Beginning with You (9 page)

“I’d like to meet her,” Ward said, meaning it. “I’m sure our wives would have a lot in common.”

Tag turned and set the mug on the desk. He managed a painful smile. “Oh, you’ll get to meet my Paula, sir. Your wife is having a luncheon for all the officers’ wives next week. Paula promised that she’d be there.”

“Anything else you’d like to discuss with me, Tag?”

“Uh, no, sir.” He smiled shyly. “Here I am, dumping my problems on you. You’ve got a base to run.”

“It’s my business and nature to know my people, Tag. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Any time you want to talk again, come and see me.”

“Sure you aren’t part preacher, sir?”

Stuart grinned and walked Tag to the door, opening it for him. “Oh, I’ve got a preacher part, all right. But most people wouldn’t say it was the inspirational kind.”

Tag responded to Stuart’s teasing. “I see, sir. More like raining fire and brimstone?”

“You’ve got it. Thanks for coming in and talking with me, Tag. With your help and care, we’ll get this station back on its feet.”

“It needs a shot in the arm, sir. This place was dying before you came. I just hope you have a big enough Band-Aid for it.”

“The patient’s wounded, not dead. We’ll bring the air station back. You can count on it.”

When Annie Locke saw the new CO snooping around the line shack and talking with people, she wished she were an ostrich. Instead, because she was working on her helo, she hunched a little more deeply under the engine cowling to continue her inspection of the jet engine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chief Jarvis walking in a hurry toward his office, where Stuart was heading. One of his “favorites”—probably Marchetti—had tipped him off that the new skipper was sniffing about.

Word was circulating like wildfire that Stuart was a tough, no-nonsense officer with a strong streak of fairness in him. Annie prayed that was so. After a year of constant harassment from Jarvis and his groupies, she was ready to slit her wrists. Being one of the few women flight mechanics in the Coast Guard hadn’t made it easier on her. When she had heard a woman helo pilot was coming on board, Annie had jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Marchetti had glared at her. Seth Davis, a black aviation metalsmith who had been one of the few men to befriend her and treat her like an equal, had grinned. And Yeomen Third Class Jody Theron, the “body works” from Admin, who happened to be hanging all over Marchetti at the time, wrinkled her pert nose in disdain.

A new hope thrummed through Annie as she carefully tested each nut and bolt on the engine mount. Her hands were greasy, but she loved the machines. With them, she had magic; she always had. Would Lieutenant Rook Caldwell be similarly mechanically minded? She hoped so. Sometimes, Annie simply wanted to sit down and talk shop about an engine. Most of the line crew and other flight mechs refused to allow her into their circle. She was female, therefore, an outsider. Oh, it wasn’t anything so obvious, but when she entered the line shack, all the joking would die away in silence. She would do what had to be done and then leave, feeling the unspoken rejection.

“Petty Officer Locke?”

Annie jerked up, hitting her head on the cowling. Ruefully, she rubbed the spot tenderly after resetting the cowling cover. Turning around on the side of the aircraft, Annie looked down. There was the woman helo pilot, standing beside Mr. Welsh. And when she smiled, Annie sensed instant camaraderie from her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Rook said. “I’m Lt. (jg) Rook Caldwell. When Mr. Welsh told me there was a woman flight mech over here, I had to meet her.” Rook offered her hand to the young woman.

Heat stole into Annie’s face as she leaned down after quickly wiping her hand free of the grease. “Gosh, it’s great to meet you, Lieutenant Caldwell.” She pumped the other woman’s hand an embarrassingly long time before releasing it.

“Hey Annie, I told Ms. Caldwell that you were our best flight mech,” Tag said. “How’d you like to take some time off from that engine and show her around?”

Annie could have thrown her arms around Welsh and kissed him. “Yes, sir! I’d love to, sir.” She scrambled down off the platform, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Gosh, when I heard you were coming, I jumped up and down for joy, Ms. Caldwell.”

Tag laughed and shared a look with Rook. “She did. That’s the truth. I heard later that Annie was dancing all across this hangar floor.”

“Ahh, that’s an exaggeration, Mr. Welsh.”

“Go on, Annie, show her around. Bring her back to my office when you’re done. I’ve got to meet the skipper over at Chief Jarvis’s office. See you later, Rook. You couldn’t be in better hands. Annie won’t brag about herself like some of our guys do. There isn’t a pilot here who wouldn’t jump at the chance to fly when Annie’s on duty. She’s top drawer all the way.”

Rook smiled gently over at Annie. She was pathetically homely, and yet her blue eyes sparkled with incredible life. There was a constant smile on her face, showing her bucked teeth. Somehow, the obvious deformity didn’t lessen Annie’s inner beauty. It simply enhanced the radiance that poured out of the woman like sunlight. “I can attest to that, Annie. I was at the SAR desk yesterday morning when the call came in. Later, I overheard Mr. Logan praise your abilities.”

Bashfully, Annie avoided Rook’s direct gaze. “I’d fly with any of these pilots any day, Ms. Caldwell. They’re a super bunch. Just super!”

As Rook walked around the white MH-60 with the orange stripe on the tail, she met the flight mech’s smile. “I hope someday, Annie, that you’ll say the same thing about me.”

“Oh,” she gushed, throwing up her arms, “I just know I will! You don’t know how lonely it’s been out here without someone to talk to.”

“Or confide in, maybe?” Rook teased, hearing the pain and loneliness in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rook liked Annie immediately. She was enthusiastic, and yet she possessed a solid stability. Despite her childlike joy over meeting another woman in a male-dominated occupation, there was a strong streak of responsibility to the red-haired petty officer. “Make you a deal. When things get bad and everyone’s ignoring you, come on over and talk to me, okay?”

Annie turned and looked at Rook, gratefulness written all over her freckled face. “Thank you, ma’am. You don’t know how much that means to me. Have they assigned your collateral duty yet? Do you know where you’ll be working when you aren’t flying?”

Rook hid the grimace she felt. “The XO assigned me as public relations officer.”

“Great.”

Not so great, Rook thought. She wanted a meaty job—one with responsibility—Not a cushy candy job. Being in PR wasn’t going to advance her career one bit. After things settled down, maybe she’d go to the XO and ask for a different job. She had her sights set on the future safety officer job. That would require three months of school. Well, what had she expected? That the men would think that she was automatically mechanically minded? Rook knew she’d have to prove herself—as usual.

“Uh-oh,” Annie warned. She motioned for Rook to follow her around to the nose of another H-60. “What?” Rook looked in the same direction.

Annie chewed on her lower lip, worry in her voice. “Chief Jarvis is getting mad. See how his face is going red all over? The skipper just went into his office ten minutes ago. The chief came galloping out of the men’s room when someone told him that the skipper was snooping around.”

Rook couldn’t see what the two men were saying behind the glass-paned door, but it was obvious that Stuart was already beginning to stir things up. She noticed the scowl on Annie’s face. “Does Chief Jarvis have anything to worry about?”

With a snort, Annie nodded. “He’s a drunk.”

Rook blinked. She remembered how tired the pilots she’d met already seemed and the sour feelings in the admin office between the yeomen and other people. There weren’t many good vibes anywhere, she decided—not even out in the hangar, her future turf. “Are you sure, Annie?”

“Yes, ma’am. Oh, don’t worry, I’m not snitching on the chief. He’s been drunk every day since he came here a year and a half ago. I ought to know an alcoholic when I see one. My mother was one. And the old CO wasn’t around enough to care what happened to any of us. Mr. Welsh tried his best to get the chief removed, but it didn’t work. What he did do was slot him into a desk job to protect the rest of us.” Annie made a face, turning her back on the scene, looking across the apron to the straits, no more than three hundred feet on any side of Ediz Hook, where she stood. “This is my third air station, and I sure found out fast that the chief didn’t like women in a ‘man’s world,’ as he called it.”

Rook frowned. “Has he made it tough on you?” She was thinking that the pilots could make it tough on her, too, if they wanted.

“I get twice as much duty as any other flight mech. At first, Mr. Welsh would make the chief rework the duty roster. But when his wife got ill, he sort of let things slide around here, and I didn’t try to get it changed. Fighting Chief Jarvis was like fighting city hall. After a while, I got tired and quit trying.”

Anger moved through Rook. Would Stuart find that out and correct it? If he didn’t, she would make it known through the proper channels and get it changed. “That’s a lot of time spent here.”

“I don’t mind, ma’am.” Annie lovingly patted the sleek, satin surface of the ’60’s bulbous black nose. “I’m not married, there’s no action in Port Angeles and there’s nothing I love more in the world than flying and SAR cases with the crews.” Her eyes shone with fervor as she met Rook’s measured gaze. “Believe me, there’s nothing like rescuing people from life-threatening situations. I live for it.” She raised her arm, gesturing around the hangar. “This is my calling, Ms. Caldwell. I don’t need a boyfriend or husband. The helos are my friends, my lovers, in a way. The people I rescue are my friends, too.” She laughed softly. “You heard about the SAR case on Sunday?”

“Only that one man wasn’t breathing when you pulled him from the straits.”

“Mr. Gunnison and I took turns on that fisherman. He’d been floating facedown for fifteen minutes. We administered CPR. And do you know what? He’s alive. They brought him back in the emergency room over at the hospital.” Satisfaction laced her voice. “Our rescue swimmer and Mr. Gunnison saved him, Ms. Caldwell. We gave him a second chance. Do you know, that’s the greatest high in the world for me—the greatest.”

As Rook rounded the ’60, she could well believe it. She had no boyfriend, no husband or family, either. Suddenly, as never before, Rook was infused with excitement. Finally she’d found someone who understood, who loved flying as much as she did.

Chappie Jarvis kept a broad smile on his square, weathered face while Stuart was in his office. Unlike everyone else, he wore his service dress uniform with light blue shirt and tie, denoting his authority in the hangar. He stood by the window, hands behind his back, carefully watching the CO. Ward sat in front of his desk, idly going over some past pink sheets on the ’60’s. What the hell was he snooping for? Had someone ratted on him? Probably that little buck-toothed bitch, Locke. He ran a damp hand across his balding head. At forty-one, he was not only going prematurely gray, but losing hair, as well.

Ward looked up. “Chief, I’d like to have the last three months of maintenance records on my desk by 1600. I also want to see the duty roster for the same time period.”

Chappie nodded brusquely. “Yes, sir.” The short little bastard of a commanding officer was going to try and get the goods on him. Now he knew Locke had squealed to the new skipper about the extra duty he’d given her. Chappie was sweating profusely. He knew he didn’t have time to fix all the records. He’d seen Stuart’s kind before: an officer who brooked no shit from anyone. This was probably his last command before they gave him mandatory retirement, so he was going to be a hard ass on everyone. After Stuart left, Chappie walked to the rear of his office. Hands shaking, he fumbled with the key to the file cabinet. There was a fifth of vodka in there, and right now he needed a drink to fortify himself. If he didn’t have those records on Stuart’s desk at 1600, his ass was grass.

Tag stuck his head out of his office and spotted Rook and Annie across the hangar. They were in deep conversation with one another over a jet engine that was being serviced.

“Hey, Lieutenant Caldwell!”

Rook lifted her head. “Excuse me, Annie, I’m being called.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Rook drew closer, so that Tag didn’t have to shout, she saw him jerk his thumb toward Admin.

“Just got a call from Ty over in Personnel. Said for you to hightail it back to your office. There’s some guy waiting over there with a bunch of flowers for you.” Tag smiled and wriggled his eyebrows dramatically. “Anyone we should know, Rook? Geez, two days in Port Angeles and you already have male admirers bringing you flowers. That’s impressive.”

She snorted softly. “You’re jealous, Tag.” Who the hell can it be? Not Noah! God, please don’t let it be him. But that’d be just like him, to show up with flowers and an apology. Rook wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after her.

“What’s his name?” Tag called.

“None of your business.”

“Funny name…”

“Tag—”

“Okay, okay, just teasing, Rook. I promise I won’t spread word of your new boyfriend all over the base.”

Rook pulled open the hangar door, and sunlight cascaded down on her. Tag was endearing. She would bet that he could keep a hundred secrets. The man had a certain air of honor about him. As her heels clicked along the asphalt, Rook took a look around her. The early afternoon had left the skies a clear blue, the sunlight dazzling on the calm waters of the straits. The temperature was in the low sixties, and a hint of ocean salt, mingled with the scent of forest, bathed the air station.

On Sunday, Admin had been deserted and ghostlike, with few people on duty. Today it was a beehive of activity. Rook was sensitive to the stares she received and tried to pretend she didn’t see or register them. Jane, the phone operator in the small office to the right, waved to her. Rook smiled back.

Stilling her jangled nerves, Rook tried to prepare herself to meet Noah once again. Damn him! He couldn’t play fair. He knew she wouldn’t react when ten other people were watching them. Taking a deep breath, Rook pushed open the heavy maple door that led into the secretarial pool and her public relations office.

The air she’d inhaled escaped in a rush. Rook stumbled to a halt. There, in a dark blue business suit, white silk shirt and expensive light-blue tie, was Jim Barton. And in his left hand was a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses Rook had ever seen. The once busy office quieted.

Jim’s smile faded when he realized that Rook Caldwell was not a secretary.

“You’re an officer.”

Her heart pounded hard. Rook didn’t know whether to be relieved or not to find that it wasn’t Noah. “And you’re wearing clothes—I mean, a business suit!”

“You aren’t going to hold that against me, too?”

Heat flamed into Rook’s face. She was acutely aware that everyone had stopped work to watch and listen. Her eyes narrowed, and she met the gazes of the people in the office. The clatter of office machines and computers promptly began again.

“Follow me, Jim Barton, and don’t say another word until we’re behind closed doors,” Rook whispered in a strangled tone.