Love Me Before Dawn

Cy chuckled. “Yes, she’s on our side. Thank God for hawk senators.”

Tess wrinkled her nose. “Going to speak to Senator Stockwell?”

“Of course. The cardinal rules of politics—smile, be polite, and be inoffensive.”

“I can smile, I can work at being polite. But inoffensive?” Tess groaned, throwing her head back and closing her eyes momentarily. “St. Patrick deliver me from this den of wolves I’m dining with tonight. Just don’t let me become their meal.”

“You won’t,” Cy said, laughing. One moment Tess could be so serious and adult. The next she would lapse into the naive candor he was trying to curb. “You’re much too small a fish in the political pond, so to speak. I think it would be a good idea if you acquainted yourself with the military tonight while I make the rounds. You’re familiar with the B-1 blueprints, but you haven’t made the effort to see the actual building of the plane or to acquaint yourself with the pilots who will test it.”

“I know, part of my education,” she mimicked gently. How like Cy to guide her into the next lesson in his plan. “Test pilots are far safer than politicians. I’ll welcome the change,” she returned fervently.

“They are ‘safe,’ as you say,” Cy nodded. “Most of them are fairly taciturn. They’re taught to test and observe. Chances are you’ll have to carry the conversation with them unless you get them talking on the B-1.”

“That’s fine with me.”

The California night was warm for October. Cy proudly escorted his tall, lissome wife into the lobby of the elegant hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Guiding her with a sureness born of his status and position in the company, he motioned Tess into the brass elevator.

Tess nervously hid her damp hands by burying them in the shawl against her breast. Inwardly she steeled herself, fighting back the panic that would fill her the instant the doors opened. Life had been so simple back on campus. The moment she married Cy, she had stepped into an unfamiliar, changing landscape. A landscape that she feared she would never be at home in.

* * *

Captain Shepherd Ramsey rested his lean, wiry body against the wall. With his back protected, he idly scanned the milling crowd of people. This was a black-tie dinner. A slight deprecating smile pulled at his well-chiseled lips. The blue of his Air Force uniform stood out against the black tuxedos of the civilians present. Black and blue, he thought wryly. A lot of bruises. Plenty of infighting between the Hill and us. He inhaled deeply and released his breath slowly, continuing to scan the crowd. It looked like a gathering of beautifully colored birds with the women present. He spotted gowns by Halston, Yves St. Laurent, Geoffrey Beene and others whose names he was sure his wife was memorizing. Raising one dark brown brow, he lifted his strong chin, searching the crowd for Allyson.

He caught sight of his wife carrying on an animated conversation with a staffer from Senator Diane Browning’s office. The staffer had probably been sent ahead to check out the atmosphere of the dinner since Browning was due to drop in unexpectedly on a courtesy visit sometime during the evening. Shep lifted his Scotch to his lips, sipping the smooth golden liquid. He didn’t know which he disliked more: staffers or the politicians themselves. But, they were a fact of life.

Major Tom Cunningham, another test pilot, ambled over. He matched Shep’s six-foot height, looking almost like a brother to the captain. The major’s light brown eyes darkened with silent laughter. He stood easily at Shep’s right arm. “Well, what do you think of this shindig?” he asked in his Arkansas drawl.

Shep shrugged his broad shoulders. “Boring as hell but necessary.”

“Kinda reminds me of the good ole days when chickens were pick’n’dough out of a bread pan. See how the less important ones are orbiting the staffers? God, the intrigue is so damn thick in here I could cut it with a knife.”

“Yes, and Allyson is in all her glory.”

Tom raised his head. “Don’t knock it, buddy. She probably helped get you into test pilot school with her manuevering. It doesn’t hurt to have a politically savvy Air Force wife.”

Shep frowned, not liking the thought that Allyson might have been responsible for his acceptance to the test pilot school at Edwards Air Force Base. He also heard the wistful note in Tom’s voice and turned to his friend. Tom had lost his wife to cancer two years before. It had been hell on all of them. Shep had stood by his Air Force Academy brother through it all. Had that been the beginning of the end of his marriage with Allyson? She had complained mightily of his absence at parties when he stayed with Tom at the hospital.

He moved the ice cubes around in his scotch, lapsing into thought. Allyson. Beautiful, poised, cosmopolitan Allyson. At twenty-eight he found it difficult to explain why he had married her. Why couldn’t he have had a relationship like Tom and Marie’s? They had been devoted to each other. And he’d enjoyed being with them because of the warmth that flowed between them and out to all those around them. But Allyson always chafed at the bit when he wanted to go over to their home for dinner. It was all right to spend a certain amount of time with Tom, she informed him, because he was a major. And after all, Shep should be seen with higher ranking men, but there was no need to spend so much of their time with the other couple.

It was in the closing days of Marie’s illness that Shep realized he didn’t love Allyson. At least not in the way he had wanted to love his wife. Tom had remained at Marie’s side constantly, holding her hand, talking soothingly to her. It was Tom’s ability to reach out and touch, that same holding, touching, and sharing Shep valued and missed, but Allyson deemed it inconsequential.

After Marie’s death both he and Tom had gotten orders to test pilot school. Shep had breathed a deep sigh of relief, glad that Tom’s grief would be consumed in the demanding rigors of the schooling. It was their shared grief over Marie’s death and then the help they’d given each other during the grueling training course that welded them into an inseparable team.

Shep glanced over at his friend, an undisguised smile on his mouth. “They do look like a bunch of chickens don’t they? All scrambling around, clucking and squawking.”

Cunningham grinned wickedly. “For a city boy, you’re learnin’, son. We got a couple of big dawgs coming tonight. I’m kinda wait’n’ to see if Browning and Stockwell show up at the same time. Wouldn’t that be something? Prodefense woman senator meets anti-defense male chauvinist. Some feathers ought to fly over that confrontation.”

“Conflagration is more like it,” Shep growled. “Stockwell has his head up his—”

“Easy, son. Remember, we’re just measly ole test pilots. We don’t get asked our politics or party preferences.” He rubbed his hands together. “And frankly, I can hardly wait to get my hands on the stick of that B-1. Pure sex, son. Yes, sir, pure sex to fly that bomber.”

Shep laughed deeply. “You damn Arkansas hillbilly.”

“And you stand there with that bland look on your face and tell me you ain’t excited about gett’n’ in that bomber too? You might fool most people, Ramsey. But you don’t fool me. Beneath that cool Maine facade of yours beats a red-blooded heart and soul. Hell, it’s a good thing you have me around to knock down some of those walls you like to hide behind. Get you loosened up a little.”

“Look, people from Maine are supposed to be unreadable,” he argued in good-natured defense. “I can’t help it if you always seem to be able to read me anyway.”

Tom nodded his head sagely. “All I gotta do, boy, is look in them gray eyes of yours and I got you by the throat. Funny, Allyson can’t read you the way I can.”

That was true, Shep thought. Allyson spent all her time scheming over the future. She never wasted time on small but important moments in the present. How many times had he wanted to share the beauty of a pale apricot sunset or a silvered mass of clouds struck by the sun? Too many times, a voice admitted deep within him.

“Hey ...” Tom exclaimed, nudging Shep’s elbow. “Who is that delicious-look’n’ lady that just stepped through the doors? My God, I think I’m in love.”

Shep looked up toward the entrance. And for a frozen instant in time he felt as if someone had stolen the breath from his body. She was dressed in a long ivory gown delicately touched with lace. The high Victorian collar only accentuated the old-fashioned aura surrounding her. She was a complete contrast to the chic modern women here and the contrast struck him deeply. His eyes traveled from the slender lines of her gown, across her small, firm breasts, to her face.

“Damn,” Tom breathed. “Isn’t she—”

“Beautiful,” Shep finished, straightening up. Trained to observe, he noticed that every male in the place had turned and looked at the woman. Shep’s eyes narrowed as he detected a certain tenseness in her porcelain features. Her eyes, the incredible azure blue of the sky, were wide, almost child-like as she nervously glanced around. His body tightened with desire as he watched her mouth. Her lips were full, slightly parted, and incredibly expressive. Dark auburn tendrils curled at her temples, softening the severity of her simple hairdo. Why did she wear her hair like that? Shep had no trouble imagining that dark mass flowing freely across her shapely shoulders. He noticed she was gripping her husband’s arm tightly. Didn’t the man realize how frightened and uncomfortable she was? Shep frowned, squaring his shoulders. Compared to the sleekly dressed women here at the party she seemed to be out of place, part of another time.

“Darling…”

Shep tore his gaze from the woman and reluctantly turned toward his wife. Allyson smiled brightly. Her green eyes were narrowed and intent as she breathlessly glided up to Shep. She curled her lacquer-tipped fingers around his hand. “Look who’s here. Now that’s someone you need to know.” Allyson cast a brief, plastic smile at the major. “Hello, Tom.”

“Allyson. How are you tonight?”

She laughed gaily. “Fine. Just fine. Now Shep, you have to go over with me and I’ll introduce you. That’s Cyril Hamilton and his wife, Tess. He’s the chief engineer for the aeronautical portion of the B-1 and she’s his administrative assistant. Although,” Allyson drawled in her best whiskey voice for added dramatic effect, “everyone knows he’s grooming her to replace him someday in the Rockwell hierarchy.”

Shep glanced down at his black-haired wife. “Oh really? And how do you know that?”

Allyson shrugged her shoulders in a very eloquent fashion. Her emerald green gown fit her petite figure beautifully, bringing each luscious curve to full ripeness. Shep looked again at Tess Hamilton. The difference was frightening. Alluring.

“Darling, I make it my business to know who’s in and who’s out on this project. I’ve been dying to meet Cy! You’ll be working directly under him so you might as well come and let me introduce you.”

“Correction, Aly, he’s working for us, remember? This is an Air Force project and Rockwell is the contractor.”

She pouted. “But that doesn’t really matter. He’s a VIP and you want him on your side. You have to work together; that’s the bottom line.”

Shep slipped his hand beneath his wife’s elbow. She loved to irritate him by dodging certain facts. He turned to Tom. “See you a little later, buddy.”

Cunningham smiled politely, resuming his Air Force officer demeanor. “Later,” he agreed.

A staffer from the Hill came up, grabbing Cy’s large, fleshy hand and pumping it expertly. Tess remained at her husband’s side, keeping her eyes lowered most of the time, terribly unsure of herself. Sensing the approach of more strangers, Tess raised her head. Her heart pulsed erratically as her eyes met and locked with the smoky gray gaze of the man who stood before her. Bits and pieces of information whirled through her mind—the Air Force blue of his uniform, his gentle gray eyes assessing her with keen curiosity, his intense masculinity.

Her lips parted as she saw him smile down at her. It was a reassuring smile, telling her silently that she was safe with him. Tess was unable to tear her gaze from his face; she felt mesmerized by the gentle strength she saw there. His hair was a dark umber brown, neatly trimmed, with a few rebellious strands that refused to stay in place dipping down on his brow. He was a lone eagle, her imagination whispered. Indeed, he did look like an eagle with his gray eyes and black, penetrating pupils. His face was lean, like the rest of him, and oval, with a strong chin. His eyes were wide-set and alertly intelligent. His nose was aquiline, adding to his hawklike appearance. If it weren’t for the fact that his well-chiseled lips turned up at the corners, she would have been frightened of him initially. There was a calculating coolness in him that was softened by his smile.

She barely heard the introductions. The woman at the captain’s side had deftly maneuvered between her and Cy. Tess raised her hand automatically to greet the strangers. She was aware of the officer’s long, spare fingers wrapping around the damp coolness of her own. He murmured something, inclining his head forward, his eyes never leaving her flushed features.

“Tess, why don’t you spend some time with Captain Ramsey?”