by Jo Leigh
Danny’s accident had been a fluke. Sam was just one of the 10 percent you read about on the medical release form. Neither were deserved. By all rights, he should be strapping on a Raptor instead of standing in front of a chalkboard.
He finished off the tea and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Emma. He had no business thinking about her all the time, but he couldn’t stop. He’d thought about her long into the night, and she’d been his first thought this morning. As he’d signed up at the real estate agency, he’d written her name as a reference before replacing it with the manager of his last duplex. What had forced him out of the motel in the first place had been his shower. He had no business picturing her beautiful face, replaying the sound of her laugh as he’d let his mind’s eye move down from her face, to the water cascading over her shoulders and breasts....
His food arrived. Eating, for all its benefits, was lousy at distraction.
Emma was his friend, nothing more. She’d be nice if he called, sweet as she showed him around town. That was who she was, but anything that happened from this point on would be more about old times’ sake than starting something. She had her own life now, a full one.
She might not be seeing anyone at the moment, but there could be lots of reasons for that. Emma probably couldn’t find anyone who could compete with what she’d had with Danny. Sure, he’d hung out with the guys a lot, sometimes too much, and there were a couple things about Danny that Sam wished he didn’t know. But every time he’d been with Danny and Emma they’d been magnetic together. Polarized, as if being apart was against their very nature. The last thing she needed was a constant reminder of what she’d lost.
He took another bite, checked out a customer sitting at the counter. Dude looked beat-up in his wrinkled suit. Probably a salesman.
Sam sighed and downed some fries. He didn’t dare consider pursuing Emma as more than a friend. That could only end in humiliation. Why would she want an instructor when she could have her pick of some of the best fighter pilots in the world?
Shoving his unfinished meal away, he decided to go work out. At least he’d be accomplishing something as he drove himself nuts.
* * *
HER CLOTHES were in the dryer and her web-class replies finished. Finally, Emma could sit down, have a cold drink, maybe even try to catch up on one of the shows that had piled up on her DVR. Her last task for the night, besides putting away her laundry, was patching up a boned corset for Sharon’s play, and she could watch and sew at the same time.
Fresh lemonade poured, she took another look at her bullet list tacked on her fridge right next to her grocery list. Yep, the rest of the night was hers, although sadly she only had about an hour or so to enjoy it. Because her life was a thrill a minute, she tried to get to bed at eleven. Even though she didn’t have early classes every day, after her long bout of insomnia she did her best to stay on a consistent sleep schedule. It worked most of the time.
She settled on the couch, sewing kit open, remote in hand as she went down the long list of things she’d meant to see. Television had always been problematic. She loved it like crazy, but she never had time. Before the advent of the DVR, aka the Devil’s Video Recorder, if she missed something her disappointment had an end date. Now she could feel deprived and/or guilty for ages.
There was quite a backlog of procedurals, and as she clicked on a CSI, she thought about Sam, and how he could never watch any of the iterations without getting flustered about the absurdity of lab techs marching into active crime scenes, guns blazing. It didn’t matter that it was fiction, or that most watchers apparently didn’t care. He got riled up each time. And the guys consistently made fun of him for it. She’d done the same.
He’d been a good sport, though. Of the three, Sam was the most laid-back. If one could ever call a fighter pilot that.
She scrolled to a National Geographic special and pressed Play. Still her thoughts went straight back to Sam. Heck, everything since last night’s dinner somehow ended up reminding her of Sam. Embarrassingly, she’d spent far too long pondering how stupidly good-looking he was. She’d met her share of average-looking pilots, but the ratio was such that she wondered if there was some psychological basis for handsome men to want to become pilots in the first place. There had to be.
The job itself was fraught with danger, took a lot of brain power as well as mechanical skill and was automatically assigned a heroic value. It was the perfect occupation for the archetypal warrior, imbuing the individual with characteristics they might or might not have in another context. In fact, she’d used the fighter pilot as an example in her creative writing class.
The thing was, the pilots she knew somehow managed to live up to the epic standards. They passed most of life’s tests with soaring marks, with some notable exceptions. Few were destined for long-term commitments. Not to anything but their jets.
Which meant that no matter what he said or how manfully he smiled, Sam had to be utterly devastated by being grounded. It broke her heart, and the urge to do something about it was strong, but that was a slippery slope.
She threaded her needle and began to work, listening to the soothing voice of the British narrator talking about clouds. Five minutes in her cell rang.
Her pulse jerked into fourth gear until she saw it was Gary. He didn’t call often. Probably something about running. She thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but that seemed silly. “Hey,” she said.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“You know how I’m involved with Habitat for Humanity, right?”
“Yes,” Emma said slowly.
“We’re moving forward on a new home for a returning vet. We’re past the planning stages, so pretty soon we’ll be building the actual house. It’s not a huge commitment, just whatever you can offer, but the people are nice, and I was thinking you might like to join me at the next meeting. It’s Saturday afternoon. I thought we could go to dinner after?”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned volunteering a couple of times,” she said, knowing she didn’t have anything for Saturday except the usual, and yet... “You know, this Saturday isn’t going to work for me. I’ve got some things going on. But maybe another time?”
“Yeah, of course. It was a shot in the dark. Another time would be great.”
“Just so you know, I can’t imagine I’m going to be much of an asset in the building department.”
“There are lots of ways to help,” he said, his voice rising. It was so unlike Sam’s deep rumble. “Writing press releases, for example.”
Dammit. Enough about Sam already. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“I do,” he said. “Think of you.”
That stopped her. Until she laughed. As awkwardly as humanly possible. “That’s...nice.”
Gary cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. I should let you go. See you in the morning?”
“You betcha,” she said. Which was even more awkward.
She clicked off as quickly as she could and stared at her phone as if the whole conversation had been its fault. What the hell was that all about? She liked Gary. Two months ago, when they’d started running together, they’d had their odd moments, but that hadn’t lasted more than a couple of weeks. Maybe it was the surprise.
Or maybe it was her fixation on a certain pilot.
Dammit.
The buzzer on the dryer went off, and she disentangled herself from her sewing. But on her way to the laundry she got sidetracked by the big wooden bookcase against the far wall. Not the case per se, but the photo album that stuck out two inches farther than the rest of the books in the row.
It was in her hand a second later and before she knew it she was back on the couch, legs curled under her, fingers hovering over the goofy front photo of her and Danny on a sailboat. They looked so young.
She o
pened the book for the first time in years. Her favorite wedding photo stole her breath but surprisingly didn’t make her feel as though a hot fist was squeezing her heart.
What a babe he’d been. She hadn’t been so bad herself. They’d had a ridiculous, slapdash Reno quickie marriage at the tail end of a raucous weekend of skydiving and gambling. None of her family had been there. Just Sam and John. They were the witnesses, and instead of throwing the confetti they’d bought from the chapel as she and Danny had made their way down the steps, they had poured the cursed teeny pieces of paper straight over their heads. They kept finding stray remnants all through dinner and the celebration at the nightclub. In the end, she and Danny had dealt with the problem sensibly by trading up to a Jacuzzi room and letting the whirling water save the day.
She flipped the page, then the next. In the beginning, there’d been several solo pictures of her or Danny, but the guys showed up more and more frequently. Camping, studying, skiing and snowboarding, out for drinks, dancing. So many good times. Then the time between pictures stretched. And stretched.
She stopped at a photograph of the four of them; she had no idea who’d taken it. They were at a restaurant; she remembered the champagne they’d had with that dinner to mark the occasion. The boys had just completed their JSUPT, Joint Specialized Undergraduate Pilot Training, and had received their silver wings.
Everyone but Sam had smiled hugely for the camera. Sam, meanwhile, had kept his gaze on her.
How had she not seen it? The longing in his face spoke volumes. They’d always had that certain something, but when the boys had gotten their wings, things between her and Sam had changed.
This was not good. Sam and she, they had too much of a past, too much history for a casual friendship. She wasn’t interested in pilots. A year ago, she’d decided to try dating again. Scared to pieces, she’d met a guy at a karaoke bar. She’d agreed to a date, and when he’d come to pick her up, she discovered he was air force. Not a fighter jock but a cargo pilot, so there was some distinction. Though not enough. He was good-looking and dangerous and funny and smart. Everything she’d found fantastic about Danny. They didn’t make it to the second date. Her fault, not his. She refused to be one of those women who kept being drawn to the wrong man over and over again.
Then she’d tried dating again two months later. He was everything Danny wasn’t: a corporate attorney, a real fan of old black-and-white films, divorced, no kids. She’d been bored to death.
Gary was a perfect blend of the two. Smart, funny, nice-looking. But safe. Safe as houses. He owned his home, liked to bowl, got along with everyone, and his last relationship had ended when his live-in girlfriend had gotten a job in Asia. The breakup had been friendly.
So why had she put him off about Habitat for Humanity?
She looked down at Sam’s face.
Sam was a good man, but underneath his laid-back ways there was a need for danger. He never risked anyone else’s safety, but he was a man who liked to live on the edge. Danny and John and Sam, they’d been on everyone’s list of bad boys at the Academy, and they’d earned their reputations. Though Danny and John more so than Sam.
Sighing, she laid her head back. If she was going to start downplaying Sam’s past, that was reason enough for her to be cautious. He might be grounded, but he wasn’t put out of commission. She had no idea what he would do to replace that singular rush of flying an F-16, but it wasn’t going to be a sudden passion for bowling.
If she had any sense at all, she’d keep her distance. Be polite, have a meal with him, preferably lunch at the base, from time to time. Talk about the good old days.
But she couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t have Danny or John around to help him make the biggest transition a pilot could face. As far as she knew, he had no friends at all at Holloman.
Whatever else, he’d been an incredible friend to her and Danny. He was alone and hurting. There couldn’t be any harm in helping him get settled. She’d learned her lesson with Danny. Dangerous men weren’t just dangerous in the sky. She wouldn’t let herself make that mistake again.
4
“EMMA. HI. How are you?” Sam winced at his complete failure to sound casual. The day had been a bitch, and the desire to call her had been overwhelming. That she’d taken the initiative made everything better.
“I’m good,” she said, with all the aplomb of someone who wasn’t nuts like him. “Just wondering if you’d gotten your car yet. Or if you’d been able to look for an apartment. I’ve thought of some nice places since we had dinner. I can email you a list.”
He paced the length of the living room, avoiding boxes and the crappy TV he’d replaced with his own fifty-inch LED. “Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. I found an apartment yesterday, got my things delivered today.”
“Wow, so quickly? You must have checked out apartments at a dead run.”
“Naw, it wasn’t a big deal. I liked the first one and if I know one thing, it’s how to facilitate the paperwork.” He’d ended up in the kitchen without remembering walking there. Opening the fridge, he reached in for a beer. “In fact, I’ve already been to the base and finished all the transfer crap.”
“Wait a minute. You took the first apartment you saw? Is it at the Versailles complex?”
“Nope, this one’s called something else. El something something.”
“Oh. Why so hasty? I thought you have a lot of leave.”
“I do. But why keep looking if this one fills all my requirements, including an attached garage? Can’t have the Mustang living on the street.”
“Okay.”
The single word was filled with skepticism. He didn’t mind. She was just being Emma. He wanted to ask her to come over. Right now. Even though the place was a mess, and he wasn’t much better. Talking to her would have to do, though, because he’d made a commitment not to push. Not on the phone or in person.
The last thing she needed was to put up with him whining and moping because he couldn’t fly anymore. That was his own damn fault. He’d known there were risks to the eye surgery, but with his arrogant bulletproof attitude he’d dismissed the possibility with barely a thought.
“How was it at the base?”
“Fine. I wasn’t there long. Just enough to make sure my paycheck’s sent to the right address.”
“What about your classroom? Is it what you expected?”
Sam was pacing again, and he reached the far side of the living room in no time. “I didn’t make it there. I was expecting the moving van, so I figured I’d wait to explore the base until I was more settled.”
“That...makes sense.” She paused “Hey, how would you like some help with that? I’ve got a free day tomorrow and I could come over early. Are you allowed to paint the walls? You know how good I am at that. Or I can line the kitchen shelves and all the drawers and cabinets. We could maybe have lunch or something. It’ll be fun.”
Her rapid-fire speech made his shoulder muscles relax better than any massage. This was the old Emma, and it was like hearing a favorite song from back in the day. She was always the one who organized everything. Vacations, parties, moving. Hell, she alphabetized her books and her spice rack. They used to call her Monica when she went all commanding officer on them. Like the character from Friends who was a neat freak. “You’re a lifesaver, but I’m gonna have to go to the BX and buy a bed first. The one here stinks.”
“Let me come out and take a look at the place...you probably need things. We’ll make a list, then I’ll go with you.”
She sounded like a kid on Christmas. He wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t give a damn about lining shelves, but seeing Emma again? He couldn’t think of anything better.
* * *
ARMED WITH BAGELS and two kinds of cream cheese, Emma felt her heart sink the closer she got to Sam’s new apartment. It wasn’t
as if the complex was a pit, it was just...not Sam.
He was the kind of guy that wouldn’t give a thought to what someone else drove, or how they dressed. But he had a fighter pilot’s ego, and he’d always presented himself as a confident man of style. Every time he’d moved it had been to a place that mirrored that mind-set.
This was the kind of place that you took because you couldn’t afford better. And he could.
She’d meant the call last night to be friendly. More a polite inquiry than anything else, with a vague promise to meet for lunch in the future.
The moment he’d said he’d taken the first apartment he’d seen, she’d realized something was wrong. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d lost flying. Of course he was going to be upset. Depressed. Knowing he might be in trouble made it impossible to stay away.
They were friends. Time hadn’t changed that. She could do this. After a deep breath, she knocked on his door.
The moment she saw him, the rush she’d had at the restaurant hit her again. Hard. She wanted to blame it on his cologne, but he didn’t use any, or his clothes, but he was wearing worn jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better days. The smile, though, the one that was like sunlight, that was a big part of it. The rest was an alchemy she didn’t understand. Couldn’t afford to even think about. It would pass.
He leaned forward as if to hug her, but stopped himself as she took a step to her right. She giggled, he winced, then they did the same dance but in reverse. The bagel bag came to the rescue when she shoved it in his hands and swept past him into a living room that sent her mood plummeting. If she’d thought the outside was bad...
White walls, not even a good white. Beige carpeting that would have fit into any medium-priced motel. The furniture was nondescript and the whole place lifeless.
Boxes were piled against the long living room wall, along with a television and an open toolbox. At least he’d done something since moving in. Although he might have fixed up his bedroom and bath.
“Would you like some coffee?”