good simply to rest and let Molly take care of her. Dana knew she trusted very few people to do that, but Molly had earned her trust over four long, harsh years at the academy. Besides, wasn’t this what the Sisterhood was all about? Hell of a way to test it out, Dana decided wryly.
As she drifted off, almost asleep, Griff’s face suddenly appeared before her. Startled, she woke with a jerk.
Molly turned toward her quickly. “Dana? What’s wrong?”
Scowling, Dana relaxed back into the cushions. “Uh…nothing.”
“You jumped as if someone were attacking you,” Molly chided, sitting back down beside Dana. She arranged the gauze, tape and antiseptic on the floor next to the couch.
“It was nothing. I’m just jumpy after that guy hit me at the airport.” It wasn’t a lie. Dana didn’t like evading her friends, but it simply hurt too much to delve into the reasons behind her defensive, wary nature. They’d accepted her without questions, and she was grateful.
As gently as possible, Molly cleaned the long bloody scrapes on Dana’s arm. “You’ve got to be feeling sore and bruised all over. How about if I draw you a hot bath? I think all you can stand right now is bed and rest. Maggie’s out doing the shopping for us. We can continue unpacking tonight without you, Dana. You really need to rest.”
Tears jammed behind Dana’s closed eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re Florence Nightingale in this incarnation?”
Molly laughed softly, daubing the stinging antiseptic across Dana’s arm. “Same old Dana: teasing even if you feel rotten.”
“Humor is the only thing that’s saved me,” she told Molly seriously.
“Teasing aside, want that bath?”
“Yes. I stink.”
“I wasn’t going to put it exactly like that.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re too kind, Mol.”
Giggling, Molly bandaged her arm. “Maggie would wrinkle her nose.”
“And roll those big green eyes of hers.”
“She has great body language,” Molly agreed.
“I feel better already.” Dana sighed. With her two friends, she felt a safety she’d never before been able to achieve. She felt encroaching exhaustion. “Listen, I think after a bath, I’m going to crash and burn. Which bedroom is mine?”
“The last on the left. It has a lovely dusty-rose carpet. We’ve already got the beds put together. While you’re getting your bath, I’ll put sheets and a blanket on it.”
“Thanks.” Only Molly would notice such details as carpet color. Dana wasn’t as attuned to such subtleties as Molly or Maggie. No. All her sensory abilities centered on her survival mechanism. Sometimes Dana wished she could ease her guard and enjoy the things her friends did with such relish. Her defensive nature had relaxed some, thanks to them. Still, Dana knew she had a long way to go. She wondered if she’d ever lose her wary attitude toward all men.
After her bath, Dana went straight to her new bedroom. Her face was aching again. The ice pack had helped tremendously, and as Dana settled into her double bed, Molly brought her a second pack.
“Listen, you sleep all you want. We won’t wake you for dinner. Okay?”
Dana put the pack on the pillow and laid her injured cheek against it. “Fine….”
Molly quietly closed the door.
Outside the open window, Dana could hear the cheerful call of birds. Beyond that, she heard airplanes in the distance. She was sure it was the trainers from Whiting Field and nearby Pensacola Naval Air Station. The spring air was humid, and she could smell the ocean in the breeze from the gulf. Just as she slipped into a deep, healing sleep, Griff’s face appeared once again. This time, Dana wasn’t jerked awake. She lost herself in his dove-gray eyes, which radiated that incredible warmth. For the first time in her life, she had felt safe with a man—a stranger she’d never meet again.
* * *
Dana awakened slowly, realizing it was dark in the room. Her head was throbbing, and she sat up groggily, holding her injured, puffy cheek. It felt as if it had grown in size. Damn the man who’d hit her. She took some small satisfaction in the punch Griff had returned. Maybe there was a little justice in this universe.
The door to her bedroom opened quietly. Dana looked up to see Maggie, her long, lean face shadowed by the light spilling into the room from behind her.
“I’m awake,” Dana muttered. “Come on in.”
Maggie slipped in, worry showing on her face as she came forward. “I was starting to fret about you. It’s 2200. Molly kept saying you were just sleeping, but I thought you might have suffered a concussion from that hit you took.”
“I’ve got too hard a head for that.” Dana crossed her legs. It hurt to move her head. Maggie sat down facing her. She was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans, her shoulder-length red hair mussed. Dana could only admire the strength and confidence that Maggie radiated. She was first-generation Irish, and the youngest of four redheaded daughters who had all entered the various military services. Dana saw the feisty look in Maggie’s glittering green eyes.
“I hope like hell you pulverized that jerk who nailed you.”
“I didn’t have to. Griff did.” Dana began telling her the story.
Maggie shook her head after hearing the full account. “I’d like to hunt that bastard down and let him have it, anyway.”
Dana grinned. “Your Celtic warrior side is showing again, Maggie.”
Nostrils flaring, Maggie growled, “No man has a right to strike a woman or vice versa.”
“Is that an old Celtic law?” She loved teasing Maggie, who was intensely proud of her heritage.
“No, that’s Maggie’s Law.”
“Griff took care of him, believe me. I heard the guy’s nose crack.”
“At least there’s consolation in that,” Maggie muttered, reaching out and gently patting her knee. “Listen, Molly tore through every box she owned until she found her granny’s remedy journal. She’s out there in the kitchen right now concocting some god-awful paste that’s stinking up the entire apartment. We’ll be lucky if the landlord doesn’t throw us out for contaminating the atmosphere. He might even call in the Environmental Protection Agency.”
It hurt to laugh, but Dana did anyway. “Mol didn’t know which box her journal was in.”
“I told her to index those boxes!”
“I know. But she was more concerned about getting our houseplants down here uninjured.” Molly had driven her sensible station wagon loaded with plants and breakable items to make sure they arrived in good shape. She didn’t trust moving vans.
Maggie smiled fondly, looking toward the open door. “If she wins her wings, I think we ought to call her Mom or Mother.” Every pilot who graduated came out of flight school with a nickname that stayed with him or her forever.
Dana’s smile disappeared. “I worry about her, Maggie. Everything we’ve heard about flight school being twenty times more demanding than the academy worries me.”
Maggie snorted. “I’m worried for myself, too. At the grocery store I bumped into a sixth-week student from Pensacola. He told me ninety percent of his class had already been washed out.”
“Wow!” Dana clenched her fist. She had to make it!
“I’m just glad the three of us are going into this together.”
“Yeah. Misery loves company.”
Grinning, Maggie got up. “You’re feeling better, I can tell. You’re back to your usual pessimistic sense of humor.”
Dana slowly got off the bed, feeling a bit light-headed. Maggie came to her side and slipped her arm around her shoulders.
“I know…you can make it on your own,” Maggie chided, leading her toward the door. “But suffer my help, Dana. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
The bright light hurt Dana’s good eye. Her other eye was swollen shut. She bowed her head and allowed Maggie’s lanky frame to offer partial support. “This hasn’t been one of the better days of my life.”
“Don’t we know it. Come on, let’s go out to the kitchen where Dr. Molly is stirring up her brew. I wonder if you have to drink it? The cure may be worse than the black eye.”
It hurt to grin, but Dana couldn’t help it. The kitchen was huge, with a highly polished light green tile floor. Molly was working furiously over the stove, a white apron wrapped around her tall figure. The apron looked funny with the short shorts she was wearing, but Dana didn’t comment, realizing it might hurt Molly’s sensitive nature.
“Oh, good, you’re up! I found my grandma’s journal!”
“Yeah…” Dana sat down very carefully at the table, her legs feeling a bit unstable. Maggie stood at her shoulder, concern on her face. “I’m okay, Maggie. Go sit down.”
“Naw, I’m going to get the camera for this one. This goes in our Sisterhood scrapbook: How To Help An Injured Sister.”
“Don’t you dare!” Dana gave Maggie her best glare.
Grinning, Maggie turned and left the kitchen.
“This won’t be so bad,” Molly soothed, bringing the pan over to the table. She set it on a hot pad. Wiping her damp brow with the back of her hand, she smiled. “It smells awful, but I’m sure it will help.”
Dana eyed the mixture in the bottom of the pan. “Good God, Mol, that stuff smells horrible!”
“Well…it’s a mixture of horse liniment, crushed comfrey leaves and—”
“Don’t tell me any more. It probably contains eye of newt and tail of frog.”
“Oh, no! They’re just herbs, Dana. Grandma wasn’t a witch. She was a healer all her life. You have to smear it all over the swollen part of your face,” she explained apologetically. “Grandma said it will reduce swelling in twelve hours or less.”
“It better,” Dana growled, holding her nose. “I’ll put it on myself. Is it hot?”
“No, just warm.” Molly sat down, watching eagerly.
Maggie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, camera in hand. Dana glared at her. Maggie laughed.
“If you ever show these pictures to anyone, you’re dead meat, Donovan. Got that?”
“Roger, read you loud and clear.”
Molly groaned. “You two! You’re always threatening each other. Aren’t you ever going to stop?”
Dana carefully dipped her fingers into the black mixture. It felt like slimy glue. “Our friendship’s based upon mutual irritation,” she told Molly.
“Go on,” Maggie urged, waiting impatiently to click the camera, “put that stuff on your face, Coulter!”
“Ugh! Molly, this smell’s enough to kill a person!”
“I’m sorry, Dana.”
Muttering under her breath, Dana spread the ointment across her cheek. The smell was horrendous. “God, I’m going to get better just from the smell alone.”
Maggie giggled and the camera flashed.
“By morning, the swelling ought to be down quite a bit, and your eye will be open,” Molly said enthusiastically.
“I can’t show up for flight school with my eye closed,” Dana complained sourly. She applied the mixture liberally. “If this works, I’ll kiss your granny’s grave, Molly. But if it doesn’t, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Oh, dear….”
Dana instantly felt contrite. Molly’s flushed face showed genuine distress. “I didn’t mean it,” she denied quickly. To prove it, Dana slathered more of the goo across the injured area.
“How’s it feel?” Maggie called, taking advantage of another photo opportunity.
Dana shrugged. “Surprisingly, it feels pretty good. There’s heat in it.”
“That’s the horse liniment. My grandma said it was good for everything.”
Dana knew the liniment contained a stimulant to increase blood circulation. That in itself should reduce swelling. “I feel better already, Mol. Thanks.” A good night’s sleep would ready her for tomorrow’s first grueling day at Whiting Field. Her stomach clenched with fear. It was a familiar feeling, and Dana didn’t respond to it. All three of them had butterflies in their stomachs. What would tomorrow bring? As Dana smeared the last of the paste on her face, she wondered if she would dream about Griff again tonight, when she closed her eyes.
* * *
Griff awoke in a foul humor. He’d cut himself shaving, having refused to look into what he knew were bloodshot eyes. Dreams had kept his sleep restless. The first half of the night his mind had run over and over Toby’s unexpected death and the funeral Griff had attended yesterday. Near morning, unwilling thoughts of Dana, of all things, had filled his head.
Irritably, Griff turned on the shower. He threw the disposable razor into the wastebasket and stripped off his light blue pajama bottoms. The material pooled around his feet, and he kicked the pajamas aside. Dana. The word echoed gently in his heart. Tendrils of warmth flowed through him, and he savored the wonderful feeling her name evoked. Absently, Griff rubbed his chest. Since his divorce, he hadn’t felt much of anything except anger, frustration and loneliness. And realizing that the healing process must take place first, he hadn’t been much interested in women, either.
As he stepped into the hot, steamy shower, Griff closed his eyes, allowing the water to wash the stench from his body. He’d awakened last night sweating heavily, replaying Toby’s crash in his mind. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed himself savagely, trying to escape the numbness that came with thoughts of Toby.
There would be no familiar phone call from his friend this morning. Griff was an acknowledged grump in the morning, and Toby often called to cheer him up as he drank his first cup of coffee. No more. As he shut his eyes and allowed the water to hit his face, Griff saw Dana’s face dance before him. Miraculously, the pressure in his chest disappeared and the tightness gripping his heart eased. Shaking his head like a dog coming out of water, Griff turned off the faucets and allowed the water to drip from him.
How could a woman he didn’t even know take away his grief? An awful numbness that inhabited him since he’d been notified of the accident, and his recent dislike of women had soared alongside his grief over Toby’s loss. Over the past five days, he’d tasted real anger toward women. It was unreasonable, Griff knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was the divorce, compounded with Toby’s death. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. His emotions felt raw and shredded.
After toweling dry, Griff stepped out of the bathroom and pulled a clean one-piece flight suit from his bedroom dresser drawer. Dana came back to his thoughts. She wasn’t beautiful. No, she had an arresting face; and her huge blue eyes were her finest feature. Pressing the Velcro closed on his flight suit, Griff sat down on the bed and pulled on his dark blue cotton socks. Next came his highly polished flight boots, shining like mirrors. They weren’t patent leather like what a lot of the IPs had. Griff lovingly and carefully shined the leather for hours with polish—the old-fashioned way; the way it was done before patent leather invaded the military.
Sitting on the huge king-size bed, Griff looked around, feeling the awful silence that seemed to sit heavily in his chest. His hands on his long thighs, he stared toward the hall. Funny, even after six months, he missed Carol. Well, maybe not her, but their routine. Griff missed waking up with a woman’s warmth beside him and having her make him breakfast before he left for Whiting Field at 0630.
Frowning, he stood, automatically checking to make sure his name tag was in place over his left pocket, his IP badge over his right. Locating a bunch of pens on top of the dresser, he shoved several into the upper-left sleeve pocket of his uniform. His stomach growled, but somehow he wasn’t really hungry. When his mother died, the same thing had happened. His father back in Jerome, Arizona, was still alive and healthy. All his other pilot friends were alive—a feat in itself, considering the extreme hazards of fighter-jet duty. Toby had been the first casualty he knew personally.
As he picked up his briefcase and opened the front door to face the apricot sunrise on the horizon, Griff wondered who his next three students would be. Maybe one out of the three would get past his demanding teaching methods. Today, there was no enthusiasm in his stride down the concrete walk. Griff barely saw the pink-and-white oleander bushes that hid his tan bungalow from the quiet street of homes that surrounded him. He felt only a terrible heaviness in his heart, and he had no desire even to get to Whiting Field in time for the 0700 IP meeting. The only thing that told him he was still alive, still capable of feeling, was thinking of Dana.
As he unlocked his car door and got in, Griff allowed her face to remain with him—her short pixie-style black hair, the small earlobes graced with tiny pearls. Everything about her shouted exquisite refinement. How could someone who appeared fragile be so damned bold, stepping into the path of a crazed thief? he wondered. Shaking his head, Griff started up the Corvette. Somehow, he had to see Dana again. It was a crazy thought. Crazy! Anger welled within him at the thought of women—yet her face, her presence, had given him an island of peace within his shattered world. How could that be?
* * *
Nervously, Dana stood with Maggie and Molly among twenty-five other students. They had been processed and taken to the ready room at Whiting Field. Accustomed to the often hostile stares of the male students, Dana internalized her dread. They had all been assigned to VT2 upon arrival, and Maggie had discovered that VT2 had the highest washout rate of the three student squadrons. Molly had ferreted out that an 03, Lieutenant D. G. Turcotte, had the highest washout rate of the seven VT2 instructors. He was called the Turk, Molly had told them in a tense voice.
God, let me have a good instructor, Dana thought. She sat with Maggie on her right, Molly on her left. Because Dana was so small, her olive-green flight suit fit sloppily. It would have to be taken in, the sleeves and pant legs shortened considerably. For now, Dana had rolled them into thick wads at her wrists and ankles. With her clownlike garb and glorious black eye, she was painfully aware of being the center of attention. Thanks to Molly’s grandmother’s recipe, though, her eye was opening this morning, and the swelling somewhat reduced from the night before.
“Here he comes!” Maggie whispered, nodding to the left. A door on the stage opened.
Dana’s heart began a slow pound. She swallowed convulsively. There were twenty-eight students. Each instructor would be given three to teach for the first six weeks. If a student managed a passing grade of 2.0, then he or she would have different flight instructors for the remaining nine weeks of training. Word was out that these six-week IPs made or broke the student. Only one out of ten students went on to become a Navy pilot. Dana felt dampness in her armpits as she watched Commander Hager walk confidently toward the podium at the center of the stage. He was dressed in his tan uniform, the gold wings glinting above his left breast pocket proclaiming that he was a naval aviator.
“Good morning. Here are the flight-student and instructor-pilot assignments. Ensigns Wilson, Dunlop and Coulter to Lieutenant D. G. Turcotte.”
Dana gasped softly. Molly gripped her hand, giving her a sad-eyed look. Maggie’s full mouth pursed.
“Lieutenant Turcotte’s students will report to him in room 303 at the administration building in the following order and time. Ensign Coulter, 0900. You will fly at 0700 every other day, Monday through Friday.”
Trying to still her panic, Dana wrote down the information. She had the Turk, the 03 with the highest washout rate at Whiting. What had she done to deserve this? It was 0800. There would be an hour’s briefing, and then all students would be dismissed to go about their respective duties. Her mind whirled with questions and haunting fear. Was Turcotte a woman hater? Was he like a lot of the Annapolis grads who thought women couldn’t hack it, or make good military officers?
Molly’s hazel eyes were wide with silent sympathy. She leaned over to Dana. “Hang in there. Maybe he’ll consider you something special.”
Dana shook her head. “I’ll just bet he will,” she whispered back. What would Turcotte think? Dana had to care, because suddenly her dream of a flight career hung precariously upon this stranger’s thoughts and feelings.
* * *
Griff stared disbelievingly at the assigned student list that had been given to him by Sergeant Johnson. “Danielle Marie Coulter, Ensign” stared back at him. He dropped the paper on his desk.
“Ray!” he roared from his office. The black yeoman third-class appeared at the doorway.
“Yes, sir?”
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve made a typing error. There’s no way I’m taking on one of those women student pilots.”
Johnson shrugged apologetically. “Sir, Chief Yeoman Tracer gave me the list earlier. I know how you feel about it, and when I saw the assignment I asked the chief if it wasn’t a mistake. She said no.”
Griff got to his feet, grabbed the paper and shouldered past the yeoman. There had to be a mistake! Striding down the long, narrow hall toward Captain Ramsey’s office, Griff had to control his raging feelings. Ramsey knew he had no use for women in the military world. Over the years, Griff had softened his view somewhat, but had remained adamant that flying a military aircraft was a man’s job. Besides, how he felt about women right now made him rabid about not accepting Coulter.
Captain Burt Ramsey was leaning over his yeoman’s desk, giving her instructions, when Griff stepped into the outer office.
“Morning, Griff,” Ramsey said.
“Sir. May I have a few words in private with you?” Griff remained stiffly at attention. He was shaking inside.
“Certainly. Come on in.”
Making sure the door was closed so the yeoman couldn’t overhear, Griff stood at parade rest in front of the captain’s highly polished maple desk. Ramsey, a fifty-five-year-old officer, sat down. Folding his hands on the desk, he looked up at Griff.
“What’s on your mind?”
Trying to steady his hand, Griff thrust the assignment paper toward him. “This, sir.”
“Those are your assignments for the next six weeks.”
“I know, sir. But—there’s a woman in there.”
“I’m aware of that,” Ramsey replied coolly.
Struggling for self-control, Griff bit out, “Sir, I respectfully request that Ensign Coulter be reassigned. I don’t believe a woman can be a good pilot of a military aircraft. My best friend was just killed by a woman student pilot over at Pensacola. I—”
“Lieutenant, I feel Ensign Coulter has what it takes to be with the best instructor at Whiting. That’s you. You’re tough and exacting. Her grade point at Annapolis was a straight 4.0. That’s a rarity in itself. Take a look at her file, and I think you’ll agree, she’s fine material to work with. The Secretary of Defense is getting pressured to put more women in flight slots. We need P3 pilots badly. If she can handle your instruction, then I feel we have a candidate for the antisubmarine-warfare squadrons that are low in pilot manpower—er, person power.”
Despair ripped through Griff. “But, sir—”
“Ensign Coulter is your student, Lieutenant. And despite your personal prejudice, which needs work anyway, you are to treat her just like any male student assigned to you. Is that understood?”
Griff tensed. A lot of responses went through his head, but the only wise answer was “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want to hear Coulter smacking us with a sexual-prejudice lawsuit, either.”
His heart sank. Ramsey expected him to railroad her out of flight school. Well, wasn’t that what he’d planned to do if forced to take her? “I’ll treat her like any student assigned to me, sir.”
Ramsey nodded. “Good. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” Wearily Griff turned on his heel and left the office. Outside in the hall, he slowed his pace, wrestling with an incredible avalanche of feelings. A woman had killed Toby. Coulter could kill him. Women didn’t have good judgment in times of emergency. Carol fell apart under the most trivial circumstances. She had always cried and clung to him.
Rubbing his brow, Griff headed back to his small office. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had exactly half an hour before Coulter reported to him. It would give him the necessary time to bone up on her file. No doubt she’d be a lot like Carol: appearing strong on the surface, but internally flawed and weak, needing a man to tell her how to run things or make decisions.
Yeoman Johnson already had placed Coulter’s file on his desk. Reluctantly, Griff opened the thick folder. He nearly came unhinged at her physical statistics: five foot two, one hundred pounds and only twenty-two years old. She was too small to wrestle the weight of a screaming, out-of-control jet! His anger mounted as he continued to peruse Coulter’s file. In her plebe year—the first year as an underclassman—Coulter had won the right to carry the company colors. Who had she twisted around her finger to get that plum?
Academically, Coulter appeared to be brilliant. She excelled at mathematics and computers and earned a degree in aeronautical engineering. On the Annapolis swim team, she’d been first in freestyle and butterfly. She’d been appointed team captain in her third year at Annapolis, and under her guidance, the team had tacked up impressive wins over the next two years.
Griff wasn’t impressed. He slammed the folder shut, shoving it away. “That doesn’t mean you have hands, sweetheart. You might be good in the water, but air is an entirely different matter.” “Hands” was the term used for an individual’s feel for a plane. To have good flight hands meant possessing a natural knack with the aircraft and flying. Griff raised his head when Johnson gave a brief knock and stuck his head inside the office door.
“Ensign Coulter’s here to see you, sir.”
Girding himself, Griff growled, “Send her in, Johnson.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dana sat on a long wooden bench in the hall with several other student pilots. They were all nervous. The man nearest her, Ensign Manning, a fellow Annapolis grad, shook his head.
“I hear you got a screamer, Coulter.”
Dana frowned. “A screamer?”
“Yeah. Word’s gone ’round that the Turk’s a screamer. You know, he yells at you constantly in the cockpit.”
Dana’s throat got a little tighter. “I’ll take it one day at a time.” One hour at a time. First, she had to get past this initial interview. Ever since high school when she’d found out that the Navy pilots were considered the best in the world, Dana had dreamed of becoming one of them. Flying, for her, meant having the unshackled freedom of an eagle. To sail above the earth meant to sail over the misery that would meet her once she landed. No. Getting her wings was the most important goal she’d ever set for herself. And she’d win those wings—with or without the Turk’s help.
Manning shrugged. “Sorry you got such rotten luck. I wouldn’t wish the Turk on my best enemy.”
Dana managed a laugh, although it still hurt to smile. Her eye had nearly swollen closed again. “I’m known for my rotten luck, Manny. I’ll just persevere like I always do.” When they’d first met Manny at Annapolis, he’d hated the three women; but later, as part of Dana’s freestyle swim team, he’d been won over by her physical abilities. In the last year, Manny had become their staunch supporter.
“What do you think will happen when he sees that black eye?”
“He’ll probably think I started a barroom brawl somewhere and had it coming,” Dana muttered.
Manny shook his head. “You’re something else, Coulter. A sense of humor even as you walk into the jaws of death.”
Dana saw Sergeant Johnson crook his finger in her direction. Time to meet the dreaded Turk. She grinned as she rose, smoothing at the wrinkles in her too-large flight suit. “My black humor has gotten me this far, Manny.” If only it could get her successfully past this interview.
“Break a leg,” he whispered.
As Dana walked down the long, polished passageway, she wondered if the Turk would try to break her spirit as a way of washing her out. Nervously she wiped her damp palms against her thighs. Johnson opened the door, giving her a slight smile that she read as encouragement.
“Go right on in, Ms. Coulter. Lieutenant Turcotte is waiting.”
“Thanks,” she said. Dana moved around the door and closed it quietly. The small office was filled with bookshelves. Behind the massive oak desk sat a man, his head bent, studying what might be her file. Sweat popped out on her upper lip. Dana faced him and prepared to snap to attention. But before she could, he raised his head. A gasp escaped her.
“You!” she croaked. Griff. Dana saw the shock in his eyes. He was no less stunned than she. Her defenses shattered as his gray eyes momentarily thawed from ice to smoldering heat. Then, just as quickly, they hardened again. Off balance, Dana stood, her lips parted, words deserting her. How could Griff be the dreaded Turk? This man, his words, his incredibly gentle touch on her shoulder, had been anything but threatening at the airport.
Griff stared up at her in utter disbelief. She stood helplessly, her hands open in a gesture of peace toward him. “Dana?”
“I—yes, it’s me. But—you said your name was Griff.”
He stared down at the file, a gamut of emotions colliding within his heart. “Griff is my middle name. Your file said Danielle Coulter.”
“Yes,” she choked out. “But I’ve always been called Dana. No one calls me Danielle.”
Angrily, Griff noticed his hand tremble slightly over the file. Of all the tricks to be played on him! Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, her entire cheek black-and-blue. A huge part of him wanted simply to get up and hold her. She had to be in constant pain from that injury. Her eyes were huge, and he could read the shock in them. He was sure his IP reputation was foremost in her mind. She was probably trying to reconcile it with the man who’d helped her capture the thief at the airport.
Dana watched as the care that had again surfaced in his dove-gray eyes dissolved. Automatically she snapped to attention, tucking her chin against her chest. “Ensign Coulter reporting as ordered, sir.”
Griff wanted to curse so badly he could taste it. Life was one lousy joke after another. Dana’s face, once open and readable, was now closed, showing no expression at all. Griff reminded himself that she was a ring knocker, an Annapolis grad, one of the elite few. She was tougher than most women, he told himself, but still a cream puff underneath it all.
Slowly rising, Griff glowered at her. As much as he wanted to stop himself, stop the anger from boiling up and out of him, he couldn’t. “Remain at attention, Miss Coulter!” he snapped at her, and rounded the desk. His nostrils flared as he approached her. Griff waited to see her melt, but she remained unwavering beneath his towering scrutiny. She was such a small, helpless thing! He was six foot three, casting an ominous shadow across her.
“All right,” he rasped, watching as her eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “This is the end of the line for you or any other woman who thinks she can take it to become a Navy pilot.” Griff stalked around her, his hands behind his back. “You might be real special back in Annapolis, Miss Coulter, but here, you’re nothing more than a plebe. I break men who think they’ve got what it takes to fly a Navy jet. They come in here cocky and full of confidence. After two or three weeks with me, they wash out.”
Dana froze inside. Griff’s deep voice was like a chain saw cutting into her heart and her barricaded soul. If only she hadn’t seen his human side! He threw his words at her like a glove in a duel. The hatred in his voice was real, further eating away at her normal defensive array. Anguish soared within Dana. She had to forget the human named Griff. This was the Turk, the IP who wanted her washed out. He circled her like an eagle ready to strike at her, the quarry. Her mouth flattening, Dana rapped out, “Sir, I’ll do my best to earn your respect behind the stick.”
Turcotte glared at her. Her voice was firm, but lined with grating resolve. “These next six weeks are a survival school, Coulter.”
“Survival is one thing I’m very good at, sir.”
Taken aback, Griff moved around the desk, putting it between them. He’d had students cower like whipped dogs by the time he’d finished his initial briefing, but Dana showed absolutely no fear of him. She seemed to gather strength from his assault on her confidence. Opening his mouth to retort, Griff suddenly remembered her sitting on the concrete sidewalk at the airport, a rueful, almost painful smile on her mouth as she’d told him it wasn’t the first time she’d had a black eye. God, what a mess!
“I don’t tolerate tardiness, Coulter.”
“I’d be late for a flight only if I were dead, sir.”
“Women can’t take the punishment of flying.”
“I don’t accept that, sir.”
“You will,” he ground out softly.
Dana pinned him with an equally frosty gaze. “I know what prejudice is all about, Lieutenant. You don’t like me because I’m a woman. Fine. You’ve drawn the battle lines.”
Griff stared at her, nonplussed. What a hellion. “If you were a man, I might be impressed with your guts in standing up to me.”
“If I were a man, you wouldn’t be giving me this speech,” Dana retorted coldly. His gray eyes turned black as a thunderstorm. A part of her cried inside at the loss of the Griff who had been so gentle with her and the old woman at the airport.
“You’re wrong, Ensign. Every student that enters that door leaves knowing I’m intent on only one thing: failing you. You either have what it takes to stay in the kitchen and take the heat I’ll turn up on you, or you get out. I don’t want to be flying with any student of mine someday, unsure if he’s got what it takes when the chips are down in combat.”
“I’d say this is combat right now,” Dana whispered.
“As close as you’ll ever get to it, Ensign.”
The gauntlet had been flung. A sharp pain shot through Dana. Griff was turning out like so many other military officers she’d run into during her four years in the Navy. It would do no good to continue lobbing verbal grenades at each other. What was going to count was her performance in the cockpit of the single-engine trainer.
As always, Dana knew she would retreat to that safe place deep within herself when things got unbearable. It was a survival tool learned through years of painful experience. To everyone else, she would appear calm, cool and collected. Like swimming, retreating deep within herself meant safety.
“What time do I report for flight duty, sir?”
Griff stood, his hands on his hips, and watched her. With that swollen left eye she’d have trouble seeing. If she were a man, he’d send her to sick bay to get a chit until the eye was properly healed. Making her start in this condition didn’t give her a fair chance. Even as he thought it, though, his anger at women—and this no-win situation—surfaced. “Be at the ready room at 0800 tomorrow morning, Coulter. And be ready to fly.”
“Yes, sir.” Dana made an about-face and marched to the door. She opened it and stepped out into the passageway. After shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it momentarily. Fortunately no one was around to see her lapse of military protocol. Straightening, she absently touched her throbbing cheek, then placed the garrison cap on her head. Next stop was the bookstore where she’d pick up an armload of texts. When she wasn’t flying during the next fourteen weeks, she would be taking part in grueling academic sessions, learning about aerodynamics and meteorology.
As she left the administration building and walked the palm-tree-lined route to the bookstore, Dana couldn’t ignore her emotions. Somehow, she had to get Griff out of her mind and heart! The man at the airport had been a sham. The Turk was the real man—the bastard out to make her fail at any cost. He hated women encroaching on his male-dominated world. Fine. She’d withstood the men at the academy who’d wanted her to fail. But there was a difference here: her flight grades for the next six weeks rested entirely in Griff’s hands. She knew if she dropped below a 2.0 grade, a Board of Inquiry would be called. Rumor had it that any student with two “Boards” was washed out automatically—whatever the reasons.
Dana ignored the other students hurrying to the bookstore or to flight interviews with their new instructors. If Griff chose to wield his prejudice against her even if she was flying adequately, Dana would be in trouble. And it would be so easy for him to do—his word against hers. He was an 03, a first lieutenant, while she was an 01, an ensign, the bottom rung on the officers’ ladder. No one would take her word for anything. And if she cried prejudice or sexual discrimination, they’d laugh her out of school.
Grimly Dana swung into the bookstore and pulled a list from the thigh pocket of her flight suit. Griff seemed very sure she wouldn’t make the grade. Well, she would do everything in her power to fly—and fly well. Still, Dana couldn’t erase the memory of Griff’s soft gray eyes filled with concern. If she could forget that episode, she could easily bring up her defenses and weather his hatred of her. Maybe Molly or Maggie would have some sage advice; both of them seemed to have more understanding of men than Dana did. After all, her one relationship had been built on lies and was a proven disaster.
* * *
“So,” Dana ended tiredly, “that’s the whole story on Turcotte.”
Maggie leaned back in the cushioned, bamboo chair, putting her feet up on the small stool. “You can tell you don’t have any Irish blood in you to give you some luck.”
“Worse, she saw his good side,” added Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie’s chair.
Dana studied Molly. Her blond hair was shoulder length, the ends softly curling around her oval features. Molly had always worn her heart on her sleeve and was tremendously sensitive to others. Dana held her understanding gaze. “That’s the worst part of this. If I hadn’t seen Griff in action at the airport, I could handle how he sees me now.”
“Jekyll and Hyde,” Maggie muttered defiantly, brushing some auburn strands off her brow. “He obviously hates women.”
“I don’t think so,” Molly objected. “He didn’t treat Dana like that at the airport.”
“No, he was solicitous and—” Dana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, almost unable to say the word.
“What?” Molly prodded.
“Gentle.”
Maggie smiled. “There are a few men who have that quality, Dana. I know you don’t believe it, but there are.”
“That’s why I need your advice. You’ve both had positive relationships with men.” Maggie’s father adored her and his three other daughters. He was a warm, caring man, as Dana had discovered firsthand on a trip home with Maggie one time. Molly’s father was cooler and more aloof, favoring Scott, his son, over her. Nevertheless, Molly’s father was a vast improvement over Frank Coulter, as far as Dana was concerned.
Dressed in comfortable jeans and a lavender tank top, Maggie balanced a book on aeronautics on her lap, and held a glass of lemonade in one hand. It was six in the evening—their second evening together at the new apartment. “They aren’t all ogres,” Maggie said. “If the Turk was nice at the airport and a bastard at base, something isn’t jibing.”
“I think he hates all women,” Dana muttered.
“No,” Molly protested. “Maybe just women in the military. You know: the same old male prejudice about us bringing down their last bastion or some such crock.”
“That’s another thing,” Maggie added. “Why didn’t he send you to sick bay to get a chit until your eye heals properly?”
“Because he wants me to wash out fast.” Dana touched her eye gingerly. Molly had made up a new batch of her granny’s recipe and it still coated the injury, somewhat reducing the swelling.
“After all,” Molly said thoughtfully, “the guy didn’t have to get involved with that thief….”
Dana gave Molly a sour look. ”You be his student, then.”
Grinning, Molly stood and leaned over Dana, putting her arm around her. “Maybe, with time, Turcotte will soften up about you. We know you have what it takes to get your wings. Look at your academy record!”
“You’re such an idealist,” Maggie drawled. “My mother would swear you were bucking for sainthood.”
With a laugh, Molly hugged and released Dana. “I know, but you gals tolerate me anyway.”
“Well,” Dana said glumly, giving her best friends a warm look, “at least you two have decent instructors.”
Maggie nodded. “Let’s take this one day at a time with Turcotte. I think the first thing you ought to do is get over to the doctor and have him evaluate whether you’re up to a first flight or not with that eye.”
It was sound advice. Dana knew she’d need every advantage, and her eyesight was precious. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning before I report to the ready room. I’m not going to let Griff sandbag me.”
“Good girl!” Maggie crowed. “Fight back! It’s the only thing Turcotte understands or respects.“
