One of the Boys

by Merline Lovelace

  “No kidding!” Lisa teased. “Every time you’re with Maura, you get home pretty late.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and you know it.”

  Jake paused with one arm in his tailored mess jacket. Although he would never consider discussing his relationship with Maura with anyone, let alone his teenage daughter, it suddenly struck him he didn’t have to. Obviously, she had a pretty good idea how things stood between them.

  Sometime during this long summer, his daughter had slipped past that invisible demarcation between child and woman. She still had qualities of both, but now the scale seemed to tip, ever so slightly, toward womanhood instead of childhood.

  Jake felt a sharp, fleeting pain at losing the little girl who was Lisa, even as he forced himself to recognize the beauty of the emerging woman. Taking a deep breath, he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I haven’t been here much for you this summer. I guess Maura and this special project both overwhelmed me about the same time. I’m sorry, honey.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. Really.” She scooted forward to give him a quick hug. “I’m glad you’ve found Maura. I didn’t like you being alone. Everyone needs to have someone to do things with and laugh with.”

  Thunderstruck, Jake took her hand in his. “You’re amazing. You’ve been growing up right before my eyes and I never really noticed it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve finally acknowledged it.” Lisa gave him a speculative look, then grinned mischievously. “Now that you’ve noticed my maturity, I can go out with Tony, right? This weekend, right?”

  Jake gave her a dry look. “I trust you. Tony’s another story.”

  “Daaaad!”

  Swallowing a sigh, he gave his little girl a last, silent farewell. “Okay, okay, I cave. Against my better judgment, but I cave. Now help me get these medals straight on this jacket. If I don’t kick it into afterburner, I’m going to be late.”

  To Jake’s surprise, Maura was almost ready when he arrived at her cottage. She was missing only her shoes when she opened the door. Of course, he reminded himself as he stepped inside, there was no guarantee she intended to wear shoes. She could be planning on going barefoot or maybe donning sequined sneakers.

  Whatever footwear she picked, Jake decided, it could only enhance the most seductively simple, elegantly contrived scraps of material he’d ever seen on any female. A halter of shimmering green sequins draped around her neck and fell in simple folds over her breasts. Below the halter was what Rodeo Drive probably labeled a skirt. If there was a yard of dark green satin wrapped around Maura’s luscious hips and thighs, Jake would eat his best flight cap.

  She’d piled her hair in a cluster of curls high on her head, leaving the long, pure line of her throat bare. Huge, star-shaped earrings trimmed with green sequins danced in each ear and deepened her hazel eyes to shimmering gold.

  Or maybe it was the welcome Jake saw shining in her eyes that riveted him in the open doorway. Whatever it was, she presented a picture of such vibrant color and femininity that he felt a slow heat begin to simmer in his veins. Reaching out with both hands, he drew her gently into his embrace.

  “You look wonderful.”

  Maura smiled up at him. “You do, too. Now I know why so many women are suckers for a man in uniform.”

  He was a symphony in shadow and silver, she thought, as her gaze roamed from his eyes to the embroidered eagles on his shoulder boards.

  She noted appreciatively how his massive shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and displayed to perfection the dark blue jacket with its shining buttons. Long, lean legs were encased in knife-creased trousers with a satin stripe down the side.

  Almost shyly, she ran her fingers over the polished wings on his chest, then touched the double row of bright-colored medals hanging below the wings. She’d never seen so many medals and had no idea what they represented, but she suspected each one had a story.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. “We’d better hustle or we’ll be late. It wouldn’t do for senior officers to set a bad example for the troops by sneaking in after the mess is called to order.”

  With a quick shake of her head, Maura broke her dreamy contemplation and dashed back to her bedroom. A shivery anticipation for the evening ahead filled her. The sight of Jake in his stark magnificence wiped away the last of her doubts about joining the festivities.

  Even the dark, hovering shadow of the investigation faded from her consciousness. Tonight, she decided, they’d laugh and dance and forget the damn project for a while.

  She strapped on a pair of high-heeled sandals dyed to match her green satin skirt, then rummaged through a box to find her evening bag. With a little cry of triumph, she pulled out the cat-shaped gold metallic bag and stuffed a lipstick, compact and a couple of tissues inside.

  “All set,” she called, dashing down the hall.

  A smile tugged at Jake’s lips when he saw the bag, but he refrained from comment as he ushered her out the door and into the car.

  He used the short drive to the Officers Club to brief her on some of the traditions of the mess. Maura listened with mounting skepticism.

  “Let me be sure I understand this. One, don’t ever clap, just bang your spoon on the table, or you get sent to the grog bowl. Two, don’t leave the mess to go to the potty, no matter how long-winded the speaker is, or you get sent to the grog bowl. Three, give the correct responses to the toasts, or you get sent to the grog bowl. And if, heaven forbid, you get sent to the grog bowl, down the whole glassful of the noxious brew in one swig, then tilt the glass upside down on top of your head to show it’s empty.”

  “Or you get sent to the grog bowl,” Jake finished with a laugh. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just grab a hamburger at the Sonic instead?”

  “And miss all that grog? No way!”

  The Officers Club was mobbed when she and Jake arrived and threaded their way through the crowd. Maura waved to several members of the test-program office, including her boss, Ed Harrington and his wife. Jake’s buddy, Colonel Mac MacRae was accompanied by his bride, Maggie Wescott. The leggy environmental engineer greeted Maura warmly.

  “I’m so glad we finally get to meet on something other than official business. How are your sharding expeditions with Lisa going?”

  “I haven’t had as much time for them as I’d like in the past few weeks, but we’ve had fun.”

  “Why don’t you call me? We’ll do lunch and you can tell me about your finds.”

  “I’d like that.”

  With Jake guiding her, they found their assigned table. Maura smiled at Pete and Carol Hansen, seated at the far end of the table. She got a wave from Pete and a distinctly cool nod from Carol in return. Refusing to let Carol’s habitual cattiness spoil the fun, she filled her eyes and her mind with the rich pageantry all around her.

  The military men and women looked incredibly elegant in their dark mess dress and crisp white shirts. The civilian men were in tuxes, but the nonmilitary women wore a rainbow of color. In the flickering light of hurricane lamps spaced along the long tables, the women’s dresses glittered like jewels. Maura feasted on the bright gowns the way a starving man would on an unexpected banquet.

  The room itself provided a colorful setting for the evening’s events. A massive white parachute hung suspended from the ceiling and formed an exotic tent that billowed and swayed over the main dining area. Squadron flags on tall stanchions identified the occupants of the tables that radiated from the dais, where the VIPs and their spouses were seated.

  Prominently displayed on a small table in front of the dais was the grog bowl—a bomb casing sawed in half and standing upright on its sleek, deadly fins. It was filled with a bubbling liquid that had caused more than one hearty soul to grimace in disgust when sent to sample it. Luckily, Maura wasn’t among them.

  The noisy after-dinner din and hilarity died down when the general rose to introduce the guest speaker. Somewhat surprised that the guest of honor at such an aug
ust gathering was a young captain, Maura leaned forward to listen intently. In short, precise sentences, the young officer began to relate the story of his last mission in Iraq. Quietly, with understated drama, he told of the ground crews working twenty hours a day in simmering desert heat to turn hot jets. Intelligence briefings by haggard, bleary-eyed officers. Last-minute target changes to coordinate with another attack force. He spoke of seeing his wingman hit by a surface-to-air missile and explode in midair. And of feeling his own aircraft disintegrate around him when another SAM slammed through the tail.

  Maura felt her heart catch when the young captain described parachuting through the dark night to an uncertain fate, then burying himself in scorching sand for two days until a rescue crew fought its way through to pick him up. Over and over, he praised the teamwork and the dedication of the men and women who fought and struggled with him during those turbulent days.

  Maura glanced around the ballroom as the young man spoke. An intense stillness hung over the vast room as more than four hundred people focused on the speaker. With a shock, she realized that his story wasn’t just the tale of one man’s adventures. It affected every man and woman in the room. Many of these officers had served in both Gulf Wars. The fighter wing at Eglin had deployed, as well as hundreds of the base support forces. And those who didn’t deploy worked long, tense months to provide special armaments needed for that conflict.

  Never had Maura felt the impact of her chosen line of work as dramatically as she did at that moment. Her expertise, her small contribution to advancing weapons technology, could mean the difference between life or death to some other young captain in some other conflict.

  She slanted a quiet glance at Jake. His face showed no emotion, but she could see a glittering intensity in the gray eyes focused on the speaker. The young captain concluded his speech with a round of thanks to the team he served with in Saudi, the crew who pulled him out, and the SOB who taught him to eat sand in desert-survival school. Maura joined in the burst of laughter that rocked the room, but didn’t understand its significance until a grinning Jake stood to take the young man’s salute.

  “What was all that about?” she asked him as the crowd moved onto the dance floor and he gathered her close against his chest. “That stuff about eating sand?”

  “I helped restructure the air force’s survival-training program a few years ago. Captain Anderson was one of the lieutenants we tested the new curriculum on. Believe me, his comments then weren’t nearly as restrained as they were tonight.”

  Before Maura could ask any more questions, the slow, dreamy song they were dancing to ended and a faster, much louder beat began. The lively tune made further conversation impossible, but Jake continued to hold her tight in his arms and move to his own sensuous rhythm while younger couples gyrated all around them.

  Maura didn’t object. With Jake’s strong thighs moving against hers and his hand making lazy circles on the bare skin of her back, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and savor the feel of him. And when he lowered his head to nuzzle her cheek with his chin, the rasp of his bristly skin against hers sent tiny shivers of sensation along her cheek, down her neck, across her shoulders, through her arms. Tingling from her ears to her toes, she wondered just how long these fancy shindigs lasted.

  They lasted a long time, she discovered. When one of the single officers at their table respectfully asked her to dance, then shed his dignified facade in wildly energetic movements that took her all around the floor, Maura found herself the center of attention. The other dancers fell back to form a loose circle around her and her partner, clapping and cheering and whistling encouragement. Taking care that her halter top stayed in place, she nevertheless managed to shimmy and shake and thoroughly enjoy herself.

  After that, one or another of the young officers would ask her to dance whenever she wasn’t in Jake’s arms. He filled the time when she was otherwise occupied with what he termed his “duty” dances. She noted that the general’s wife did a mean cha-cha, but she didn’t care at all for the way Carol Hansen plastered herself against Jake during one number.

  When he winked at her over Carol’s head, Maura swallowed her fierce surge of jealousy and managed to wink back. After that, she saved all her dances for Jake.

  Except one. Around midnight, the guest speaker caught her while Jake was at the bar refreshing their drinks. Luckily, it was a slow number, since Maura wasn’t sure either her shoes or her breath would hold out much longer.

  “I enjoyed your talk tonight,” she told Captain Anderson. Out from behind the microphone, he had a devilish grin and a gleam in his eye she was coming to recognize as endemic to Eglin’s test pilots.

  “It’s a lot more fun to talk about it than it was to do it,” he joked.

  “Did you really eat sand?”

  “Ma’am, I was so scared, you wouldn’t believe the things I stuck in my mouth to keep my teeth from chattering. Colonel McAllister… Well, he was Major McAllister then. He taught us tricks to stay alive that would shock your socks off.”

  “He was your instructor at survival school, wasn’t he?”

  “No, ma’am,” Captain Anderson responded, shocked. “He wasn’t an instructor. He built the current course, from the ground up.”

  At Maura’s inquiring look, the young man shook his head. “Didn’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Colonel McAllister spent nearly a week on the ground behind enemy lines as a lieutenant. He busted a leg and an arm when he ejected but managed to crawl miles every day. The man lived off things that wiggle in daylight and glow in the dark. To escape detection, he buried himself in mud and rotting leaves, and once even in a pile of cow dung to throw some dogs off the scent. What that man doesn’t know about survival probably hasn’t been learned yet.”

  “Good heavens.”

  Maura gulped and glanced over to the tall, elegant man chatting easily with a group of lieutenants at the bar. She tried to envision him buried in cow dung.

  “He’s my hero,” Anderson said softly, following her glance. “Colonel McAllister is just the kind of officer we need to lead us into the future.”

  Maura nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything coherent. When Jake reclaimed her, she melted against him. Wrapping her arm around the strong column of his neck, she molded her body against his solid warmth. And she didn’t let go until nature and the wine she’d had at dinner forced her to the ladies’ room.

  Thankfully, the line wasn’t too long. She’d washed her hands and was reapplying her lipstick when Maggie Wescott materialized in the mirror.

  “Hello, again,” Maggie said brightly.

  “Hi back at you. How are you enjoying the festivities?”

  “I always enjoy these bashes. As Mac would say, they’re—” She broke off, covering her mouth over a fierce hiccup. “’Scuze me! I rarely drink, and all these toasts go to my head every time I attend a dining-out.”

  “Well, this is my very first dining-out,” Maura confessed. “Wine or no wine, it’s quite an experience.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m glad you’re having fun. I noticed you and Jake seemed to be going great guns. You two are obviously meant for each other. I’m glad he didn’t take the general’s advice.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  A startled expression came into the woman’s green eyes. “Oops. I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  Biting her lip, Maggie glanced around the powder room. The two women temporarily had it to themselves.

  “Mac said… Well, he heard the general advised Jake to cool things with you until after the investigation.”

  “What?”

  Obviously wishing she hadn’t let the matter slip out, Maggie grimaced. “I guess I can understand where the general’s coming from. Jake’s a fine officer. He’ll be up for a star on the next go-around. It would be a shame for anything to ruin his career.”

  Like a bucket of cold water, the comment doused the hot anger that
had begun to build in Maura.

  She remembered the young captain’s voice tonight as he spoke of Jake. His reverence for the senior colonel was quiet, but absolute. Maura herself had admired Jake’s skilled leadership of their little team, but until that moment, she’d never realized how many lives Jake touched in his career.

  Maggie Wescott was right, she thought. It would be a shame for anything to ruin Jake’s career.

  Aching inside, she glanced at the clutch of women who emptied out of the washroom into the powder room. Maggie frowned and murmured under the cover of their chatter.

  “God, I’m sorry I brought this matter up here.”

  “I’m glad you did. I needed to know.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Maura lied. “I’m fine.”

  Hands shaking, she tucked the lipstick in her bag. A crowded, noisy party was no place to sort out her chaotic thoughts. Not with Jake waiting for her and the raucous beat of Proud Mary shaking the rafters. Plastering a determined smile on her face, she left the small powder room.

  Jake was waiting with his shoulders propped against the wall. “I thought you fell in or something,” he teased. “One of your young conquests tonight volunteered to lead a search-and-rescue party, but I convinced him you could handle whatever disaster might occur.”

  She managed a smile, but a headache had started to pound just above her eyes. Thankfully, Jake suggested they leave shortly afterward.

  Maura said nothing as they drove away from the club. The miles slid by until Jake broke the stillness of the car’s dark interior.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dragging in a deep breath, Maura swiveled in the bucket seat. “Did the general advise you to stop seeing me? Because of the investigation?”

  “How in the hell did you…? Oh, never mind. This base is worse than any small town.”

  “Did he, Jake?”