Читать книгу Point Of Departure - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 8

Chapter Three

“For whatever it’s worth,” Ty said as he drove the car off the station, the darkness surrounding them, “I’m sorry about what Remington and those two other pilots did to you.”

Callie sat tensely in Ballard’s car. She’d been silent since leaving the dispensary. Wearily now she said, “You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

His mouth barely pulled into a one-cornered smile. “In a way, it is.”

Callie stared at his rugged profile for a moment. There seemed to be a vulnerability about him, although it was carefully closeted, and that appealed to her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, before I got married, I caroused around a lot, too. I spent plenty of weekends drunk at the O Club, chasing the groupies.” Ty shrugged and avoided her wide, intelligent gaze. “I don’t believe that you teased Remington into following you out into the parking lot. From what you said to the doc, he was upset about that newspaper article and taking it out on you.”

His apology, his insight, startled Callie. “I can’t believe any navy pilot has the guts to admit he might have been wrong in chasing groupies. Most of those girls are eighteen and nineteen years old and don’t know what they’re getting into. The navy pilots at the O Club own that turf, and they see them as little more than property to be squabbled over.” Bitterness hardened her words. “You’re a surprise, Commander. I’ve been in the navy since I was eighteen, and I’ve never heard a man display those feelings.”

With a teasing smile, Ty said, “Hey, we’re not all bastards, you know.” He desperately wanted to make her smile, but she had such an abandoned look that he felt helpless. When she didn’t respond to his comment, he sighed. “I…I guess I never really realized until just now that the pilots play rough with a woman—whether she’s asking for it or not. It makes me feel guilty.”

“Then I guess that’s one good thing that will come out of this mess,” she muttered, “if one navy pilot sees that his chasing, his harassment of women, is wrong.” Misery settled around Callie. Ty Ballard piqued her interest, but the threat of losing her career kept intruding on her emotions.

“I can’t argue with you,” he said, feeling bad for Callie. Streetlights flooded the car with cyclical regularity as Ty guided his sports car into the La Mesa area, where Callie had told him her apartment was. Finally, he pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. Her two-story apartment building was covered in stucco, of Spanish design with a red tile roof. Several palms lined the small, well-groomed lawn in front of the building.

“Let me help you to your apartment,” he offered, turning toward her.

“No, you’ve done enough, Commander. You’ve more than done your duty.”

Ty accepted her mutinous and accusing look. As he opened the door to get out, he murmured, “You’ve got every right to be upset. Use me for target practice. But I’m helping you to your apartment, no arguments.”

Frustrated, Callie felt on the verge of crying in earnest. She couldn’t fight Ballard’s continued perceptiveness and solicitude. Was it just an act for her benefit? She’d never met anyone like him—a man who had so much awareness of other people’s feelings. Most navy pilots were so egocentric that they existed in a very lofty, private world—a pilot fraternity they viewed as a close-knit brotherhood. Even family came second. Callie knew that divorces were the norm for navy pilots, and they frequently married two, even three times.

As Ballard opened her car door, she pulled the crutches from the backseat and fumbled with them. He stood back patiently, allowing her the time she needed to maneuver herself and the crutches out of the car.

“I hate the idea of being on crutches,” she said tightly as she lurched to her feet, favoring her right ankle. Placing the crutches beneath her armpits, she glanced over at Ty. There was such sympathetic understanding in his eyes that Callie momentarily froze. Despite the heavy contrast offered by the streetlight, which seemed to carve his rugged looks with light and shadow, she not only saw but felt his compassion. Angrily, she shoved it away. He was merely another representative of all the problems she’d ever had with pilots over the years.

Ty stepped aside as Callie began hobbling toward her apartment. He smiled briefly as he shut the car door behind her. “I have a feeling you don’t like any kind of help,” he told her as he walked slowly at her side, her purse tucked under his left arm.

Jerking a look at him, Callie said, “Commander, at Annapolis I got the message loud and clear. There is no support for women. I learned that lesson in my plebe year. No, I don’t lean on anyone. Not ever.”

The anguish in her tone needled Ty. “I went through Annapolis, too, so I know what you’re talking about. We had three women in our group, and they took a hell of a lot of harassment,” he admitted. “Two of them dropped out. Only one made it the entire four years.”

Callie swung her way awkwardly up the concrete sidewalk. Luckily, her apartment was on the ground floor. Ballard was a product of his environment, there was no doubt. And the fact he was a fellow ring-knocker didn’t thrill her, either. If she were a man, she’d be part of the vaunted brotherhood, that clique of male Annapolis graduates. But because she was a woman, she was coldly excluded.

“Square pegs in round holes,” she said, stopping at the door of her apartment. Taking her purse from Ballard, she finally located the set of keys.

“Women have it tough in the military,” Ty agreed quietly as he watched her open the door. A soft light emanated from inside, and he saw that the apartment was filled with green plants and the pale, Southwestern colors of sandstone, pink and lavender. Wanting to do more to atone for what had happened to Callie, he opened his hands. “Can I help you in any way? Make a phone call for you? I think your sister would like to know how you are. Or maybe a friend who can help you tonight?”

Touched by his concern, Callie shook her head. She saw care burning in his eyes, and heard real emotion in his voice. Giving him an odd look, she said, “Commander, I think you’re a dream of some kind.”

Ty cocked his head. “A dream?”

Callie tried to smile but failed. “I’ve never seen a pilot be so sensitive. You’ve been wonderful, and I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll be fine now,” she answered steadily, although she felt anything but fine.

The shadowed look in her eyes convinced Ty that she was lying. But maybe she didn’t even know it herself. He shrugged. “Like I said, we’re not all cold, callous bastards. I know a lot of pilots who are good men, have families and a decent home life. Not all of them spend the other half of their life at the O Club.” And then he sighed. “Not that I’m one to talk.” When he saw her tilt her chin and give him a perplexed look, Ty smiled a little, as if to brush off the deprecating comment about himself.

“Thanks for everything.”

Ty moved forward and touched her shoulder before she turned to shut the door. “Look, let me leave my phone number with you—just in case.”

“No…thanks.” A flash of panic darted through Callie. Ballard was a figment of her imagination. She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but he stepped away and shrugged. Now she’d hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she’d meant to do. Torn by the evening’s events, she whispered, “You’re one in a million. I can get along by myself, now. Thanks.”

“What about your car?” Ty said, grasping for straws, for any reason to see Callie again under less-pressured circumstances. He’d sworn he wouldn’t even consider getting involved with a woman for at least another year. But Callie’s blend of femininity, vulnerability and quiet strength drew him.

“I’ll have my sister Maggie help me.”

“Oh…”

“Good night, Commander.”

“Call me Ty?”

Callie hesitated. She heard the hope in his voice and saw the plea in his eyes. As much as she wanted to, the past overwhelmed her. The last nine years of hurt were just too much to overcome. “No…I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Ballard knew enough to back away. “I’ll be seeing you, Lieutenant Donovan.”

The urgent knock on Callie’s apartment door startled her, and she glanced at the clock. It was nine p.m. She’d been home exactly an hour. Picking up the crutches she hobbled disgustedly to the door and opened it.

Maggie stood there tensely, wearing jeans and a pink blouse. Her hair, usually pinned up on her head, swung loose around her proud shoulders. “Callie? What happened?”

Callie moved aside to let her sister in, then shut the door. “A run-in with my boss,” she muttered.

Maggie’s eyes widened as she took in Callie’s condition. “My God, you look awful!” Her voice grew hoarse with disbelief. “Remington did this to you?”

“Take it easy,” Callie said wearily, maneuvering back toward the living room. “Don’t fly off the handle, okay? Right now, I can’t take any more drama than I’ve already been through. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

Callie watched the anger mount in Maggie’s narrowed eyes as she related the story. When she mentioned Ty Ballard’s name, Maggie leaped to her feet.

“That’s The Predator!”

“What?” Then Callie realized that Maggie was referring to Ballard’s nickname as a pilot. A chill went through her as she saw her sister’s face change markedly with shock.

“Ballard’s known as ‘The Predator.’ Don’t you know who he is?”

“No,” Callie said, “I don’t. Remember? I’ve only been at the station for a month. You’ve been here nearly three years, Maggie. Besides, I work in Intelligence, not over at the Top Gun facility like you. Obviously you know more about him.”

Maggie began to pace—a habit of hers, because she had trouble remaining still for more than two minutes at a time. “The Predator helped you?”

“If it weren’t for him, I don’t know how far Remington and his goons would have gone,” Callie whispered, her voice cracking at the memory. “He broke up the fight, got me to the dispensary and drove me home. Really, he was very sweet about it.”

Maggie snorted and halted, jamming her hands on her narrow hips in a typical pilot gesture. “Ballard isn’t what I’d call ‘sweet.’”

“Well, he was to me. In fact—” Callie sighed, feeling exhausted “—he showed some real sensitivity. That floored me.”

With a shake of her head, Maggie muttered, “I can’t believe it. Ballard’s been going through one hell of a messy divorce, and he’s a growling, snarling dog over at the Top Gun facility. In the air, he’s murder on his students. You do know he shot down two enemy fighters in Desert Storm?”

“No,” Callie said wearily. “So he did me a good turn. He probably felt guilty that his brother pilots did this to me.”

Clenching her fists, Maggie sat down again on a nearby chair. She reached out and touched Callie’s bandaged hand. “I’m glad Dr. Lipinski has reported this, Callie. It’s the right thing to do.”

Callie glared at her. “Maggie, I’m beat right now, and I’m feeling rotten. Don’t start giving me your spiel about women’s rights. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being on the firing line. I took a direct hit for you tonight with Remington. He was angry about the newspaper article and what you said.”

Maggie nodded apologetically. “I am sorry about that, Callie. Of all of us, you’re the least likely to crusade.” She touched Callie’s black hair. “Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like to stay with me? Wes is out on a United Parcel flight to Europe and won’t be back for at least a week.”

“No, thanks.”

Maggie smiled slightly. “You’ll lick your wounds by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Like always.”

“Like always.”

Maggie rose and straightened the long shirttails of her pink blouse. “Call me tomorrow and let me know what you’re doing, okay? I can get you groceries and stuff like that, if you want.”

Maggie, for all her fire and warriorlike assertiveness, was the soul of care, and Callie loved this part of her sister deeply. “I’ll let you know. First things first. The doctor has given me five days off from work with this ankle, so I’ve got to call my section head and let him know I’m not going to work tomorrow.”

Grimly, Maggie picked up her purse. “First thing I’m going to do tomorrow morning is get in Remington’s face. Who does that bastard think he is? I hate him. I hate his kind. He’s not going to get away with it, I promise you.”

“Maggie,” Callie begged, “please don’t start a fracas! I’ve got to work with Remington. My job’s in jeopardy as it is. Don’t make more trouble for me.”

Maggie shook her head. “Dammit, Callie, he had no right to do that to you.”

Tears swam in Callie’s eyes, and she self-consciously wiped them away. “Look, I need to take a bath and get some sleep. I’m totaled. Just let me handle this. I don’t need my big sister going in with boxing gloves and decking my boss—whether he deserves it or not.”

Leaning over, Maggie hugged her sister. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll ease off the throttles. Let me know if Legal is going to press charges against Remington and those other two jerks.”

Groaning, Callie released Maggie and sat back. “I hope not! That would mean a board investigation—and the end of my career. Oh, Maggie, I’m so tired of fighting this male system. We’re outsiders. We’ve always been. All I want is to be left alone to do my job. Is that so much to ask?”

Gently, Maggie smiled. “Callie, in some ways you’re so naive. I’ve been out on the leading edge, showing that women can fly fighter planes just as well as men. I know how brutal it is emotionally to take it again and again.”

“Yes, but you’ve always been a fighter.”

“You were once, too, you know,” Maggie said softly. “But now you aren’t. I don’t know why….”

Uneasy, Callie shrugged. “We grow up, Maggie. You were Don Quixote tilting at windmills. You still are.”

“Yes, but my insistence, my strength to stay and take it, is opening up Congress to the possibility of women in combat. At least, in the air war.”

“I’ll let you know what happens. Thanks for coming over,” Callie said, abruptly, desperately trying to bring the visit to an end.

Maggie hesitated, opened her mouth—then closed it. She looked around the quiet, neatly kept apartment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay or something? You look really pale and alone.”

Alone was the right word. Callie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Really.”

The doorbell kept ringing and ringing. Groggily, Callie pulled out of the sleep she so desperately needed. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up stiffly. Sunlight peeked around the venetian blinds, telling her it was well past time to get up. Looking at the clock on the dresser opposite the bed, she saw it was 0700. Who was at her door?

Her white cotton nightgown was badly wrinkled, but she pulled her pale green silk robe over it and tied the sash, hoping she looked half presentable. Still mystified by who might be at her door, she reached for the crutches and made her way out to the hall.

When she opened the door, her breath escaped. Ty Ballard stood there in a freshly pressed flight uniform, his cap in hand. He gave her a sheepish smile and appeared almost shy.

“Hi. I—uh, thought I’d drop over and see how you were this morning,” he said awkwardly. “You didn’t look very good last night, and I was worried about you.” He groaned inwardly as he felt heat sweeping up his neck into his face. The truth of the matter was he had slept restlessly all night, thinking about—actually, feeling a lot about—Callie Donovan. He’d tried fighting it, but had finally awakened at 0600 grumpy and groggy from tossing and turning.

“Well—”

“I know it’s early—”

They both spoke at once, then broke off.

“No, it’s okay. Really,” Callie said. She saw the concern burning in his startlingly clear gray eyes. In the morning sunlight, Ty Ballard was ruggedly handsome in his own unique way. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders proudly thrown back, his face recently scraped free of the beard that had darkened his features last night. Callie saw a flush touch his cheeks and realized he was blushing. How long had it been since she’d seen a man blush?

Trying to still his nervousness, Ty said, “I’d give you a line, but I think you’ve had a gutful of those lately.”

With a grimace, Callie said, “I hate lines. They’re so shallow.” Pilots were shallow. Well, maybe not all of them….

“Yeah, we’re famous for them, aren’t we? Look, I thought I might take you out to breakfast or something, if you felt like it.” He was having one hell of a time not staring at her. The green silk robe lovingly outlined her body. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes slightly puffy from just waking up. Ty found himself wondering what it would be like to wake up with Callie at his side. The thought came out of left field, so startling that it left him momentarily speechless.

“Oh, no…” Callie’s heart was fluttering beneath his burning, hungry inspection, and she suddenly found herself at a loss.

Risking everything, Ty took a step forward and opened his hand in a gesture of peace. “Well, then, I’m pretty mean with scrambled eggs. I cook bacon reasonably well. How about if I come in and fix you breakfast before I head to work?”

She gave him a strange, searching look. “Why are you doing this?”

Ty stood nakedly beneath her scrutiny. With a one-shouldered shrug, he muttered, “I don’t know. Out of guilt, maybe. I know Remington. And I know his reputation. You’ve only been at Miramar a month, and this isn’t exactly a good welcome to the station. Maybe I’m trying to apologize.” Well, that was partly true, Ty told himself. If Callie Donovan ever found out that he was genuinely drawn to her, he was certain she’d slam the door in his face. He didn’t blame her for disliking navy pilots, but dammit, he liked her; and despite the circumstances, he wanted a chance to get to know her.

“I—”

“I’ll be quick about it,” he pleaded. “Come on, let me fix you breakfast.” He held his hands up. “No funny stuff, I promise.”

Callie’s defenses crumbled beneath his warm, cajoling look. If she believed the sincerity in his eyes and voice, she could allow him this privilege. “I feel kinda awkward about this, Commander.”

“Call me Ty.” He took another hopeful step forward. He wasn’t going to barge past her, or force himself on her. There was a fine line he was walking, and right now it felt like a double-edged sword. Callie’s huge blue eyes were touched with doubt and wariness. “How about it? My mother didn’t raise me not to cook and clean. Want to take a chance with me?”

The words felt like they were being etched into Callie’s heart. Take a chance. How many times had she done just that and gotten hurt? But there was such a boyish demeanor about Ballard that she finally managed a small laugh and stepped aside.

“I’ll bet you charm snakes for a living, too, Commander,” she grumbled.

Euphoric, Ty moved into the highly waxed foyer. He had the good grace not to gloat too obviously about his victory. “Can’t we be on a first-name basis?”

With a shrug, Callie shut the door. “I guess so.”

He walked with her toward the kitchen. “Callie’s an unusual name.”

“Yes, my full name is Calista, but it got shortened at a very early age. I’ve always been called Callie.”

He smiled as they entered the sunlit kitchen. “It’s not run-of-the-mill, but then, neither are you. The name suits you.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Callie murmured as she moved away from Ballard. Just being close to him was intimidating. He made her pulse jag erratically, and she sensed that aura of power around him, that indestructible confidence. She felt his gaze on her back as she moved over to the stove and counter area. No doubt about it. He made her very nervous.

“I’m going to shower and get into something more appropriate,” she told him.

“Fine, fine. I’ll make myself at home in the kitchen. When you come back, I promise you’ll have a breakfast you’ll never forget.”

Callie hesitated in the doorway. Ballard looked positively happy. He placed his cap on the counter and began humming softly. With a shake of her head, she wondered which one of them was crazy. Her, for letting him into her apartment, or him for walking back into her life when he certainly didn’t have to?

Although her ankle was badly swollen and the color of a ripe, purple plum, Callie was able to take a hot, invigorating shower. In her bedroom, she dressed in a pair of light blue slacks and a pink short-sleeved blouse, then called the station. She told the man on duty at Intelligence that she had a sick chit authorizing five days of rest. If Commander Remington wanted any more information, he was to contact Dr. Lipinski.

Glad that she didn’t have to go in and face Remington, Callie sat on the bed and rewrapped her ankle with the Ace bandage. She had washed her hair, and now she took a brush to the dark mass. Because her hair was short, just above regulation collar level, it fell quickly into place.

Hating the crutches, she made her way on bare feet back out to the kitchen, from which wonderful scents were originating. Hungrily, Callie inhaled the aroma of frying bacon. Automatically, as she entered the kitchen, her pulse began to bound a little. Ty Ballard had tied one of her aprons around his waist. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, and he stood happily stirring eggs in the skillet. As if sensing her presence, he lifted his head and turned to look at her.

“Smells great, doesn’t it? Come on, have a seat. I’ve set the table.” Ty quickly moved over to pull out a chair for her. Trying not to stare like a slavering wolf, he forced himself to pay attention to the scrambled eggs. Callie looked like the proverbial girl-next-door in her simple slacks and blouse. And he liked the fact that she went around barefoot. Despite being one of the elite academy ring-knockers, she possessed an intriguing innocence that he ached to explore.

Callie moved to the table, which had been set with her good china, pink linen napkins rolled neatly beside the plates. A cup of recently poured coffee and a small glass of orange juice awaited her. Everything was perfect. She sat down and set the crutches aside.

“I’m in shock,” she said.

Ty twisted to look over his shoulder as he added cream cheese and bacon bits to the scrambled eggs. “Over what?”

“You. This.” Callie waved to the table. “Everything is so neat—thoughtful, I guess….”

“Brother, you must have had some bad experiences with men,” Ty teased as he whipped the scrambled eggs furiously. “Some of us are kitchen trained.”

His heartrending smile shattered her tension, and Callie laughed lightly. “I guess I had that coming, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Ty said smoothly as he brought the skillet over and served half the scrambled eggs to her and half to himself. “Maybe you haven’t run into very many thoughtful men of late.” He put the skillet in the sink, ran water into it, then quickly brought over the just-popped-up toast. Untying the apron, he laid it on the drainboard, then sat down at her elbow and grinned. “A meal fit for a queen. Dig in, Callie. You need some color back in those cheeks of yours.”

Nonplussed, Callie picked up the knife and buttered her toast. Ballard seemed like a happy little boy instead of a serious navy pilot. “I don’t know what to make of you,” she muttered between delicious bites of the scrambled eggs.

“Why?”

“You’re different.”

Shrugging, Ty launched into his meal with gusto. “My ex-wife said the same thing.” She might as well know he had a failed marriage. If nothing else, he had learned to be honest and keep all his cards on the table when it came to relationships. He knew he didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. Especially not with Callie. Even as the thought passed through his head, Ty wondered what kind of crazy magic had come over him. From that first moment of seeing her helpless in the parking lot, something had sprung loose deep within him. What was it? Loneliness? God knew, he’d been like a lost wolf without a mate since the divorce.

It was impossible to ignore Ty’s upbeat presence. Callie glanced over at him when he mentioned the divorce. “You’re single now?” she asked pointedly. Once, she’d fallen in love with a pilot who’d said he was divorced. It had been a lie, but he had strung Callie along, getting what he wanted from her. When she’d discovered the lie, she’d confronted Mark. He’d laughed and shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter—as if she didn’t matter.

Ty held up his left hand to show the absence of a wedding ring. “Single.”

“How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

She pushed the eggs around on her plate. “That’s a long time for a navy pilot. Most of them seem to get married and divorced in two years.”

“Or less,” Ty agreed. He saw the wariness in Callie’s face again. There was a lot of unspoken pain there, too, and he surmised that she’d been burned by a pilot at some point. “I liked marriage,” he went on. “I liked the idea of having a home.”

“Do you have any children?”

He shook his head. “No….”

“Is your ex-wife a civilian?”

“Yeah. She lives in San Diego. She’s a bright, intelligent woman.”

Callie heard the hurt in his voice, although he tried to hide it with bravado. “You said she called you ‘different,’ too.”

“Well,” he sighed, “‘different’ wasn’t used in a complimentary way, Callie.”

Callie thrilled to hear her name slip from his lips. Trying to ignore the feelings it invoked, she found herself wanting to continue pursuing Ballard’s past. Why? she asked herself. Callie had no answers, and it left her feeling terribly vulnerable.

“Five years is a long time to spend with someone. You must have meant a lot to each other,” Callie hedged. She saw her comment strike Ballard with a direct hit. His smile slipped, and a shadow came across his eyes.

“Jackie wanted the divorce,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Ty felt Callie’s interest. He hadn’t meant to get into a discussion about his personal life—at least, not this morning. He’d wanted to come over, cheer Callie up a little and head to work. He frowned, pushing the last of the eggs onto his fork. There was pain from the past to deal with, now, too.

“I guess I wasn’t around when she needed me,” he began. “I was gone a lot. Most of the time I was out on carriers—I didn’t get the land-based assignments I’d hoped for.”

“That ruins a lot of marriages,” Callie agreed soberly. She reached over, placing her hand on his arm for just a moment. “I’m sorry. You seem nicer than most of the navy pilots I’ve known. It’s too bad it had to happen, Ty.”

Ty rallied under her soft, hesitant touch and the use of his first name. It was a start, and for that he was grateful. “Yeah, well, as the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Look, I gotta run. I’m due to teach a class at 0800 over at Fightertown.” He pushed the chair away and stood up. Before he left, he placed his dishes and silverware in the sink.

Callie blinked at the abruptness of Ty’s departure. She sat back and watched a mask drop over his rugged features. Unable to take offense at his sudden retreat into silence, she felt deeply for him. Ty had really loved his wife. That was a new twist for her. Most navy pilots loved ’em and left ’em without so much as an “I’m sorry,” in her experience.

“Thanks for coming by…for everything,” she managed in a small voice. She wanted to apologize for raking up the painful coals of his past. His suffering was obvious.

“Thanks for letting me barge into your life,” Ty said. He picked up his cap and settled it over his military-short hair. “I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe I’ll call you in a couple of days—see how you’re recuperating?” He’d never wanted anyone to say yes as he did now. Callie’s upturned features were bathed with a pink blush that made her blue eyes sparkle with life—and suddenly Ty realized that his presence had helped her a bit. He felt good about that. He was just sorry he couldn’t hide his hurt over the divorce. He cursed himself for bringing it up in the first place.

“A phone call would be fine,” Callie agreed quietly. She saw a fierce longing burning in his gray eyes as he stood so proudly before her. The aura of a navy pilot was enough to knock any woman off her feet, she thought dizzily. And Ty Ballard was a very special man. Very special.

“Great.” He smiled and lifted his hand in farewell. “I’ll see you later, Callie. If you need anything, just call me at the office.” He pointed to her ankle. “With that injury, you aren’t going to be able to get to the commissary to buy groceries. Sure you wouldn’t like me to help in that department, now that I’ve proved myself in the kitchen?”

With a laugh, Callie shook her head. “No, thanks, Ty. Maggie is going to shop for me after she gets off work this evening.”

“I’ll be seeing you around,” he promised thickly.