No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (21 page)

Dana didn't know how to respond to his husky compliment. She quirked her mouth and turned away so he couldn't see her response. Surprised that he came around to open the door for her, she looked up at him. His smile was devastating.

"A gentleman always opens a door for a lady," he told her, "even in this day and age."

With a groan, Dana got in and strapped on the seat belt. The leather interior of the Corvette and the cockpitlike instrument panel made her realize why Griff had chosen this car. It was probably as close as he could come to a plane on the ground.

Settling into his seat, Griff buckled up and eased the car away from the curb. "Now, what was that groan for?" He wanted to keep things light and easy between them. If the heightened flush across her cheeks was any indication, Griff was delighted with her reaction. At least she wasn't glaring at him.

"I thought the caveman era was dead." Dana tried to concentrate on the lovely avenues of trees and palms. Brightly colored oleander bushes surrounded most of the homes.

"My parents drilled it into me that a gentleman always does certain things for a lady."

"I'm sorry, but after four years at Annapolis where we were treated as if we weren't female, it's lost on me."

"I don't believe that. You're out of Annapolis now. It'll get easier."

She gave him a questioning look. "Really?"

It was Griff's turn to flush. "It will," he promised her softly. Glancing at her profile, he saw that her lips were pressed together, as if waiting for a blow. Frustrated he wondered how long it would be until she started lowering her guard toward him. Scrambling, he asked, "What will you do with your week of enforced rest at the apartment?"

"Try to keep up with Maggie's and Molly's workloads."

"Good idea." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "I've given admin orders to release all curriculum material to you on the subjects you need to stay up on."

Dana stared at the crisp, neatly typed orders with Griff's scrawl at the bottom. "Thanks—"

"My yeoman, Johnson, will bring over some text material to your apartment this afternoon and get you up to speed so that when you step back into the arena next Monday, you'll be caught up."

Stunned, Dana stared over at him. "Tell me something. Would you do this for any other student?"

"Yes."

She studied the orders, still feeling there were reasons behind his more-than-generous actions. Griff could have let her get this information on her own. He could have made it tough for her.

At the apartment, Griff insisted upon carrying her luggage and mock-up into the apartment. After putting them in her bedroom, he was able to look around. Dana's room held posters of flowers and pastoral landscapes. Her desk was neatly stacked with books and papers. The shelves were lined with books needed for flight training. Next to her double bed, covered by a crocheted afghan in lavenders, violets and pale pinks, were several music boxes. Here was a side to her he'd not been introduced to, but wanted desperately to know.

Out in the living room, Dana waited for Griff to saunter back to where she stood. His eagle gaze missing nothing, and it left her feeling naked beneath his inspection. She saw his interest in her room, and she didn't know how to feel about it. He could use any and everything against her in the cockpit. Having him in her apartment was like inviting the enemy to view her Achilles' heel. But was he her enemy?

"I like your place," Griff said, meaning it. He placed his hands on his hips. "Mine looks like a morgue in comparison. You've got lots of green plants and flowers in here. That's good."

Her heart went out to him. "Plants seem to make things come alive."

Griff shrugged and headed for the screen door. "It's been my experience that it's the person you share your life with that makes it come alive." Afraid he'd said too much, he gave her a mock salute. "Stay home and continue to get well. I'll see you Monday. And wipe that worry out of your eyes, all right?"

Dana managed a grimace. "I don't think it will ever go away."

"Sure, it will. See you around, Dana."

"Goodbye... and thanks."

"Anytime."

Dana's heart finally settled down after Griff left. Her spirit was buoyed by the fact that he was making sure she got the classroom assignments. Was the war really over? How badly she wanted it to be. Monday would tell her everything.

Chapter Eleven

Dana had thought she was nervous before, but Monday, as she sat in the ready room, tension had her sweating. All around her, students waited, talking in low voices or studying their flight manuals before the instructors came for them. It had been a week since she'd last seen Griff. Dana felt as if his absence had created a huge hole in her.

A week at her apartment had helped Dana regain her old strength and mental toughness, but the ocean had taken something from her. She couldn't define it exactly, but she felt softer, more vulnerable after almost dying. Molly, despite her own problems with flight training, had mentioned the change in Dana a number of times, and Maggie had seconded it. Had it come from herself, or was it something Griff had given her? The new Griff, she corrected herself. Dana wiped her sweaty palms against the thighs of her flight suit. She wanted peace between them. For the past two weeks she'd wondered about the poem Griff wanted to share with her. Perhaps it would give her the insight into him she so desperately sought.

"Miss Coulter?"

Dana jerked her head up. Griff stood a few feet away. Dressed in his olive-green flight suit, he looked unbearably handsome. When his mobile mouth drew into a slight curve of welcome, heat swept up Dana's throat and into her face. Unsure, she rose, forcing a smile in return.

"Hi."

Griff wanted to reach out, touch her shoulder and tell her it was all right; but under the circumstances, that was impossible. The wariness in Dana's eyes tore at him. "Hi, yourself. Are you ready to fly?"

Nodding jerkily, Dana gripped her flight log. "Yes, sir." His eyes were a nonthreatening dove gray, and she managed a strained laugh. "Yes, I'm ready, Mr. Turcotte."

As they walked out to the ramp where the trainers were parked, Griff shortened his stride for Dana's sake. "You look healed and as good as new," he told her. "How are you feeling?" He tried not to stare at her like a gawky teenage boy, but it had been a week since he'd seen her—an eon, to him.

"The truth?" Griff's easy demeanor gave her the courage to respond.

"I never wanted anything but honesty between us."

Dana wanted to believe him. Measuring her words carefully, she said, "I'm fine."

"Any nightmares?"

"Yes." His insight, when he chose to use it, never failed to amaze Dana.

"Common after a near brush with death."

The morning was bathed in a peachy glow along the horizon. Unaccountably, Dana felt her hopes soar. "As a pilot, have you come close?"

Griff nodded. "I was one of the pilots who challenged those Libyan planes and shot one down a few years ago. Yeah, I had nightmares afterward."

"Oh."

Halting at the trainer, Griff motioned her toward it. "Go ahead with the walk-around."

It was a dream, Dana thought. It had to be. Griff was acting like a normal human being with her. Was it all an elaborate trick to catch her off guard so he could give her a 1.9 after the flight? She also wondered if her airsickness would resurface. She would find out soon enough.

AVM Parker was there to welcome her back, handing her the discrepancy log to look over and sign. His smile was full, and she responded effortlessly to his welcome. The walk-around was completed, and she waited tensely for Griff to gig her on some small thing she'd overlooked. He remained silent, hands clasped in front of him, a neutral look on his face.

Climbing into the trainer, Parker helped Dana get the harness buckled. It was the first time the crew chief had done it, and she waited to hear Griff yell at him to get down and let her do it herself. The order never came. Parker gave her a smart salute and stepped down the ladder.

"Have a good flight, Ms. Coulter."

She gave him a thumbs-up. "Thanks, Parker." Her mind raced with the next thing she had to do. Her headphones were silent. Was Griff just waiting? Pushing the start button on the instrument panel, she heard the trainer's engine cough, and the propeller started turning.

The morning air was choppy because at least twenty other planes were in the flight pattern. The trainer felt good in her hands, but Dana knew she was gripping the stick too hard. As if reading her mind, Griff said, "Two fingers on the stick."

Dana obeyed, relieved not to hear the grate of anger that usually accompanied the order. Her stomach churned as they bumped along. Was he going to keep her in the flight pattern, making airsickness a more likely problem?

"Take us out over the gulf, Dana."

Dana.
Normally, it was Coulter—and even then, ground out like glass being smashed beneath the heel of his boot. He'd called her Dana, his voice civilized, unruffled—no sign of emotion in his tone. For the next two hours, he drilled her on basics, a ninety-degree turn, a one-eighty and three-sixty. She worked hard to keep her altitude even and the wings level. The temperature was climbing, and with it came more turbulence.

Toward the end of the two hours, Dana couldn't hold her stomach down. Pressing the button on the stick that linked her to Griff, she croaked, "I'm going to be sick."

"I've got the stick," came his calm reply.

Humiliated, Dana could do nothing but let him fly until she stopped retching and had stowed the burp bag. Wrapping her hand around the stick, she said, "I've got the stick."

"Roger."

Dana waited for him to start haranguing her about being weak. Silence. She gulped a couple of times.

"Parker stowed some water on the starboard side down by your seat. Take a drink of it, Dana. I've got the stick."

Stunned, Dana sat frozen for a moment, not believing her ears. Finally, she forced herself to move. Unsnapping her oxygen mask, she located the plastic bottle, drinking deeply from it, washing her mouth out in the process. Capping the bottle and stowing it, she took back the stick.

"Thanks, Mr. Turcotte."

"You're welcome. Okay, let's head back. You've had enough for one day."

Dana swung the trainer around, in shock. The difference in Griff was like night and day. Was this a ruse to gain her trust before going back to his old tactics, or was he really changing? Dana knew the grade he gave her would reflect a great deal of where Griff was really at.

***

"You're giving me a 2.2?" Dana gasped.

Griff smiled as they stood next to the trainer after the flight. "You put in two tough hours, Miss Coulter. Your landings were above average for being rusty, and your ninety, one-eighties and three-sixties were excellent." Griff balanced the board against his cast, and signed off his name. Dana's eyes were huge and beautiful—and God, how he wanted to drown in them.

Stunned, Dana signed off the grade and turned to speak to Parker, who was already servicing the plane for Griff's next flight. She excused herself and walked over to the AVM.

"I just wanted to thank you for putting that bottle of water in there for me, Parker."

"Ma'am?"

"The water in case I had to use the burp bag."

"Oh... the water." Parker flashed her a big smile. "That was Mr. Turcotte's idea, ma'am. I just played gofer and hunted it up for you. He's the one you should thank."

"I see…" Dana turned, nonplussed. She walked up to Griff, who was busy filling out the rest of the report for Ops. "Parker said it was your idea to put the water in there for me. Thank you."

He glanced up. "You're welcome. Come on, let's get back to the ready room and discuss the particulars of your flight."

Dana shook her head and said nothing. On the way, she glanced up at Griff, and noticed his walk seemed lighter. He almost seemed happy.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"I keep thinking about you—I mean, us. This grade isn't a joke, is it?"

Griff held Dana's serious azure eyes. "You earned the grade."

"You didn't scream at me today in the cockpit."

"No." Griff slowed to a stop as Dana confronted him, frustration mirrored in her eyes. He longed to reach out, stroke her cheek and tell her how sorry he was for the way he'd behaved the past month.

"What's going on, then?" Dana demanded tightly.

Griff looked around. The humid gulf breeze stirred, and several F-15 Eagle fighters flashed overhead, making the air vibrate in their path. The breeze gently mussed Dana's ebony hair. Griff sharply recalled how soft its strands were.

"I'm trying to make amends to you."

"Amends? What's changed?" she demanded hoarsely. "Ever since I got swept out on that riptide, you've been acting funny."

Griff understood her reaction. If he told Dana the truth— that he liked her, wanted to know her on a personal and intimate level—she'd run from him. "Yes, that incident forced me to look at a lot of things," he agreed.

"If you gave me that grade because you felt sorry for me, I won't accept it!"

He held her mutinous gaze. "I feel anything but pity for you, Miss Coulter."

Dana made a strangled sound and moved away from him. "This is crazy!"

"We're starting over."

Dana stepped into his path. "All right. What do you want from me?" she rattled.

Griff saw the shadow of fear in her eyes. "Nothing."

"You want something, dammit! I can feel it."

Her cry serrated his heart. Griff wasn't in a position to pull her into his arms and calm her down. "What I want from you is a smile."

"What?"

"I've never seen you really smile."

Shaken, Dana looked up at Griff. "This whole situation isn't making sense to me!"

Laughing, Griff said, "Maybe. Oh, there's one more thing."

"What?"

"I want to hear the sound of your laughter. If it's half as pretty as your mother's, then I'll be happy." With that, Griff eased around Dana and left her standing on the tarmac to digest their conversation.