Point of Departure Page 4

  “I hate the idea of being on crutches,” she said tightly as she lurched to her feet, favoring her right ankle. Placing the crutches beneath her armpits, she glanced over at Ty. There was such sympathetic understanding in his eyes that Callie momentarily froze. Despite the heavy contrast offered by the streetlight, which seemed to carve his rugged looks with light and shadow, she not only saw but felt his compassion. Angrily, she shoved it away. He was merely another representative of all the problems she’d ever had with pilots over the years.

  Ty stepped aside as Callie began hobbling toward her apartment. He smiled briefly as he shut the car door behind her. “I have a feeling you don’t like any kind of help,” he told her as he walked slowly at her side, her purse tucked under his left arm.

  Jerking a look at him, Callie said, “Commander, at Annapolis I got the message loud and clear. There is no support for women. I learned that lesson in my plebe year. No, I don’t lean on anyone. Not ever.”

  The anguish in her tone needled Ty. “I went through Annapolis, too, so I know what you’re talking about. We had three women in our group, and they took a hell of a lot of harassment,” he admitted. “Two of them dropped out. Only one made it the entire four years.”

  Callie swung her way awkwardly up the concrete sidewalk. Luckily, her apartment was on the ground floor. Ballard was a product of his environment, there was no doubt. And the fact he was a fellow ring-knocker didn’t thrill her, either. If she were a man, she’d be part of the vaunted brotherhood, that clique of male Annapolis graduates. But because she was a woman, she was coldly excluded.

  “Square pegs in round holes,” she said, stopping at the door of her apartment. Taking her purse from Ballard, she finally located the set of keys.

  “Women have it tough in the military,” Ty agreed quietly as he watched her open the door. A soft light emanated from inside, and he saw that the apartment was filled with green plants and the pale, Southwestern colors of sandstone, pink and lavender. Wanting to do more to atone for what had happened to Callie, he opened his hands. “Can I help you in any way? Make a phone call for you? I think your sister would like to know how you are. Or maybe a friend who can help you tonight?”

  Touched by his concern, Callie shook her head. She saw care burning in his eyes, and heard real emotion in his voice. Giving him an odd look, she said, “Commander, I think you’re a dream of some kind.”

  Ty cocked his head. “A dream?”

  Callie tried to smile but failed. “I’ve never seen a pilot be so sensitive. You’ve been wonderful, and I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll be fine now,” she answered steadily, although she felt anything but fine.

  The shadowed look in her eyes convinced Ty that she was lying. But maybe she didn’t even know it herself. He shrugged. “Like I said, we’re not all cold, callous bastards. I know a lot of pilots who are good men, have families and a decent home life. Not all of them spend the other half of their life at the O Club.” And then he sighed. “Not that I’m one to talk.” When he saw her tilt her chin and give him a perplexed look, Ty smiled a little, as if to brush off the deprecating comment about himself.

  “Thanks for everything.”

  Ty moved forward and touched her shoulder before she turned to shut the door. “Look, let me leave my phone number with you—just in case.”

  “No…thanks.” A flash of panic darted through Callie. Ballard was a figment of her imagination. She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but he stepped away and shrugged. Now she’d hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing she’d meant to do. Torn by the evening’s events, she whispered, “You’re one in a million. I can get along by myself, now. Thanks.”

  “What about your car?” Ty said, grasping for straws, for any reason to see Callie again under less-pressured circumstances. He’d sworn he wouldn’t even consider getting involved with a woman for at least another year. But Callie’s blend of femininity, vulnerability and quiet strength drew him.

  “I’ll have my sister Maggie help me.”

  “Oh…”

  “Good night, Commander.”

  “Call me Ty?”

  Callie hesitated. She heard the hope in his voice and saw the plea in his eyes. As much as she wanted to, the past overwhelmed her. The last nine years of hurt were just too much to overcome. “No…I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  Ballard knew enough to back away. “I’ll be seeing you, Lieutenant Donovan.”

  The urgent knock on Callie’s apartment door startled her, and she glanced at the clock. It was nine p.m. She’d been home exactly an hour. Picking up the crutches she hobbled disgustedly to the door and opened it.

  Maggie stood there tensely, wearing jeans and a pink blouse. Her hair, usually pinned up on her head, swung loose around her proud shoulders. “Callie? What happened?”

  Callie moved aside to let her sister in, then shut the door. “A run-in with my boss,” she muttered.

  Maggie’s eyes widened as she took in Callie’s condition. “My God, you look awful!” Her voice grew hoarse with disbelief. “Remington did this to you?”

  “Take it easy,” Callie said wearily, maneuvering back toward the living room. “Don’t fly off the handle, okay? Right now, I can’t take any more drama than I’ve already been through. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Callie watched the anger mount in Maggie’s narrowed eyes as she related the story. When she mentioned Ty Ballard’s name, Maggie leaped to her feet.

  “That’s The Predator!”

  “What?” Then Callie realized that Maggie was referring to Ballard’s nickname as a pilot. A chill went through her as she saw her sister’s face change markedly with shock.

  “Ballard’s known as ‘The Predator.’ Don’t you know who he is?”

  “No,” Callie said, “I don’t. Remember? I’ve only been at the station for a month. You’ve been here nearly three years, Maggie. Besides, I work in Intelligence, not over at the Top Gun facility like you. Obviously you know more about him.”

  Maggie began to pace—a habit of hers, because she had trouble remaining still for more than two minutes at a time. “The Predator helped you?”

  “If it weren’t for him, I don’t know how far Remington and his goons would have gone,” Callie whispered, her voice cracking at the memory. “He broke up the fight, got me to the dispensary and drove me home. Really, he was very sweet about it.”

  Maggie snorted and halted, jamming her hands on her narrow hips in a typical pilot gesture. “Ballard isn’t what I’d call ‘sweet.’”

  “Well, he was to me. In fact—” Callie sighed, feeling exhausted “—he showed some real sensitivity. That floored me.”

  With a shake of her head, Maggie muttered, “I can’t believe it. Ballard’s been going through one hell of a messy divorce, and he’s a growling, snarling dog over at the Top Gun facility. In the air, he’s murder on his students. You do know he shot down two enemy fighters in Desert Storm?”

  “No,” Callie said wearily. “So he did me a good turn. He probably felt guilty that his brother pilots did this to me.”

  Clenching her fists, Maggie sat down again on a nearby chair. She reached out and touched Callie’s bandaged hand. “I’m glad Dr. Lipinski has reported this, Callie. It’s the right thing to do.”

  Callie glared at her. “Maggie, I’m beat right now, and I’m feeling rotten. Don’t start giving me your spiel about women’s rights. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being on the firing line. I took a direct hit for you tonight with Remington. He was angry about the newspaper article and what you said.”

  Maggie nodded apologetically. “I am sorry about that, Callie. Of all of us, you’re the least likely to crusade.” She touched Callie’s black hair. “Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like to stay with me? Wes is out on a United Parcel flight to Europe and won’t be back for at least a week.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Maggie smiled slightly. “You’ll lick your wounds by yourself?”

>   “Yes.”

  “Like always.”

  “Like always.”

  Maggie rose and straightened the long shirttails of her pink blouse. “Call me tomorrow and let me know what you’re doing, okay? I can get you groceries and stuff like that, if you want.”

  Maggie, for all her fire and warriorlike assertiveness, was the soul of care, and Callie loved this part of her sister deeply. “I’ll let you know. First things first. The doctor has given me five days off from work with this ankle, so I’ve got to call my section head and let him know I’m not going to work tomorrow.”

  Grimly, Maggie picked up her purse. “First thing I’m going to do tomorrow morning is get in Remington’s face. Who does that bastard think he is? I hate him. I hate his kind. He’s not going to get away with it, I promise you.”

  “Maggie,” Callie begged, “please don’t start a fracas! I’ve got to work with Remington. My job’s in jeopardy as it is. Don’t make more trouble for me.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Dammit, Callie, he had no right to do that to you.”

  Tears swam in Callie’s eyes, and she self-consciously wiped them away. “Look, I need to take a bath and get some sleep. I’m totaled. Just let me handle this. I don’t need my big sister going in with boxing gloves and decking my boss—whether he deserves it or not.”

  Leaning over, Maggie hugged her sister. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll ease off the throttles. Let me know if Legal is going to press charges against Remington and those other two jerks.”

  Groaning, Callie released Maggie and sat back. “I hope not! That would mean a board investigation—and the end of my career. Oh, Maggie, I’m so tired of fighting this male system. We’re outsiders. We’ve always been. All I want is to be left alone to do my job. Is that so much to ask?”

  Gently, Maggie smiled. “Callie, in some ways you’re so naive. I’ve been out on the leading edge, showing that women can fly fighter planes just as well as men. I know how brutal it is emotionally to take it again and again.”

  “Yes, but you’ve always been a fighter.”

  “You were once, too, you know,” Maggie said softly. “But now you aren’t. I don’t know why….”

  Uneasy, Callie shrugged. “We grow up, Maggie. You were Don Quixote tilting at windmills. You still are.”

  “Yes, but my insistence, my strength to stay and take it, is opening up Congress to the possibility of women in combat. At least, in the air war.”

  “I’ll let you know what happens. Thanks for coming over,” Callie said, abruptly, desperately trying to bring the visit to an end.

  Maggie hesitated, opened her mouth—then closed it. She looked around the quiet, neatly kept apartment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay or something? You look really pale and alone.”

  Alone was the right word. Callie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Really.”

  The doorbell kept ringing and ringing. Groggily, Callie pulled out of the sleep she so desperately needed. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up stiffly. Sunlight peeked around the venetian blinds, telling her it was well past time to get up. Looking at the clock on the dresser opposite the bed, she saw it was 0700. Who was at her door?

  Her white cotton nightgown was badly wrinkled, but she pulled her pale green silk robe over it and tied the sash, hoping she looked half presentable. Still mystified by who might be at her door, she reached for the crutches and made her way out to the hall.

  When she opened the door, her breath escaped. Ty Ballard stood there in a freshly pressed flight uniform, his cap in hand. He gave her a sheepish smile and appeared almost shy.

  “Hi. I—uh, thought I’d drop over and see how you were this morning,” he said awkwardly. “You didn’t look very good last night, and I was worried about you.” He groaned inwardly as he felt heat sweeping up his neck into his face. The truth of the matter was he had slept restlessly all night, thinking about—actually, feeling a lot about—Callie Donovan. He’d tried fighting it, but had finally awakened at 0600 grumpy and groggy from tossing and turning.

  “Well—”

  “I know it’s early—”

  They both spoke at once, then broke off.

  “No, it’s okay. Really,” Callie said. She saw the concern burning in his startlingly clear gray eyes. In the morning sunlight, Ty Ballard was ruggedly handsome in his own unique way. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders proudly thrown back, his face recently scraped free of the beard that had darkened his features last night. Callie saw a flush touch his cheeks and realized he was blushing. How long had it been since she’d seen a man blush?

  Trying to still his nervousness, Ty said, “I’d give you a line, but I think you’ve had a gutful of those lately.”

  With a grimace, Callie said, “I hate lines. They’re so shallow.” Pilots were shallow. Well, maybe not all of them….

  “Yeah, we’re famous for them, aren’t we? Look, I thought I might take you out to breakfast or something, if you felt like it.” He was having one hell of a time not staring at her. The green silk robe lovingly outlined her body. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes slightly puffy from just waking up. Ty found himself wondering what it would be like to wake up with Callie at his side. The thought came out of left field, so startling that it left him momentarily speechless.

  “Oh, no…” Callie’s heart was fluttering beneath his burning, hungry inspection, and she suddenly found herself at a loss.

  Risking everything, Ty took a step forward and opened his hand in a gesture of peace. “Well, then, I’m pretty mean with scrambled eggs. I cook bacon reasonably well. How about if I come in and fix you breakfast before I head to work?”

  She gave him a strange, searching look. “Why are you doing this?”

  Ty stood nakedly beneath her scrutiny. With a one-shouldered shrug, he muttered, “I don’t know. Out of guilt, maybe. I know Remington. And I know his reputation. You’ve only been at Miramar a month, and this isn’t exactly a good welcome to the station. Maybe I’m trying to apologize.” Well, that was partly true, Ty told himself. If Callie Donovan ever found out that he was genuinely drawn to her, he was certain she’d slam the door in his face. He didn’t blame her for disliking navy pilots, but dammit, he liked her; and despite the circumstances, he wanted a chance to get to know her.

  “I—”

  “I’ll be quick about it,” he pleaded. “Come on, let me fix you breakfast.” He held his hands up. “No funny stuff, I promise.”

  Callie’s defenses crumbled beneath his warm, cajoling look. If she believed the sincerity in his eyes and voice, she could allow him this privilege. “I feel kinda awkward about this, Commander.”

  “Call me Ty.” He took another hopeful step forward. He wasn’t going to barge past her, or force himself on her. There was a fine line he was walking, and right now it felt like a double-edged sword. Callie’s huge blue eyes were touched with doubt and wariness. “How about it? My mother didn’t raise me not to cook and clean. Want to take a chance with me?”

  The words felt like they were being etched into Callie’s heart. Take a chance. How many times had she done just that and gotten hurt? But there was such a boyish demeanor about Ballard that she finally managed a small laugh and stepped aside.

  “I’ll bet you charm snakes for a living, too, Commander,” she grumbled.

  Euphoric, Ty moved into the highly waxed foyer. He had the good grace not to gloat too obviously about his victory. “Can’t we be on a first-name basis?”

  With a shrug, Callie shut the door. “I guess so.”

  He walked with her toward the kitchen. “Callie’s an unusual name.”

  “Yes, my full name is Calista, but it got shortened at a very early age. I’ve always been called Callie.”

  He smiled as they entered the sunlit kitchen. “It’s not run-of-the-mill, but then, neither are you. The name suits you.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” Callie murmured as she moved away from Ballard. Just being close to him was intimidating.
He made her pulse jag erratically, and she sensed that aura of power around him, that indestructible confidence. She felt his gaze on her back as she moved over to the stove and counter area. No doubt about it. He made her very nervous.

  “I’m going to shower and get into something more appropriate,” she told him.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll make myself at home in the kitchen. When you come back, I promise you’ll have a breakfast you’ll never forget.”

  Callie hesitated in the doorway. Ballard looked positively happy. He placed his cap on the counter and began humming softly. With a shake of her head, she wondered which one of them was crazy. Her, for letting him into her apartment, or him for walking back into her life when he certainly didn’t have to?

  Although her ankle was badly swollen and the color of a ripe, purple plum, Callie was able to take a hot, invigorating shower. In her bedroom, she dressed in a pair of light blue slacks and a pink short-sleeved blouse, then called the station. She told the man on duty at Intelligence that she had a sick chit authorizing five days of rest. If Commander Remington wanted any more information, he was to contact Dr. Lipinski.

  Glad that she didn’t have to go in and face Remington, Callie sat on the bed and rewrapped her ankle with the Ace bandage. She had washed her hair, and now she took a brush to the dark mass. Because her hair was short, just above regulation collar level, it fell quickly into place.

  Hating the crutches, she made her way on bare feet back out to the kitchen, from which wonderful scents were originating. Hungrily, Callie inhaled the aroma of frying bacon. Automatically, as she entered the kitchen, her pulse began to bound a little. Ty Ballard had tied one of her aprons around his waist. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, and he stood happily stirring eggs in the skillet. As if sensing her presence, he lifted his head and turned to look at her.

  “Smells great, doesn’t it? Come on, have a seat. I’ve set the table.” Ty quickly moved over to pull out a chair for her. Trying not to stare like a slavering wolf, he forced himself to pay attention to the scrambled eggs. Callie looked like the proverbial girl-next-door in her simple slacks and blouse. And he liked the fact that she went around barefoot. Despite being one of the elite academy ring-knockers, she possessed an intriguing innocence that he ached to explore.