Lindsay McKenna - Point Of Departure

“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.

Callie moved to the table, which had been set with her good china, pink linen napkins rolled neatly beside the plates. A cup of recently poured coffee and a small glass of orange juice awaited her. Everything was perfect. She sat down and set the crutches aside.

“I’m in shock,” she said.

Ty twisted to look over his shoulder as he added cream cheese and bacon bits to the scrambled eggs. “Over what?”

“You. This.” Callie waved to the table. “Everything is so neat—thoughtful, I guess….”

“Brother, you must have had some bad experiences with men,” Ty teased as he whipped the scrambled eggs furiously. “Some of us are kitchen trained.”

His heartrending smile shattered her tension, and Callie laughed lightly. “I guess I had that coming, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Ty said smoothly as he brought the skillet over and served half the scrambled eggs to her and half to himself. “Maybe you haven’t run into very many thoughtful men of late.” He put the skillet in the sink, ran water into it, then quickly brought over the just-popped-up toast. Untying the apron, he laid it on the drainboard, then sat down at her elbow and grinned. “A meal fit for a queen. Dig in, Callie. You need some color back in those cheeks of yours.”

Nonplussed, Callie picked up the knife and buttered her toast. Ballard seemed like a happy little boy instead of a serious navy pilot. “I don’t know what to make of you,” she muttered between delicious bites of the scrambled eggs.

“Why?”

“You’re different.”

Shrugging, Ty launched into his meal with gusto. “My ex-wife said the same thing.” She might as well know he had a failed marriage. If nothing else, he had learned to be honest and keep all his cards on the table when it came to relationships. He knew he didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. Especially not with Callie. Even as the thought passed through his head, Ty wondered what kind of crazy magic had come over him. From that first moment of seeing her helpless in the parking lot, something had sprung loose deep within him. What was it? Loneliness? God knew, he’d been like a lost wolf without a mate since the divorce.

It was impossible to ignore Ty’s upbeat presence. Callie glanced over at him when he mentioned the divorce. “You’re single now?” she asked pointedly. Once, she’d fallen in love with a pilot who’d said he was divorced. It had been a lie, but he had strung Callie along, getting what he wanted from her. When she’d discovered the lie, she’d confronted Mark. He’d laughed and shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter—as if she didn’t matter.

Ty held up his left hand to show the absence of a wedding ring. “Single.”

“How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

She pushed the eggs around on her plate. “That’s a long time for a navy pilot. Most of them seem to get married and divorced in two years.”

“Or less,” Ty agreed. He saw the wariness in Callie’s face again. There was a lot of unspoken pain there, too, and he surmised that she’d been burned by a pilot at some point. “I liked marriage,” he went on. “I liked the idea of having a home.”

“Do you have any children?”

He shook his head. “No….”

“Is your ex-wife a civilian?”

“Yeah. She lives in San Diego. She’s a bright, intelligent woman.”

Callie heard the hurt in his voice, although he tried to hide it with bravado. “You said she called you ‘different,’ too.”

“Well,” he sighed, “‘different’ wasn’t used in a complimentary way, Callie.”

Callie thrilled to hear her name slip from his lips. Trying to ignore the feelings it invoked, she found herself wanting to continue pursuing Ballard’s past. Why? she asked herself. Callie had no answers, and it left her feeling terribly vulnerable.

“Five years is a long time to spend with someone. You must have meant a lot to each other,” Callie hedged. She saw her comment strike Ballard with a direct hit. His smile slipped, and a shadow came across his eyes.

“Jackie wanted the divorce,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Ty felt Callie’s interest. He hadn’t meant to get into a discussion about his personal life—at least, not this morning. He’d wanted to come over, cheer Callie up a little and head to work. He frowned, pushing the last of the eggs onto his fork. There was pain from the past to deal with, now, too.

“I guess I wasn’t around when she needed me,” he began. “I was gone a lot. Most of the time I was out on carriers—I didn’t get the land-based assignments I’d hoped for.”