out of his uniform into jeans and a gray USAF sweatshirt with the arms ripped out, he stashed his carryall under his bed and explored the rest of the two-bedroom unit. It was similar to a dozen others he’d occupied at forward bases and a whole lot more comfortable than his quarters in Afghanistan.
A passing glance showed Russ McIver’s room was spartan in its neat orderliness. As was the front room. Carpeted in an uninspiring green, the area served as a combination eating, dining and living room. The furniture was new and looked comfortable, if not particularly elegant. The fridge was stocked with two boxes of high-nutrition health bars and four six-packs of Coors Light.
“That’s what I admire most about marines,” Dave announced to the empty trailer. “They take only the absolute necessities into the field with them.”
Helping himself, he popped a top and prepared to attack the stack of briefing books and technical manuals he’d plopped down on the kitchenette counter. The rise and fall of voices just outside the unit drew him to the door.
When he stepped out into the early-evening dusk, the first thing that hit him was the explosion of color to the west. Like a smack to the face, it grabbed his instant attention. Reds, golds, blacks, pinks, oranges and blues, all swirling together in a deep purple sky. The gaudy combination reminded Dave of the paintings he’d seen in every truck stop and roadside gift shop on the drive out. Black velvet and bright slashes of color. But this painting was for real, and it was awesome.
The second thing that hit him was the silence his appearance had generated among the officers clustered around a metal picnic table. It was as if an outsider had crashed an exclusive, members-only party. Which he had, Dave thought wryly.
His new roommate broke the small silence. Lifting an arm, McIver waved him over. “Hey, Scott. Bring your beer and join us.”
“Thanks.” Puffs of sand swirled under Dave’s feet as he crossed to the table. “It’s your beer, by the way. I’ll contribute to the fund or restock the refrigerator as necessary.”
“No problem.”
The others shifted to make room for him. Like Dave, they’d shed their uniforms. Most wore cutoffs or jeans. Kate Hargrave, he noted with a suddenly dry throat, was in spandex again. Biker shorts this time. Black. Showing lots of slim, tanned thigh.
Damn!
“We were just talking about you,” she said as he claimed a corner of the metal bench.
No kidding. He hadn’t been hit with a silence like that since the last time he’d walked in on his brother and sister-in-law in the middle of one of the fierce arguments they pretended never happened. As always, Jacqueline had clammed up tight in the presence of a third party. Ryan had just looked angry and miserable. As always.
Jaci was a lot like Kate Hargrave, Dave decided. Not as beautiful. Certainly not as well educated. But just as tough and very good at putting a man in his place. Or trying to.
“Must have been a boring conversation,” he returned, stretching his legs out under the table. “I’m not much to talk about.”
“We were speculating how long it’s going to take you to get up to speed.”
“I’ll be ready to fly when Pegasus is.”
Kate arched a delicately penciled auburn eyebrow. “The first flight was originally scheduled for next week. After Bill’s heart attack, Captain Westfall put it on hold.”
“I talked to him late this afternoon. He’s going to put the flight back on as scheduled.”
The nonchalant announcement produced another startled silence. Cody Richardson broke it this time.
“Are you sure you can complete your simulator training and conduct the necessary preflight test runs by next week, Scott?”
Dave started to reply that he intended to give it the ole college try. Just in time, he bit back the laconic quip. It didn’t take a genius to see that this gathering under the stars was some kind of nightly ritual. And that Dave was still the odd man out. He’d remain out until he proved himself. Problem was, he’d long ago passed the point of either wanting or needing to prove anything. His record spoke for him.
“Yeah,” he answered the doc instead. “I’m sure.”
The talk turned to the machine then, the one that had brought them all to this corner of the desert. Dave said little, preferring to listen and add to his first impressions of the group.
There were definitely some personalities at work here, he decided after a few moments of lively discussion. Caroline Dunn, the Coast Guard officer, looked as if a stiff wind could blow her away, but her small form housed a sharp mind and an iron will. That became evident when Russ McIver made the mistake of suggesting some modifications to the sea trials. Dunn cut his feet right out from under him.
Then there was the site’s top cop, Army Major Jill Bradshaw. Out of uniform, she lost some of her cool, don’t-mess-with-me aura. Particularly around the doc, Dave noted with interest. Yep, those two most certainly had something cooking.
Which left Kissable Kate. Dave would be a long time getting to sleep tonight. The weather scientist did things to spandex that made a man ache to peel off every inch of the slick, rubbery fabric. Slowly. Inch by delicious inch.
So he didn’t exactly rush off when the small gathering broke up and the others drifted away, leaving him and Kate and a sky full of stars. Dave retained his comfortable slouch while she played with her diet-drink can and eyed him thoughtfully across the dented metal tabletop.
Light from the high-intensity spots mounted around the compound gave her hair a dark copper tint. She’d caught it back with a plastic clip, but enough loose tendrils escaped for Dave to weave an erotic fantasy or two before she shoved her drink can aside.
“Look, we may have gotten off to a wrong start this morning.”
“Can’t agree with you on that one,” he countered. “Scooping a beautiful woman into my arms ten seconds after laying eyes on her constitutes one heck of a good start in my mind.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. I don’t want you to make the mistake of thinking you’ll be scooping me up again.”
“Why not?”
The lazy amusement in his voice put an edge in hers.
“I made a few calls. Talked to some people who know you. Does the name Denise Hazleton strike a bell?”
“Should it?”
“No, I guess not. Denise said you never quite got around to last names and probably wouldn’t remember her first. She’s a lieutenant stationed at Luke Air Force Base, in Arizona. You were hitting on her girlfriend the night the two of you hooked up.”
“Hmm. Hooking up with one woman while hitting on another. Not good, huh?”
“Not in my book.”
Kate hadn’t really expected him to show remorse or guilt. She wouldn’t have believed him if he had. But neither was she prepared for the hopeful gleam that sprang into his eyes.
“Did I get lucky with either?”
Well,
