Beginning with You (10 page)

Rook walked into her new office and waited until Barton entered before shutting the door. She had an urge to slam it shut, but decided it wouldn’t be a mature thing to do. Placing her garrison cap on the desk, she stood opposite him.

“All right, what’s this all about? It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I saw you last. I thought I’d made it clear I was going to be very busy the rest of the week.” Her eyes flashed with disgust. “All this talk about being friends was nothing but a cover, wasn’t it?”

Jim gave her a nonplussed look. “Hold on, Rook. I just—”

Compressing her lips, Rook planted her hands on her slender hips. “Do you know what you’ve done, Barton? You’ve embarrassed the hell out of me out there! I haven’t been on this base two days and you show up looking like some fresh college kid, bearing flowers!”

He grinned lopsidedly. “You’d better thank your lucky stars, Lieutenant, that I didn’t come in here dressed in my normal work clothes. Think of all the juicy gossip if I’d showed up as a muddy, unshaven lumberjack.”

“Jim Barton, you are the most unpredictable man I’ve ever had the bad luck of meeting!”

“Now, I know you don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes, I do!” Rook rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you’re for real. Why don’t you take yourself and those flowers and get out of here now if you really care about saving what’s left of my self-respect with these enlisted people.” She groaned and sat down.

Ignoring her plea, Jim took a chair opposite her desk, holding the fragrant bouquet in both hands. “I came for two reasons,” he muttered, digging into his breast pocket. “Charlie’s got your car running now. He gave me the address of a good car mechanic over in Sequim, where you can finish having it repaired.” He handed her the business card. “Terry said for you to bring it over anytime.”

“What’s a squim?” she asked, eyeing the card.

Jim tried not to smile. “That’s Sequim.” He spelled it out for her. “It’s an unpronounceable Indian word for the town down the road a ways from Port Angeles.” One corner of his mouth twitched as she softened toward him. “Do you have a way to get back? It’s only eight miles from here.”

Rook muttered, “No, but I’m sure I can catch a bus out to the station.”

“There aren’t any buses that come out this far.”

Rook refused to meet his amused, dark-blue eyes. Why did he have to be so handsome? “Oh…well, I’ll have one of the other pilots swing by and pick me up.” It was going to cost her too much to continue to rent a car right now.

“I’ve got an even better idea.”

Rook gave him a guarded look and glanced out the glass windows to see if the office personnel were still watching. They were. She groaned. Reluctantly, Rook returned her attention to Barton. “Why do I feel I should immediately distrust any idea you might come up with?”

Jim grinned, his tone amicable. “Even though I drive a truck for a living, I happen to own a nice gray Corvette.”

“No.”

“Don’t be so damned contrary.”

Rook glared at him. “Could we just limit our conversation to getting my car repaired? You’ve put me in a highly embarrassing position here at my office by bringing the flowers. Just for your information, I’m one of the few women helicopter pilots in the Coast Guard. I’m the first to be stationed here.”

His brows rose. “A lady pilot. I imagine that is rare. I knew you were unique the day I met you.”

“I knew you’d have a macho reaction to the fact that I work in a male-dominated occupation.”

Jim swallowed his smile. Rook Caldwell could be a wench when she wanted to be. That was part of what drew him to her, he guessed. And, she was a looker—a wild, blushing rose right now. “I don’t have a problem with you being a helicopter pilot, but you obviously do.”

“I do not.”

“You’ve accused me of being prejudiced against you, when the real truth is, you’re prejudiced against timber truck drivers.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be if the only one I’ve ever met hadn’t plowed into the rear of my car and damn near killed me!”

“I’d be upset for a while, but I wouldn’t hold a grudge, like you’re doing. After all, it was an accident. Believe me, we timber truck drivers don’t make a practice of running over every pretty girl we see in a car.”

He was right. Contrite, Rook said, “I can’t spend office hours chitchatting with you.”

Jim slowly unwound from the chair, laying the roses on the desk in front of her. “I understand. Here, these are for you. After yesterday morning, when you were feeling pretty rough, I thought these might cheer you up. Your cheeks turn this color when you get angry or shy.”

Rook watched him amble to the door and place a hand on the knob. He turned, and she met his amused gaze.

“When will you take your car over to Sequim?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He smiled confidently. “Why so defensive around me, Rook? Could it be you’re a little bit drawn to me, too, but are afraid to admit it?”

“Get out of here, Barton. I have work to do.”

“I thought so.” He winked. “I’ll be seeing you around—sooner than you think. Oh, yes, what is it those civilized white collar workers say? Have a nice day? You have one, too….”

Rook pretended to stay busy the rest of the afternoon. She tried to ignore the roses on her desk, refusing to touch them until the beautifully formed buds began to droop. Nothing that lovely should be punished just because she was upset with Jim Barton. Yeoman Third Class Jody Theron assisted Rook in locating a vase. As the Yeoman arranged the roses, she said, “These are just beautiful!”

“Thank you, Jody.” Rook pretended to be hard at work at her desk, hoping Jody would get the hint not to ask any questions.

“And he was so handsome! Wanda recognized him! That’s Jim Barton, the son of Howard Barton and one of the richest men in the area.”

Rook riffled through the pile of brochures “Yes, I believe he said his name was Barton.”

“What a catch,” Jody sighed, standing back and admiring her handiwork.

Rook lifted her head, pinning the woman with a black stare. “Just for the record, Petty Officer Theron, Mr. Barton plowed into the rear of my car two days ago with his timber truck. He was just here to apologize and give me the name of a good mechanic in Squim, or whatever it’s called.”

Jody smiled weakly and retreated. “Yes, ma’am.”

The door shut quietly and Rook stared blindly down at the paperwork. Dammit, she shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone—especially nosy office personnel. Men! They had always been a pain to her. Could anyone have had a worse first day than she had?

Chappie set the maintenance and duty roster records down on Captain Stuart’s desk with as much decorum as he could muster. It irked him when Stuart barely looked up to acknowledge his dramatic flourish or presence.

“Thank you, Chief. That will be all. Please close the door as you leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ward pushed the other paperwork aside after the chief had left. He picked up the March duty roster, rapidly perusing the names on it. A scowl started to form on his broad brow, and he jotted down the last names of a couple of people who, it appeared, were standing more than their fair amount of duty.

Minutes stretched into an hour and then two. The next time Ward looked at his watch, it was six o’clock. He was supposed to be home for supper. He picked up the phone and called Marcia.

“Captain Stuart’s residence.”

He smiled, relaxing when he heard Marcia’s voice. “You don’t say.”

“Ward! Where are you? Don’t tell me, you’re still at the office. I should have expected this.”

“Sorry, honey, but I tripped over a potential problem and I got lost in the details of it.”

“Uh-oh. Bad?”

Rubbing his face, Ward said, “It has all the earmarks of being a mess, but I can’t tell until I investigate some more. Look, I’m going to be late. I’ll probably get home around ten.”

“No problem. I’ll put the pot roast in the microwave and heat it back up when you get here.”

“Thanks, honey. How are the boys?” More specifically, how was Kenny?

Marcia’s tone lowered a bit. “Robby’s in his room doing homework.”

“And Kenny?”

“Out.”

“Out? Where?”

“Now, Ward you can’t dog his heels every minute of every day.”

“Dammit, Marcia, we’ve been through this before. I gave him specific instructions to leave word where he was going to be and with whom.”

“Kenny was here for dinner, then some boys in a car came by and picked him up.”

At least Kenny was leaving his grounded car alone—so far. “Who were they? Did you meet any of them?”

Apologetically, Marcia said, “No. It was dark, and they just drove up and honked the horn for him. He said it was some new friends he’d made at school today.”

“I’ll bet. Did you tell him he had to be home by half past ten?”

“Yes,” she said tiredly. “Ward, just relax. You know if you pressure Kenny too much, he’ll explode like he did last time. We can’t afford to have him cause a similar embarrassment here at Port Angeles. The town’s too small.”

With a snort of frustration, Ward growled, “How is it I can demand and get the respect of three hundred base personnel, but not my own son? Just where the hell did I go wrong?”

“Honey, don’t do this to yourself—or me. When you get home, we’ll talk more.”

“I suppose. Okay, look, I’ll see you a little later. I love you.”

“And I love you, Ward. Don’t worry, everything will be all right. Kenny will be home on time, and things will work out fine.”

Marcia tensed when Ward entered the house. She gripped the cup of tea she held in her hands a little tighter. It was eleven o’clock. She saw how tired he was—the corners of his mouth were pulled in, and his eyes, which normally held a devil-may-care glint, were now dull. He carried not only a bulging briefcase, but a huge stack of records beneath his left arm.

“Here,” she said “let me help you. What did you do? Bring all of Personnel home with you?”

“This isn’t from Personnel. It’s the line crew roster and maintenance records of the ’60s.” Wearily, Ward allowed her to take the parcel. He placed the beeper, which was with him twenty-four hours a day, on the counter, along with his hat. He dropped the briefcase beside the table, thinking that for a woman of forty-three, Marcia had one hell of a figure beneath the simple pink cotton robe she wore. He could see the feminine ruffle of her silk nightgown as he slid his arms around her, drawing her hard against him.

“Mmmm, you not only feel good, Mrs. Skipper, but you also smell good….” And he released her enough to tilt her face upward and kiss her.

Reluctantly, Ward let her go afterward. He gave her a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You grow prettier every day, did you know that?”

Marcia warmed to his roughened voice, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “And you look whipped. Come on, I’ve got some lemon spice tea just about ready to drink. The den is about the only room in this house that’s free of boxes and paper. I started a fire in the fireplace. Why don’t you go sit in there, and I’ll bring you the tea. Did you grab a bite to eat?”

Ward nodded, bussing his wife’s cheek before releasing her. Marcia instinctively knew when he was at low ebb and tried to be there for him when he needed her the most. Grateful for her care, he asked, “Are the boys in bed?”

Marcia’s hands froze in midair above the tea tray. “Robby is.”

Ward hesitated in the doorway, the beginning of a frown working its way across his brow. “And Kenny?”

Turning, she said, “He’s not home yet,” and then quickly held up both her hands. “I’m sure he’ll be home shortly. He’s only a half hour late.”

Hot rage welled up in Ward. He felt Marcia’s cool fingertips on his arm. “Damn that kid—”

“Please, Ward. Don’t upset yourself about this. He’s a half hour late, not two or three hours. He was so excited today that he’d made some friends right away that he’s probably lost track of time.”

Compressing his mouth into a thin line, Ward muttered, “That’s the way it started last time, Marcia. First, he was fifteen minutes late, then forty, and finally hours at a time. Dammit, I can’t afford to have my son embarrassing my command by getting lousy grades, carousing around at all times of the night and getting into drugs again! This isn’t D.C., where one kid’s screwup goes unnoticed because the city’s so big that word doesn’t circulate as quickly.”

“Ward, give him a chance, will you—?”

The front door opened and then closed. They both turned toward it. Kenny ambled in, hands in the pockets of the torn jeans he wore. His hair was long and uncombed, giving a slightly wild appearance to his lean face.

“Hi, everybody.”

“You’re a half hour late, Kenny.”

Pouting, Kenny leaned against the wall and crossed his feet, digging his toe savagely into the pale gold carpet. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Marcia gripped Ward’s arm tightly, a silent plea not to start another quarrel with their son. She heard the belligerence in Kenny’s tone.

Ward measured his son’s sullen response. He distrusted anyone who couldn’t stare him straight in the eye, and Kenny never could. “I’m sorry, too. For that half-hour error, you’re grounded for the rest of the week. You’ll come straight home from school, do your homework and stay here.”

“That isn’t fair!” Kenny shouted, jerking upright.

“You made a contract with me and your mother, and you blew it, Kenny. You gave your word. We talked long and hard about what it meant to transfer here to Port Angeles. You’ve been part of a military family for seventeen years, and you know what it means to be conscious of the image it carries with it.”

“Dammit, I wasn’t late on purpose! Steve’s car had a flat tire between here and Sequim, or I’d have been home on time.”

“Why didn’t you use the cell phone and call your mother, then?”

Disbelief shadowed Kenny’s features. “Because the battery needed recharging…sir. Have you been out on that portion of 101? If you had, you wouldn’t ask such dumb questions. It’s nothing but farms and forest. There are no phone booths.”

Trying to throttle his heightening anger, Ward growled, “Can you prove the car had a flat tire? Or is this just another one of your convenient lies?” He was sure his friends had cell phones. So why didn’t Kenny ask to borrow one and call?