Nadia Nichols - From Out Of The Blue

Kate had opened the box, sure she’d be repulsed, but to please her mother she’d taken it out and put it on. Studying herself in the bathroom mirror she’d thought, Yes, this is much better. I like me much better this way. With the addition of the false eyelashes and a little eyebrow pencil, she looked almost normal. Healthy.

But she was all alone here, so she dropped the wig in her lap, tipped her head back, closed her eyes and let herself drift off to the sound of the water, wondering what her little boy would look like in ten years’ time….

Seconds later, it seemed, she was awakened by the sound of a truck door slamming. Kate sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from her eyes, and was still smoothing the wig into place when the stranger topped the porch steps. She’d expected Mitch and was shocked to see a very buxom bleached blonde dressed in clothes that left little to the imagination.

“Well, hey, hon,” the woman said in a smoky southern drawl. “I’m real sorry to startle you. Were you sleepin’?”

“Who…?”

“I’m Campy, a friend of Mitch’s, and I sure didn’t mean to wake you. I brought Thor back because he chases planes down the runway and Mitch was busy helping Wally fix the plane, that’s all. You just sit right where you are, all nice and relaxed, and I’ll be right back.” She retreated into the cabin and reappeared holding two bottles of Guinness Stout. She handed one to Kate and then dropped into the second chair. “Hope you like a bitter brew. That’s all Mitch ever drinks,” she said. “And I hope I didn’t startle you too bad. Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” Kate said, holding the cold bottle. “I must have dozed off. It’s so peaceful here.”

“Boring, I’d call it, but I guess it all depends on what you like. So, you’re the one Mitch calls K. C. Jones.”

Good God. Kate closed her eyes on the world for a few moments, wishing she could just disappear. Mitch had talked about her to this woman? “Is that what he calls me?”

She heard Campy settle herself more deeply in her chair, followed by the sharp snick of a lighter, and then smelled the acrid smoke of a cigarette. “Honey, you may not know this and I doubt he’ll ever tell you, but Mitch has a real soft spot for you.”

Kate opened her eyes and stared cynically at the other woman, whom she decided couldn’t be one of Mitch’s girlfriends if she was talking like that. She eased back in her chair and set the bottle of beer on the broad armrest. “That’s a little hard to believe, considering we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Oh, Mitch would never admit to it. Tough guys don’t like gals to think they’re so easily roped and tied, but I used to be a bartender at the Mad Dog Saloon, which was a mile or so from the base. I served up a lot of brew to Mitch while he was stationed there, and hon, nobody hears more stories told from the heart than a bartender does. He talked about you a lot.”

“I can’t imagine what he talked about,” Kate said drily.

“Oh, he thought you were pretty special,” Campy said. “He’s a hard worker and a great pilot. I don’t know what Wally’d do without him. Wally owned the Mad Dog ’til it burned down, then he used the insurance money to buy a six-passenger plane and start the charter service. He’s a great mechanic but he can’t fly so good, so he hired Mitch to do most of that. My guy Wally is your guy’s boss.”

“He’s not my guy.”

“Well, if he isn’t, he oughta be. My opinion, of course. Mitchell’s always been a favorite of mine. If I didn’t have Wally, I’d go after Mitch myself, even though I’m a little too old for him. But he’s one in a million. I guess you know that, too, hon, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“Oh, I’m sure he has a girlfriend. I didn’t come here thinking he’d been saving himself for me all these years.”

“I think he always hoped you’d show up here one day. Mitch has lots of friends, but none have come close to being serious relationships.”

“I’m surprised he even remembered me.”

“Remembered you? Hon, how else would I know he called you K. C. Jones?”

Kate gave her another skeptical look. “My real name’s Katherine Carolyn Jones.”

“Camilla Clarke,” she said, giving her a crooked smile. “Everyone around here calls me Campy. You like Alaska?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s boring,” she said. “I’d go back east in a minute, but Wally likes the flying here. Pilots are a crazy-ass bunch, no offense intended.”

“None taken.”

“I mean, I think it’s pretty cool, you being a Navy pilot and all. Mitch said you were an instructor at that dogfighting school the Navy has—like in Top Gun. Pretty wild stuff.”

“That was a good assignment. I got to be home every night with my son.”

Two carefully plucked and penciled eyebrows shot up. “You have a kid? Huh. He never told us that.” Campy studied her through a haze of cigarette smoke. “You married?”

“No.”

“How old’s your kid?”

“He’ll be four next month.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” Campy squinted her eyes and stared off across the river for a few moments, then glanced back at Kate with a knowing expression. “How long are you staying?”

“A week or so.”

“If I’d been smarter, that’s all I’d have stayed.” Campy drained the last of her beer and, pushing to her feet, she dropped her cigarette into the bottle and tossed the hair out of her eyes. “Mitch means a lot to me ’n’ Wally. I sure hope the two of you can work things out.”

BY THE TIME Campy drove his pickup back to the airfield, Mitch was pacing around the plane amidst mechanical noises and cuss words from beneath the plane’s cowling, while Wally growled for various tools to be passed to him.

Campy’d been gone a long time. What the hell could the two of them have been talking about? They had nothing in common. Campy was a fortysomething professional bartender who hadn’t graduated high school, couldn’t spell and liked to smoke, drink and ride on Wally’s Harley. Her one ambition in life was to train circus ponies. What kind of conversation could she have possibly been having with a career captain in the United States Navy? And finally, here she was, driving up to the warming hut with Thor in the back, his front feet braced on the diamond-plate toolbox cover and wearing his sly, wolfish grin.

Campy jumped out of the cab and turned to see what Mitch was gesturing at. “Damn you, Thor! I swear, Mitch, he was standing on the porch when I left. He must’ve chased after the truck and jumped in.” She approached the plane and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “Relax, hon, everything’s cool at your place. She’s reading poetry on your porch. My advice? Grill her a thick bloody steak for supper and serve it to her with red wine and hot kisses.” She ducked her head under the cowling. “Hey, lover, I’m headin’ to town to do a load of laundry. Can you manage here without me?”

“I’ll do my best,” Wally grunted.

“Hang on,” Mitch said. “She told you she was staying for supper and she wanted a thick steak?”

“Don’t forget the red wine and hot kisses. She’s nice, Mitch. I like her. How ’bout you, Wally—what’s your preference tonight?”

“Beer and burgers,” came the gruff reply.

“I’m on it, sweetie. See you soon.”

“Wait a sec,” Mitch said. “Did you find out why she’s here?”

Campy took one last fierce drag on her cigarette, tossed it down and ground it out. “She’s here to see you, you imbecile. She’s been missing you. How long’s it been?”

“Almost five years without so much as a phone call or a letter. That’s why her surprise appearance is so strange.”