Morgan's Son (36 page)

"We'll be landing in
San Francisco
in a couple of hours," MacKinley said, sipping his coffee. "Then we'll refuel and head for D.C. I imagine you'll be glad to get home."

"More than you'll ever know."

"Yeah, hospitals suck, as far as I'm concerned." He managed to lift one corner of his thin mouth. "Gotta get back up to the cockpit.
Richmond
doesn't do well without his IV of coffee every hour."

It hurt to laugh, but Sabra did anyway. MacKinley's wry sense of humor was typical of military pilots. He was a lean man, reminding her of a hungry wolf on the prowl. She saw a lot of Josh in him, with his teasing, and the same basic build. On the way up the aisle, balancing the cups of coffee, the pilot slowed his pace and look intently at Dr. Parsons. He hesitated, evidently thought better of stopping, then moved on by her. Sabra wondered if Ann was even aware of the pilot's interest in her. She was quietly working some needlepoint in her lap, apparently oblivious.

Sabra's attention was diverted when she saw Craig get up and walk back toward her. He'd slept soundly since the plane had taken off, and she was glad to see him. Instantly, her heart started pounding slowly with joy. Did he know how happy he made her feel? Sabra ached for the time and place to share that with him. She saw the light in his eyes, shadows no longer plaguing them. Holding out her hand, she felt her fingers touch and clasp his. A sizzling heat tingled upward through her arm.

"Mac giving you a hard time back here?" he asked, leaning against the side of the gurney, studying her in the gloom.

"Yes and no. He's like all the pilots I know."

"Mmm." Craig pressed a small kiss to the back of her hand. "You had an odd look on your face. Does he remind you of Josh?"

Sabra's lips parted. "Are you a mind reader?"

"I wish," he said. "Just something in your eyes, was all. Maybe a look of loss."

With a sigh, Sabra nodded. "When I woke up in the hospital, I started to realize a lot of things, Craig."

He ran his fingers lightly across the back of her hand. "Like what, sweetheart?"

She held his worried gaze. Craig had had so much taken from him over the years, yet he was able to reach out and make her feel better. Every time he called her sweetheart, she wanted to cry. She tightened her grip on his hand, her voice low with feeling. "That a certain man in my life has taught me I can let the past go once and for all."

Craig stared down at her, shaken. He saw tears gathering in her eyes. She was so beautiful lying there her hair dark against the pristine white of the pillowcase. Despite her injury, Craig felt as though Sabra hadn't been wounded emotionally as he had been in the Iraqui crash, that her inner resiliency had somehow seen her through. He couldn't explain why; it was just something he sensed. And for her, he was glad of that. "Josh loved you," he said in a low voice, "but from what you've told me, he didn't have the courage to act on it."

"But I didn't know that," Sabra said wearily. "I realize now that I had fallen in love with him. I wanted to give myself to him, but that wasn't enough."

"Listen," Craig growled, "any man worth his salt would go to his grave knowing he had everything if you offered yourself to him." His mouth turned downward. "Josh was a guy who lived on the edge, Sabra. His way of life didn't include marriage."

She nodded, absorbing the intensity of his words. The burning anger in his eyes told her how much he was upset for her, for what she'd lost. In reality, she'd never had it to lose. "I guess I'm more of an idealist than I gave myself credit for," she murmured reflectively. "Josh crashed into my life and made me look at other possibilities."

"Such as what?"

"Such as marriage. Having children. I was so busy trying to be the son my father never had that I think I lost sight of a lot of other things that were important to me. They got pushed aside, Craig."

"Josh made you aware of your femininity."

"Yes."

He ran his fingers along her smooth, high cheekbone, her skin soft and warm beneath his touch. "After the crash in Desert Storm, I got real clear on a lot of things," he told her grimly. "I guess all the adventure of what I was doing for a living burned up in that crash. Living in a hospital for nearly a year afterward, going through the hell of one operation after another, I had a lot of time to think. It's funny in a way, Sabra, but before the crash, I had a certain detachment from everything. When you fly, it's easy to drop a load of bombs, or pull a trigger that will send a missile a couple of miles away to blow an aircraft out of the sky." He shrugged. "The enemy shows up as a colored blip on your radar screen, not as a human being who has a wife, children and parents. It's almost like a video game."

"That's pretty removed," Sabra admitted quietly, seeing the torture return to his eyes.

"Yeah, well, the crash took care of that." He managed a twisted smile and studied her. "What has this last mission taken away from you?" he asked solemnly.

The depth of his insight forever surprised her. Sabra realized again how Josh's joking about everything had badly skewed her reality about men in general. Craig was not only thoughtful, but perceptive. She licked her cracked lower lip and whispered, "I'm afraid now."

Tightening his hand around hers, he nodded. "I know what you mean. Life isn't some promise hanging out there in front of you anymore, is it?"

She shook her head, feeling the fear within her. "You were right, Craig."

"About what?"

"Remember you told me that because I'd never had a close call with death, I didn't know real fear?"

He nodded and held her troubled gaze. "Reality is a son of a bitch, isn't it?" He saw the same look in her eyes that he saw in his own every morning when he shaved in front of the bathroom mirror. It hurt Craig to realize that fact, and he wanted, somehow, to give Sabra back her previous belief that life would always be good, always be there. Sadly, he knew that once that veneer had been ripped away, it could never be put back in place.

"Isn't it?" Sabra agreed. She settled his hand against her stomach, her hands over his. "I was so intent on protecting Jason," she whispered unsteadily. "I don't even remember being afraid for myself as I was running away from that helicopter. I was only afraid that I wouldn't be able to protect him. This crazy thought was screaming in my head as I ran. I didn't want someone telling Laura her son had died because I couldn't do my job. The poor kid," she murmured. "I crushed him so tightly against me he's lucky he didn't have cracked ribs."

Craig moved a strand of hair away from her wrinkled brow. "You didn't think of yourself. That's normal, Sabra."

Blinking away the tears, she held his sad gaze. "You're the real hero in all of this, Craig. I know how much courage it took for you to get into that helicopter in the first place."

His mouth contorted. "Wasn't much choice, was there?"

"There are always choices," Sabra said brokenly, "and you took the bravest. That helicopter was our only escape. If you hadn't flown us out, Perseus would have an even bigger mess on their hands right now."

He shrugged and nervously rubbed the top of her hand with his fingers. "I didn't like the alternatives. I guess I traded one fear for another," he said, trying to joke about it. "I wasn't even aware I could have a greater fear than flying a helicopter, but when the chips were down, I didn't want anything to happen to you or Jason."

"I couldn't believe your skill with that aircraft," she said softly, holding his shy gaze. "I know enough about flying to realize that every aircraft is different, and if you don't have experience flying it, it's twice as hard."

"Don't give me more credit than I deserve, Sabra. Helicopters are basically the same. Maybe the control panel is set up a little different, maybe a toggle switch here or there is changed, but they all have a cyclic and a collective."

Sabra refused to be detoured by his deadpan explanation. "You deserve a medal for your heroism, Craig. I know you'll never get one. I know that no one, except maybe me, knows the true extent of your courage." Her voice grew soft with tears. "I never realized what real courage was until I met you, until you showed me. In my eyes, you're the most courageous human being I'll ever meet."

Craig felt heat move into his face, and he avoided her sparkling eyes, which told him she honestly felt he was a hero. The knowledge was at the same time euphoric and frightening. He hoped Sabra didn't put him on a pedestal, because sure as hell, he'd fall off it sooner or later and end up disappointing her. He didn't want that to happen, but he didn't know how to give voice to his concern.

"Well," he said gruffly, "I'll just be glad when we get stateside. I don't know about you, but home sounds pretty good right now." Good and safe and filled with promise.

"You give my place a new look," Craig said, making sure Sabra was comfortable on the sofa. They'd arrived over an hour ago, with Killian helping to bring over some of Sabra's clothes and toiletries from her condominium in
Fairfax
,
Virginia
, not too far away.

Sabra smiled tiredly. "I feel safe here," she murmured. The side of her neck was aching, but she didn't want to take a pain pill. They made her groggy, and her mouth always got dry. She had already taken a long, relaxing bath and was dressed in her white silk nightgown and white chenille robe. Craig stood, hands in his pockets, looking a little nervous. Well, so was she, she had to admit. It was early evening, the light of dusk filtering through the front drapes of his west-facing apartment. Snow was falling lightly outside, covering the lawn and bare trees with white. It was a far cry from
Hawaii
.

Craig moved to the sofa.
Safe
wasn't a word he'd use in regards to Sabra. She wasn't safe from him, but he didn't think she realized that, and it was just as well. Her face was ashen again, and he attributed it to the long, draining flight. "What you need right now is a nap," he told her.

"I think I do." Sabra moved carefully, placing her stocking feet up on the couch and stretching out. The apartment was warm, and she closed her eyes. "Wake me in a hour or so?"

Craig crouched next to her and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You sleep all you want, sweetheart. You're still healing." He remained at her side until she fell into a deep sleep. Getting up on creaky knees, his body now feeling the full brunt of the crash, he went into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. Luckily for him, he had some frozen dinners. He was hungry, though his stomach was jumpy. Rubbing that region, he hunted through the freezer, found a turkey dinner and pulled it out.

Sabra's words never left his heart; he was a hero in her eyes. With a snort, he opened the package and tossed the cardboard container into the trash. Eleven men had died with him at the controls, leaving their wives widows and their children fatherless. They hadn't called him a hero. Resting the palms of his hands against the kitchen counter, he dropped his head and stood a moment, feeling the emotions twisting within him. How could Sabra see him as a hero? And was she seeing him through honest, realistic eyes, or some kind of warped idealism?

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He left the frozen dinner on the counter and went back to the living room to check on Sabra. She appeared to be sleeping soundly on the couch. He felt restless. He wanted to pace. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Where the hell were all these crazy emotions coming from? He'd never felt like this before. Sabra touched him like an ethereal rainbow with her luminous eyes, her soft mouth and her low voice laced with such vibrant feelings.

Forcing himself to leave the living room, Craig told himself he was just overreacting to the past few days. Funny thing, though; the virulence of his nightmares had ebbed considerably. Was it because he'd climbed back into the cockpit? Or been through another crash and survived this time, with his passengers alive? Shaking his head, Craig shoved the frozen dinner into the microwave and decided that life was crazy at its worst and at its finest. All he needed was Sabra. Did she need him as much?

Snow was falling thickly outside Craig's large picture window. Sabra watched the flakes twirling lazily downward from the gray sky, which embraced the
Virginia
landscape. Absently, she heard Craig in the kitchen, putting things away after lunch. She felt tension in her shoulders and moved them slowly first one way, then the other. The strain between her and Craig was evident. She called herself a coward because she wanted to speak of her love for him, but was unsure how he'd receive such news. So she bit back the words.