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