No Quarter Given

“Why do you use the word play, Lieutenant?” Dana lengthened her short stride to keep up with Griff. He towered over her, his shoulders thrown back with pride. Despite his arrogance, she would never forget his actions at the airport.

“Women play at everything. Life’s a game with them, Coulter. I’m sure you know that.”

“No, sir, I don’t know that. I take my commitment to the Navy seriously.”

“Yeah, a six-year commitment. You’ll probably snag a higher-grade officer, get married and end up with a brood of kids and quit.”

“Barefoot and pregnant?”

Griff heard the steel in her lowered tone. “Isn’t that the goal of every woman, Coulter? A husband with a big fat paycheck? Security?” That had been Carol’s aim, she had confided timidly the day she’d asked for a divorce.

“I wouldn’t be here if that were my goal, Lieutenant.”

With a harsh laugh, Griff headed onto the tarmac after flashing his security badge at the gate guard. In front of them were five neat lines of parked aircraft, six to each row. The trainers had been serviced and checked the night before by teams of hardworking enlisted mechanics, and now were ready for their demanding flight schedule for the coming day.

Griff looked for tail number 13115, his trainer. It sat at the end of row three. Glancing down, he noticed Dana’s alertness. Her eyes roved restlessly, and she didn’t seem to miss much. It was one thing he looked for in a prospective student. Alertness could save a student’s life—and his, too.

Halting, Griff stood in front of the trainer. “This is 13115, Coulter. My plane. A walk-around consists of checking out the external surfaces of the aircraft. You’re to look for possible hydraulic leaks under the wings, check the ailerons, rudders and elevators to make sure they work properly.” Griff moved in a counterclockwise circle around the trainer, pointing here and there. “The student is responsible for the walk-around. The crew chief on this plane is AVM Parker, and he’ll present you with the discrepancy book on it. You’re to look at it, see if everything’s been repaired and sign it off after the visual inspection.” Griff pinned her with a dark look. “Failure to do so leads to an automatic Board.”

“You don’t have to look so happy about it, Mr. Turcotte. I’m not going to fail to sign off the discrepancy log.”

With a grimace, he muttered, “I’ll believe that when I see it. But then, you won’t be making it past six weeks with me, anyway. I’ll bet you fall apart on me within the first week, Coulter.”

Dana held his glare. “You really believe that, don’t you?” What made Griff feel so strongly about women? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she decided not to—at least, not right now. Some of Griff’s surliness had disappeared as he’d gotten out on the flight line. Even now, a new eagerness and excitement in his eyes had replaced the brooding glare he normally had around her.

“In my experience, Coulter, women pretend they’re strong until the chips are down. Then they fall apart, expecting a man to pick up the pieces.” He halted at the tail of the plane, placing his hands on his hips. “Well, I’m going to let you prove it to me all over again.”

It hurt to grin, but Dana did anyway. “Obviously your experience is limited, Lieutenant. I’ll show you differently.”

“No way.”

Dana didn’t respond, instead allowing Griff to teach her all he could from the ground. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he seemed perversely pleased by her incessant questions after the walk-around. She took notes, opened her walk-around manual, and asked more questions.

With a pang, Dana wished that she could climb into the cockpit, as other students and instructors were doing right now.

Griff saw the longing on Dana’s face. He wanted to tell her to sit in the cockpit and run through the start-up and shutdown routine, but he squelched the urge. He was damned if he would give her an edge. A smart student would make a cardboard mock-up of the cockpit at home and spend nights memorizing where the dials and gauges were located. But he wasn’t about to suggest that, either.

As they walked down the flight back toward Operations, or Ops, Dana risked everything: “Where do you come from, Lieutenant?”

Disgruntled, Griff gave her a sidelong look. “Jerome, Arizona.”

“Hot country?”

“Yeah, and if you’re stupid, it can kill you.”

Delighted that he was at least talking to her, Dana eagerly took the lead. Knowing something about Griff might help her anticipate what he would be like in the cockpit. She had no idea what a “screamer” was, but her survival reflex told her that any bit of information that might help turn a negative situation into a positive one was worth pursuing.

“Why is that?”

“Jerome sits on the side of Mingus Mountain. Below is a desert valley. I was taught from the time I was old enough to walk, always to carry a canteen of water and a hat with me.”

“So if the car broke down, you weren’t caught without water in the desert?” Dana saw his surprised look. For an instant, she thought she saw admiration in his gray eyes at her quick grasp of the situation. Just as quickly, his eyes became hooded again.

“Yeah.”

“So, how big is Jerome?”

“Small. Maybe a thousand people live up there.”

“You’re a country boy, then. And you like your privacy.”

Uncomfortable at Dana’s insight, he ignored her remark. “Jerome was a copper-mining town. My dad was a miner until the shafts closed down.”

“And your mother?” Dana hoped to find out more about Griff’s negative attitude toward women. She held her breath, hoping he’d respond.

“She was an invalid. While she was in labor having me, she suffered a stroke.”

A lump formed in Dana’s throat. She heard the regret—and maybe guilt?—in Griff’s icy tone. Softly, she offered, “I imagine it was hard on you growing up thinking you’d caused your mother’s illness.”

Griff slowed his walk, remembering the times he’d sat with his bedridden mother. Her entire right side had been paralyzed, making it tough for her to get anywhere without help. “I spent a lot of time with her when I was young. She taught me to read at an early age. I was reading Erle Stanley Gardner mysteries to her when I was twelve.”

A tremor passed through Dana—of understanding, of sympathy for Griff. “She must have loved your sensitivity and thoughtfulness.”

Catching himself, Griff gave her a strange look. Just what was Dana up to? He halted at the guard gate. “Ensign, I’ve got work to do. Dr. Collins has ordered you to report for flight training next Monday.” Abruptly, he swung away, heading back to his office. Dammit, how had he let Dana into his personal life? The soft blue of her eyes had touched him deeply, the compassion in them bringing up a wealth of wonderful old memories. His mother had died when he was fifteen. Until that time, he’d faithfully come in and read to her from her favorite authors every night. It had been his way of showing his love.

Griff mulled over Dana, Carol and his mother as he walked toward admin. Carol had never really asked him about his childhood. She’d been more interested in his career as a fighter pilot. He’d been the one to bring up his mother, and Carol had made the appropriate sympathetic sounds and comments. But Dana’s eyes mirrored the tragedy he’d felt as a child growing up. She understood. Shaken, Griff tried to ignore that discovery about Dana. How had he let himself fall under her spell?

* * *

When Maggie and Molly returned to the apartment that evening, Dana proudly showed them the cardboard cockpit she’d drawn and set up on a kitchen chair. Bringing up another chair, Dana sat down.

“We can all practice with this mock-up,” she told them excitedly. “I used the trainer manual and drew in all the dials and gauges.” With a grin, Dana looked up at her friends. “I figure if one of us calls off the preflight checklist and emergency maneuvers, the person sitting here can go through it.”

“Smart move,” Maggie congratulated enthusiastically, eyeing the mock-up.

“It’s perfect!” Molly said. “And you’ve done such a good job, Dana.”

“I had to do something,” she explained wryly. “Turcotte wasn’t about to let me sit in the cockpit. He knew I wanted to, but walked away from the opportunity to let me do it.”

“How about your eye?” Molly asked, setting her books down on the kitchen counter.

Dana told them the whole story. Maggie grinned devilishly.

“So, the Turk has some redeeming qualities, after all.”

“Maybe,” Dana hedged. And she told them about his family situation.

“Weak mother,” Maggie murmured, opening the refrigerator and pouring them all some iced tea. She handed the glasses around and sat down at the Formica-topped table. “Maybe that’s why he thinks all women are weak.”