Griff sat alone in the ready room for a long time after Dana had left. Rocking back in the aluminum chair, he savored the tendrils taking root in his heart. Dana was finally beginning to trust him. She’d started calling him by his first name. Good. Despite his exhaustion, Griff felt happier than he could ever recall. Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t come too soon.
***
Dana tried to quell her desire to look at the grade Griff had given her after the afternoon flight. They had flown for three hours. Her logbook was starting to rack up flying hours, and she was beginning to catch up with the rest of her class. The ready room was empty at 1800, everyone having gone home for the day. She sat down at a table and took off her garrison cap. Her flight suit wasn’t quite as damp as usual, and Dana was grateful that she hadn’t gotten airsick. Dr. Collins had been right: The more regularly she flew, the more her body adjusted to the new and different sensations.
Griff handed her the board, then walked to the coffee dispenser. “You did well,” he congratulated her, pouring himself a cup. “Want some?” Dana looked up. “No… thanks. A 2.3?” Sauntering back to the table, he gave her a reckless grin. “Your landings at Pensacola were excellent.”
With a grimace, Dana read his individual comments on her flying ability. “I was scared to death when you told me I had to fly us over there.”
Sitting down, Griff sipped the hot, black coffee. “Why?”
“After the last incident over there, I sweated it.”
He lifted the arm of his flight suit and pointed to the dark stain beneath the armpit. “We both did,” Griff said with a wry smile.
Dana studied him. “You believe in confronting your fears, don’t you? I know your best friend was killed in a midair collision over that field. And I just about got us killed by not seeing that other trainer the first time we flew over there.”
Spreading out his long legs beneath the table, Griff nodded. “Just to set the record straight, when we got back that day, I lodged a flight protest on your behalf.”
Dana gawked at him. “You did?”
“Yes. You were cleared of any wrongdoing. The other student pilot was at fault. And so was his instructor.” Frowning, Griff added, “I don’t want you thinking you caused a possible midair collision, Dana.”
“When did you find out about this?” Had he hidden the information from her? Dana hoped not, for it would indicate he was still playing games with her.
Griff reached into his pocket and dug out a neatly folded piece of paper. “I got their judgment this afternoon,” he said, handing it to her. “I thought you’d like to see their determination. It will go in your jacket.”
Gratefully, Dana read the official report and handed it back to him. Even more important, Griff wasn’t holding out on her. “You don’t know how terrible I felt. I didn’t want you to think I was like the student who killed your friend. I had a lot of fear…”
“Fear can get you killed,” Griff agreed. “Going over there at the busiest time of day today, we were both able to work through some of our hangups—together.”
“I admire your courage,” she admitted.
“What else do you admire—in a man, that is?” Griff baited.
Dana leaned back in the chair and rolled her eyes. “You’re asking the wrong person that, Griff.”
“I don’t think so.”
Shaking her head, Dana muttered, “All my experiences with men have been bad ones.”
“Even with me.”
Dana heard the regret in Griff’s voice. “I finally figured out that you probably weren’t angry with me personally. I just happened to be a convenient whipping post.”
“And for that, I’m sorry.”
“You’re paying me back by being fair now.”
“I’m trying to be. So, what qualities do you admire in a man?”
Dana’s mouth twitched and she spoke hesitantly. “Honesty. I don’t believe any relationship can survive without it. Maggie and Molly have said they’ve met men who have a streak of sensitivity in them. I’ve never seen it personally, but I’d like to see that in a man, too.”
“Sensitivity?”
Dana struggled to qualify what she meant. She rested her elbows on the table. “Why can’t a man see the beauty of a sunset and the different colors in it? And why can’t he feel as deeply as I do, and be able to tell me about it? I don’t believe there’s that much difference between us. We all have a heart that feels…”
“Men had been taught to ignore a large part of themselves,” Griff offered quietly. “We feel just as deep and hard as any woman. We just don’t share it—sometimes even with ourselves.”
“Well,” Dana grumped, “it’s stupid to hide how you feel. When things were going bad at home, Mom always was able to cry. She taught me it was okay to express myself, even if it was just to her.” Then, avoiding Griff’s sharpened gaze, Dana added softly, “Crying helps me release the pressure cooker inside myself.”
Griff held his breath for a moment. The fact that Dana would discuss her homelife with him at all told him how much she was beginning to trust him. “When I was out searching the beaches for you and Vickie, I got in touch with a hell of a lot of feelings I’d stored up. Just before I discovered the two of you, I stood by my car and cried for a long time.” Giving a bashful shrug, Griff said, “In a way, Dana, you helped me release the grief I’d been carrying around for the past six months.”
Openmouthed, Dana stared at him. Griff was toying with a pen in his hands, avoiding looking at her. “You cried?” she asked, then chastised herself for asking such an inane question.
“It’s been known to happen,” he answered wryly. Looking up, he held Dana’s compassionate gaze. “It felt good. It had been a long time coming. In a way, Dana, you helped heal me.” Griff shoved the pen into the upper-sleeve pocket on his left arm. “Hopefully, you’ll let me help heal some of the damage I did to you.”
Touched, Dana sat in the soothing silence. Griff was exquisitely human—and she realized her heart had never given up on believing there was innate goodness in him. “Maybe,” she offered hesitantly, “we’ll be able to heal each other.”
The urge to sweep Dana into his arms and teach her the good things that could be shared between a man and woman sent a keening ache through Griff. Reaching into another pocket of his flight suit, he pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper that had been neatly folded.
“I think now’s the time to give you this.”
Dana took the paper, slowly unfolding it. “What is this?”
“That poem I wanted to share with you,” Griff admitted in a low voice. “It was a favorite of my mother’s. I remember learning to read it to her as a kid. She reflected the courage in it, and that night you got swept out to sea, all I could think about was “Invictus.” You embody the poem in every way, just as she did. My mother had a hard life with no hope of recovery. You came out of a rough childhood and could have turned out a hell of a lot different than you did, Dana. Instead, you took a negative and turned it into a positive. I admire that in a person. Go on, read it out loud. I always like hearing it.”
Tears watered in Dana’s eyes as she sat there with the paper stretched between her hands. The fact that Griff would share such a touching, deeply personal part of his life with her had moved her as nothing else could. How he had loved his mother! She must have been a very strong woman to have earned Griff’s complete admiration.
“‘Invictus,’ by William Ernest Henley,” she began in a hushed tone.
“Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the Shade;
And
yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
Tears blurred Dana’s vision as she stared at the carefully hand-printed words on the paper. “Y-you wanted to share this with me that day you came for a visit?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”
Closing her eyes, Dana took in a ragged breath. “The poem… It’s beautiful.”
“It mirrors you.” Swallowing hard, Griff felt tears leak into his eyes. He didn’t care if Dana saw them or not. “Your mother told me about Frank, and how he used to beat you up.” Anger made his voice shake. “You’ve been under fire since the day you were born, Dana, and it’s a wonder you’ve survived as well as you have. You had to weather Annapolis, and then, when you got to Whiting Field, I did nothing but confirm what you knew about men all over again: We’re brutal bastards at best, trying to strip your soul from you.”
It seemed natural to reach out and place her hand on Griff’s arm. Such suffering and guilt showed in his eyes and the set of his mouth that Dana couldn’t bear his pain. If she’d had any remaining doubts about Griff’s sincere desire to treat her fairly, they dissolved. “There’s a difference,” she whispered unsteadily. “Once you realized what you’d done to me, Griff, you stopped doing it. My father knew what he was doing and didn’t want to help himself.”
Covering her small hand with his own, Griff gently stroked her skin. “Look, I know I have no right to ask this, but I’m going to anyway. Dana, there’s something good between us. Something so damned right that I felt it from the moment we met at the airport.” He saw her eyes go dark with fear and his mouth went dry. Heedless of his own dread that she would turn and run from his admission, he dived on. “You’ve been injured by men all your life. I think it’s about time you started trying to get over that fear. Not all men are like your father. I know I’m not a prime candidate because of my behavior for the past month, but I think we can be good for each other.”
Panic seized Dana. Griff’s hand on hers felt so right and good. Slowly, she retrieved her hand from his. Unable to look at him, she whispered, “Griff…I’m scared…. Scared to death.”
“So am I.”
Dana’s eyes widened and her head snapped up.
Griff gave her a careless smile that he hoped would relax her. “I know I’m an arrogant son of a bitch, and I’ve got one hell of a nasty reputation as a demanding instructor here at Whiting. I’ve got more than my share of bad points, but I want you to try to see that I have a decent side, also.”
Uneasy, Dana asked, “Then what do you want from me?”
“Nothing you don’t want to give freely and from your heart.”
She melted at the timbre of his deep, low voice, but insisted, “Men take, women give.”
“Not in a positive relationship. It’s never one-sided.”
“Then why did your marriage fail?” Though Dana knew she had no business asking, she couldn’t help herself. She watched as Griff got up for a second cup of coffee.
“I came from a family where I saw the positives of giving and taking, Dana. When I met Carol while I was in training here at Whiting five years ago, she appeared to be a strong, capable woman.”
“Like your mother?”
Griff nodded. “My mother was a heroic person. I’m not going to sit here and deny I prefer a woman made from the same mold.”
“And Carol was strong?”
“Not really.” And Griff explained.
When next he looked at his watch, an hour had gone by. It was past dinnertime, and even though he was physically hungry, he was more starved in an emotional sense for Dana’s continued company. “What do you say to going and grabbing a bite to eat over at the Coffee Pot Restaurant off the station? It’s 1900.”
“Well…I‘11 have to change back into civilian clothes before I leave here.” No one was allowed to leave Whiting in a flight suit. They had to wear either a dress uniform or civilian clothes. No one wore their uniform off base unless absolutely necessary.
Griff looked at his watch. “How about meeting me at my Corvette in fifteen minutes? I’ll take you to dinner.”
“Yes…I’d like that.” Dana felt her heart skipping in her chest. As she rose and went to the women’s locker room to shower and change, she experienced a wild, out-of-control giddiness. Griff was taking her out to dinner. They both wanted—needed—this time with each other. Dana didn’t know how to respond to him because there were no strings attached. And yet, the hunger that burned like molten silver in the depths of his eyes sent her aching with expectancy.
Mulling it over, Dana changed into her pale pink cotton slacks, sandals and a simple white blouse. Maggie had given her a flowery scarf, and she tied it around her neck, deciding it made her look wonderfully feminine, mirroring how she felt at the moment. As Dana made her way out of the locker room and through the door to the ready room, she ruthlessly considered her attraction to Griff.
She’d been intrigued with him since the day they’d met at the airport. How many times had she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by that flexible, mobile mouth of his, which promised strength and yet, somehow, tenderness? Dana had never wondered about such things before, and she walked to the parking lot deep in thought. Up ahead, she saw Griff waiting patiently beside his sports car. Her pulse quickened as she approached him. His dark brown hair, recently washed, was shining and smoothed against his head from the shower. The five o’clock shadow of his beard gave his rugged face a dangerous look that sent a delicious tremor through her.
Nonplussed by her reactions to Griff, Dana managed a shy smile as he opened the car door for her. His returning smile was one of reassurance, not wolfishness. And the hunger she’d seen in his eyes before was banked. There was genuine happiness reflected in them now, and a ribbon of joy flooded her heart.
“I changed my mind,” Griff told her, shutting the door, his hands resting on the frame of the open window.
“Oh?”
“You look so pretty, I think a better restaurant is in order. The White Horse Inn suits you tonight. How about it? I’ve got a sport coat, so they’ll let me in.”
Dana unconsciously touched her lower lip. “The White Horse Inn has great food.” Griff looked more than acceptable in the lavender long-sleeved shirt and charcoal-gray slacks. He looked wonderful in her eyes. “Why not? It’s been a day for new things.”
Griff got in and buckled his seat belt. “New starts,” he corrected. “We’re finally getting off on the right foot—together.”
Unsure what he meant by that statement, Dana leaned back against the leather seat as he drove off the station. Nervous and excited, she couldn’t seem to think; only to feel. What she felt frightened her more than anything had in a long time. Suddenly Dana paralleled herself with a plane spinning out of control. She glanced over at Griff’s profile. The cocky grin pulling at his mouth partly dissolved her fear of him as a man. There was so much to explore about Griff that was good. And now he was giving her an opportunity to do just that.
Chapter Twelve
The candle-lit atmosphere of the posh restaurant was romantic, fitting Griff’s mood. Dana sat across from him in the dark maroon leather booth, her features soft and glowing beneath the light. She ate daintily, her every movement graceful and flowing. He wondered hotly what it would be like to love her—then tried to forget that train of thought. As long as Griff stayed on aeronautical topics, Dana was an eager and enthusiastic conversationalist. The minute he strayed to more personal or private subjects, she became quiet, almost withdrawn. So, Griff began to talk about himself in order to draw Dana out.
“When I was ten years old, my sole book-reading centered around World War II airplanes. What did you read at that age?”
Pleasantly full, Dana laid her fork aside an
d blotted her mouth with the pink linen napkin. “At ten I had a newspaper route and wasn’t really reading military topics at all. Matter of fact, I didn’t have time for pleasure reading.”
“A newspaper route. That’s pretty impressive for a young girl.”
“Is that chauvinism talking?”
He grinned. “Partly. Still that’s a lot of responsibility at such a young age, don’t you think?”
With a shrug, Dana waited until the waitress took away the plates. The coffee was poured and then they were alone. “Mom thought it was a good idea for me to take up a paper route.”
“Why?”
“It got me out of the house when my father was home. He worked the swing shift at a foundry in Youngstown, Ohio. When I got home from school at three, I tried to be quiet, but somehow I always ended up waking him.” Dana’s mouth compressed and she finally said, “I’ll spare you the morbid details. Mom wanted me away from the house until he left at six. The newspaper route was a good answer.”
“Under the circumstances,” Griff agreed hollowly. “Glad my father didn’t look at me the same way.” Right now Dana appeared fragile, her skin translucent and taut beneath the low lighting. Talking about her past was a painful ordeal, he realized. The driving need to hold Dana, to show her that a man could provide something other than fear or pain, was foremost in his mind.
“What’s your dad like?” Dana ventured.
With a sigh, Griff replied, “A hell of a lot different from yours. Dad was a blue-collar worker, and he loved my mother deeply. He worked in a copper mine in Jerome, Arizona, while I was growing up. We didn’t have much money because of my mother’s endless medical bills. Dad worked long, hard hours to make ends meet. I remember every night, for at least an hour, he’d come to Mom’s room and we’d all sit and talk or read.” Griff smiled fondly. “That’s where I picked up my love of reading. Dad read to my mom. When I was older, I read to her, too.”
“It sounds so different from my childhood, but you didn’t have it easy, either.”
Griff wanted to reach out and grip her hand to take away the ravages of pain still shadowing her eyes. “At least my dad never beat me”
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