Sam slid his finger beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I like helping you discover parts of yourself that have always been there, sweetheart. It’s like watching a rose bloom before me, one beautiful petal at a time.”
Shaken, she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Sam…”
I love you, Megan. God, I love you so much I ache inside. Kissing her cheek, Sam whispered, “I hope you see me the same way—that’s what a relationship is all about, the discovery, the sharing. And it never stops. It can last a lifetime, if you want.”
Megan pulled away, and he was afraid he’d said too much. There was confusion in her forest-green eyes, but the happiness was still there.
“My mom and dad have been married a long time, Megan. She said she’s still learning something new about my dad every day.” He took a stray curl near her temple and placed it behind her ear. “Kind of nice, isn’t it?”
Touched, Megan nodded, staring at the gift in her hands. “Your experience, your family, is so different than what mine was like.”
“Thank God,” Holt said, meaning it. He cupped her cheek, absorbing her vulnerability that was a natural part of her beauty. “If we can trust one another, we can have the same thing my parents have. It doesn’t have to be the other way. You know that, don’t you?”
Compressing her lips, Megan mustered a smile. “I’m beginning to realize that, Sam.”
He sighed and pressed a kiss to her lips to erase the sadness he heard in her voice. “It’s going to take time, but we’ve got that. Now, open that package. I’ve got to see if you like it or not.”
Giggling, Megan tore it apart—just like a child. It felt good to be spontaneous, to have Sam’s belief and support in her. Pushing the wrapping and ribbon aside, she peeked inside the white jewelry box. A gasp escaped Megan. A delicate oval brooch made from jet, a popular stone in the Victorian era, stared back at her. On the brooch was carved a great blue heron standing next to a lake. Surrounding the brooch was an intricate gold filigree. It was breathtaking.
“Well?” Sam goaded, delighted with her reaction, absorbing the surprise and pleasure in her eyes.
Fingers trembling, Megan touched the brooch. “Th-this is the most beautiful piece of Victorian jewelry I’ve ever seen!”
“The best news is—it’s yours.”
Megan stole a look up at him. Never had Sam looked so handsome, his smile male and provocative. It made him look so young and incredibly desirable. “The cost…” It was real gold, the carving exquisite, without a flaw.
“You were worth it.”
Megan drowned in his tender blue gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You know, you’re like that blue heron,” Sam said, cradling her hand between his. “On weekends my dad always took us fishing. There’s plenty of lakes around Detroit. I was always fascinated with the great blue herons. They were huge—six feet tall with a seven-foot wing spread.” Sam smiled fondly. “Actually, they’re responsible for getting me to think about flying as a career. They were so graceful and huge in the sky. I spent hours watching them instead of fishing. They gave me a calmness, a kind of internal strength. A heron never gets flustered or out of control. She moves serenely, not causing any disturbance to the water she’s wading in.” He looked into Megan’s eyes. “You’re the same for me. You have that same quiet strength that stabilizes me when I’m feeling out of sorts or ready to blow after a bad day.”
Touched, Megan squeezed his hand. “I like being compared to the heron.”
“Ever see one?”
“No.”
It hurt not to say, When I take you home to meet my family, I’ll take you to that lake and we’ll sit and watch them for hours—together. Holt rankled impatiently beneath the strictures he’d placed upon himself for Megan’s benefit. But it was necessary. He had to gain her trust in him as a man so that she would overlook his pilot image. That took time. More time than he wanted to give her. “We’ll see one together, someday,” he promised her quietly.
Megan reached under the tree for her gift to him. “Here, it’s your turn!” Excitedly, she sat there, waiting for him to open it. It was a huge, rectangular box that weighed quite a bit, wrapped in bright red paper with a white velvet ribbon and a sprig of fresh mistletoe.
Delighted, Sam tore into the package. “In case I didn’t tell you, I’m a kid when it comes to gifts, too. My mother always liked to save the paper and ribbon for the next time around, but she never got mine.”
Holding the brooch in her hands, Megan laughed and watched paper fly right and left. Her heart pounded briefly as Sam settled the box on his lap and lifted the lid. Would he like her gift? She held her breath.
Sam murmured a sound of pleasure as he pulled off the crinkly green tissue paper revealing a set of Victorian hardwood and brass bellows. They were mounted on a brass wheel, to make pumping them easy. “Where did you ever get this?” he asked, completely stunned. “I contacted Sotheby’s in England trying to get bellows for my fireplace years ago. They never had them.”
Overjoyed, Megan smiled. “When I got my pair five years ago, which, by the way, isn’t as fancy as your pair, I bought a second pair. I knew how rare and hard to find they were.”
“Incredible,” Sam murmured, running his fingers across the polished, reddish-colored handles.
“That’s rosewood.”
With a shake of his head, Sam looked over at her. Rosewood was a rare and highly sought-after wood in the antique world. “Hell of a gift, Red. Thanks.”
“Not that you needed any more hot air than you already possess as a jet jock,” Megan added dryly.
Chuckling, Holt agreed. “We do have that reputation, don’t we?” He put the gift aside, reaching over, capturing her in his arms. Megan came without a struggle, flowing into his embrace, head resting against his shoulder. With a sigh, he held her tightly against him. “This is all I really want or need,” he admitted huskily. She smelled of her spicy perfume fragrance, her skin warm against his mouth as he kissed her brow, cheek and, finally, captured her awaiting lips, which parted eagerly to allow him entrance. No one could have had a better Christmas.
As Megan remained snuggled in his arms, the Christmas music unobtrusive, Holt wondered how Curt and Becky were getting along. He hurt for the family, and hoped that today, of all days, there might be some joy shared among them.
Curt stared out the living room window, hands behind his back, a parade rest stance. Behind him, he could hear Patty’s excited voice and Becky’s laughter. Turning, Curt studied them. They sat on the floor with four different kinds of colorful clay spread between them on some newspapers. Becky had given the clay to Patty as her Christmas gift.
Becky was dressed in a floor-length cotton dress of pale pink. The red satin ribbon around her waist complemented the color of her cheeks. His heart expanded with love for her when he heard her breathy laughter. She molded a duck out of the clay. His daughter was still in her red bathrobe and little Snoopy slippers, her pale blond hair caught up in a haphazard ponytail.
Struck by the fact that both his wife and daughter looked like two ageless children playing, entertaining themselves, Curt suddenly felt left out. Older. More mature. Becky’s eyes danced with such life as Patty made her own duck, albeit a poor copy of hers. Becky clapped her hands, reached over and kissed Patty soundly, rewarding her first effort.
So many firsts, Curt thought, feeling depressed. Becky had already taken pictures of Patty opening her gifts. All for the album, she’d told Curt excitedly. He’d bought Patty state-of-the-art toys. Toys, the manager of the store in Lancaster had assured him, that Patty would play with for hours. This morning, surrounded with all those modern gifts, Patty had eagerly opened Becky’s only gift: the clay. She had been playing with it for the last hour, ignoring all the other gifts.
Rubbing his brow, Merrill turned toward the window, an ache seizing him. It centered in his chest, and he absently rubbed his hand across that area. Becky was far more in touch with w
hat her daughter loved to play with than he was. Patty was already seven years old. He couldn’t remember that many special times he’d shared with Patty growing up—because he hadn’t been around to be a part of them. Becky always showed him the photos when he got home from flight duty, TDY, or alert status: the first time she uttered her first word. The first time she crawled. He wasn’t even here when Patty had taken her first tottering steps.
Scowling, Curt winced inwardly as their laughter continued to hurt him. It wasn’t their fault. Letting his hands drop back to his side, he stood and watched them. Becky was now making up a story about a mama duck who had lost her baby ducks. Patty was enthralled. So was he. There was so much purity and honesty in Becky. Darkly, Curt admitted parts of himself had been sublimated by the Air Force. It stamped unwanted facets of personality out of the pilots and remolded them into something the military wanted, instead.
And his honesty? He said what the Air Force wanted him to say. He behaved as the Air Force demanded. Curt wanted to kneel down and join his wife and daughter. How long had it been since he’d played with clay? He couldn’t remember. Becky was completely spontaneous, and so was his daughter. Longing to recapture that elusive, perhaps destroyed part of himself, Merrill sighed.
Of course, not all Air Force pilots felt like he did. Or did they? Maybe they did and just never said anything about it. Maybe family life wasn’t the main priority in their life, but just a secondary extension of their career aims. Pilots didn’t share much of their personal or emotional side with anyone. Not even with their wives. His mind revolved forward and he stared down Sharon Drive. On the corner sat the Stang residence. Their home was gaily decorated for the Christmas season, even though it was 70 degrees and the sun shone brightly across the desert. Did Jack ever feel as if he’d lost something by not being around his family often enough?
“Now, for the greatest gift of all,” Melody announced, approaching her husband. Scotty was playing with his new video game on the television, completely absorbed in his gift. For once, he was sitting still, in one place, for more than five minutes. Melody was grateful. Jack sat in the leather wing chair, several opened gifts around his feet. He looked very appealing to her, dressed in a pair of cream-colored wool slacks, a dark green cable-knit sweater and brown loafers.
“Another present?” Jack teased, grinning. Melody wore a brilliant red silk caftan, hand-painted with pink, white and orchid-colored hibiscus. She had taken great pains with her black hair, which was tamed into perfection, and her makeup only emphasized her stunning beauty. The smile on her lips, the joy in her eyes, made him tighten with desire.
“The last and best one,” Melody said breathlessly, kneeling in front of him. “Open it. It’s your future.”
Stymied, Jack carefully opened the small gift, setting the white ribbon and green foil paper aside. Giving her a teasing look, he held the box in his hand. “What do you mean ‘my future’?”
Leaning upward, Melody pressed a quick, hot kiss to his mouth. “Open it and find out, my love.”
Excitement thrummed through him as he lifted the lid. His eyes widened. “My major’s leaves!”
Clapping her hands with delight, Melody sat back on her heels. “Do you like them? Aren’t they beautiful? Oh, Jack, I couldn’t wait! I know you’re going to get promoted soon and I just wanted to pin them on you now, just to see what you look like with them on!”
Caught up in her enthusiasm, Jack picked up the two gold, round oak leaves. He ran his thumbs across them in a reverent motion. “Nice, aren’t they?” There was a wistfulness in his voice.
“You’re nice. Now, come on, stand up! I want to pin them on you. I have to get practice doing this, so that when you’re standing in front of the entire base for the ceremony, I don’t drop one and embarrass both of us.”
Grinning, Jack stood, handing her the oak leaves. “What? Pin them on my sweater?”
“Of course! Don’t you want to see how they’ll look?”
“Sure.”
“Ten-hut!”
Stang snapped to attention, just as they had taught him at the Air Force academy. His broad shoulders were thrown back, rigid and proud. Melody smiled proudly, and delicately pinned the first rank on his left shoulder, and pretended that there was an epaulet there.
“You already look more handsome,” she said admiringly, moving to his right shoulder.
“Wench,” he teased, remaining at attention.
“There!” Melody stepped back, her hands clasped. “You look splendid! How handsome you’ll be, Major Stang.” Gripping his hand, she dragged him down the hall to their bedroom. Coaxing him in front of the floor-length mirror, Melody stood proudly beside him. “Look,” she breathed, “how wonderful you are! Never has there been a major like you, darling.”
Jack stared at the gold oak leaves. “They do look good, don’t they?”
“Good? They look great.”
Turning, he swept Melody into his arms, ready to kiss her laughter-touched lips; Jack hesitated and moved over to the door, closed and locked it.
“Just in case,” Jack told her, and crushed Melody against him.
Giggling, Melody lightly touched the leaf on his left shoulder. “I’ve never made love to a major before….”
“No?” Jack gently removed her earring and nibbled on her earlobe. He felt her respond and press herself against him. The fullness of her breasts, firm and ripe, made him go hot with longing.
“No,” she sighed. Capturing his mouth, Melody kissed him hungrily. “Love me?”
Hesitating fractionally, Jack nodded. Scotty was completely involved in his computer video. His son would be glued to the set for a little while. They’d make love quickly, with intensity and passion. Grinning, Jack swept his wife up into his arms and carried her to their king-sized bed.
“Now you’re going to find out what it’s like to be loved by a major,” he promised her thickly, lying down beside her. Her smile, filled with pride and love, went straight to his pounding heart. Jack had never had such a wonderful Christmas. Ever.
17
Megan girded herself for warfare the day after school began in early January. She’d received a call from Brad Jamison to meet him over at the principal’s office for an urgent meeting. With the help of the union, she had pushed to get Scotty Stang tested regardless of Jamison’s threat to fire her. Getting out of her car that blustery, cool morning, she walked quickly into the school. The children were due to arrive by bus in about twenty minutes. She saw a number of teachers wandering around in the halls, gearing up for their charges.
Heart pumping with fear, Megan walked down the hall toward the principal’s office, the light on inside the office. Jamison was waiting like a wolf for her. She felt like a quarry. Her mind ranged over possibilities. Last month, after Linda Yarnell, the union president, had told her that admin was balking on the Scotty Stang issue, she had placed a call to General Dalton.
There wasn’t anywhere on Edwards that Dalton’s influence and power didn’t touch. Not even a school board. Megan hadn’t mentioned the name or the problem she was facing to Dalton. She asked, instead, that if he had time, could he look in to the matter—that she needed his guidance and input on it. Megan knew it wasn’t wise to point fingers or name names. No, if Dalton decided to get involved, he’d do it.
Rubbing her damp hands against her tan raincoat, Megan slowed as she approached the office. Contacting General Dalton was as risky to her as it might be to the administration. If Dalton sided with Jamison and the school board, she would be fired. It was that simple. Playing high stakes politics with the base commander wasn’t something to be done every day. In the Air Force, when one officer owed another a favor, it was called a chip. The bigger the favor, the bigger the chip. Powerful favors were referred to as blue chips. Megan had called in a blue chip in her father’s name to get Dalton to investigate her problem with Jamison. Had Dalton gotten involved? If so, what was his decision? And how was it going to affect her job status?
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Brad Jamison was standing behind the counter dressed in a dark pinstripe suit. He scowled as Megan entered the door.
“We’ve got business to discuss,” he growled at her. “Come into my office.”
Megan kept her coat on and went around the counter. Jamison was upset. Something had happened. She couldn’t read his features to decide whether it was for or against her. Nervously, she swallowed, outwardly showing a calm she didn’t feel. Closing the door behind her, she sat down in the leather chair facing his massive oak desk.
Steepling his fingers, Jamison reared back in his chair, studying her for some moments, the silence taut. “I underestimated you, Ms. Roberts.”
“Really?”
Jamison grinned slightly. “There’s an old axiom—let sleeping dogs lie. I think it applies to you, in this case.”
Stymied, Megan sat there. She knew that Jamison was deliberately baiting her.
Scowling, Brad eased forward and took a file folder, sliding it across the desk toward her. “Two things, Ms. Roberts. First of all, your request to have Scotty Stang tested for hyperactivity has been approved. Secondly, I’m approving your outdoor education proposal. The principal will come back with his decision in late January. At that time, you’ll be notified.”
Elated, but not daring to show it, Megan took the file and opened it. Jamison seemed subdued, but she now understood why. Obviously, General Dalton had investigated both matters and backed her on them. Jamison was enough of a political animal to know he didn’t dare dispute Dalton’s decision, putting his own career in possible jeopardy.
“Thank you, Mr. Jamison.” According to the file, Scotty Stang was to be tested immediately, and the results of the doctor’s diagnosis had to be reported within the next two weeks.
Jamison smiled slightly, appraising her with new respect. “I hope, Ms. Roberts, that in the future, we can work more amicably on any problems you might encounter.”
Rising, Megan tucked the file under her arm. She wanted to jump up and down for joy. Soberly, she nodded. “I have every desire to work within the structure of my union and admin if possible, Mr. Jamison.”
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