Ride the Thunder - Lindsay McKenna

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woman with the gorgeous black hair. Who was she? Nolan frowned. As she stood there confidently, he stared at the patches on her uniform. On the left upper shoulder was the American flag. As she turned, he saw the squadron patch on her shoulder. His squadron. But she was new. A replacement, maybe? Did Joyce know about her? And then he scowled darkly. Damn women. He didn’t like them as pilots. Lucky for him, he’d never been assigned with one, and he was glad. He preferred flying with a guy.

      Still, as she turned and looked around the chow hall, Nolan found himself watching her with interest. She had an angular profile, with that slightly hawklike nose, those high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes. He allowed his gaze to linger on her like a bee feasting on a flower. The rudimentary lighting in the tent made for a lot of shadows, and leached out everyone’s skin color. Though she looked pale beneath the lights, she seemed to have golden skin tones. Most of all, he liked her beautiful, long black hair, which streamed down over her shoulders like a cloak. Nolan’s fingers itched to touch that silky mane.

      He laughed to himself, figuring he was so damn tired he felt drunk. This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about women! Besides, from the looks of it, she was a pilot. Had she been coming to report for duty when he’d seen her earlier today? He knew all the pilots in his squadron. Maybe she was a replacement? But if she was, she’d have a different squadron patch on her flight uniform. He shook his head. Nothing made sense to him. The earthquake had thrown everyone into chaos, and Nolan tried to pay attention to little, everyday things to keep him sane in this insane emergency. But this woman threw him for a loop.

      She was a looker, there was no doubt. Nolan knew that ordinarily one-piece, olive-green flight suits were not sexy looking in the least. They were drab and hung like potato sacks on everyone. But she made hers look good. Lean like a greyhound, she was small breasted though her hips flared just enough for the flight suit to show her womanly attributes. Maybe it was the psychosis of his present sleep deprivation that spiked his desires, but Nolan decided he liked her mouth most of all. It was full and soft looking. Very kissable. Of course, he was too dog tired to even follow that thought. Even if a woman snuggled with him in his sleeping bag at this point, he couldn’t do anything about it, he was so exhausted.

      Well, at least she was easy on his eyes, a perk he hadn’t expected. Moving forward, he watched her go through the line and then sit in a far corner by herself. And then he saw several other pilots looking at her—going over to sit with her after they went through the chow line.

      Nolan chuckled himself. He didn’t hold it against the guys. They were all single and had an eye for an attractive woman, too. However, he wouldn’t even consider sitting with a woman Marine Corps pilot. No way. He preferred his women out of the military—nice, soft civilian types, not hard-edged female officers, who were usually tougher than nails. As he held up his tray to receive his food, Nolan congratulated himself. He wasn’t going to go over and introduce himself to this new woman pilot. Let the slavering wolves—the younger guys—do that. Instead, he was going to eat his food, go to his tent and, he hoped, get a good night’s sleep. At 0500 tomorrow, he was going to pray that Joyce had found him a copilot, so he could fly to the aid of those desperate families.

      January 8: 0545

      Nolan scowled as the first light of dawn sent a gray ribbon across the eastern horizon. He was walking down the flight line toward his Huey when he saw another pilot standing by the opened door of the fuselage, inspecting the load of water. Nolan rubbed his sleep-ridden eyes. The shadowy morning light was playing tricks on him, he thought, trying to make out the figure by his Huey. It had to be his new copilot. In Nolan’s hand was an order, just signed by Joyce over at Flight Ops, for him to take Lieutenant R. McGregor on as his new copilot. He’d thanked Joyce effusively. She had told him Lieutenant McGregor was his permanent copilot replacement for the duration of the earthquake relief flights. Further, he’d heard that his old copilot was successfully recovering from the deadly food poisoning in that Seattle hospital. For Nolan, things didn’t get any better than this.

      His jaw prickled and he rubbed the tender skin where he’d cut himself shaving earlier. Someone had thoughtfully left a bowl of water, some soap and a razor outside his tent. But trying to shave with a mirror and flashlight had proved disastrous. He’d nicked his face at least three different times. As he shaved, he had seen the trucks coming from the C-141s that had flown in last night with supplies. His tent stood in a line with forty others, barely a quarter of a mile from the runway. Usually when a Starlifter came in, the vibrations of the massive engines caused the tents to shake. He’d slept through it all, such was the extent of his exhaustion.

      This morning, hope threaded through him as he quickened his pace toward his chopper. He had a new copilot! A permanent one! He saw the guy leaning into the open fuselage, making sure the cargo netting was holding the boxes in place. Good, he liked a copilot who was thorough and efficient and didn’t miss such details. Yes, life was looking good to Nolan. His step lightened considerably as he drew up behind his new copilot.

      “Lieutenant McGregor?” he demanded.

      Rhona gasped. The man’s voice was practically in her ear. She straightened and whirled around.

      Nolan’s mouth fell open. It was the woman in last night’s chow line! The very same one he’d seen heading for Logistics with such determination. Today, her black hair was caught up in a French twist, off her shoulders. Her gray eyes were huge and startled looking.

      “Who are you?” he demanded, taking a step away from her. This couldn’t be his copilot! Yet, as Nolan raked his eyes over her upper body, he saw a set of gold aviator’s wings stitched onto her flight suit on one side, and the name R. McGregor in gold letters on the black leather name patch above her left breast pocket. No! This couldn’t be happening! Not to him! Not a woman copilot!

      Rhona stared at the six-foot-tall Marine Corps officer. He was looking at her like she was a snake ready to bite him. Gathering her nerves, which were frazzled by his booming voice, Rhona thrust out her hand.

      “I’m Rhona McGregor, Lieutenant Galway. I’m your new copilot. Nice to meet you.”

      Nolan stared at her long, thin hand. Her fingers were slender, graceful, but with blunt-cut nails—no nonsense hands. A flyer’s hands. That realization ran through his shocked mind before he could stop it. Even worse, he was discovering she was even more attractive in the dawn light than she had been last night in the chow tent. She wore small, unobtrusive pearl earrings in her delicate ears. Her face was oval, her eyes warm, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her soft mouth. There wasn’t anything to dislike about this woman. Not a damn thing, except that she was his copilot!

      “I’m Galway, all right,” he snarled. “But you can’t be R. McGregor. I’m lookin’ for a male copilot.” He hooked his thumb across his shoulder toward Ops. “Lieutenant Mason just assigned me a Lieutenant R. McGregor. That can’t be you.” And yet, as he stared again at the name plate on her uniform, Nolan finally grasped the fact that it was. His stomach sank. His anger simmered. Joyce hadn’t mentioned his copilot’s gender. No, she had smiled brightly at him when he’d entered Ops earlier, waved a set of orders at him, telling him the good news. Nolan would have kissed her, if military rules allowed it. He’d been so thrilled at her finding him a partner, that he hadn’t asked any questions. Apparently, he should have.

      Rhona was taken aback. She saw the dark cloud of anger on Lieutenant Galway’s rugged, square face. Nolan Galway wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but he had a strength in his face she instantly liked. And she couldn’t resist the boyish freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. Maybe it was the stubborn set of his jaw, or his large, intelligent eyes. Or his mouth, which was now thinned in obvious disapproval.

      “Excuse me?” She dropped her hand. The fact that he wasn’t going to shake it put her on warning that he didn’t like her. “I’m Rhona McGregor,” she repeated. “Lieutenant Mason assigned me to you this morning as your replacement copilot for the duration of the disaster relief effort.” She frowned, tensing inwardly to protect herself from his anger. Her stomach automatically clenched.

      Nolan, who normally had glib words for every occasion, stood there speechless. Rhona was tall, lean—beautiful.

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