скачать книгу бесплатно
“You don’t need to apologize.” God, he sounded hard and unforgiving. The thought was validated when she twisted a look up at him, her blond bangs thick and barely touching her brows, a panicked look on her face. Groaning to himself, Cam felt pulled into the shadowed worry of her now dark green eyes.
“My father always says when I get nervous I’m like an elephant in a china shop,” Molly offered breathlessly, reclaiming her books and stacking them back on her desk. As she leaned down to retrieve her pen and notebook, her hip caught the desk’s corner.
“Ouch!” Molly bit back the rest of her retort, dolefully rubbing her aching hip, sure a bruise would appear shortly.
Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she avoided Sinclair’s searching gaze. Before she could bend down again, he was there, picking up her pen and notebook. Molly stared at his hand. His knuckles were large, the fingers long. Pilot’s hands. Strong, guiding hands. Forcing herself to look up, she expected accusation from him and tried to prepare herself emotionally for his censure.
“Here, take these before you do any more damage to yourself.”
Oddly, his eyes weren’t hard-looking any longer. Molly reached out, her fingers brushing his. The sensation of contact was sharp and warm. “I— Thanks, Captain.”
“First days are always nerve-racking.” Cam suddenly felt nervous, almost shy, about being in her presence. How could that be? He had more questions about his unexpected reaction to Molly Rutledge than he’d ever had about any woman in his life.
Gripping the notebook, Molly nodded and managed a slight smile. “The last couple of months have been all of that and more,” she admitted wryly.
“You always drop things when you’re in a clinch?”
His voice was hard again. Molly nodded. “I thought when I grew up, I’d leave the bumping and running into things behind. I guess I’m a born klutz.”
Her honesty unstrung him. Cam stared down at Molly, noticing every nuance. Her blond hair was fine, reminding him of spun sunlight. The lashes framing her eyes were long and curly. She wore no makeup, yet her lovely sculptured lips were cherry red. Her skin was flawless and velvety. The urge to reach out and brush her fiery-colored cheek was very real. Cam ruthlessly squashed the idiotic yearning.
Abruptly he turned away. “I’ve got work to do,” he informed her gruffly. “And to answer your question, the library is open to everyone. It’s not considered off-limits to students at any time.” Molly Rutledge was, indeed, a cream puff. And—God help him—he felt protective of her. What would happen when Martin or another of the test-pilot students blamed her for his poor grades? How could she possibly stand up to the withering cross fire that took place in a flight debriefing?
Feeling as if she’d proved to Sinclair that she was a loser, Molly turned and went back to her desk. As quietly as possible, she packed her books into her huge black leather briefcase and prepared to leave. Sinclair seemed to want to be alone, she thought. She felt like an intruder in his space, his territory. Dejectedly, Molly walked to the door.
“Good night, Captain Sinclair,” she said softly.
Cam looked up, her contralto voice moving through him like a warm memory of happier times, of times he knew would never again come into his life. “Good night, Ensign Rutledge.”
With a small sigh, Molly left. Outside in the hall, she stopped and took a deep breath. She’d felt eviscerated by his opaque gaze. She was a klutz, incapable of being calm and in control during a critical situation. Would Sinclair talk about her to the other instructors? Would they get a good laugh out of her clownlike antics in the classroom and library? Turning, she walked down the empty hall, no longer hungry, just sorely disappointed with herself.
Chapter Three
Molly was in the computer room, working on her very first flight test at one of the many terminals. Lieutenant Norton wasted no time getting his students busy programming. The large room had a tile floor, blue walls and overhead fluorescent lights that bothered Molly’s eyes. Every chance she got, she took the ream of papers spewed out by the printer into the library and worked on her budding flight test there, instead.
Without fail, TPS closed at 2100 every night. Only the instructors had keys to the massive facility. Once students left, they couldn’t reenter the building until 0600 the next morning when the instructor on duty reopened it. A number of other flight-engineering students shared the computer room with Molly, working laboriously at their terminals until 1700, chow time.
Left alone, Molly worked through dinner, time slipping away from her. It was Thursday, and she knew that test-pilot students would be assigned to them. Molly only hoped Chuck Martin wouldn’t be assigned to her. Obviously he hated her with a passion. Every time he saw her in the hall or in an adjacent classroom, he’d glare ominously. Not wanting to feed the flames of animosity, Molly refused to react at all.
The glass door to the computer room opened and closed. Molly sat at the terminal desk, calculator in hand, rerunning her mathematical figures to compute with the variable of the F-14 Tomcat fighter, which would be utilized in her particular test. It was a simple test in her estimation, getting her used to folding in knowledge of aerodynamics with edge-of-the-envelope testing on this particular aircraft. All Norton wanted from her was a series of high-altitude climbs, leveling off the plane and utilizing degrees of climb.
“Rutledge?”
Molly cringed inwardly. She’d recognize Martin’s grating voice anywhere. Lifting her head, she saw his angry features shadowed under the harsh lighting. He stood imperiously, hands on his hips, while he glared down at her.
“Yes, Lieutenant Martin?”
“You see the pair-up list?”
Molly hesitated. “You mean who we fly with?”
“Hell, yes. That list, Rutledge!”
“Lieutenant, there’s no need to shout. Obviously, you’re upset about something.”
His nostrils flaring, Martin jabbed his finger in her direction. “Damn straight, I am. You’re assigned to me for the first test flight on Wednesday.”
Molly saw the door open, and Cam Sinclair silently enter the room. Her lips parted, and she looked between the two men. Cam stood just inside the door, poised and listening. Evidently, Martin hadn’t noticed his entrance. “I don’t make up the schedule, Lieutenant Martin,” Molly said without rancor.
“You’re the last person I want to fly with, Rutledge. You’re a woman. You can’t possibly have a handle on testing.” He gestured violently toward the printout sheets surrounding her. “Paper chase, that’s all you’re playing, and at my expense. Within a month, you’ll be out of here. You aren’t qualified to be a flight engineer in any way, shape or form. The whole damn thing’s a sham, and I’m gonna pay for it!”
Cam’s eyes narrowed as he heard the anger in Martin’s lowered voice. His glance flicked to Molly. All week, he’d tried avoiding her. It had been nearly impossible. Curious how she would handle Martin’s second attack, Cam stood quietly, his arms folded across his chest. Molly knew he was there. Would she alert Martin? If she were smart, she wouldn’t. Let Martin tip his hand. Still, Molly ought to be standing up and defending herself better. Sitting at the desk, her blond hair in mild disarray, she looked like a college ingenue, not an engineer.
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Molly stated quietly.
“My career hinges on you!” Martin exploded in exasperation. “You don’t get it, do you? Hell, you can get knocked up, have a kid and get out. Me, I’ve gotta stick around. Flying is my whole life. You see this as some kind of game that can be played while it’s easy, knowing you can walk away from it any time you damn well please.”
Molly saw Sinclair’s face remain passive. Wasn’t he going to interfere? And then she realized he wasn’t, because this was her fight. “I can assure you, Lieutenant, the Navy is my career, too,” Molly said determinedly. “I just survived four years at Annapolis on my own merits. And as for getting pregnant and asking for a medical discharge, that’s not in my plans. I’m here because I want to be a good flight engineer. Why can’t we throw down the red flag and be friends? We’re bound to work together sooner or later.”
“Yeah, well, I guess it’s sooner. Someone at TPS has got it in for me. I suppose you went to your ‘significant other’ and complained, and that’s why I got it in the neck with this flight assignment.”
Molly refused to get angry. “I don’t have a ‘significant other’ here at TPS, Lieutenant,” she said coolly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do—and so do you.”
Martin cursed and his hand snaked out. He gripped her shoulder.
Molly flinched, feeling his fingers dig deeply into her. She opened her mouth to protest, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sinclair react instantly.
“Martin,” Cam whispered tautly, coming up behind him, “I suggest you get your hand off Ensign Rutledge. Right now.” What was the idiot going to do? Take a swing at her? Cam took a step back and tensed, almost expecting Martin to turn and punch him. The pilot’s face was livid when he whirled around. When he saw who it was, he looked startled.
“Captain Sinclair…”
“What were you going to do, Martin?”
“Er, nothing, sir.” Martin backed away and shrugged weakly. “We…uh, were just talking.”
His tone lethal, Cam said, “Let’s get a couple of things ironed out here and now, Martin. Ensign Rutledge has the finest academic record of all the students in this class, pilot or engineer. Got that?”
Martin jerked his head in a nod.
“Second, she has a degree in aeronautical engineering. Do you?”
“No, sir—”
“Third, the commandant makes out the flight schedule weekly. You will be flying with every test engineer a number of times, including Ensign Rutledge. Now, I suggest that if you’ve got a problem with the assignment, you talk to him directly.”
Martin took another step back, pale. “Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed, Martin.”
Molly cringed at the iciness of Sinclair’s voice. A chill worked its way up her spine. He’d positioned himself near her chair, facing off with Martin.
“Yes, sir!” Martin spun on his heel and left promptly.
Molly released a breath of air, giving Cam a grateful look. “Thank you, Captain.”
Cam stared at her. He saw the turmoil in her huge green eyes. Yet her voice was unruffled—soft, without any indication of how troubled she was by Martin’s attack. And an attack was what it had been. “You have a problem, Miss Rutledge.”
Molly blinked belatedly. “Problem?”
“Why didn’t you defend yourself?”
Sinclair was pulverizingly male in a way that shook her. Molly turned around in her chair, facing him squarely. “I did.”
Cam shook his head. “That’s twice Martin’s attacked you.”
“He’s upset, that’s all.”
“And you weren’t?”
“Of course, but—”
“What’s it take to get you to raise your voice and really defend yourself?”
Shocked, Molly stared at him for a long, painful minute. “Captain, just because I’m not one of ‘the boys’ and don’t choose to act in an aggressive manner doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself.”
“Really?” Cam drawled. “What were you going to do when Martin grabbed you by the shoulder? Sweetly ask him to let go?”
“I suppose you think my retaliation should have been a fist in his face?”
Cam nearly smiled. Nearly. So, she had some spunk, after all. “That would have been against regulations.”
“I’m glad one of you macho jet jocks thought of that.”
His mouth twitched. For the first time, Cam felt like laughing. It was a breathless discovery. Molly Rutledge sat there with that spun-gold hair, in her rumpled olive-green flight uniform and black boots, looking positively beautiful and defiant.
“So, what would you have done if I hadn’t stepped in to save you?”
Molly eyed him. “Save me? I had everything under control, Captain. Sooner or later, Lieutenant Martin would have eased off the throttle. I wasn’t giving him a reason for further aggression.”
Cam shook his head. “Lady, you’ve got a lot to learn here at TPS. Don’t you understand that flight engineers have to defend themselves at all times? You’re responsible for the test that’s flown. A pilot can make your test look good or bad. And many times it’s hard to prove who’s at fault. Believe me, in the debriefing room after the flight, I see the test-pilot students trying to blame the engineer’s flight program for their poor performances.”
“I know pilots don’t always fly well, Captain. They have bad days, too.”
“A friendly piece of advice, Miss Rutledge—protect and fight for your territorial rights at all times, or these student test-pilots will eat you alive. You’ll get blamed for flight failures whether they’re your fault or not, and your grades will drop.”
Shaken, Molly pursed her lips. “Captain, you obviously want me to get a good dose of male hormones into my bloodstream so I can be just as arrogant and aggressive as the guys I’m in class with. Well, I won’t. I’m a woman, and I respect my ability to handle situations in a different way.”
“I’m not saying you’ve got to turn into a man. Just speak up for yourself—get feisty. You’re capable of that, aren’t you?”
He was taunting her now. Molly hated the feeling Sinclair was invoking. “I will not turn to cursing or pushy and aggressive tactics to win my point. I’ll use logic and diplomacy.”
If nothing else, Cam thought as he watched her, she was stubborn. “Logic and diplomacy get blown to hell in those debriefings, Ensign. For your sake, you’d better get a little spunk and assertiveness, if you’re hoping to stand the heat in that kitchen with those jocks.”
Smarting beneath his assessment of her, Molly turned around in her chair. “Excuse me, Captain, but I’ve got work to do. Thank you for your advice, but I feel strongly about handling situations with tact, diplomacy and care.”
An incredible urge to reach out and thread his fingers through her loose, silky hair struck Cam. He shook his head, wondering what had come over him. The feeling caught him off guard, and he snapped at her. “Then don’t expect me to come to your rescue next time. Good night, Ensign Rutledge.”
“Good night.” Unhappily, Molly watched Cam turn away, leaving her alone in the huge computer facility. She fought the awful feeling of failure. She’d felt this way after washing out of flight school. Wasn’t there anything she could do right? Pressing her hand to her brow, she closed her eyes, the sting of tears behind her lids.
Cam hesitated at the glass door, watching Molly press her hand against her eyes. Feeling like a first-class heel, he almost went back in to comfort her. No, he couldn’t do that. Still, his conscience gnawed at him. He shouldn’t have been so hard on her. Martin had done enough damage without Cam hitting her broadside with another salvo from another direction.
Dammit! He stood, torn, watching as she sat at the terminal, her hands covering her face. Was she crying? She had every right to do so. Troubled, Cam put his hand on the door handle. As an instructor, he played a dual role with the students. First, he had to terrorize them enough to wring out their best, whatever that was. Second, he had to be a support system for them, to encourage them to surpass what they thought was their best. But he’d just gone in there and terrorized her.
Irritated, Cam let his hand slip off the handle. How had Molly gotten through four years at Annapolis? Surely she’d handled far more harassment and pressure than this. He watched as she lifted her head and rubbed her forehead. Her face was pale, but he didn’t see any tears on her cheeks. What kind of woman was she? Molly was a genuine enigma to him. Still, Cam knew without a doubt that they’d shred her in debriefing if she didn’t stand up for her programs—logic and diplomacy were the first to go in those heated exchanges.
Muttering to himself, Cam turned away, not wanting her to discover him still standing there. It would be the ultimate embarrassment to her if she spotted him. A huge part of him wanted to stay. Stay and do what? As he shuffled down the hall toward his office, Cam shook his head. Molly interested him. Maybe the word was fascinated. She was unlike any woman in the military he’d met or worked with.
“Too soft,” he said under his breath. “She’s too soft to stand the attacks she’s going to have to go through.”
* * *
Molly tried to dismiss the entire crisis that had taken place, but she couldn’t. Her stomach growled, but she wasn’t hungry. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was 2100. Time to go home and get some sleep. Unsettled, she logged her software program into the files of the computer and shut down the terminal.
Placing the yards of computer printout in her briefcase, she left the room. As she headed from the elevator to the main doors, she saw Captain Sinclair’s office door open, light spilling out into the semidarkened hallway. Hesitating, Molly felt the urge to stop and speak with him. About what? To defend her way of handling situations? He’d made himself perfectly clear about how he thought she should handle them.
It was obvious Sinclair didn’t think much of her, either. Leaving TPS, Molly decided to try to call her friends at Whiting Field. She desperately missed Dana and Maggie. Perhaps they could shed some light on her most recent problems.
* * *
“I think you should’ve decked Martin,” Maggie Donovan told her, anger in her voice. “That kind of jock only understands one thing, Molly, and that’s aggression equal to his own. What he puts out, he gets back.”
“I don’t agree,” Dana Coulter’s voice countered from the other phone. “You said Captain Sinclair broke it up?”
“Yes,” Molly admitted unhappily. She sat on her couch, her legs folded beneath her, the receiver resting against her hand and shoulder.
“He defended you,” Maggie said.
“No, he didn’t,” Molly countered. “I’ve already told you his view of the situation. Martin ripped me open, and he just added salt to my wounds.”
“I think he was trying to get you to see how you need to change your behavior to fit the circumstances,” Dana pointed out. “The fact that he came to your rescue means he’s on your side.”
“He sure didn’t look it. Gosh, gals, Sinclair is like ice all the way through. He could put holes in you with those eyes of his. You should have seen Martin back down. The guy was tripping all over himself, backpedaling.”
“Of course.” Maggie chuckled. “Martin isn’t going to take on his instructor. Martin’s smart for gigging you when you were alone. He’s trying to make you fail, Molly, before you even get a chance.”
“He’s a male chauvinist, that’s all.”
“No,” Dana argued passionately. “Martin’s more than that, Molly. He’s really dangerous to your career. You’ve got to show more backbone. Maggie’s right. That kind of guy only respects an equal response to whatever he throws at you. Sinclair was doing you a favor by telling you how to arm yourself against Martin.”
