Woman of Innocence

by Lindsay McKenna

  Matt was sitting to one side in their small cubicle of an office, sipping his hot coffee, when the first interviewee of the day came to the door. A woman with eyes to match the sable color of her shoulder-length hair came and knocked lightly on the opened door. She was about five foot six inches tall, firmly muscled and with a narrow face. Although she wore no rank identification on her black uniform, Matt knew it was Captain Sarah Klein, the XO—executive officer—of the base. She was Major Stevenson’s right hand, and a big part of why the base ran so successfully. He watched covertly as Jenny stood and offered her hand to the XO.

  “Hi, Captain Klein,” Jenny said. “Come in, please. I know you’re busier than a one-armed paper hanger around here. Have a seat and we’ll get this interview done as fast as possible so you can get back to work.”

  “Thanks, and call me Dallas, will you? It’s what everyone calls me.” She turned and nodded in Matt’s direction. “Good morning, Mr. Davis.”

  Impeccable manners. Conservative and diplomatic. Matt nodded and kept the analysis to himself. “Good morning, Dallas. You had your java yet?” He pointed to the coffee machine located on the sideboard near Jenny’s desk.

  Laughing huskily, Dallas said, “Oh, yes. My day started at 0400 when one of our maintenance crews had an unexpected mechanical problem with our Blackhawk. I’m running full bore on my wire-walking coffee routine, thanks. One more cup and you’ll have to scrape me off the ceiling,” she added with a chuckle.

  Jenny grinned. She liked Dallas immediately. The XO position required a lot of hard behind-the-scenes work, judging from what Matt had told her earlier on their flight from Agua Caliente to the base. The commanding officer created the orders and the XO catalyzed them and made things happen. It was the hardest job in a squadron, from what Matt had told her. And looking at Dallas, who relaxed, one leg across the other, her long, spare hands in her lap, she could see the care-worn quality to her face, the tiredness lurking beneath her sparkling sable eyes.

  Still, there was a softness at the corners of the pilot’s mouth, and Jenny found herself liking the woman without really even knowing why. Dallas inspired her simply with her quiet, easygoing, steady presence. Maybe it was the woman’s face, which was narrow and oval, with a strong chin, aquiline nose and large, liquid, deerlike eyes, that bestowed a sense of calm around Dallas and made Jenny feel at ease.

  Quickly opening up her personnel file, Jenny asked, “Why do you want to volunteer for the border trading mission, Dallas? Aren’t you busy enough around here?”

  A smile lurked on her well-shaped mouth. Opening her hands, she said, “Even an XO needs a change of pace every once in a while. I asked Maya—Major Stevenson—what she thought of me thinking about volunteering for such an assignment because of the heavy responsibilities and duties I have around her. I asked her if she could get along without me for three months.”

  “And could she?”

  Dallas shrugged. “She said she could. Maya lies well.” She chuckled indulgently. “But she also knows I’ve been XO for three years now, and I need a mental health break from all this…” she waved her hand toward the door “…crazy activity.”

  “So, you see this mission up on the Mexican-American border, and the required training of U.S. Army Apache helicopter pilots,” Jenny asked, “as less strenuous than what you’re doing here?”

  Tunneling her fingers through her loose, slightly wavy hair, Dallas said, “Absolutely. That will be fun compared to the nonstop tension that we operate under here.”

  “The mission requires someone with a lot of diplomacy. I note here from our mission analysis that the person chosen for this assignment must be able to get along with men even though there will be prejudice against a woman being in command of the training.” Jenny looked up. “Are you prepared for the male Apache pilots to give you problems because you’re a woman, Dallas?”

  She leaned forward, her elbow on her knee. “That’s a good question, Jenny. My answer is yes, I can. After all, I’m an Israeli pilot on loan to the U.S. Army. I went through Apache rotorcraft training at Fort Rucker, Alabama, some time ago. We had a lot of prejudice thrown against us because we were the first class of women to go through that male bastion. We learned well from that experience.” She smiled slightly, then her eyes narrowed. “I believe my age, which is twenty-nine, and my three years of experience in a combat zone, will eventually get these younger pilots to come around and respect me and what I have to teach them. They might not like the fact that I’m a woman. But they will respect the fact that I’m a combat veteran. It’s one thing to have been in the two-day Gulf War. It’s completely another to be operating daily on a wartime footing such as we have here, and live to tell about it.”

  “I see. And why would you want to put yourself into the same situation that you endured before with U.S. Army Apache helicopter pilots?”

  Dallas grinned and leaned back, relaxed. “You’re very good at asking the right questions,” she murmured. “You should be an XO.”

  Laughing, Jenny nodded and blushed. “Thank you.” She glanced over to see admiration shining in Matt’s eyes, and an I-told-you-so look on his face. “But I don’t think I have the moxie, the courage that you women display here daily every time you fly against those Kamov Black Sharks that are just waiting to try and destroy you.” Shaking her head, Jenny patted the laptop. “I’ll stick to being an interviewer, fair enough?”

  Dallas smiled fully. “Okay…suit yourself. We can always use someone like you down here, though. Your insight and perceptions are bang on, and in my job as XO, I’m more a personnel manager than anything else, making sure things work smoothly and fluidly around here. You have that same kind of people awareness in you. And that’s a gift an XO needs just as much as training.”

  Glowing inwardly, Jenny nodded. “Thanks, Dallas. And do you see your abilities to handle and manage people as one of the reasons why you want this mission?”

  “Yes. I feel I can smooth over rough spots, and I can deal with challenge and adversity better than most.” She grinned a little more widely. “I was raised in a kibbutz in Israel. My father was a military pilot.”

  “And he was highly decorated,” Jenny noted, looking at the personnel record.

  “Yes. And my mother is in the Mossad, the secret service of our country.”

  “So, you come from a military family.”

  “If you live in Israel, the military is a fundamental part of your life, Jenny. Everyone gives two mandatory years to it.”

  “What made you want to become a combat helicopter pilot? Over in Israel, they have no women in that arm of their air force.”

  “Exactly.” Dallas pursed her lips. “I was born to fly. Growing up, I remember seeing the eagles and hawks around our kibbutz. I wanted to soar, to feel the lift of that hot desert air taking me up into the blue of the sky.” She aimed her hand upward. “My father was a military jet pilot. He taught me to fly when I was fourteen years old. Later, I grew to love helicopters, and by the time I was eighteen, I had hundreds of hours flying them. It was natural for me to want to fly helos. He suggested I apply to the U.S. Army, as part of their foreign pilot exchange program, for training.” With a shrug, she said, “I got lucky…well, maybe that isn’t the right word. My father, because of who he is, was able to open that door for me. The U.S. Army allowed me to come and train, and that’s where I met Maya. After we received our wings, I applied to come down here to be a part of this clandestine operation. They accepted me and the rest is history.”

  “That is so impressive,” Jenny murmured. “You’ve done so much to open up the possibilities for women in Israel to fly combat.”

  “I hope so.” Dallas smiled warmly. She looked at the watch on her wrist. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go—I’ve got to be at a tact and strat meeting in five minutes. Do you have any other questions?” she asked as she rose.

  Jenny nodded. “Just one. Why are you called Dallas and not by your real name, Sarah?”

  Chuckl
ing, Dallas halted at the door, her hand resting on the jamb. “Oh, that. I think you know every pilot gets a nickname or handle during flight school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember the American television series, Dallas?”

  “Of course.”

  Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “In my younger days, I had this wild obsession about the American West. Cowboys. Indians. And my favorite show was Dallas. So my women squad mates chose the handle Dallas for me.”

  “Have you been to Texas? To Dallas?” Jenny wondered with a smile.

  “Oh, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s another story, for another day.” Lifting her hand, she said, “Thanks for taking the time to see me. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you’ll consider me for that training opening up on the border.”

  After she left, Jenny turned to Matt. “What a difference in personalities!”

  He sat up and put his coffee mug on the edge of her desk. “You’re seeing the difference between just being a pilot in the squadron, like Akiva, and someone whose collateral duties are much more critical. Being a CO or XO are the two hardest positions to be in.”

  “What is your feeling about Dallas?”

  Matt grinned. “Judging from the shining look, the excitement in your eyes, I’d say you’ve found the perfect woman to head up that border mission.”

  Touching her cheek, Jenny mumbled, “I can’t hide a thing from you, can I?”

  Gloating, he said, “No…but you know by now that whatever you reveal is safe with me.” More than anything, Matt wanted Jenny to feel comfortable around him. This morning, when he’d held her as she sobbed out her heart to him, he knew that they’d taken an important step in that direction. He’d held her. He hadn’t tried to take advantage of the situation. Oh, it was hell on him, no doubt about it. Even now he positively itched to slide his fingers around her smooth, small breast, to nuzzle his face into her sweet-smelling, silky blond hair, or kiss the nape of her slender neck, which probably would feel like a soft, fuzzy peach beneath his lips. It was a damn good thing she couldn’t read his mind. And even better that he could put an unreadable mask across his face so she couldn’t discern the lurid, selfish, greedy thoughts he had about her.

  Reaching out, Jenny touched Matt’s hand, which rested on the side of the desk near his coffee cup. “You make me feel safe,” she said quietly. “This morning, when I cried…you have no idea how wonderful it felt to be in your arms…to be held….”

  “I’ll always be a safe harbor for you, Jenny,” Matt replied, gazing at her intently. “And that means beyond the scope of this mission. We’ve been thrown together for now, but I’d like to think that when we get home, what we’ve got, what we’ve shared, won’t be over.”

  There, he’d said it. He’d put his biggest hopes into words. Judging by the widening look in her blue eyes, the way her black pupils enlarged, Matt knew he’d struck a sensitive chord in Jenny. Her thin blond brows knitted for a moment and, hands fluttering, she busied herself with the files. Matt knew her well enough by now to know that was a nervous reaction. Her brows dipped and her mouth went thin. What was she thinking? Feeling? Had he gone too far? Probably. Damn.

  Licking her lips nervously, Jenny cast him a quick glance. “Gosh, Matt…everything seems so crazy for me right now, so different….” Her heart pounded at the idea that Matt wanted to continue to explore their relationship once this was over. She was thunderstruck by that. Hope warred with the silly idealism that she brought to every relationship. In her experience, Jenny had found she’d expected too much from the man. And yet Matt’s sincerity, the burning look in his eyes, made her heart skitter with such elation that she could not ignore it.

  Muttering, he said, “Yeah…I didn’t mean to pressure you, Jenny.”

  Before he could say another word, the intruder alarm bell rang noisily throughout the cave complex. He saw Jenny jump in response to the loud, harsh sound, and then physically force herself to sit and relax in the aftermath.

  Mind and heart in tumult over Matt’s admission, Jenny didn’t know what else to do or say at the moment. Lamely, she offered, “There goes our next interview,” and she held up the personnel file of Chief Warrant Officer Cam Anderson, a green-eyed, redheaded twenty-five-year-old from Montana.

  “She’s got the duty?”

  Nodding, Jenny stood up. “Yes, and so does the other perspective volunteer, Captain Dove Rivera.” She hesitated, deep in thought over his declaration. How often had she dreamed of a man saying those wonderful words to her?

  Standing, he said, “Might as well call it a day, then? There’s no telling how long they’ll be gone.” Giving her a glance, he saw Jenny standing there, a pensive look on her face, the file clasped in her hands.

  “Yes, we might as well fly back to Agua Caliente,” she murmured.

  Matt smiled slightly as he met and held her blue eyes. Was Jenny going to dodge his admission? It looked like it. Disappointment flowed through him. Looking at his watch, he stated, “It’s almost noon. How about a picnic down by the Urubamba River? Maria was telling me yesterday about a sweet spot with plenty of shade that’s ideal. It’s close to Agua Caliente, too. How about it?”

  “A picnic?” Jenny liked the idea and drowned in the burning look he gave her.

  Seeing the interest and excitement in her eyes as she placed the laptop in her black nylon carrying case, Matt said, “Yeah. Are you game?”

  “Just you and me?”

  “Yes.” He saw the corners of her mouth pull upward. “Am I pushing you?” His heart thudded hard in his chest as he asked the question. If Jenny felt pressured, then it was a no go as far as he was concerned.

  Zipping the case shut, Jenny lifted her chin and gazed the short distance to where he stood, his brow wrinkled with concern. “I’d love to, Matt.” And she would. Her heart skittered. Where was this leading? He was so incredibly handsome, strong and self-assured. Why would he see anything in her? And then Jenny caught herself and stopped that old tape from the past from playing itself out in her head. No, she was worthy of someone like Matt Davis. She told herself that sternly a number of times as she shut off the light and left the office with him. A part of her did believe there was hope for them—a very small part. Another part of her wondered whether such a dream could ever come true. And then the sick, wounded side of her that had yet to heal said that she was being a fool once again, that she wasn’t worthy and that he was only after her to get her into bed for a one-night stand.

  As they walked down the hall, Jenny’s heart lifted with joy. Euphoria swept over her. Suddenly, the healing part of her did believe that Matt was genuinely interested in her, warts and all. Even a toad with warts could have a lifelong mate, she reminded herself as she took the metal grate stairs down to the black lava floor of the cave. As they walked toward an awaiting golf cart that would zip them through the tunnel to the mining side of the mountain and the world beyond, Jenny smiled. It was the smile of a woman finding the door to her prison, opening it and walking outside for the first time in her life.

  “Llama cheese sandwiches,” Matt murmured appreciatively as he reached out and handed Jenny the huge slices of dark brown bread stuffed with peeled tomatoes and white, crumbly cheese. He had brought one of the old wool army blankets along and they had just settled comfortably on it to enjoy their picnic. Thanks to Maria’s directions, they’d located the small sandy spot beneath the protective branches of a silver-barked eucalyptus tree towering on the bank. A hundred feet away, the Urubamba splashed and thundered. There were gargantuan boulders of all colors and sizes out in the river, large enough that they couldn’t be swept away by the strong, relentless current. The river actually looked like a garden of stones more than water. Over the eons, the boulders had tumbled from cliffs in the rugged Andes, from which the Urubamba was born. The sky had cleared to a powder-blue hue, and was strewn with hundreds of cobalt-colored swallows with cream breasts, flitting and diving along the restless, churning river
, snapping up dragonflies, mosquitoes and moths unlucky enough to be spotted by the birds.

  Jenny took the sandwich in both hands. “This is huge! I can’t possibly eat all of it, Matt.” Kannie and Patrick, the owners of India Feliz, had ordered their chef to make them a “wonderful” picnic lunch. Wonderful it was—and huge.

  “Eat what you can,” Matt said, setting out the green bottle of Peruvian white wine. He popped the cork and poured the golden liquid into awaiting plastic cups. “Kannie tends to think you’re too skinny.” The woman had thoughtfully added tasty, thinly sliced, deep-fried potatoes with their special herbs and salt sprinkled across them. Matt could overdose on them, they were so good. But then, potatoes in Peru tasted like none other worldwide. This was, in his opinion, the potato capital of the world. And if that wasn’t enough, Kannie had included two thick slices of chocolate cake with white frosting for dessert.

  Munching on the delicious sandwich, Jenny sighed. She sat on one side of the blanket with her legs crossed, the picnic spread between her and Matt. The dappled shade of the eucalyptus above them cut the heat and humidity, which always increased between noon and sunset. The riverbank was about five to ten degrees cooler than the jungle itself because of the ice-fed stream churning and tumbling rebelliously in front of them. The water, as a matter of fact, had felt like ice cubes to Jenny, when she’d tested it earlier with her hands. She didn’t see how Maria or any other Peruvian woman could constantly work in that chilling water from the tributary. Maybe that was why Maria’s hands were so leathery and thick—to protect them from hypothermia.