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“Go right on in, Ms. Coulter. Lieutenant Turcotte is waiting.”
“Thanks,” she said. Dana moved around the door and closed it quietly. The small office was filled with bookshelves. Behind the massive oak desk sat a man, his head bent, studying what might be her file. Sweat popped out on her upper lip. Dana faced him and prepared to snap to attention. But before she could, he raised his head. A gasp escaped her.
“You!” she croaked. Griff. Dana saw the shock in his eyes. He was no less stunned than she. Her defenses shattered as his gray eyes momentarily thawed from ice to smoldering heat. Then, just as quickly, they hardened again. Off balance, Dana stood, her lips parted, words deserting her. How could Griff be the dreaded Turk? This man, his words, his incredibly gentle touch on her shoulder, had been anything but threatening at the airport.
Griff stared up at her in utter disbelief. She stood helplessly, her hands open in a gesture of peace toward him. “Dana?”
“I—yes, it’s me. But—you said your name was Griff.”
He stared down at the file, a gamut of emotions colliding within his heart. “Griff is my middle name. Your file said Danielle Coulter.”
“Yes,” she choked out. “But I’ve always been called Dana. No one calls me Danielle.”
Angrily, Griff noticed his hand tremble slightly over the file. Of all the tricks to be played on him! Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, her entire cheek black-and-blue. A huge part of him wanted simply to get up and hold her. She had to be in constant pain from that injury. Her eyes were huge, and he could read the shock in them. He was sure his IP reputation was foremost in her mind. She was probably trying to reconcile it with the man who’d helped her capture the thief at the airport.
Dana watched as the care that had again surfaced in his dove-gray eyes dissolved. Automatically she snapped to attention, tucking her chin against her chest. “Ensign Coulter reporting as ordered, sir.”
Griff wanted to curse so badly he could taste it. Life was one lousy joke after another. Dana’s face, once open and readable, was now closed, showing no expression at all. Griff reminded himself that she was a ring knocker, an Annapolis grad, one of the elite few. She was tougher than most women, he told himself, but still a cream puff underneath it all.
Slowly rising, Griff glowered at her. As much as he wanted to stop himself, stop the anger from boiling up and out of him, he couldn’t. “Remain at attention, Miss Coulter!” he snapped at her, and rounded the desk. His nostrils flared as he approached her. Griff waited to see her melt, but she remained unwavering beneath his towering scrutiny. She was such a small, helpless thing! He was six foot three, casting an ominous shadow across her.
“All right,” he rasped, watching as her eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “This is the end of the line for you or any other woman who thinks she can take it to become a Navy pilot.” Griff stalked around her, his hands behind his back. “You might be real special back in Annapolis, Miss Coulter, but here, you’re nothing more than a plebe. I break men who think they’ve got what it takes to fly a Navy jet. They come in here cocky and full of confidence. After two or three weeks with me, they wash out.”
Dana froze inside. Griff’s deep voice was like a chain saw cutting into her heart and her barricaded soul. If only she hadn’t seen his human side! He threw his words at her like a glove in a duel. The hatred in his voice was real, further eating away at her normal defensive array. Anguish soared within Dana. She had to forget the human named Griff. This was the Turk, the IP who wanted her washed out. He circled her like an eagle ready to strike at her, the quarry. Her mouth flattening, Dana rapped out, “Sir, I’ll do my best to earn your respect behind the stick.”
Turcotte glared at her. Her voice was firm, but lined with grating resolve. “These next six weeks are a survival school, Coulter.”
“Survival is one thing I’m very good at, sir.”
Taken aback, Griff moved around the desk, putting it between them. He’d had students cower like whipped dogs by the time he’d finished his initial briefing, but Dana showed absolutely no fear of him. She seemed to gather strength from his assault on her confidence. Opening his mouth to retort, Griff suddenly remembered her sitting on the concrete sidewalk at the airport, a rueful, almost painful smile on her mouth as she’d told him it wasn’t the first time she’d had a black eye. God, what a mess!
“I don’t tolerate tardiness, Coulter.”
“I’d be late for a flight only if I were dead, sir.”
“Women can’t take the punishment of flying.”
“I don’t accept that, sir.”
“You will,” he ground out softly.
Dana pinned him with an equally frosty gaze. “I know what prejudice is all about, Lieutenant. You don’t like me because I’m a woman. Fine. You’ve drawn the battle lines.”
Griff stared at her, nonplussed. What a hellion. “If you were a man, I might be impressed with your guts in standing up to me.”
“If I were a man, you wouldn’t be giving me this speech,” Dana retorted coldly. His gray eyes turned black as a thunderstorm. A part of her cried inside at the loss of the Griff who had been so gentle with her and the old woman at the airport.
“You’re wrong, Ensign. Every student that enters that door leaves knowing I’m intent on only one thing: failing you. You either have what it takes to stay in the kitchen and take the heat I’ll turn up on you, or you get out. I don’t want to be flying with any student of mine someday, unsure if he’s got what it takes when the chips are down in combat.”
“I’d say this is combat right now,” Dana whispered.
“As close as you’ll ever get to it, Ensign.”
The gauntlet had been flung. A sharp pain shot through Dana. Griff was turning out like so many other military officers she’d run into during her four years in the Navy. It would do no good to continue lobbing verbal grenades at each other. What was going to count was her performance in the cockpit of the single-engine trainer.
As always, Dana knew she would retreat to that safe place deep within herself when things got unbearable. It was a survival tool learned through years of painful experience. To everyone else, she would appear calm, cool and collected. Like swimming, retreating deep within herself meant safety.
“What time do I report for flight duty, sir?”
Griff stood, his hands on his hips, and watched her. With that swollen left eye she’d have trouble seeing. If she were a man, he’d send her to sick bay to get a chit until the eye was properly healed. Making her start in this condition didn’t give her a fair chance. Even as he thought it, though, his anger at women—and this no-win situation—surfaced. “Be at the ready room at 0800 tomorrow morning, Coulter. And be ready to fly.”
“Yes, sir.” Dana made an about-face and marched to the door. She opened it and stepped out into the passageway. After shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it momentarily. Fortunately no one was around to see her lapse of military protocol. Straightening, she absently touched her throbbing cheek, then placed the garrison cap on her head. Next stop was the bookstore where she’d pick up an armload of texts. When she wasn’t flying during the next fourteen weeks, she would be taking part in grueling academic sessions, learning about aerodynamics and meteorology.
As she left the administration building and walked the palm-tree-lined route to the bookstore, Dana couldn’t ignore her emotions. Somehow, she had to get Griff out of her mind and heart! The man at the airport had been a sham. The Turk was the real man—the bastard out to make her fail at any cost. He hated women encroaching on his male-dominated world. Fine. She’d withstood the men at the academy who’d wanted her to fail. But there was a difference here: her flight grades for the next six weeks rested entirely in Griff’s hands. She knew if she dropped below a 2.0 grade, a Board of Inquiry would be called. Rumor had it that any student with two “Boards” was washed out automatically—whatever the reasons.
Dana ignored the other students hurrying to the bookstore or to flight interviews with their new instructors. If Griff chose to wield his prejudice against her even if she was flying adequately, Dana would be in trouble. And it would be so easy for him to do—his word against hers. He was an 03, a first lieutenant, while she was an 01, an ensign, the bottom rung on the officers’ ladder. No one would take her word for anything. And if she cried prejudice or sexual discrimination, they’d laugh her out of school.
Grimly Dana swung into the bookstore and pulled a list from the thigh pocket of her flight suit. Griff seemed very sure she wouldn’t make the grade. Well, she would do everything in her power to fly—and fly well. Still, Dana couldn’t erase the memory of Griff’s soft gray eyes filled with concern. If she could forget that episode, she could easily bring up her defenses and weather his hatred of her. Maybe Molly or Maggie would have some sage advice; both of them seemed to have more understanding of men than Dana did. After all, her one relationship had been built on lies and was a proven disaster.
* * *
“So,” Dana ended tiredly, “that’s the whole story on Turcotte.”
Maggie leaned back in the cushioned, bamboo chair, putting her feet up on the small stool. “You can tell you don’t have any Irish blood in you to give you some luck.”
“Worse, she saw his good side,” added Molly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie’s chair.
Dana studied Molly. Her blond hair was shoulder length, the ends softly curling around her oval features. Molly had always worn her heart on her sleeve and was tremendously sensitive to others. Dana held her understanding gaze. “That’s the worst part of this. If I hadn’t seen Griff in action at the airport, I could handle how he sees me now.”
“Jekyll and Hyde,” Maggie muttered defiantly, brushing some auburn strands off her brow. “He obviously hates women.”
“I don’t think so,” Molly objected. “He didn’t treat Dana like that at the airport.”
“No, he was solicitous and—” Dana chewed on her lower lip for a moment, almost unable to say the word.
“What?” Molly prodded.
“Gentle.”
Maggie smiled. “There are a few men who have that quality, Dana. I know you don’t believe it, but there are.”
“That’s why I need your advice. You’ve both had positive relationships with men.” Maggie’s father adored her and his three other daughters. He was a warm, caring man, as Dana had discovered firsthand on a trip home with Maggie one time. Molly’s father was cooler and more aloof, favoring Scott, his son, over her. Nevertheless, Molly’s father was a vast improvement over Frank Coulter, as far as Dana was concerned.
Dressed in comfortable jeans and a lavender tank top, Maggie balanced a book on aeronautics on her lap, and held a glass of lemonade in one hand. It was six in the evening—their second evening together at the new apartment. “They aren’t all ogres,” Maggie said. “If the Turk was nice at the airport and a bastard at base, something isn’t jibing.”
“I think he hates all women,” Dana muttered.
“No,” Molly protested. “Maybe just women in the military. You know: the same old male prejudice about us bringing down their last bastion or some such crock.”
“That’s another thing,” Maggie added. “Why didn’t he send you to sick bay to get a chit until your eye heals properly?”
“Because he wants me to wash out fast.” Dana touched her eye gingerly. Molly had made up a new batch of her granny’s recipe and it still coated the injury, somewhat reducing the swelling.
“After all,” Molly said thoughtfully, “the guy didn’t have to get involved with that thief….”
Dana gave Molly a sour look. ”You be his student, then.”
Grinning, Molly stood and leaned over Dana, putting her arm around her. “Maybe, with time, Turcotte will soften up about you. We know you have what it takes to get your wings. Look at your academy record!”
“You’re such an idealist,” Maggie drawled. “My mother would swear you were bucking for sainthood.”
With a laugh, Molly hugged and released Dana. “I know, but you gals tolerate me anyway.”
“Well,” Dana said glumly, giving her best friends a warm look, “at least you two have decent instructors.”
Maggie nodded. “Let’s take this one day at a time with Turcotte. I think the first thing you ought to do is get over to the doctor and have him evaluate whether you’re up to a first flight or not with that eye.”
It was sound advice. Dana knew she’d need every advantage, and her eyesight was precious. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning before I report to the ready room. I’m not going to let Griff sandbag me.”
“Good girl!” Maggie crowed. “Fight back! It’s the only thing Turcotte understands or respects.“
Chapter Three
Griff was in his office the next morning at 0600. His conscience had kept him awake most of the night. Yeoman Johnson had wisely made coffee early when he saw Griff stalk into the building, and had it on Griff’s desk ten minutes later. After taking a gulp of the scalding hot brew, Griff ordered Johnson to call sick bay.
“You want to talk to Dr. Collins?”
Griff refused to look up from his paperwork. Collins was the flight surgeon. “Yes.”
“To look at Ensign Coulter’s eye?”
Frowning, Griff nodded. It was amazing how Johnson seemed able to read his mind. “When Coulter arrives at the station, have her report to Dr. Collins. Tell him I want to know whether she can be put on flight status.”
“Yes, sir.”
Griff looked up at the smile he could swear he heard in Johnson’s voice. The yeoman had already turned and was heading out the door. At least his conscience had stopped needling him, Griff thought. Collins would probably put Dana on flight waivers for at least three or four days. Her black eye was serious, and he knew it would interfere with her flying.
Angry at himself, he slammed the pen down on the papers and glared around his small office. Dana. Why couldn’t he think of her as Coulter? Last names were generic, less intimate. She was a woman. And women meant nothing but trouble in his book. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to wind up like Toby—dying in the rear seat of a cockpit because a woman screwed up on a flight. No way.
* * *
Dana couldn’t contain her surprise when the corps Wave at the dispensary picked up an order with her name already on it.
“Lieutenant Turcotte has ordered you to see Dr. Collins, the flight surgeon. He has concern that your left eye will interfere with your ability to fly, ma’am.”
Nodding, Dana took a seat in the crowded dispensary, waiting her turn. So Griff had ordered her to see Collins. As she sat, hands clasped in her lap, she wrestled with her feelings. Why hadn’t he sent her over here yesterday? With a sigh, Dana realized that even if Griff had an impersonal hatred of her because she was a woman, he had a streak of decency, too. Another part of her worried that being put on flight waivers upon her arrival at Whiting might look bad on her record.
Looking around, she studied the other waiting student pilots. They all looked frightened. Some moved around nervously, crossing and uncrossing their legs. Others wiped sweat from their faces. Others sat stoically, their eyes dark with fear. Fear, Dana wondered, of what? Flying? Possibly failing? Maggie had told her last night that the big illness going around Whiting Field was gastroenteritis— a stomachache. She’d heard from a tenth-week student that the dispensary was always filled to capacity early in the morning with students who were afraid to face their instructors or a grueling flight test.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen to her, Dana decided. As soon as she saw Dr. Collins, she’d be sitting on the Turk’s doorstep, letting him know she wasn’t afraid of him, of that trainer or of flying with him. This was only the first skirmish in a long six-week war, as far as Dana was concerned. And she wasn’t going to let him win round one.
* * *
Griff heard a firm knock at his office door. He’d just gotten off the phone with Dr. Collins, who had put Dana on flight waivers for an entire week. Part of him was relieved. He had to admit that another part of him wanted to see her; but that was a stupid and immature reaction.
“Enter,” he growled. His next student, Ted Dunlop, wasn’t scheduled until 1030. He had the whole morning to catch up on the unending paper chase that crossed his desk daily.
Dana stepped into Griff’s office and came to attention in front of his desk. She didn’t dare look at him. “Ensign Coulter reporting for duty, sir.”
Griff sat back, stunned. This morning her flight uniform fit her a little better. It was obvious she’d trimmed the sleeves and pant legs and done quite a bit of sewing last night, but she still looked small and vulnerable in the olive-green uniform. He shoved back his response.
“What the hell are you doing here? Dr. Collins put you on flight waivers, Coulter.”
“I may be on flight waivers, sir, but that doesn’t stop me from learning what I can on the ground. I don’t like missing a week of flying.”
“This just goes to prove my previous point. Women can’t take it. You’re weak, Coulter, and that’s why you were placed on waivers.”
Dana glared down at him. Ordinarily, Griff should have told her to move to parade rest, but he hadn’t. Standing at attention for a long time was tiring, but she wasn’t going to say anything. “Women aren’t weak, sir.”
Griff reared back in his chair and held her blazing blue gaze. “The hell they aren’t.”
“The injury to my eye prevents me from flying only,” Dana hurled back at him.
“I wonder what it will be next, Coulter?”
“There won’t be anything else.”
Griff managed a twisted smile. “Bet me.”
“Any amount you want, sir.”
He measured her for a long moment, the silence growing brittle. “Women, by nature are weak, Ensign.”
“Where I come from, they’re strong and capable, sir. I guess you just haven’t run into any of my kind.”
With a snort, Griff got to his feet. How he wanted to throw down the red flag of war and surrender to those defiant blue eyes. Dana’s mouth… Sweet heaven, Griff thought. What would it be like to mold those lips to his and taste her fiery response? And then he remembered Carol, who had appeared so capable and independent, too—at first.
“Ensign, you’ve got nothing to do but get well. Now get out of here.”
Dana stubbornly remained. “It’s 0800, Lieutenant. Can’t you at least walk me around and introduce me to the trainer? I can read up on the manuals while I’m recuperating. I’m not an invalid, you know.”
Pleased with her response, Griff shrugged. “A walk-around? You’re picking up the lingo fast, Coulter.”
Moving into a parade-rest position, hands behind her back, Dana continued to meet his stormy gray gaze. “Give me half a chance to prove myself, Mr. Turcotte, and I’ll earn my wings.”
For a moment Griff almost believed her. “Come with me, Dana—er, Coulter. If you want to play at learning how to fly, I’ll go along with your game.”
Throttling her anger, Dana followed him out of the office. As they left admin, she noticed the pink dawn on the horizon for the first time. Whiting Field was small, she had heard, in comparison to the Pensacola air station where most of the student flying was conducted. Both sat on the Gulf of Mexico, in Florida’s panhandle. Still, the airport had six runways, a large, glass-enclosed control tower and a number of barracks that housed students and personnel alike. She was glad that she and Maggie and Molly had an apartment off station.
