Lindsay McKenna - Love Me Before Dawn

“I worry about not saying the right thing the right way,” Tess protested softly. Already her throat was closing up from tension. Oh, God, why couldn’t it just be another chatty, boring cocktail party? Why did it have to be a sit-down dinner for one hundred and fifty of the most influential people involved with the innovative bomber? Not only would top Rockwell officials be there, but key political figures, lobbyists and aggressive, shrewd staffers. And then there was the Air Force. Actually, Tess felt the safest with them. The military and civilian test pilots were harmless in comparison to the politicos.

“Well,” she murmured throatily, “if you find that I’ve disappeared, you’ll know I’ve discovered a secluded balcony away from all the intrigue, Cy. I much prefer the landscape to the lobbying that’s going to go on.”

Cy chuckled indulgently at his young wife. At forty-nine he couldn’t have stumbled into a better living situation. He had been in search for an administrative assistant to help him juggle his load as chief engineer on the aeronautical design project. So impressed was he with Tess, he soon made her his wife as well as his team member. And the arrangement was working well. Tess was growing into her job and performing admirably despite the fact that she was one of the few women in top management within Rockwell. By the time he retired, Tess would be a perceptive, capable diplomat capable of standing on her own within the company.

“I do have matters to discuss with Senator Diane Browning from California,” he said in a by-the-way tone.

“At least it will be a friendly conversation.”

Cy chuckled. “Yes, she’s on our side. Thank God for hawk senators.”

Tess wrinkled her nose. “Going to speak to Senator Stockwell?”

“Of course. The cardinal rules of politics—smile, be polite, and be inoffensive.”

“I can smile, I can work at being polite. But inoffensive?” Tess groaned, throwing her head back and closing her eyes momentarily. “St. Patrick deliver me from this den of wolves I’m dining with tonight. Just don’t let me become their meal.”

“You won’t,” Cy said, laughing. One moment Tess could be so serious and adult. The next she would lapse into the naive candor he was trying to curb. “You’re much too small a fish in the political pond, so to speak. I think it would be a good idea if you acquainted yourself with the military tonight while I make the rounds. You’re familiar with the B-1 blueprints, but you haven’t made the effort to see the actual building of the plane or to acquaint yourself with the pilots who will test it.”

“I know, part of my education,” she mimicked gently. How like Cy to guide her into the next lesson in his plan. “Test pilots are far safer than politicians. I’ll welcome the change,” she returned fervently.

“They are ‘safe,’ as you say,” Cy nodded. “Most of them are fairly taciturn. They’re taught to test and observe. Chances are you’ll have to carry the conversation with them unless you get them talking on the B-1.”

“That’s fine with me.”

The California night was warm for October. Cy proudly escorted his tall, lissome wife into the lobby of the elegant hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Guiding her with a sureness born of his status and position in the company, he motioned Tess into the brass elevator.

Tess nervously hid her damp hands by burying them in the shawl against her breast. Inwardly she steeled herself, fighting back the panic that would fill her the instant the doors opened. Life had been so simple back on campus. The moment she married Cy, she had stepped into an unfamiliar, changing landscape. A landscape that she feared she would never be at home in.

* * *

Captain Shepherd Ramsey rested his lean, wiry body against the wall. With his back protected, he idly scanned the milling crowd of people. This was a black-tie dinner. A slight deprecating smile pulled at his well-chiseled lips. The blue of his Air Force uniform stood out against the black tuxedos of the civilians present. Black and blue, he thought wryly. A lot of bruises. Plenty of infighting between the Hill and us. He inhaled deeply and released his breath slowly, continuing to scan the crowd. It looked like a gathering of beautifully colored birds with the women present. He spotted gowns by Halston, Yves St. Laurent, Geoffrey Beene and others whose names he was sure his wife was memorizing. Raising one dark brown brow, he lifted his strong chin, searching the crowd for Allyson.

He caught sight of his wife carrying on an animated conversation with a staffer from Senator Diane Browning’s office. The staffer had probably been sent ahead to check out the atmosphere of the dinner since Browning was due to drop in unexpectedly on a courtesy visit sometime during the evening. Shep lifted his Scotch to his lips, sipping the smooth golden liquid. He didn’t know which he disliked more: staffers or the politicians themselves. But, they were a fact of life.

Major Tom Cunningham, another test pilot, ambled over. He matched Shep’s six-foot height, looking almost like a brother to the captain. The major’s light brown eyes darkened with silent laughter. He stood easily at Shep’s right arm. “Well, what do you think of this shindig?” he asked in his Arkansas drawl.

Shep shrugged his broad shoulders. “Boring as hell but necessary.”

“Kinda reminds me of the good ole days when chickens were pick’n’dough out of a bread pan. See how the less important ones are orbiting the staffers? God, the intrigue is so damn thick in here I could cut it with a knife.”

“Yes, and Allyson is in all her glory.”

Tom raised his head. “Don’t knock it, buddy. She probably helped get you into test pilot school with her manuevering. It doesn’t hurt to have a politically savvy Air Force wife.”

Shep frowned, not liking the thought that Allyson might have been responsible for his acceptance to the test pilot school at Edwards Air Force Base. He also heard the wistful note in Tom’s voice and turned to his friend. Tom had lost his wife to cancer two years before. It had been hell on all of them. Shep had stood by his Air Force Academy brother through it all. Had that been the beginning of the end of his marriage with Allyson? She had complained mightily of his absence at parties when he stayed with Tom at the hospital.

He moved the ice cubes around in his scotch, lapsing into thought. Allyson. Beautiful, poised, cosmopolitan Allyson. At twenty-eight he found it difficult to explain why he had married her. Why couldn’t he have had a relationship like Tom and Marie’s? They had been devoted to each other. And he’d enjoyed being with them because of the warmth that flowed between them and out to all those around them. But Allyson always chafed at the bit when he wanted to go over to their home for dinner. It was all right to spend a certain amount of time with Tom, she informed him, because he was a major. And after all, Shep should be seen with higher ranking men, but there was no need to spend so much of their time with the other couple.

It was in the closing days of Marie’s illness that Shep realized he didn’t love Allyson. At least not in the way he had wanted to love his wife. Tom had remained at Marie’s side constantly, holding her hand, talking soothingly to her. It was Tom’s ability to reach out and touch, that same holding, touching, and sharing Shep valued and missed, but Allyson deemed it inconsequential.

After Marie’s death both he and Tom had gotten orders to test pilot school. Shep had breathed a deep sigh of relief, glad that Tom’s grief would be consumed in the demanding rigors of the schooling. It was their shared grief over Marie’s death and then the help they’d given each other during the grueling training course that welded them into an inseparable team.