One of the Boys (18 page)

“Well, I see the mountain has come to Muhammad,” Ed Stockton tossed at her with a grin several weeks later. They'd just finished a meeting on a new education center to be built on base. Unfortunately the chosen site was right in the middle of a nesting area for red-cockaded woodpeckers, one of Eglin's endangered species. The meeting had been lively, to say the least, and Ed was glad it was over so he could turn to more interesting matters.

Maggie didn't pretend to misunderstand his sly comment. She stopped gathering up her papers to grin back at him. “Let's just say we met on the road to Mecca.”

Ed had teased her once or twice about her pet name for Mac—The Mountain—since the rumors began that she was seeing the lab commander for reasons other than business. This was the first time she'd acknowledged their relationship publicly.

“The word is you and MacRae are making all the local hot spots together, kiddo.”

“What there are of them,” Maggie laughed back. In
addition to the various official functions on base Mac had taken her to, they had explored the rich fare in their corner of northwest Florida. Under the twins' enthusiastic tutelage, Maggie had been given a crash course in the local haute cuisine.

Quick visions of restaurants with paper place mats and plastic baskets piled high with shrimp and mouth-watering fried amberjack filled Maggie's mind. Mac had taken them all out to various local eateries, seeming to derive as much enjoyment from watching Maggie and the boys together as from the food itself. Mrs. Harris enjoyed the treats, too. She ate the local fare heartily, but insisted they all go “home” for dessert. Somewhere in her long career she had picked up a fatal weakness for gooey, saccharine-sweet confections, and always had something freshly baked in the pantry. Maggie and Mac discreetly scraped off layers of frothy icing and passed the goo to an appreciative Woof rather than dampen Kate's pride in her culinary achievements.

But the desserts were nothing compared to the sweetness that followed when Mac drove Maggie home. When it wasn't too late, when one or the other of them didn't have an early conference or a flight, or the boys weren't expecting him back, Mac would stay the night and they would make long lingering love. Other times, when he couldn't stay, they shared more kisses and heavy breathing than anything else.

“Jim Ames was over here yesterday. He mentioned that their big test is set for next week.” Ed Stockton's
voice interrupted Maggie's private thoughts. She frowned.

“Yes, I know. It was a struggle getting them to agree to all our conditions. The last issue was the height of the dike around the ignition site. Mac approved the change—and the associated costs—over Ames's objections.”

“Ames was also asking a lot of rather strange questions,” Ed continued after a pause. “Like why you left a big oil conglomerate to come to this little corner of God's country. Particularly when we're about to test a new energy source that might make your former employers very, uh, nervous.”

Maggie stiffened and turned slowly to face her boss. She let the implications of what he was saying sink in fully before she answered.

“And what did you tell him?”

Ed blinked at the ice in her voice. “Hey, hold on there. Don't shoot the messenger. I told Ames he was nothing but a fussy old woman—Oops, sorry!”

Ed had a tendency to forget that some of the old euphemisms were taboo in the current, more sensitive work environment. Maggie usually didn't hesitate to correct any of her crusty old boss's lapses, but this one she let slide.

“I just thought you'd want to know what you're dealing with.”

Maggie gave him a hard clear look, then nodded. She walked back through the bustling yard to her office, for once not noticing the activity teeming around her.

Industrial espionage—that's what the old fart was implying. She thought indignantly of all the hours she'd humored the man, maintaining a polite respectful demeanor even when he asked the same question for the third or fourth time. Despite herself, she couldn't help wondering whether Mac knew of Ames's suspicions. Surely, he himself didn't think that about her, not after all they'd shared.

Mac came by early that evening to pick her up for a formal function at the base. He could tell something was wrong as soon as she opened the door. She'd caught her hair up with glittering rhinestone combs, and was wearing a long slinky red thing that almost covered her tall frame, except for the slit up one side that appeared to go all the way to her armpit. It was an outfit only someone with Maggie's long lithe beauty could carry off, and one that made Mac's mouth go dry. The look that should have gone with that getup was sultry and smiling. Instead, there was a slight furrow on Maggie's brow, quickly erased as she took in his full glory.

“Lord, Mac. I didn't think they made uniforms with padded shoulders like that,” she teased.

“It's the shoulder boards. And this damn cummerbund. They make a man look like he's all trussed up.”

Not hardly, Maggie thought, as she feasted on the sight of Mac in his dress uniform. The short tailored jacket of midnight blue sported a glittering array of medals, topped by shiny wings. It fastened with a single button at his trim waist, showing a deeper blue cum
merbund, pleated white dress shirt and a jaunty satin bow tie.

“Is this the same man whose standard dress is worn jeans and old sweatshirts?” she asked with an awe that was only half-pretended.

“One and the same, Maggie m'girl. I'll prove it.”

And he did, with a kiss that left them both breathless. Maggie was still trying to steady her racing pulses when he put a finger under her chin and tilted up her head.

“Your dress is spectacular—what there is of it—and I love your hair up. The only thing missing is the smile in your eyes. What's the matter?”

Maggie wasn't ready to talk to him about Ed Stockton's disclosures, nor the doubts they raised in her. Not now, with a big function ahead of them. Later, she thought. Later they'd talk.

“Nothing, Mac. I'm a little nervous about tonight's do, I guess. I haven't been to one of these before.”

The Maggie he knew wasn't nervous about anything. Mac decided not to press the issue until they had time to thrash out whatever was bothering her. Later, he thought.

“Don't get your hopes up, honey,” he warned as he escorted her outside. In honor of the occasion he'd brought his little sports car instead of the Jeep. “The Air Force isn't very old. We're the baby military service, don't forget. We're still feeling our way between iron-clad British-mess traditions and fighter-pilot free-for-
alls. What you'll see tonight will probably be a mixture of the best and the worst of both.”

His words proved prophetic. Maggie couldn't remember ever attending any function where dignitaries were marched to a noxious-looking grog bowl for real or imagined slights. Everyone forgot the rules of the mess in the general hilarity and camaraderie that filled the ballroom. She laughed at the silly rituals and was moved to tears by the guest speaker. The former POW spoke quietly about his experiences in Vietnam. Looking around the room during his stark moving speech, Maggie noted fierce feelings of pride on the faces of the men and women in uniform as they listened to their comrade-in-arms. With a rush of indefinable emotion, she took in Mac's clenched jaw and intense eyes. The speaker finished with a simple prayer for the warriors left behind.

Mac held her close against him as they danced after the official part of the evening ended. Even when the music sped up and the younger couples around them gyrated across the floor, he held her close and moved to his own beat. They were among the last to leave.

If Maggie thought the long dinner, the numerous toasts and the intimate dancing had made Mac forget her earlier pensiveness, she soon learned her mistake. When the door of her condo closed behind them, he led her over to an armchair and sat down, pulling her onto his lap.

She was going to have to invest in some sturdier fur
niture, Maggie thought as the chair creaked ominously under them.

“Okay, now tell me why your eyes have had a shadow in them all night.”

She looked up at him, surprised. She hadn't even thought of Ames's ugly insinuations for whole hours at a stretch tonight. How in the world had Mac seen through her laughter and tears to the worry beneath? She took a deep breath. Better to get it out than let it fester. Besides, it wasn't her nature to dissemble or hide her feelings for long.

“Ed Stockton told me Dr. Ames seems to think I have some ulterior motive in my objections to the propulsion test. Something to do with loyalty to my former employer.”

Mac cursed his bumbling deputy roundly. “Ames is a fool, Maggie. You probably talked circles around him, and he reached for something to justify his own inadequacies. The test is a go for next week, isn't it?”

She nodded, a troubled frown creasing her brow.

“My people resolved every one of your objections, didn't they?”

She nodded again. “I had my deputy review the proposed changes, as well—he's the one who wrote the original draft report. He's satisfied with the new parameters.”

“So that proves you're not trying to sabotage the effort.” Mac ran his thumb lightly along her furrowed brow. “Don't let Ames's dithering bother you.”

Maggie let her breath out on a ragged sigh. “I'll be
glad when the darn thing's done. It seems as if this test has been hanging over us forever.” Swallowing, she looked up at him. “It's still awfully dangerous, Mac.”

“That's the nature of the test business,” he reminded her quietly. “You know that as well as I do. We're pushing the edge of the envelope, stretching into the unknown with every new plane we take up, every new chemical or explosive we test. All we can do is ensure all possible safety factors are considered.”

Maggie huddled against Mac's solid chest. She wanted desperately to believe his steady measured words. Normally she wouldn't have let a man like Ames bother her in the least. She had supreme confidence in herself and her professionalism. But she felt vulnerable lately, as if by giving in to Mac, she was laying open a part of herself that had been hers alone up till now. Her confidence had developed a soft spot where he or anything to do with him was concerned.

“Look at me, Maggie,” Mac's quiet voice commanded. “I refuse to let you be bothered by Ames. Forget it. Forget him!”

Maggie couldn't hold back a smile at his crisp order. “Yes, sir!” She tried to sit at attention in his lap and give him a smart salute.

Mac groaned as her fanny wiggled against him and held her still. They both forgot Ames and the lab and the test and their own names for a good long time.

In fact, Maggie managed to push the propulsion test to the back of her mind. She'd done everything required by law or common sense to protect the environment
and the people involved, and had other equally demanding projects to occupy her energies. Added to her pressure at work, Mac had given her some more things to fill her mind, not to mention her body and her heart. He'd begun to get downright grumpy about the evenings he couldn't stay with her and had to leave for his own home. And in a man as big and normally even-tempered as Mac, grumpy was definitely a state to be reckoned with.

“Something's got to give, woman. I don't like crawling out of your bed and sneaking back into my home like an adolescent.”

Mac nudged Maggie out of her sleepy lethargy and settled her boneless body in the crook of his arm. She snuggled into his warmth contentedly, wishing he'd let her just drift off to sleep. They'd had this discussion several times already.

“I love you, Maggie.”

That got her attention. Her heavy lashes fluttered open to find him staring down at her, a determined expression in his eyes.

“I hate leaving you at night. I want us together, in our own bed, every night. I think we should get married.”

As proposals go, Maggie had had better, but none that tempted her as much. None that called out to her heart to grab hold of something permanent, something wonderful. She wanted desperately to say yes.

“I…I think we should think about it.” She forced herself to meet Mac's eyes. “I think I love you, too, Mac.
But I've thought I was in love before, and it didn't work out. We owe it to the boys to take this slowly.”

Mac's eyes narrowed. “Don't use the boys as an excuse. This is between us. And what's between us deserves better than this sneaking around. I want to marry you.”

Some of Maggie's independence reasserted herself. After all, it was her bed and her bedroom and her life.

“You need to work on your technique, Colonel. Men usually ask women to marry them, not order them.” She tried to slip out of bed to put some distance between them.

“Oh, no, you don't.” Mac pulled her back easily. “I want an answer, however the question was or wasn't phrased.”

“I told you, I need to think about it!” she snapped. At his hurt look, Maggie relented. “Mac, you don't understand. I…I'm nervous about marriage. I came really close once, and when I did, a trapped feeling overwhelmed me and I bolted at the last minute. I left a good job in Houston because I just wasn't ready and my fiancé was.”

Well, at least now he knew why she'd come to Eglin, Mac thought. For a long moment, he studied her. He knew her too well to think she was being coy. It hurt him more than he was prepared to admit that she had doubts when he had none at all. He'd known she was the one he wanted in his home and his heart from the moment he'd seen her up to her knees in water, poking in that dark hole with the boys.

“Okay,” he said finally, levering himself off the rumpled bed. “Think about it. But think hard, Maggie m'girl. I may be big, but I'm not particularly slow or patient.”

He reached down, took a handful of her hair in one fist and held her steady for his kiss. When he left, closing the door carefully behind him, he was breathing as fast and as painfully as she was.