Beginning with You

by Lindsay McKenna

  Jim swallowed his smile. Rook Caldwell could be a wench when she wanted to be. That was part of what drew him to her, he guessed. And, she was a looker—a wild, blushing rose right now. “I don’t have a problem with you being a helicopter pilot, but you obviously do.”

  “I do not.”

  “You’ve accused me of being prejudiced against you, when the real truth is, you’re prejudiced against timber truck drivers.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be if the only one I’ve ever met hadn’t plowed into the rear of my car and damn near killed me!”

  “I’d be upset for a while, but I wouldn’t hold a grudge, like you’re doing. After all, it was an accident. Believe me, we timber truck drivers don’t make a practice of running over every pretty girl we see in a car.”

  He was right. Contrite, Rook said, “I can’t spend office hours chitchatting with you.”

  Jim slowly unwound from the chair, laying the roses on the desk in front of her. “I understand. Here, these are for you. After yesterday morning, when you were feeling pretty rough, I thought these might cheer you up. Your cheeks turn this color when you get angry or shy.”

  Rook watched him amble to the door and place a hand on the knob. He turned, and she met his amused gaze.

  “When will you take your car over to Sequim?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He smiled confidently. “Why so defensive around me, Rook? Could it be you’re a little bit drawn to me, too, but are afraid to admit it?”

  “Get out of here, Barton. I have work to do.”

  “I thought so.” He winked. “I’ll be seeing you around—sooner than you think. Oh, yes, what is it those civilized white collar workers say? Have a nice day? You have one, too….”

  Rook pretended to stay busy the rest of the afternoon. She tried to ignore the roses on her desk, refusing to touch them until the beautifully formed buds began to droop. Nothing that lovely should be punished just because she was upset with Jim Barton. Yeoman Third Class Jody Theron assisted Rook in locating a vase. As the Yeoman arranged the roses, she said, “These are just beautiful!”

  “Thank you, Jody.” Rook pretended to be hard at work at her desk, hoping Jody would get the hint not to ask any questions.

  “And he was so handsome! Wanda recognized him! That’s Jim Barton, the son of Howard Barton and one of the richest men in the area.”

  Rook riffled through the pile of brochures “Yes, I believe he said his name was Barton.”

  “What a catch,” Jody sighed, standing back and admiring her handiwork.

  Rook lifted her head, pinning the woman with a black stare. “Just for the record, Petty Officer Theron, Mr. Barton plowed into the rear of my car two days ago with his timber truck. He was just here to apologize and give me the name of a good mechanic in Squim, or whatever it’s called.”

  Jody smiled weakly and retreated. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The door shut quietly and Rook stared blindly down at the paperwork. Dammit, she shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone—especially nosy office personnel. Men! They had always been a pain to her. Could anyone have had a worse first day than she had?

  Chappie set the maintenance and duty roster records down on Captain Stuart’s desk with as much decorum as he could muster. It irked him when Stuart barely looked up to acknowledge his dramatic flourish or presence.

  “Thank you, Chief. That will be all. Please close the door as you leave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ward pushed the other paperwork aside after the chief had left. He picked up the March duty roster, rapidly perusing the names on it. A scowl started to form on his broad brow, and he jotted down the last names of a couple of people who, it appeared, were standing more than their fair amount of duty.

  Minutes stretched into an hour and then two. The next time Ward looked at his watch, it was six o’clock. He was supposed to be home for supper. He picked up the phone and called Marcia.

  “Captain Stuart’s residence.”

  He smiled, relaxing when he heard Marcia’s voice. “You don’t say.”

  “Ward! Where are you? Don’t tell me, you’re still at the office. I should have expected this.”

  “Sorry, honey, but I tripped over a potential problem and I got lost in the details of it.”

  “Uh-oh. Bad?”

  Rubbing his face, Ward said, “It has all the earmarks of being a mess, but I can’t tell until I investigate some more. Look, I’m going to be late. I’ll probably get home around ten.”

  “No problem. I’ll put the pot roast in the microwave and heat it back up when you get here.”

  “Thanks, honey. How are the boys?” More specifically, how was Kenny?

  Marcia’s tone lowered a bit. “Robby’s in his room doing homework.”

  “And Kenny?”

  “Out.”

  “Out? Where?”

  “Now, Ward you can’t dog his heels every minute of every day.”

  “Dammit, Marcia, we’ve been through this before. I gave him specific instructions to leave word where he was going to be and with whom.”

  “Kenny was here for dinner, then some boys in a car came by and picked him up.”

  At least Kenny was leaving his grounded car alone—so far. “Who were they? Did you meet any of them?”

  Apologetically, Marcia said, “No. It was dark, and they just drove up and honked the horn for him. He said it was some new friends he’d made at school today.”

  “I’ll bet. Did you tell him he had to be home by half past ten?”

  “Yes,” she said tiredly. “Ward, just relax. You know if you pressure Kenny too much, he’ll explode like he did last time. We can’t afford to have him cause a similar embarrassment here at Port Angeles. The town’s too small.”

  With a snort of frustration, Ward growled, “How is it I can demand and get the respect of three hundred base personnel, but not my own son? Just where the hell did I go wrong?”

  “Honey, don’t do this to yourself—or me. When you get home, we’ll talk more.”

  “I suppose. Okay, look, I’ll see you a little later. I love you.”

  “And I love you, Ward. Don’t worry, everything will be all right. Kenny will be home on time, and things will work out fine.”

  Marcia tensed when Ward entered the house. She gripped the cup of tea she held in her hands a little tighter. It was eleven o’clock. She saw how tired he was—the corners of his mouth were pulled in, and his eyes, which normally held a devil-may-care glint, were now dull. He carried not only a bulging briefcase, but a huge stack of records beneath his left arm.

  “Here,” she said “let me help you. What did you do? Bring all of Personnel home with you?”

  “This isn’t from Personnel. It’s the line crew roster and maintenance records of the ’60s.” Wearily, Ward allowed her to take the parcel. He placed the beeper, which was with him twenty-four hours a day, on the counter, along with his hat. He dropped the briefcase beside the table, thinking that for a woman of forty-three, Marcia had one hell of a figure beneath the simple pink cotton robe she wore. He could see the feminine ruffle of her silk nightgown as he slid his arms around her, drawing her hard against him.

  “Mmmm, you not only feel good, Mrs. Skipper, but you also smell good….” And he released her enough to tilt her face upward and kiss her.

  Reluctantly, Ward let her go afterward. He gave her a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You grow prettier every day, did you know that?”

  Marcia warmed to his roughened voice, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “And you look whipped. Come on, I’ve got some lemon spice tea just about ready to drink. The den is about the only room in this house that’s free of boxes and paper. I started a fire in the fireplace. Why don’t you go sit in there, and I’ll bring you the tea. Did you grab a bite to eat?”

  Ward nodded, bussing his wife’s cheek before releasing her. Marcia instinctively knew when he was at low ebb and tried
to be there for him when he needed her the most. Grateful for her care, he asked, “Are the boys in bed?”

  Marcia’s hands froze in midair above the tea tray. “Robby is.”

  Ward hesitated in the doorway, the beginning of a frown working its way across his brow. “And Kenny?”

  Turning, she said, “He’s not home yet,” and then quickly held up both her hands. “I’m sure he’ll be home shortly. He’s only a half hour late.”

  Hot rage welled up in Ward. He felt Marcia’s cool fingertips on his arm. “Damn that kid—”

  “Please, Ward. Don’t upset yourself about this. He’s a half hour late, not two or three hours. He was so excited today that he’d made some friends right away that he’s probably lost track of time.”

  Compressing his mouth into a thin line, Ward muttered, “That’s the way it started last time, Marcia. First, he was fifteen minutes late, then forty, and finally hours at a time. Dammit, I can’t afford to have my son embarrassing my command by getting lousy grades, carousing around at all times of the night and getting into drugs again! This isn’t D.C., where one kid’s screwup goes unnoticed because the city’s so big that word doesn’t circulate as quickly.”

  “Ward, give him a chance, will you—?”

  The front door opened and then closed. They both turned toward it. Kenny ambled in, hands in the pockets of the torn jeans he wore. His hair was long and uncombed, giving a slightly wild appearance to his lean face.

  “Hi, everybody.”

  “You’re a half hour late, Kenny.”

  Pouting, Kenny leaned against the wall and crossed his feet, digging his toe savagely into the pale gold carpet. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Marcia gripped Ward’s arm tightly, a silent plea not to start another quarrel with their son. She heard the belligerence in Kenny’s tone.

  Ward measured his son’s sullen response. He distrusted anyone who couldn’t stare him straight in the eye, and Kenny never could. “I’m sorry, too. For that half-hour error, you’re grounded for the rest of the week. You’ll come straight home from school, do your homework and stay here.”

  “That isn’t fair!” Kenny shouted, jerking upright.

  “You made a contract with me and your mother, and you blew it, Kenny. You gave your word. We talked long and hard about what it meant to transfer here to Port Angeles. You’ve been part of a military family for seventeen years, and you know what it means to be conscious of the image it carries with it.”

  “Dammit, I wasn’t late on purpose! Steve’s car had a flat tire between here and Sequim, or I’d have been home on time.”

  “Why didn’t you use the cell phone and call your mother, then?”

  Disbelief shadowed Kenny’s features. “Because the battery needed recharging…sir. Have you been out on that portion of 101? If you had, you wouldn’t ask such dumb questions. It’s nothing but farms and forest. There are no phone booths.”

  Trying to throttle his heightening anger, Ward growled, “Can you prove the car had a flat tire? Or is this just another one of your convenient lies?” He was sure his friends had cell phones. So why didn’t Kenny ask to borrow one and call?

  Marcia stepped between them. “Now listen, both of you. You’re both tired, and the day’s been long. Kenny, go get washed up and get to bed. Any homework you have can be done tomorrow morning. Just set the alarm earlier. Ward, I’ll see you in the den. Now, go on, both of you.”

  Ward stared steadily at his son. He raised his finger, jabbing it toward him. “You’re grounded. Just remember that, or else.”

  “Or else what?” Kenny shouted shrilly. “You’ve already taken my car away from me. Jesus Christ, I just got here to this stinkin’ one-horse town and you’re on my ass already! As usual!”

  Ward brushed by Marcia, halting inches in front of his son. “And I’ll be on your ass every second, if I have to be, until you no longer live in this house.”

  Kenny whirled around, heading for the stairs. “You don’t give a damn about me! All you care about is your career. You’re so afraid I’ll tarnish your good-guy image. Well, don’t worry, sir. No one wants to stay the hell out of your way and that Super Coastie image more than me.” He saw his father’s face tighten and fled up the stairs to his “room before Ward could retaliate.

  Ward halted at the bottom of the stairs, cursing softly beneath his breath, turning and almost running into his wife. He glared down at Marcia, frustration written in every crease of his face. “Sometimes I wonder how we managed to have a kid like that. Robby’s so damn good in comparison to him.” He brushed past Marcia, heading toward the den. When days went bad, they went all the way.

  Chapter Eight

  Gil greeted the next morning with bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept well because he had missed Eve’s presence in the bed. She was still acting like a child, sleeping out on the couch. Needing her warmth, Logan had tossed and turned all night. Later, he’d nicked himself shaving, and he knew it was an omen. He glanced down at his watch and realized it was nearly 0630. He had to hurry.

  Eve forced herself to get up and put on her peach-colored silk robe. She heard Gil bumping around in the study of the small, two-bedroom house. Halting at the doorway, she saw he was dressed in uniform, with an olive-green flight suit tucked beneath one arm. That meant he had duty for the next twenty-four hours, beginning at three today—again. “You said you’d attend my club’s dinner tonight.” Startled, Gil jerked up from his crouched position at one of the file drawers. “I forgot, Eve. Things are crazy over at the station right now, and it slipped my mind.” Normally, Eve slept until ten every morning. Eve’s blond hair was mussed about her fragile face, giving her an ethereal look. Her voice was husky with sleep, and her eyes were barely open. Her lips were soft and inviting. Gil ached to take her back to bed with him. Things always got repaired between them when he loved her. Gil struggled for words to pacify Eve. “Look, I’m sorry, honey. I know how much this dinner meant to you.”

  Crossing her arms, Eve muttered, “You forgot? You always forget, Gil. If it has anything to do with your precious Coast Guard, you automatically remember it! But if it’s something that’s important to me, you forget it.”

  Gil raked his fingers through his hair and stood up, shutting the file drawer more loudly than he’d intended. “Dammit, you are important to me, Eve.”

  She gave him a scalding look. “My body’s important to you. I’m not.”

  He jammed several files into his leather briefcase. “That’s not true, and you know it.” He allowed his hands to drop to his sides and faced her. “What the hell’s happening to us, Eve? All we’ve done the last six months is fight. I try to find some neutral ground between us, but you always find something wrong with it. I’m sorry I forgot about that dinner tonight, but you know what kind of shape the air station is in. Now, this new CO is really stirring up the pot. All of us thought things were chaotic as hell before, but we were wrong. The shit is really going to start hitting the fan today. The captain ordered all the flight records from maintenance, and Jarvis knows his ass is going to get burned.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Eve whispered angrily, “I don’t care about that station, or the new CO or Chief Jarvis! I think he’s an alcoholic and deserves to get punished for everything he’s been doing wrong.”

  “Let’s talk about us. How about if I make up for the dinner I’m missing by taking you out tomorrow night? Are you game?”

  Eve pouted a few moments and then murmured, “I guess so….”

  Gil approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder. He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek. “Champagne? Flowers? And the best food in Port Angeles? That little French restaurant on the outskirts?”

  Her resolve wavered and she glanced gratefully up at him. There was a catch in her voice. “That sounds nice, Gil. We’ve barely seen each other the last five months.”

  “I know, I know….”

  Eve looked at her watch. “Where are you going so early? It’s only half past six.�
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  Gil steeled himself for the inevitable. “I promised Lieutenant Caldwell that I’d give her a ride to the station the next couple of mornings.” When he saw Eve’s face twist in shock, he quickly added, “Her car got rear-ended by a timber truck two days ago. I’m following her to Sequim to drop it off, then giving her a ride back to the station.”

  “I don’t believe this!”

  “Eve—for Christ’s sake.”

  “No! Don’t you dare touch me, Gil Logan!”

  Helplessly, he watched Eve march down the hall and disappear into the living room. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, and then walked over and picked up his cap, settling it on his head. His stomach was tied in knots. Picking up the briefcase, he stalked into the living room. Eve was curled up on the couch, face set, lips pouty, staring at the opposite wall.

  Gil crouched down in front of her, his hand resting lightly against her robed knee. “Honey, look at me. Please.”

  “Go to her, Gil. That’s where you want to be, anyway.”

  He squelched the urge to curse. Instead, he said quietly, “That’s not true, Eve. I love you. I always have and always will. Look, we’re going through a tough time together. And what’s making it worse is the hours I’ve got to spend at the base. But that will ease, sooner or later.”

  She tightened her arms against her breasts, refusing to meet his searching gaze. All her fears were coming true. “The officers’ wives will talk! By noon today I’ll hear from Jordanna how you gave Lieutenant Caldwell a lift to the station. It will be all over Port Angeles by nightfall!”

  Closing his eyes, Gil muttered, “Eve, to me, she’s just another junior officer who happens to fly helicopters—not a potential affair. Have I ever given you reason to distrust me?”

  “I’ve heard of these cockpit romances.”

  “I’ve never heard of or seen one in my six years in the Coast Guard.” He stroked her knee. “If it will make you any happier, it appears that she has a boyfriend already. Jody Theron was telling us that Howard Barton’s son is courting her.” Gil saw Eve barely flick a glance in his direction, but it was a sign that she was listening. She never had been able to pass up gossip. “Apparently, he came over early yesterday afternoon with a dozen roses. No, make that thirteen. Jody counted them. They went into Caldwell’s office and talked for another ten minutes behind closed doors. Now, do you feel better?”