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The Gauntlet
Lindsay McKenna


Family tradition deemed Molly Rutledge should excel in the Navy. Yet sensitive Molly was all at sea when faced with the competitive jet jocks at flight-engineer school especially steely Captain Cameron Sinclair. The sexy widower and the lovely ensign were drawn together like magnets, but Cam doubted Molly would last…still, he couldn't help taking her under his wing–even though putting her through her paces was making his heart run the gauntlet.







Family tradition deemed Molly Rutledge should excel in the Navy. Yet sensitive Molly was all at sea when faced with the competitive jet jocks at flight-engineer school especially steely Captain Cameron Sinclair. The sexy widower and the lovely ensign were drawn together like magnets, but Cam doubted Molly would last…still, he couldn’t help taking her under his wing—even though putting her through her paces was making his heart run the gauntlet.

Previously published.


The Gauntlet

Lindsay McKenna






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Chapter One (#uc7ee968e-5eac-536d-9925-77b48cc3c52b)

Chapter Two (#u63f5b6cb-6e05-5255-af4b-ea28932ec5d7)

Chapter Three (#u7cf87fba-0046-5ce5-9371-68a1404e146e)

Chapter Four (#u41071dd5-f99c-544d-9e0e-a9ba74cea965)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

“How could you do this to me, Molly?” Jason Rutledge demanded. “My only daughter fails Navy flight school!”

Molly stood uncertainly before her father in the den of her parent’s spacious, richly appointed, New York City penthouse. She felt heat flame up her neck into her cheeks, and inwardly chastised herself for blushing. At twenty-three, she wished she’d outgrown such girlish reactions.

Her father, standing rigidly behind his desk, was a lean, spare sixty-year-old with steel-gray hair and steel-rimmed glasses. Scott, her brother, sitting nearby in his motorized wheelchair, was a younger, much less harsh version of the older man. Molly’s stomach knotted as her parent glared at her, his blue eyes narrowed. “Father—”

Jason gestured irritably to the left. “You graduated from Annapolis with honors, Molly, and won the right to go to Navy flight school. So few are chosen for it. Foreign countries send their best and brightest to train there. And you failed, Molly. You failed. What about Scott? You’ve let your brother down, too. You promised both of us you’d do your best to win your wings.”

Molly opened her mouth, then shut it. Having just driven to New York from Whiting Field near Pensacola, Florida, she was physically and emotionally exhausted. For six weeks she’d trained at Whiting, trying to make the grade at the toughest flight school in the world. She hadn’t attained the level of flight skills necessary to receive her wings. All the way home, she’d tried to prepare herself for this confrontation; but to no avail. Since her mother’s death thirteen years ago, her father had run their family with an ironclad hand. Molly longed to see some sign of softening in her father’s set, demanding features, but found none. Scott was hanging his head, staring disinterestedly at his hands clasped in his lap.

Pacing back and forth behind his huge maple desk, neatly stacked with files, Jason shook his head. “All my—I mean, our—hopes were pinned on you. I was an ace in the Navy during Korea! Your grandfather was in the Navy during World War II, and was also an ace. He even earned the Navy Cross.”

“I know that.” Unable to hold her father’s incisive glare, Molly stared down at her simple leather shoes.

“If Scott hadn’t had the accident he’d have gone on to Annapolis instead of you. He would have gotten his wings.”

Hurt, more than anger, stirred in Molly’s heart. Licking her lips, she whispered, “Father, I did the best I could for both of you. I’m sorry, truly I am. I gave it all I had.” She shrugged, her voice softening. “I just don’t have what it takes in the cockpit. My instructor said I’d make an excellent commercial pilot, but not a fighter pilot.”

With a snort, Jason crossed to the bar and poured himself a Scotch on the rocks. “We supported you all the way through Annapolis. Weekly letters from Scott. Phone calls from both of us. My God, short of flying for you, Molly, we couldn’t have done more. We couldn’t get the wings for you!” He took a hefty gulp of the Scotch and shook his head.

The hurt in Molly’s chest widened. She had dreaded coming home for her thirty-day leave before her next assignment. Lifting her chin, she tried to smile but failed terribly.

“I’ve been assigned to the Navy test pilot facility at Patuxent River, Maryland, to train to become a flight engineer. Do you know how many Annapolis graduates want that plum? Maggie and Dana both agree that working on testing planes is just as respectable a vocation as being a pilot.” Her best friends, whom she’d met at and gone through Annapolis with, were still at Whiting Field, finishing flight school.

“Good God, Molly! Hasn’t four years at Annapolis done anything for you? Navy pilots are recognized as the best in the world. Being a flight engineer is like being the bridesmaid.”

Frowning, Molly held her father’s gaze. “I disagree with you. My grades were excellent, Father. Not everyone gets a shot at testing. I think I can do it.”

“You thought you could get your wings, too,” Jason pointed out angrily. He set his glass on the desk with a sharp bang. “What makes you think test-pilot school is going to be any easier, Molly?”

“Well, I don’t—”

“Damn right, it won’t be. It will be ten times harder! Everybody and their brother wants to test planes, to be a ‘Golden Arm.’ Out of all those jet jocks, only a handful make it to that level of skill. If you thought flight school was tough, believe me, young lady, think again about Patuxent River. They wash out nearly everyone—only ten percent graduate.”

Molly glanced over at Scott, who was watching her silently, accusation in his green eyes. She sighed. “All I can do is try, Father.”

“Besides,” Jason went on as if he hadn’t heard her, “the test pilots are the stars. Flight engineers never get the glory.”

“It’s my understanding that the flight engineer is the test,” Molly gritted out. “The flight engineer makes up the program that the pilot uses to test the aircraft. No engineer—no test. I think that’s pretty important.”

“But the world only recognizes test pilots—not the shadows behind the scenes!”

“Besides,” Scott added dejectedly, “my friends don’t know anything about flight engineers. They all know about test pilots.”

“Then,” Molly said with forced lightness, “I guess you’ll learn a lot about what I do in the letters I write to you, Scott, and educate your friends in the process.”

Glumly Scott muttered, “I guess…. But it’s not the same, Molly.”

An ache threaded through Molly, so deep that she could only stand in the thick silence as both men studied her. She tried to remember what Maggie had told her: do the best you can, with no apologies. There is no failure if you try. Still, Molly couldn’t help but say, “I’m sorry I disappointed both of you. I promise I’ll do better at Patuxent River.”

Jason Rutledge sat down, holding his Scotch between his hands. “Retrieve our honor, Molly. My associates at the stock-brokerage firm couldn’t believe you were washed out of flight training. You don’t realize the embarrassment it caused me to admit that my daughter didn’t make the grade. At least let me give them good news that you’re making it as a test-flight engineer at your new station.”

Molly knew suddenly that she would never endure thirty days at home with her father and brother. “If it’s all right with you, Father, I’m going to leave in about a week for Lexington Park. It’s a town right outside the gates of Patuxent River. I’ll have to find an apartment and get moved in.”

“Fine.” He glanced over at her. “Do you need money?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

With a sour face Jason muttered, “I’m a millionaire twenty times over, but money can’t buy me the one thing I wanted most for this family: an heir to carry on our Navy-pilot tradition.”

Knowing that every emotion registered on her face, Molly turned away, drained. No amount of “I’m sorrys” would make her father let go of his disappointment at her failure to get her wings. She left the den as quietly as she had come, and climbed the stairs to the second floor of the penthouse.

At the top of the steps, Molly hesitated, peeking into Scott’s room. Her father had had an elevator installed to make it easy for him to move from floor to floor by wheelchair. Top Gun posters hung on the walls. So did posters of the F-14 Tomcat, the Navy’s premier fighter. The F/A-18 Hornet, another Navy fighter, was prominently displayed on the wall above Scott’s bed. Plastic models of all the modern-day airplanes cluttered his bookshelves. Molly felt sorry for their housekeeper, Emma Sanders, having to dust and pick up everything her brother left littered about the room.

Molly opened the door to her bedroom. Once inside, she stopped, feeling an immediate sense of comfort and security. The walls were papered with pale-pink and white flowers. Moving to her bed, she picked up her doll, Amanda. When her mother, Corrine May Rutledge—daughter of a very rich banking family—had died of cancer, Molly had spent hours on her bed, crying for her loss. Only Amanda, a rag doll whose painted face was nearly worn off from years of loving, had offered any solace.

Smiling gently, Molly barely touched Amanda’s gold yarn hair. “How many of my tears did you soak up over the years, Mandy?” When Molly was nine years old, her mother had bought Amanda for her as a birthday gift because the doll had blond hair and green eyes like Molly’s.

Life had become harsh and demanding after her mother’s death. Her father, who had always run his stock-brokerage house like a military machine, had brought that strict, cold order home. Molly remembered sobbing alone at night, longing for her mother’s warming embrace, kisses and gentleness.

Who would have thought that Molly Rutledge would turn out to be an Annapolis graduate? It still surprised Molly to think about it. She shook her head and placed Amanda back against the bed pillows.

Turning around in the middle of the room, she breathed in the past she’d left behind four-and-a-half years ago. It was a soft room in comparison to the harsh conditions she’d endured at Annapolis. Her china tea set was arranged on one shelf; several other dolls that shared the loneliness of this huge penthouse with her sat on another. Everything in the room shouted femininity, not militarism.

With a slight quirk of her lips, Molly pulled her suitcase up on the bed and began to unpack. In the eyes of her family, she was an utter failure. The only way to redeem herself was to become a test-flight engineer. Had she jumped from the frying pan of flight school into the fire of test school?

Her hands shook slightly as she slid her folded lingerie into a dresser drawer. Somehow she had to make her father and Scott proud of her again. After stowing the empty suitcase under her bed, Molly took a shower. Changing into a pair of dark gray slacks and a light peach-colored sweater afterward, she was ready to face her family for dinner.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, a knock sounded. The door swung open to reveal Scott sitting in the hallway.

“Dinner’s on, Molly.”

“Thanks, Scott.” She picked up a hand-painted silk floral scarf and tied it into a loose knot around her neck.

Scott’s hands rested on the wheels of his chair. “Father’s really upset. No one feels like eating.”

“Life goes on, Scott. I’ve already apologized. If this funereal atmosphere is going to continue for the next week, I’ll leave sooner.”

“Oh…no. You promised to tell me all about Whiting Field. Your letters are one thing, but hearing the stories in person is best.” Scott forced a smile. “Come on, you can go down in the elevator with me.”

Molly nodded and waited patiently while Scott turned his wheelchair around on the hardwood floor and headed toward the elevator at the other end. “At twenty-five, I’d think you’d have other things to occupy you than waiting for my stories,” she told him dryly.

Moving his wheelchair into the spacious elevator, Scott shrugged. “Father has given up on me becoming a stockbroker. It just isn’t for me.”

Molly pressed the button that closed the brass and glass door, and laughed for the first time since her arrival home. It felt good to discuss something other than her failure as a pilot. “Knowing Father, he doesn’t want to turn his company over to us or anyone. Not that I’d want it. I’m not cut out for the barracuda halls of stockbrokering.”

“Roger that.”

Molly smiled. For as long as she could remember, Scott had wanted to fly and become a Navy pilot—a life plan preordained by her father since Scott’s birth. Scott would go to Annapolis, graduate and become a pilot like the other men of the Rutledge family. An auto wreck two weeks before he was to leave for Maryland had paralyzed him from the waist down. As an afterthought, Jason Rutledge had pushed Molly into the appointment. She’d gone willingly, wanting to uphold the family honor.

The doors whooshed open to the first-floor hallway, and Molly followed Scott out of the elevator. As always, the highly polished oak floors and the expensive oil paintings lining the walls, made the place look more like a museum than a home.

“Scott, haven’t you found anything that interests you yet?”

“Your continuing saga in the Navy is what interests me, Molly. I really enjoy your letters. You’re a great chronicler. I read and reread them, and then I call my friends and relay your stories.”

Molly winced. She ached for Scott, who still felt guilty over having driven that fateful night. The accident wouldn’t have happened if Scott hadn’t been drunk. Luckily, he was the only one who’d been hurt.

She patted her brother on the shoulder and said, “I still think you ought to get interested in something other than my less-than-glorious naval career,” she teased.

“Naw. You’re the highlight of my life, Molly. You know that.”

Molly’s fingers tightened momentarily on Scott’s shoulder. Her thoughts moved ahead, to entering the test-pilot school’s doors, in spite of her apprehension at potentially failing her family again. But Molly dreaded her stay with her family. Her new training program couldn’t come a moment too soon.

* * *

Dressed in his olive-green flight suit—his favorite uniform because it was loose and comfortable—Captain Cameron Sinclair sat at his desk muddling through the stack of mandatory paperwork that always materialized when a new class of students started TPS. He glanced out the window of his office.

The June morning was beautiful at 0800. Cam had been at work for two hours already. Frowning, he laid down his pen and thought of his wife, Jeanne, and their son, Sean. Even now, he remembered the exact number of days, hours and minutes since they’d died. One year. Twelve of the worst months of his life. Picking up the pen, he ran his fingers absently along its smooth lines.

Depression had become a familiar friend. He knew fellow instructors called him “the Glacier” behind his back. But why should he smile and joke when it was the last thing he felt like doing? They had loved ones to go home to every night, while his apartment was huge and empty. As empty as his heart felt.

The parking lot was to the left of his office, and Cam noticed a tall, slender woman getting out of a gray station wagon. She was wearing a light blue Navy summer-uniform skirt and blouse. He lifted his chin, interested, the pressure on his heart lessening slightly. It had to be their woman student, Ensign Molly Rutledge.

Cam watched her leave the parking lot and make her way up the sidewalk to the doors of TPS. His office sat just to the left of the doors, so he had an unobstructed view of her progress.

The sun filtered through her loose blond hair, which glinted with gold highlights. She was decidedly feminine, Cam thought. She wore her garrison cap at an angle, her bangs pushed to one side to allow it to sit on her brow. Cam was struck by the serenity of her face, and unexpectedly, the cabin in the Smoky Mountains where he used to spend time with his family came to mind.

Her eyes were green, like the light of the sun shining through the leaves of trees along the trails they used to hike. Or were they gold and blue, reminding him of the sun high in the sky? Cam couldn’t be sure. He’d have to get a much closer look. One thing, he thought, taking a deep breath, Molly Rutledge was pretty in a clean-cut sense. Her face was smooth and nearly symmetrical. Her blond brows were slightly arched, emphasizing her wide, alert eyes. Her nose was small and straight.

Cam shook himself. As a test pilot, he was used to making minute observations. Now he was taking Molly apart with the same sort of appraisal, but he wasn’t retaining his usual objectivity. He hadn’t felt anything since his family’s death, so why was his heart thundering in his chest? As she drew closer, Cam saw that despite her regulation low black heels, Molly’s legs looked slender. His eyes narrowed in appreciation.

When his gaze settled on her mouth, he felt himself tighten in physical reaction. Her lips were delicately shaped, as if by a master artist. Cam found himself wanting to reach out and touch that soft, gentle mouth to see if it was real or just a figment of his fevered imagination.

Whenever a new class arrived at TPS, Cam secretly labeled each student with a name that embodied that person in his mind. And using that intuition, he was usually correct about who would and who would not graduate. Molly was tall, like a reed giving and bending in the wind. She was all grace and femininity. None of those attributes would serve her well at TPS, he thought sadly. What was needed was bullheadedness, strength, endurance and plenty of machismo.

Unable to tear his gaze away, Cam shook his head as she approached the door, her black purse hanging from her left shoulder and her records in her right hand. “You’re a gossamer angel ready to enter hell,” he muttered. “This place chews men up and destroys them on a regular basis.”

His words sank into the silence of his office as he watched Molly disappear inside the doors. A part of him wanted to jump up and go meet her in the foyer. She’d be looking for the commandant’s office, and he could point it out to her. Suddenly the need to meet Molly Rutledge ate at him, and, startled, Cam digested the unexpected feelings. Was he alive, after all?

The discovery was pulverizing to Cam, and he sat there, absorbing the fact of his reawakening emotions. He heard voices in the hall beside his office. Her voice. It was muted, so he couldn’t make out the exact conversation. Stymied, he shook his head. Cam was a test-pilot instructor; Molly would be assigned to First Lieutenant Vic Norton, the flight-engineer instructor.

“Lucky bastard,” Cam said to no one in particular, and looked back down at the work on his desk.

So what name would he give her? “Angel” was certainly appropriate: soft, gentle and serene. Molly floated, she didn’t walk; there was such grace in her movements. Muttering to himself, Cam grimaced. How had she stolen into his work? Okay, so he’d call her Angel. She’d never know it, and certainly no one else would.

Cam sighed. A sad smile shadowed his features. Angels wouldn’t make the grade at TPS. It would be a mere matter of weeks before pretty Molly Rutledge would be politely asked to leave. As Cam forced himself to mind his own business, his heart still twinged at the thought of the brutal demands that would be placed upon his angel.


Chapter Two

“So, you’re the woman we’ve all heard about.”

Molly turned on her heel at the grate of words flung in her direction. She stared up into the dark features of a tall Navy officer, his sandy hair cut short. Molly stepped back from his overpowering presence. He stood glaring down at her, his hands resting imperiously on his hips while he sized her up. In his flight uniform adorned with patches from his F-14 Tomcat fighter squadron, he was all warrior.

“Yes, I’m Molly Rutledge.”

“Ensign Rutledge,” he sneered, not offering his hand. “The name’s Martin. Lieutenant Chuck Martin. I’m a TPS candidate. When I got here yesterday and they told me a broad was going to try and make it through as a flight-test engineer, I thought they were joking.” His brows dipped. “Are you serious about this? A man could’ve had your slot.”

Molly stood in the hall, her books in hand. She’d just finished seeing the commandant and was on her way to the women’s locker room at the other end of the building. Martin was hovering over her like a furious eagle who’d had his territory threatened. She smiled coolly.

“I didn’t ‘take’ any man’s slot, Lieutenant. I earned it.”

With a snort, Martin said, “I wonder how.”

Molly had heard this kind of comment often enough to know he meant that she had slept her way to TPS. Her lips thinned. “Mr. Martin, I resent the implication.”

“What implication?” He grinned suddenly, feigning ignorance. Then his smile disappeared. “Let’s get one thing straight between us, Rutledge. I’ve got to fly with flight-engineer students. If I have to fly with you, my grades will be lower because you’re a woman. There’s no way in hell I’m getting kicked out of TPS because I have to fly with a woman.”

Bridling, Molly kept her voice low and neutral. “You’re out of line, Mr. Martin.”

“No, the Navy is—for allowing a woman here in the first place.”

Molly saw an office door on her left quietly open. A tall, lean pilot emerged, resting his shoulder against the doorjamb and idly watching them. Who was he? An instructor? Another student? Her attention was divided between Martin and the other pilot. The other man’s pale blue eyes held her captive—probing, merciless eyes that made Molly feel as if he saw within her to her most secret parts. Shifting her gaze back to Martin, she said, “My right to be here will be decided by how I conduct myself as a student. Grades will tell the full story, Mr. Martin.”

“Just stay out of my way, Ensign. You’d better hope like hell we don’t get assigned to work together. I don’t want my grades brought down because of you.”

“I’m responsible for my grades, not yours,” Molly shot back. Her gaze darted to the officer in the doorway. Why was he eavesdropping on their embarrassing conversation? Molly was sickened. TPS was going to be like Whiting Field all over again: she’d have to prove herself through hard work and long hours of study.

Martin grimaced, allowing his hands to drop from his hips. He settled the garrison cap on his head. “Later, Rutledge. Just stay away from me in class and hope you and I don’t get assigned to each other.”

Molly watched Martin swagger past her and out the doors of the building. When she turned around, the door to the office was closed, the officer gone. Disgruntled, feeling the pressure tripled within her, Molly continued down the hall toward the women’s locker room. Who was the mystery man in the office doorway?

She couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes: light blue with huge black pupils that seemed able to pierce her heart and look directly into her soul. Dark brown brows lay slightly arched across his assessing, critical eyes. His square-jawed face was spare looking, and had been emotionless. Martin’s attack hadn’t rattled her half as much as that officer’s sudden and unexpected appearance had.

In the locker room, Molly stowed her helmet and oxygen mask above the gray metal cabinet. She hung one of her olive-green flight uniforms and her flight boots in the locker itself—soon she would be flying at least once a week. Her equipment stored, she knew she had until 0900, when the candidates would meet to be briefed on what would be expected from them. Her hands damp, her heart beating in fear, Molly forced herself to leave the safety of the small locker room and head directly to the classroom on the second floor where the meeting was scheduled to take place.

Molly knew from long practice to walk in on an all-male class as if she owned the place. She was grateful for the four years of experience Annapolis had provided, because as she opened the door, fourteen male stares met her. A blond-haired lieutenant nearest her smiled and thrust out his hand.

“You’ve gotta be Molly Rutledge. I’m Leland Bard, hoping to become a flight engineer, too.”

Bard’s infectious smile was just what she needed, and Molly shifted her load of books to her left arm to shake his hand. “Hi, Leland.”

“My friends call me Lee.”

“Great. Call me Molly.”

He gestured toward two desks. “Have a seat. I guess the festivities will be getting underway shortly.”

Relief was sweet for Molly. She had a friend already, and it helped break the ice. Before, Dana and Maggie had been like bookends, protecting her. There was something to be said for the Sisterhood, if only for providing companionship in very exclusive all-male surroundings.

Lee sat down, stretching out his short legs in front of him. “You weren’t what I expected.”

Molly slid into the desk next to him and neatly stacked her books under it. “Oh?” She opened her notebook, her pen ready. Soon the commandant and instructors would file in and be introduced. Then the students would be assigned to them.

“I was expecting some hard-charging, gung-ho ring knocker to make an entrance.”

She grinned, noticing the volume of conversation in the room was getting back to what it had been before she entered. She saw Martin on the other side of the room with a small, tightly knit group of what she was sure were pilots. His scowl had deepened upon her arrival. Devoting her attention to Bard, who appeared to be in his late twenties, Molly said, “I’m hard on myself, not others.”

“In this place, that’ll count. I understand there are eight flight-engineer students and eight test-pilot candidates. You realize only four from each group will make the grade?”

“Makes me nervous.”

With a sigh, Lee nodded. “I got here a couple of days ago. My wife found an apartment in Lexington Park for me and our two kids. Housing’s at a premium around here.”

Molly agreed. Without her considerable monthly allowance from her father, she couldn’t have afforded the apartment she’d rented. “It’s rough.”

“Gonna get rougher.” Lee leaned toward her, his head cocked but his gaze roving around the bantering student groups. “I think we’re lucky.”

“Why?”

“There’s a Marine Corps captain here by the name of Cam Sinclair—a TPS instructor. They call him ‘the Glacier.’ I guess he’s been here two years and is a hard-nosed bastard, failing sixty-five percent of the pilots he instructs.”

“Sounds like Lieutenant Griff Turcotte,” Molly said, thinking of Dana’s flight instructor at Whiting Field. She explained her comment to Lee.

“Well—” Lee chuckled after hearing about Turcotte “—we can thank our lucky stars we don’t have Sinclair. They say his face is made of granite. He never smiles, cracks a joke or does much of anything except stare you down. Ice in his veins in the cockpit and ice on the ground. Guess that’s why he’s a Marine—they drain the blood out of them during their swearing-in ceremony. Then they inject them with Marine Corps juice or something. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” he said with a smile.

Molly smiled in return, and the image of the officer leaning against his doorjamb came to mind. His face had been utterly devoid of expression. Even Griff Turcotte, as much of a bastard as he’d been to Dana, was human, his feelings readable on his face. “I’m finding in this business that jet jocks hide a lot under that mask they wear.”

“Yeah, but Sinclair’s reputation is awesome. I mean, what happened to the guy to make him like that? Frankly, I’m glad we don’t have to interface with him much.” Lee grinned. “We just have to contend with these jet jocks who think they’re the greatest.”

“From what I hear,” Molly said, “we’re the power behind the scenes. The tests we design are the ones that make or break the whole thing. All those jocks do is drive the bus.”

Tittering, Lee replied, “Don’t let those boys overhear that comment, Molly…. Heads up—here come the instructors. Time to get this dog-and-pony show on the road.”

The small groups of students quickly took seats, and silence fell over the room as six officers dressed in flight suits filed in, somber expressions on their faces. In the second row, Molly was close enough to read the black leather patches sewn above the left breast pocket of each flight suit. Each instructor’s name was stenciled there in gold lettering.

The last man to enter was the one she recognized from earlier. There was a tight, coiled explosiveness to the way the officer walked; an internal tension was reflected in each of his brisk movements. Curiosity ate at Molly, and she quickly scanned the instructors’ name tags.

Her heart thudded once, underscoring her intuition. The last pilot was Cameron Sinclair, “the Glacier.” Those ruthless, roving, light blue eyes looked over the crop of students almost with disdain, she thought. Lee was right: the instructor’s face was absolutely expressionless.

But she would rely on her own internal radar, a special intuitive ability she’d had since birth, to make her final decision about Sinclair. She thought of Maggie’s contention that all women had this ability—something special passed on to them in their genes. If Molly ignored the obvious and allowed herself to experience the energy that surrounded Sinclair, she felt no fear of him, only compassion. Why? Her left brain, that portion of her that used only logic, was stymied.

The instructors sat down in chairs facing the students. As the commandant got up to speak at the podium and introduce each instructor, Molly zeroed in on Sinclair. Once he’d perused the group, his eyes became unfocused, looking above the group at the wall behind them, as if he had mentally checked out, wasn’t really here at all, Molly noted. She sensed sadness around him. It wasn’t anything more specific than that. His eyes were opaque, hiding any feelings he might be experiencing. His generous mouth was flexed into a tight line, the corners drawn in, as if he were in pain.

Pain? Confused, Molly knew Sinclair had to be in top physical shape or he’d never be here at TPS. It couldn’t be physical pain. Her heartbeat suspended itself when Sinclair slowly turned his head and pinned his gaze directly on her. Heat swept up Molly’s face, and she quickly averted her eyes, nervous as she’d never been before. Had he sensed her perusal of him? He must have! Sinclair might be stone-faced, but his own intuition was very much up and functioning to feel her inspection of him so immediately.

Cam scowled, his focus remaining fixed on Molly Rutledge. Somehow he’d felt her gaze on him. When he’d shifted his eyes from the wall to where she sat, a sweet ribbon of discovery had flowed through him when he realized she had the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. They were distinctly green and gold, like summer leaves kissed by sunlight. How intelligent and compassionate she appeared to be, he reflected, as her eyes widened when he caught her staring.

Disgruntled by his own thoughts, Cam wondered how he could really “know” that about Molly. Molly… Now he was calling her by her first name. Snorting softly, Cam pulled his gaze away from her. She had looked down quickly to avoid his stare, and Cam couldn’t resist looking at her one more time. Her cheeks were stained a flaming pink, her delicious mouth was compressed. There was such softness and openness to Molly that Cam continued to stare at her like a starving man. What the hell had gotten into him? Other women officers worked at TPS in various billets. He didn’t stare at them like a slavering wolf on the prowl.

When she licked her lower lip with her tongue, Cam groaned inwardly. It was such a sensual motion. Did she do it on purpose, knowing somehow that he was still watching her? No, Cam decided sourly; Molly Rutledge didn’t possess that kind of guile. Besides, Martin’s accusation that she’d slept her way into TPS was sheer stupidity on the student’s part. No one got to TPS without damn good grades and top qualifications.

Molly wasn’t the “type” to be at TPS, Cam decided finally. He knew that someday a woman would succeed at the male-dominated bastion that was TPS. Brutally honest with himself, as he’d always been, he admitted he’d expected a more assertive type of woman to beat down the door, not this angel face. How Molly would survive here was beyond Cam. And the way she’d handled the confrontation with Martin had been all wrong. She should have nailed him right between the running lights with equally harsh words, so Martin would respect her and back off. As it was, Molly was inviting another attack.

Well, she would have to learn to protect herself. Flight testing was a world that involved brash egos, keen intelligence and plenty of macho hustle. If she indeed had what it took, then that soft exterior was either a lie hiding a shark beneath it, or a facade to throw everyone off about her true strengths. Still, as Cam sat there waiting to be introduced and give his five-minute spiel, he wondered what Molly Rutledge really was made of. It wouldn’t take long to find out—TPS began in earnest tomorrow morning. From that point on, every student was in a life-or-death struggle to come out on top of the stack. Second place would never do.

Refusing to look up at the instructors, Molly could feel Sinclair’s cool, continuous appraisal of her. He was the last to speak, and she felt it safe to lift her chin and look at him then. His carriage was proud, his spine ramrod straight, his shoulders thrown back, shouting a justifiable self-confidence. As he wrapped his long fingers around the lectern and shifted his weight to one booted foot, Molly had her first opportunity to fearlessly study Sinclair.

She didn’t listen to his words as much as their inflection, the emotion behind them. There wasn’t much of that, she admitted. As Lee had said, he appeared to be a machine with no heart. Molly didn’t want to believe that about anyone. Still, Sinclair never cracked a joke, as the other instructors had, to put the students at ease. Nor did he smile. He was the only Marine Corps pilot up there; the rest were U.S. Navy personnel. Maybe it had something to do with interservice rivalry among the branches. The Marine Corps was a branch of the Navy and paid by the Navy. Molly smiled. No self-respecting Marine wanted to admit it; they were far too independent and arrogant to acknowledge that fact.

After the welcome-aboard speeches, it was time to meet her instructor. Molly liked First Lieutenant Vic Norton. One of two flight-engineer instructors, he was short and compact, with curly black hair and a round face that was sober looking, yet friendly.

As Molly prepared to leave the room after a round of introductions with her fellow flight-engineer students, she felt an odd sensation. Turning her head, she saw Sinclair’s blue gaze locked on her, even though he was standing with a group of aspiring test pilots clear across the room. Sudden heat threaded through her, shakiness following in its wake. No man had ever had such a hpowerful effect on her.

Turning, she bumped into Lee. Her books went flying. All conversation in the room halted. Molly died inwardly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lee, and crouched down to retrieve her books. When feeling particularly vulnerable, Molly had a terrible tendency to become clumsy.

She flushed with embarrassment as Lee bent over to help. “My fault, Molly.”

“No, it was me,” she murmured. All eyes were on her, and Molly tried to blot them out. What must Sinclair think of her? Did he realize how much he’d shaken her up? He probably thought she was a brainless idiot. And why did she care what he thought anyway?

Lee restacked the books into her arms and Molly quietly thanked him. Gradually the noise level in the room returned to normal, and she retreated as quickly as possible. The library was on the second floor, and that was where she wanted to be—alone. Lieutenant Norton had given them a huge reading assignment to prepare them for tomorrow morning’s class, and she wanted to take advantage of the extra time. The library would be a perfect place to read. At least there, she could escape Sinclair’s scathing blue gaze.

* * *

“Hey, Cam, take a look at this.” Vic Norton handed him a thick file marked Rutledge, M.

Cam took the folder, gesturing for Vic to have a seat in his office. The flight engineer shut the door. “What’s this?”

“The lady’s file. Man, it knocked my socks off. Now I know why she got assigned to TPS. Take a look.”

It was normal procedure for Cam to acquaint himself with all the students’ files. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t particularly been looking forward to reading up on Molly. Opening the file, he quickly scanned the important data. His brows rose.

“She got washed out of flight school?”

“Yeah. Hung in for six weeks and then got deep-sixed. Still, the IP’s evaluation shows she’s got good aptitude, if she wanted to leave the service and go for a commercial pilot’s license. I think I’ve got a pretty good prospect in her.”

Frowning, Cam continued to page through her file. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She’s a cream puff, Vic.”

“Oh?”

“Look at her face.”

“Good-looking as hell.”

Cam glanced over at his friend. “Is that all you swabbies have on the brain—sex?”

Grinning, Vic shrugged. “Hey, I’m happily married, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate women. And Rutledge is definitely worth appreciating.”

Cam read some of her bio. “Comes from a well-to-do background.”

“More like a silver spoon, I’d say. Her father owns one of the hottest brokerage firms in the Big Apple. She’s got his genes. I’ll bet beneath that sweet face of hers is a real hustler. Those jet jocks think she’s soft, too, but my money’s on her to fool every last one of them.”

“She’s had it easy,” Cam remarked, handing the folder back to Vic. He wanted to hold on to it, but it would have appeared unusual. “It’s my experience that people who’ve had it easy don’t make it when the chips are down. I don’t think that face is skin-deep. She’s soft.”

“Naw, I think you’re wrong.” Vic grinned and tapped the folder against his knee. “I overheard one of your students bitching about her.”

“Martin, by any chance?”

“Yeah. He’s already bad-mouthing her to the other pilots.”

Frowning, Cam rubbed his jaw. “I saw him nail her in the hall. I’m his instructor.”

“He’s going to have to learn to keep his mouth shut, and if he’s got a problem, go to you.”

“Hmm.” Martin was one of those jet jocks who contended women were worthless—except in bed.

“Glad he’s your problem and not mine,” Vic said airily, rising. “Eat your heart out, Sinclair. I think Rutledge is gonna make the grade.”

Cam shook his head. “Never.” After all, his just looking at her in the classroom had made her drop her books, he thought. After Vic left, Cam sighed. For some damned reason, he couldn’t get enough of looking at Molly Rutledge. Why was he so drawn to her? Looking at his watch, he saw it was 1700. Time to eat. He wasn’t really hungry—he’d lost twenty pounds after the death of his family. The paperwork on his desk begged to be done. He’d go over to the restaurant on the base, get a take-out order and go to the TPS library. That was his place to hide. No phone to answer, no people dropping in unexpectedly to disrupt him. He could finally get his work done.

* * *

Molly’s stomach growled ominously. The library, small and intimate, was empty. She’d gotten interested in one of her textbooks on software programming, and time had gotten away from her. Looking at her watch, she realized it was 1730. Her back was to the library entrance, and she heard the door open and close. Her scalp prickled and she twisted around in her chair to see who had come in.

Her heart dropped hard in her chest. It was Cameron Sinclair. He stood, a scowl working its way across his broad brow. In one hand he held a sack of food, in the other an armful of files.

“You.”

Molly blinked at the whispered word. Said as a curse? Searching his hard, unyielding face, she wasn’t sure. His pale eyes pinned her, and she felt like quarry.

“I…uh, is the library off-limits after 1700, Captain?” She’d already screwed up, judging by the dark look on his features. Maybe at night the library was for instructors’ use only. She rose suddenly, her thigh brushing the desk, and two of its four legs jerked off the carpeted floor.

Her books went flying, sailing gracefully across the aisle to thud like small explosions into the row of library shelves.

Cam watched the unfolding events in disbelief. Molly had jumped up, almost toppling over the desk. Her hands flew to her cheeks as she stood watching her books fly. To compound the error, she stepped back, almost falling over her chair, which didn’t slide well against the carpeted floor. His own hands full, Cam was helpless to do anything but watch. Molly caught her balance, but the chair tipped over backward, crashing to the floor. Cam’s heart wrenched in his chest as he saw her eyes fill with utter embarrassment.

“Klutz,” she said apologetically, kneeling down in front of the shelves. “I’ve always been a klutz, Captain. I’m sorry. Libraries are supposed to be quiet.”

Cam sensed something sad in Molly’s apology. He set his sack and files on another desk. Her gold hair swung effortlessly, like a curtain, hiding her bright-red features, and Cam found himself wanting to reassure her that her very human reaction to him wasn’t bad or wrong.

“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.”

“Well, if that bastard Martin keeps it up,” Maggie shot back, “I’d hang a sexual harassment suit on him.”

“Sinclair was right there. He heard Martin chewing me out. If there were grounds for it, don’t you think he’d do something about it?”

“There is no man alive who’s going to stand in your corner on a sexual harassment charge unless you bring it to him in writing,” Maggie said vehemently. “Damn, Molly, you can’t be laid-back about this. At Annapolis, Dana and I were there to help defend you against goons like Martin. But we aren’t there anymore, as much as I wish we were. You have to start developing that backbone we both know you have.”

“Molly,” Dana begged gently, “Maggie’s upset at Martin, not you. We know you believe diplomacy and a more passive response can win the day, but sometimes it can’t. Take Sinclair’s advice. He wasn’t out to rub salt in your wounds—only to help bind them in the best way he knew how.”

Glumly, Molly nodded. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. If my father hears about this, I’ll just get another chewing-out. I don’t need a third one.”

“Hang tough,” Dana urged. “Sinclair could be your ace in the hole. If things get bad, go to him. Talk to him. I think he’s on your side.”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Maggie added, “deck Martin and tell Sinclair to take a flying leap.”

Laughing, Molly thanked her friends. She hung up and remained on the couch, thinking, the afghan tucked around her legs. Her friends had protected her at Annapolis, to a large degree. Maggie’s fierce confidence made her a guard dog of sorts. And Dana was at her shoulder to back up whatever Maggie put into motion. Between her two friends, no upper or lower classman at Annapolis had wanted to put her at risk.

Picking up her cup of tea, Molly sipped the hot liquid pensively. Dana and Maggie had been her buffer zone against the aggressive male world of the military, it was true. Yet she knew she couldn’t handle it the way Maggie did, with equal assertiveness—which was exactly what Sinclair had suggested. And she didn’t possess Dana’s deadly calm voice and bristling defenses that no man dared test.

Looking around her quiet apartment and seeing the clock on the wall tell her it was midnight, Molly sighed. Tomorrow a letter would arrive from Scott, and he would want to know every detail of her week. On Saturday would come the dreaded phone call from her father, who would wring every nuance of the week’s events from her with endless, probing questions. Rubbing her brow, Molly wondered how she was going to tell them about Martin. It was beyond her to think of lying. Perhaps she could avoid telling them.

With a grimace, Molly removed the purple and pink afghan and sat up. Every time she’d tried the ploy of avoiding a topic with her father, he’d ferreted out whatever fact she was trying to hide and made his verbal berating doubly harsh. Molly stood and took the partially filled cup of tea into her modern kitchen. She rinsed out the cup and set it in the dish drainer. How much she missed Dana and Maggie! They’d been such a happy threesome at Whiting Field, their apartment ringing with kidding, laughter and good times, despite the pressures on them.

Looking around, Molly left the kitchen and headed to the huge bathroom to soak in a tub of hot water. To her dismay, her thoughts revolved back to Cam Sinclair. God, but he looked forbidding, yet she was powerfully drawn to him. Why? How? Molly didn’t think Dana was right about Sinclair. He seemed to hate her as much as Martin did. So why was she so drawn to him as a man? What chemistry was at work? It was totally illogical.

* * *

Cam tossed restlessly in his bed, the sheet tangled between his long legs. Light from the street invaded the bedroom, filtering through the pale yellow sheers. He glowered at the clock on the monkeypod nightstand. It was midnight. Why the hell did Molly Rutledge’s vulnerable face hang in front of his eyes every time he shut them?

His guilt over how he’d handled her earlier had made his whole evening miserable. Miracle, his black Labrador, lifted her head from the braided rug that sat parallel to the bed. Her huge brown eyes glimmered with question. Cam waved his arm in her direction.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered to the dog and turned over, his back toward her. Punching the pillow into the right shape, he lay there, his gaze shifting to the nightstand on the opposite side of the king-size bed. On it were two photos. One was Jeanne dressed in a beautiful orchid gown. The photo had been taken about a year ago, a month before the airliner had crashed, taking her life. Cam stared at it, wanting to feel something…anything. Only numbness followed. Since the day of the crash, his feelings had been destroyed.

The other photo was of his five-year-old son, Sean. He had Cam’s black hair and his mother’s dark brown eyes. Gone. They were both gone. Cam felt Miracle’s paw on the edge of his bed.

“Go lie down,” he ordered the dog. When Jeanne was alive, they’d go to bed and Miracle would jump up and play with them, bouncing crazily from bed to floor and back. Since Jeanne’s death, Cam hadn’t allowed the Lab up on the bed.

Miracle whined, pawing impatiently at the mattress.

Cam turned over. His anger melted away. The dog’s head was tilted, her eyes lifted to look up into his. Reaching out, he patted Miracle’s sleek ebony coat.

“Go lie down, girl. She’s gone. Forever.” He gently removed Miracle’s paw from the bed. “Go on….”

The dog whined softly, wagging her tail in a friendly fashion. Incredible sadness deluged Cam. “There’s no more play, pup. No more….”

Miracle lowered her head and turned away, her paws clacking against the hardwood floor as she made her way over to her braided-rug bed. She plunked down, resting her head on her paws, her eyes never leaving his.

Cam grimaced and turned away, unable to stand the grief he saw in the dog’s sad gaze. In her own way, Miracle missed Jeanne and Sean as much as he did. Playtime had been every night—a free-for-all of fun, laughter and crazy-kid antics. A soft smile tugged at Cam’s mouth as he closed his eyes. Jeanne had been such a child at heart, so spontaneous and filled with life. She saw all that was good in life, while Cam saw the reality of it. Still, he’d looked forward to their playtime, letting Miracle up on the bed. It was silly and childish, but he didn’t care. Jeanne had brought out the child in him—his laughter and hope. Now all that was destroyed.

The only thing left of what they’d shared was four-year-old Miracle. Cam knew the dog remembered Jeanne and Sean, remembered better times. She’d loved Sean dearly, had always been watchful of him, always there as a wonderful and protective companion.

But as Cam closed his eyes again, it wasn’t Jeanne’s or Sean’s face that hovered before him. It was Molly Rutledge’s serious features, her green eyes mirroring genuine hurt, her mouth pursed to hold back the pain he was sure she’d felt from Martin and his own scathing attack.

This was crazy! He didn’t even know her! And yet, as he lay there, Molly haunted him. Just what the hell was it about her that was triggering this ridiculous response? Cam tried to hide from the memory of his urge to go back into the computer room and hold Molly after he’d laced into her. It was her mouth, so delicate and wonderfully shaped, that beckoned to him. And to look into her serene green eyes laced with gold, was to know peace. Peace! Something he’d not felt in the year since his family had been brutally ripped out of his life.

To stare at those sculpted lips was also to acknowledge the heat building almost painfully in his lower body, a strictly carnal hunger that wanted satiation through Molly and no one else. With a groan, Cam pulled the pillow over his head and tried to escape his rampantly wild thoughts and needs. God, he worked with women every day. None of them affected him. Why her? Why soft, slender Molly? She was such a graceful creature among a group of hard, harsh men. Yet, on one level, Cam admired her stubbornness to stick to her guns and be herself, not allowing the situation she lived in to change her convictions. He admired that quiet gutsiness.

The rest of the night held only bits and snatches of light sleep. When dawn came, Cam got up in a foul humor. Miracle, as if sensing his ogreish mood, remained on her braided rug and simply watched him come and go from the master bathroom as he shaved, climbed into his flight suit and then returned to the bed to shut off the clock radio.

Cam went in to the facility early and proceeded directly to the student file drawer that held information on the current students. Locating Molly’s file, he tucked it under his arm and walked down the long, empty hall to the coffee room. After starting the coffee, he sat on a plastic chair at one of the tables and opened the file. Maybe by absorbing every bit of information on Molly Rutledge, he’d finally get over whatever was eating him, and he could enjoy a decent night’s sleep again.

While the coffeemaker gurgled away, Cam riffled through the file. He started at the back, at the beginning of her naval career. The folder was at least two inches thick, containing her Annapolis years and Whiting Field experience. He dug for something in particular, like Miracle tracking a scent. Every prospective Annapolis student had to fill out a biography: why they wanted to attend the elite school.

“Finally…” he muttered. Frowning, Cam began to read her beautiful handwriting with its feminine flourish. Time slipped away as he continued to read page after page, discovering Molly. There was a four-and-a-half-year-old picture of her, taken at high-school graduation. Cam touched the color photo. Molly’s hair had been very long and loose, flowing across her dark blue graduation gown in carefree abandon. She looked hopeful and joyous, her smile warming him even now.

Cam scowled, looking down at Reason For Entering Annapolis. Her brother had originally been scheduled for the academy and had been unexpectedly injured beforehand. Shaking his head, Cam read on. Molly was taking Scott’s place? He looked up. The coffee was ready. So, she had volunteered to step into her brother’s boots and take his place at the academy.

As he got to his feet, Cam’s mind whirled with questions. Did Molly really want to be in the military at all? Had her family forced her into going? Yet, looking at her grades, she was a brilliant aeronautical engineering graduate. She had a nice balance of understanding of math and mechanics, but hadn’t lost her decidedly feminine side in the process.

“Enigma,” he muttered, retrieving a cup of steaming coffee and sitting back down. He glanced at his watch. It was 0530. In half an hour, the instructor on duty for the day would officially open TPS. Running his fingers down the thickness of her file, Cam decided he’d better read in a hurry to cram as much information as possible about Molly into his memory before that happened. He wanted no one, especially Molly, to know what he’d done. It wasn’t against regs, but it was unusual.

She’s an unusual case, he told himself and sipped the coffee gratefully. Very unusual. And interesting. God, but she fascinated him! At the same time, Cam worried for Molly. It was obvious she wasn’t cut out for the dog-eat-dog atmosphere of the military. Here she was at TPS, one of the toughest, most demanding military schools in the world. How the hell was she going to survive in this environment?


Chapter Four

“Well, how did your first flight test go?” Scott wanted to know.

Molly gripped the phone hard, pacing back and forth in front of her couch in the large living room. She’d just gotten home at 1700 when the phone rang. “It went,” she said, refusing to lie. If Scott wanted details, he was going to have to ask the questions to drag it out of her.

“What kind of a grade did you get?”

Wincing, Molly sat down and shakily began to unlace her black flight boots. “I got a seventy-five percent.”

“Is that good?”

“It wasn’t failing.”

“What’d the other flight engineers get?”

“The grades went all the way from seventy-five to ninety-five, Scott.”

“Jeez, were you at the bottom of the barrel, Molly?”

Pushing the boots to one side, Molly unzipped the lower legs of her suit and tugged the thick white cotton socks from her feet. “Yes, I was last on the list.” She tried to laugh. “Look at it this way, Scott—I’ve got nowhere to go but up.”

“Well, did they give you the hardest of the flight tests? Is that why you almost flunked?”

Molly felt a cry deep within her. “Look, Scott, I’m really tired. You’re calling me a day early. I need to get supper and then I’m going to hit the books. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

“Oh…yeah. Well, I was just real excited, Molly. You said the test was Friday, and I couldn’t wait until Saturday to find out how you did.”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell Dad about my grade just yet, okay? He’ll be calling tomorrow, and I’ll tell him then.”

“Sure, Molly.”

“Gotta run, Scott. I love you, and I’ll see you later. Bye.” Molly hung up the phone as if it were burning her hand. She stared blackly down at it, almost wanting to unplug it from the wall. The thought was tempting, especially under the circumstances. Right now, all Molly wanted was someplace where there wasn’t a phone or anyone who wanted a piece of her.

She walked to her bedroom and shed her flight suit to get a quick, hot shower. Lee Bard had told her about the rolling beach at the air station that few people ever utilized—mostly because it was part of the naval facility and off-limits to tourists and locals.

Dressing in a pair of comfortable white cotton slacks and a pale pink tank top, Molly picked up her lavender windbreaker as she headed out the door of her apartment. The sun was still bright in the sky for the Friday evening. Under her left arm were a couple of textbooks and a notepad. Maybe the beach would be an ideal place to relax, read a little and just “chill out,” as Scott would say.

Getting directions at the gate from the Marine Corps guard on duty, Molly drove her station wagon to what appeared to be one of many parking areas for the point. As she got out, the salt air filled her lungs, and she inhaled it deeply. Some of the tension she’d carried since flying with Chuck Martin at midday sloughed off.

The beach was a golden color—picture perfect, in her estimation. For as far as she could see in either direction, the beach was empty, dotted with plenty of sand dunes shaped and created by the winds that sprang up off Chesapeake Bay. It was June, and the storms for the year had passed into history.

Molly allowed the tranquillity of the beach and the glassy-smooth cobalt water to soak into her. She muddled through the grasping sand in her tennis shoes. With a slight laugh, she stopped and took them off, then carried them in her left hand. It felt good to dig her toes into the grainy texture of the sand as she wove in and around the many dunes.

Nearly a mile from the parking lot, Molly found her spot. It was a cul-de-sac nestled between two fairly large hills laden with salt grass. In front of her, as she spread out her well-used purple beach blanket, was an unobstructed view of the bay. Although the sun’s rays were sliding across the eastern expanse of the bay, she could barely make out white sails of yachts dipping up and down on the surface. More tension flowed from her as she shrugged out of her backpack which contained a sack dinner and her textbooks.

Her legs crossed, her elbows resting on her knees as she munched on a tuna sandwich, Molly thought about Cam Sinclair. Funny, all week, at every turn, she’d seemed to run into him. And always he was a gentleman, nodding deferentially in her direction, opening doors for her or whatever, but never offering a smile or any indication of emotion in the depths of his haunting pale blue eyes or his continually pursed mouth.

Did Cam ever smile? Molly wondered, munching on the sandwich. What would his face look like if he did? She closed her eyes, trying to imagine just that. And then, when a keening sea gull flew low, she reopened them. With a laugh, Molly tossed a bit of her sandwich up in the air. The gull dived, catching the choice morsel with grace and quickly gobbling it down.

In no time, Molly had a plethora of gulls circling above her between the two dunes. She gave her potato chips to the beggars, and time spun to a halt. The slight breeze, the salt air, the warmth of the sun’s rays, plus the dozens of gulls who cautiously edged toward her towel or flew around her head, made it a magical time for Molly.

Finally out of food, she shrugged her shoulders at the birds. All she had left was an apple, and Molly used her small pocketknife to cut off bits of it to toss to the gulls who stayed around her blanket, begging. Test-pilot school was forgotten. Chuck Martin no longer existed. Her laughter was full and lilting, absorbed by the inconstant breeze and pleading cries of the seabirds.

The flock of gulls suddenly took wing as a unit. Molly saw the black shape of a dog hurtle up and across a nearby dune. Before she could move, she saw a sleek black Labrador bounding toward her, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Startled but pleased, Molly stood.

“Hi there, fella.” As the dog came up to her, she saw the Lab was female. Extending her hand, Molly smiled as the dog fearlessly approached, wagging her thick tail furiously. She was wet, with water glistening on her ebony coat.

“Excuse me. I mean girl. Hi. How are you? And who do you belong to?” Molly leaned down. The dog wore a leather collar with a rabies tag, as well as another tag. Looking closer, Molly smiled.

“So, you’re Miracle. I wonder what you did to earn a name like that?” She petted the dog’s sleek, damp head, taken by the animal’s affectionate nature.

Molly had crouched down, her arm around the dog’s neck as she patted her, when she saw the outline of a man appear on the crest of the same dune. The sunlight was behind him, and she narrowed her eyes to try to make out who it might be. Obviously, the dog’s owner.

“Miracle! Heel!”

Molly straightened, her heart racing. No, it couldn’t be! The voice was excruciatingly familiar. Yes, the man dressed in jeans and a polo shirt certainly might be Cam Sinclair. The sunlight was blinding, and Molly lifted her hand to shade her eyes as Miracle scooted away, obeying her master’s sharp command. Halfway down the dune, the Lab met the man and dutifully sat, her tail thumping hard on the sand.

“Hi,” Molly greeted him uncertainly. It was Cam Sinclair, all right. As he looked at her, she felt herself go all shaky inside—a response that was new and startling.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here at this time of day,” Cam replied. Miracle whined, looking eagerly toward Molly. He stood, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry if she mauled you. Miracle’s still a puppy at heart.”

Smiling, Molly walked to the bottom of the dune. How handsome and relaxed Cam looked now. Almost human! “That’s okay. I love animals.”

“She was after all those gulls she saw flying around these two dunes.”

“I was feeding them my dinner.”

Cam watched as the breeze blew a number of strands of Molly’s hair across her shoulder. She looked pretty in her civilian clothes, her bare feet giving her a decidedly childlike appearance. “Oh.”

Without warning, Miracle turned and bounded back down the dune, leaping up on Molly, her black paws landing on Molly’s chest. Cam yelled at the Lab but she didn’t listen. He came down the dune and reached for the dog’s collar, to jerk her away from Molly.

“No…it’s okay.” Molly laughed breathlessly, affectionately roughing up Miracle. She played with her, and the dog leapt and bounded around her in high spirits.

Embarrassed by Miracle’s inexplicable antics, Cam stood helplessly by and watched her and Molly play with each other. They were like children. The light in Miracle’s eyes was alive as she dodged and leapt playfully, avoiding Molly’s hand. It was Molly’s laughter that sent a sharp shaft of longing through Cam’s heart, through his entire body.

Suddenly Molly wasn’t the Annapolis grad or the TPS student. She was simply a woman. A beautiful one, who melted into the texture of the sand dunes, the peaceful lap of the bay water and turquoise sky laced with sunset colors of pale pink, lavender and gold. Cam didn’t have the heart to scold Miracle for not minding him. How long had it been since he’d really, honestly played with the Lab? A year, he admitted.

Finally, Molly fell to the blanket, giggling. Miracle collapsed beside her, panting heavily. Placing her arm around the dog’s shoulders Molly looked up at Cam. There was a dark scowl on his face, as if he totally disapproved of what she’d done. Feeling too good from the unexpected romp and exercise with the dog, Molly gasped, “She’s great for aerobics, isn’t she?”

Cam edged a bit closer to the blanket, his hands still deep in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, she was—I mean, is.”

“How did Miracle get her name?” Molly shifted her gaze back to the dog, who responded by licking Molly’s hand.

“Four years ago I wanted to get a dog. I went to the dog pound over in Lexington Park. They were going to put her to sleep the next day, so I took her because I didn’t want to see her killed. That’s why I decided to call her Miracle.”

Molly sized him up. “I like someone with a kind heart,” she whispered.

Flushing, Cam negligently dug the toe of his tennis shoe into the sand. “I don’t know about a kind heart. I felt the dog was worth saving.”

Smiling, Molly ruffled Miracle’s head between her hands. “Soft heart or not, you did a good thing. She’s wonderful! I’ll bet you get your share of exercise when you walk her.”

“I do. I come down here a couple of times a week to run her. She gets cooped up in my apartment, and I can’t let a big dog sit for too long.”

Molly liked Cam’s thoughtful nature. “They say animals mirror their owners. Does she?”

Cam grimaced. “I don’t think so.”

He was so serious. And there was such sadness in his eyes and around his mouth. Something in her wanted to alleviate it, but Molly didn’t know how. “When I was growing up, I had a dog. She was a purebred, because my father said they were the only kind to have, but it really didn’t make any difference to me. Pooky, that was her name, was a Border collie. Father wanted to get me a German shepherd or a Doberman pinscher, but my mom wouldn’t allow it, saying they were too temperamental and moody to trust around a child.

“So I ended up with Pooky.” Molly looked past Cam, the memories coming back deep and strong. “She loved me so much, and my whole life revolved around her. My brother was the firstborn, and he was always the center of attention. Pooky and I stayed in my bedroom where I served her tea, shared my dolls with her and read her fairy tales.” Molly smiled shyly down at Miracle, who had her head cocked to one side, as if listening intently to each word.

“Pooky died a month after my mother did. I never felt so alone.”

Cam frowned. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Ten.” Molly rallied, petting Miracle fondly. “Father wanted to get me another dog, but I just couldn’t do it. Pooky was one of a kind. And even at that age, I knew nothing or no one could ever replace her.”

Pain widened in Cam’s chest—not only for himself, but for Molly. What had her mother’s passing when Molly was at such a young age done to her? He tried to ferret out the damage, but found none. Surely it had scarred her. Jeanne’s passing and the loss of Sean had certainly scarred him for life. “Did you love your mother?” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted the stupid question.

“Very much. We were close. Father’s a workaholic, and it was Mom who kept things going at home for Scott and me. Yes, I loved her more than life.” Molly stroked Miracle’s neck and shoulders. “This is wonderful, getting to meet a dog like yours. She reminds me so much of Pooky—loyal and loving. I’m really glad I ran into you here on the beach, even if it was an accident.” Molly smiled, meaning it.

Uncomfortable with Molly’s openness, Cam called Miracle to his side. The black Lab hesitated, licked Molly’s hand one more time, then slowly rose and trudged hesitantly to his side. Cam felt like a heel. He wasn’t able to give Miracle the kind of open, loving warmth Jeanne had bestowed on her. Now Molly was offering what Miracle so missed. He wondered hotly what it would be like to be stroked by Molly’s small, graceful hand. For a moment, he envied Miracle.

“I’ve got to get going,” Cam stumbled. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

“Sure…” Molly tried to smile, but it was impossible. She’d totally embarrassed herself in front of Captain Sinclair, who was obviously uncomfortable in her presence. Miracle hesitated at the top of the dune, turned toward her and barked. Then she spun around, disappearing down the other side with her master.

Packing up her items, Molly thought she’d never felt as alive as she had in those few minutes with Cam and his dog. At least he hadn’t been icy with her, as he was at school. There had been a change in him, although it was subtle. Why was he so unhappy? As Molly shrugged into her knapsack and folded her towel, she cringed at the thought of going home. The weekend stretched in front of her. On Saturday her father would call, demanding a detailed verbal report of her week’s activities.

Slowly, Molly walked through the sand. The sun hovered on the horizon, the sky a pale pink tinged with lavender. Its setting was going to be spectacular, and the beauty momentarily raised her plummeting spirits. How she longed for the kind of freedom Miracle had.

Cam’s face swam in front of her. All her worry lifted, and a ribbon of warmth spread through Molly. What kind of magic did he hold over her to lift her unaccountably from her own private hell? Whatever it was, Molly thanked the Fates for bringing them together this evening. That had been a miracle in itself.

* * *

“Stop whining.” Standing in the living-room doorway, Cam scowled. Miracle stood at the front door, as if waiting to be let out. Cam knew the dog was thinking of Molly. Wasn’t he, too?

Running his hand through his hair, he entered the living room, sat down on the overstuffed couch and picked up a newspaper. The six o’clock news was on TV, and Cam watched it with disinterest. Miracle came over to sit primly near his feet. She whined again.

“Stop,” Cam pleaded, putting the newspaper aside and patting the Lab. “I know you liked her a lot. And yes, she played with you.” Cam frowned. “I’m sorry, I should play more with you. Maybe I’ll try from here on out. Okay?”




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