Under Fire. Lindsay McKenna
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my engines. I was lucky to be at high enough altitudes to pull it out and not have to eject.”
Bishop nodded. “Truthful to a fault, aren’t you? Not many pilots would tell me about those last three.”
“Honesty is something I live my life by.”
“Good,” Wes praised. He was starting to really like Maggie Donovan.
“Look, I’ve had my trial by fire. I’ve had instructors who wanted to wash me out from the time I stepped foot into naval aviation. Not only did I learn how to fly, but I had to outfly them just to pass the course. I had to fly twenty times better than any male candidate.” She held up her long, slim hands. “I’ve got ‘hands,’ Bishop. Flying’s in my blood. I breathe, eat and sleep it. It’s my life. I don’t ever want anything other than what I’ve got now. I like where I’m at, and I like myself. I respect what I’ve got, and yes, I’m always pushing the envelope on myself.”
“Nothing else interests you?” Wes asked suddenly, changing tactics.
“What else is there except flying?” Maggie asked in surprise, a defensive tone in her voice.
“I don’t know,” Wes murmured, chewing on another french fry. “How about a homelife? A husband? Maybe some kids down the line?’
She scowled.
“That wasn’t a chauvinistic comment.”
“Sounded like it.”
“That’s negative. So, what else interests you in life, Maggie Donovan?” Had she deliberately sidestepped her marital status? There was no wedding ring on her left hand, but pilots weren’t allowed to wear jewelry when they flew, anyway. He smiled slightly when he saw her cheeks flush a bright pink. Despite her focus and assuredness about what she wanted out of life, Maggie still was very much a human being with obvious weaknesses and strengths. That made her endearing. His heart squeezed in his chest as he thought about reaching over and caressing that fiery cheek with his hand.
Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.” Part of her was pleased that he showed personal interest in her—at the same time, it was unsettling as hell.
“Come on, you can do better than that.”
She crossed her arms over her breasts and studied her feet, which she shoved out beside the table. Her flight boots were like polished ebony mirrors. No, Wes was just good with people, Maggie decided. If she thought for a second that he was genuinely interested in her as a woman, she might have opened up on a more personal level.
With a sigh, Wes wiped his mouth with the white napkin. Maggie wasn’t going to cooperate. Obviously she felt he was overstepping his bounds, putting them on a personal basis. Well, wasn’t he? He ignored the question and the answer. “Tell me where you live.”
“It’s an apartment,” Maggie said finally, and then added when he probed her with those blue eyes, “In a large complex.”
“Large? Small?”
Petulantly, she shot him a glance. “I live over in Poway near my two friends, Molly and Dana. They’re officers stationed here at Miramar with me. My apartment has two bedrooms and I transit from there, using it to sleep after flying.”
“Any pets?”
“Of course not. How could I? I get over to Miramar at 0600 and usually don’t leave until 2100.”
“Whew! Those are long hours.”
“When you’re a woman, you’ve got to put that kind of time into your career.”
“Why?”
“Because a woman can’t make it in the military just being good. I have to stand out.”
Wes couldn’t disagree. “Bingo. So, you don’t really have any life except flying.”
“That’s right. How about yourself?” Maggie jerked in a breath. What was she doing? Now she was getting personal and treading on thin ice. Still, he interested her as no other man ever had.
“I live over in Poway, too. Right now I’m renting an apartment at Flamingo Corners.”
“Yeah, that’s about two miles away from our apartment facility. I’m at Casa de la Madre Tierra.”
“I’ve driven by it. Nice place.”
“So, does your life revolve around flying?”
“Yes and no. When I’m home, I like it. When I’m stationed on a carrier or an air station, I like to fly. I don’t know whether Commander Parkinson told you or not, but I’m recently divorced. My wife’s remarried to a guy in Ohio. We have a little girl, Annie. She’s five years old and the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.” His voice grew soft with feeling. “I love Annie with my life.” And then he looked over at her. “What about you?” He wanted to know if she was married or not. “Any family?”
A huge part of Maggie sagged in relief to find out Wes wasn’t married. “I’m single, but my family lives in Sacramento, and we’re close. I’m a first-generation American. My father and mother came over from Dublin, Ireland, forty-five years ago with very little money and a desire to live in America. Dad got a job as an Amtrak engineer, and he’s still doing it to this day. My mom raised four Irish-hellion girls.”
“You the oldest?”
“No, the youngest.”
“Ah, the baby of the family.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t mean a thing, Bishop, so forget the psychological ramifications.”
“I was firstborn and look at me: a natural leader, goal oriented and highly successful at what I do.”
“Are you happy, though?”
Wes gave her a strange look. There was more than just flash to Maggie. “I like a balance to my life between job and home. No apologies that I like to sit down with a beer and watch a football game on TV while my wife makes me a great meal.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sooner or later I knew that was coming.”
“There is life after flying, you know.”
“Not in my book. Not ever. This is it for me, Bishop, and you’ve got to appreciate where I’m coming from if you’re going to work with me.”
He drained the last of the coffee from the bottom of his cup and sat back. “Babies of the family are supposed to be sheltered and protected from life. They seek the easiest route and aren’t goal oriented at all.”
“Shoots down your theory, doesn’t it?”
With a shrug, Wes said, “Maybe. Maybe not.” Although Maggie was a stridently confident woman, and one of the few he’d ever met of that stripe, there was something that nagged at him. Beneath all her bravado, chutzpah and strength, he sensed there was a hidden source of softness that she kept well protected from him. Could he blame her? No. In the male military environment, a woman would get eaten alive if she didn’t have proper defenses in place to survive the hardness of its demanding life-style. And from all appearances, Maggie was surviving and thriving beautifully in the environment. But at what cost to herself? he wondered.
“Look, I want to take this cross-examination of each other a step further. I want to take you up on a FAM flight and see how you do.” She held his amused gaze. “And you can check me out, too. Let’s see if we can get our act together up there and work as a team. My wingwoman, Lieutenant Dana Turcotte, will be the aggressor and try to jump us. I’ve got permission from Commander Parkinson to set up this flight and dogfight. Are you game?”
Wes got to his feet and put enough money on the table for both meals. “Let’s boogie.”
Maggie nodded, liking his style. “I’ll pay for my own meal, Bishop. Thanks, anyway.”
“No,