“You Don’t Make Things Easy, McGregor,”

Nolan rasped.

“I didn’t create this situation, Lieutenant. I came here and volunteered my services. I didn’t have to do that. And I don’t have to stand here and take crap from you, either. Now, you either let me fly this bird, or I’m going through the chain of command to get your butt put in a sling so high you’ll never see the ground again.”

Nolan stood there, clenching his teeth. Anger and frustration warred in him. No, he didn’t want his career going down the tubes over this. It wasn’t worth it. Rubbing his chin, he studied Rhona. Damn, she was beautiful. Too bad she was his copilot. Otherwise, he could think of other more pleasurable ways of spending time with her.

“Okay,” he growled, “you win this round, McGregor. Now, get your butt over to Supply. This bird is ready to go….”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire! This month we’ve created a brand-new lineup of passionate, powerful and provocative love stories just for you.

Begin your reading enjoyment with Ride the Thunder by Lindsay McKenna, the September MAN OF THE MONTH and the second book in this beloved author’s cross-line series, MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: ULTIMATE RESCUE. An amnesiac husband recovers his memory and returns to his wife and child in The Secret Baby Bond by Cindy Gerard, the ninth title in our compelling DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS continuity series.

Watch a feisty beauty fall for a wealthy lawman in The Sheriff & the Amnesiac by Ryanne Corey. Then meet the next generation of MacAllisters in Plain Jane MacAllister by Joan Elliott Pickart, the newest title in THE BABY BET: MACALLISTER’S GIFTS.

A night of passion leads to a marriage of convenience between a gutsy heiress and a macho rodeo cowboy in Expecting Brand’s Baby, by debut Desire author Emilie Rose. And in Katherine Garbera’s new title, The Tycoon’s Lady falls off the stage into his arms at a bachelorette auction, as part of our popular BRIDAL BID theme promotion.

Savor all six of these sensational new romances from Silhouette Desire today.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Ride the Thunder
Lindsay McKenna

LINDSAY MCKENNA

A homeopathic educator, Lindsay teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels.

To Barbara Ward and Judy Coldicott of Dunedin,

New Zealand, who surely ride the thunderbolts of life.

As homeopaths willing to step into uncharted waters

to increase your knowledge of healing, you are

true heroines. I’m proud to be your friend.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

One

January 7: 1600

Lieutenant Nolan Galway decided he was having a bad hair day. Actually, it was a lot worse than that. As he strode toward the Operations building at Camp Reed, the noise of helicopters and jets landing and taking off in the late afternoon hammered at his ears. Tuning out the earsplitting sounds, he tried to focus on one thing only: getting a new copilot.

As he approached the Ops building which was made of gray concrete and looked like a rectangular box with a tower sticking up at one end, he saw that it was a regular Grand Central Station today, just as it had been ever since the killer earthquake hit on New Year’s Eve. From the moment that quake struck, Nolan’s life and everyone else’s in the surrounding southern Los Angeles area had been turned into pure chaos.

He tried to keep his stride steady, but his heart was pounding and his adrenaline pumping. He wanted a copilot, he decided with new resolve. The OOD—officer of the day—could ground him without one. If he didn’t have a copilot, Nolan couldn’t fly his critical missions and save people’s lives. Somehow, somewhere, he had to find a replacement for his former partner, who had nearly died of food poisoning this morning on the flight back from the quake-damaged region of Southern California.

The plight of the people in the devastated Los Angeles basin tugged at Nolan’s heart and soul. Though the President of the United States had already declared California a major disaster area and FEMA was coming to help too, there were depot centers being set up around the U.S. to take food, medicine and blankets. But until roads were created to take more supplies, they remained at the centers. All available helicopters were being used to fly them to the basin. People were dying because they couldn’t get enough helicopter flights in to provide much-needed water and food.

“Dammit,” he mumbled, thinning his lips. Ops was alive with activity. As he rounded the corner, cutting across a stretch of yellowed Bermuda grass, and headed for the front door where the OOD was standing watch, his focus was momentarily drawn from his tactical objective.

Coming out of the bright sunlight and heading for Ops with the same resolve and determination that he felt was a woman. What made Nolan take notice was the fact that, of the hundred or so marines and navy personnel running about the place, she was the only person in civilian clothes. Everyone else wore dark navy uniforms or the desert camouflage of marines.

Rubbing his face briskly to stave off his exhaustion, Nolan saw that she was tall, and that her long black hair swayed with each stride she took. She wore slacks and a jacket to keep away the chill of the January day yet he could see her feminine curves. Though it was silly under the circumstances, he was immediately drawn to her.

Hesitating momentarily, Nolan found himself wanting to slow his speed and intersect her path. There was no earthly reason why he should do that, of course. The sidewalk was crowded with people coming and going, their faces grim. The urgent task before all of them at this Marine Corps base was to try and save the lives of millions of innocent people, and here he was, caught up over a woman.

Maybe he was sleep deprived to the point of no return, Nolan thought as he halted on the sidewalk. During the past week, he and his copilot had been flying dawn to dusk, never getting more than five hours sleep at one stretch. Now, as he stood in place, people flowed around him as if he were a rock in a wildly rushing river. A river of humans hurrying to their duty stations to load supplies of food, water and medicine on the awaiting helos nearby.

His eyes narrowed on the woman as she approached. Nolan liked the way her hair, loose and thick about her shoulders, swung in graceful time with her swift gait. Just the way she walked told him she was military. Her shoulders were thrown back proudly, and her posture was erect and confident. Her eyes, he noticed as she came closer, were fixed on the Ops doors.

“Can I help you?” he asked. “You look like you’re hunting for someone or something.”

Her gaze snapped from the doors to him.

Wearing his beaten up, old leather bombardier jacket, a white scarf around his neck to prevent chafing from his dark green, one-piece fight uniform, Nolan stood with his hands relaxed on his hips. He gave her a slight smile.

She had gray eyes. Soft, warm, rabbit-fur gray. Yet there was something of the eagle in the way she looked up at him. Her eyes thawed and widened slightly as his own gaze took in her dusty jeans, which showed her long, slender legs. She was also wearing leather hiking boots, and a dark blue knapsack on her back.

“Why…yes, I’m looking for the Logistics building.” She gestured toward the building behind him and tried to catch her breath. “I know this is Ops. I was hoping—”

“Over there,” Nolan said brusquely, lifting his hand and pointing. “That three-story, dark green building up on the hill. That’s Logistics.”

She was breathing hard, as if she’d been running. From the knees down, her jeans were very dusty, and as he looked more closely, Nolan saw beads of perspiration on her furrowed brow. Several tendrils of that thick, bluish-black hair stuck to her temples. Where had she come from? Why had she been running like that? And why was she so dusty? Nolan had plenty of questions about this compelling stranger.

He watched as she twisted to look where he was pointing. Her hair once again swung gently, like a black cap, about her shoulders. She was attractive and arresting; not a raving beauty, but that didn’t matter. Nolan liked her face, especially her alert, large gray eyes.

“Phew. Great. Thanks…” And she turned on her heel and began to trot back toward the hill.

“Hi, my name is…and what’s yours?” Nolan murmured wryly to himself, unsure whether to be upset with her rude departure or not. Scratching his head, he grinned slightly. “I guess she’s in a helluva hurry, Nolan. Come on, son, you have other fish to fry…like rustlin’ up a new copilot….” And he headed up the concrete steps of Ops to do battle with the OOD. If only the officer could find him a copilot!

Still, as he reached the top, the chill of the early-evening air making him shiver slightly, Nolan smiled to himself. Who the hell was that woman? Not that he should be interested. Still, he liked her high cheekbones and those soft gray eyes of hers. He wondered what her name was, then decided that his musing had no place on his roster for the day. He was a pilot in search of a partner. Nothing else could matter at the moment.

January 7: 1615

“You need me!”

Morgan Trayhern halted instantly as the woman’s strident cry rang throughout the passageway where he’d been walking. Scowling, he turned around, a sheaf of papers in his hand. At the other end of the hall, where two marine guards were posted, a tall, slim woman stood. Her hair, an ebony color with blue highlights, hung around her proud shoulders. Everything about her shouted patrician, from her oval face to her fine, thin Roman nose, high cheekbones and narrowed gray eyes. The look on her face was one of pure frustration as she stood, her hands set defiantly on her hips, confronting the tense sentries. The OOD, Lieutenant Ted Monroe, stood behind the two sentries. He was a shavetail lieutenant, having just recently joined the corps. His square face was as purple as a plum and his large hands were set arrogantly on his own hips. The two guards had their rifles up across their chests, as if warning the woman not to come a step closer, Morgan noted.

The air seemed to snap and shiver with tension. The whole base was immersed in the earthquake disaster planning, in the wake of the 8.9 quake that had hit the Los Angeles basin area a week ago. Everyone was in a state of high stress, including, obviously, the three marines.

Frowning, Morgan looked closely at the woman, and decided she looked familiar. Turning, he headed back to where the confrontation was taking place. As he neared the standoff, his lips tugged into a grin.

“Rhona McGregor!” he thundered, his face breaking into an effusive smile. Morgan stopped beside the flustered young OOD officer. “Ted, this is an old friend of mine. Relax. Let her pass. She’s one of us, okay?”

Immediately contrite, the officer blinked and then barked at his two tense sentries, “At ease!”

Rhona sighed and stared across the line of demarcation at Morgan. “I never expected to find you here, Morgan.” She thrust out her long, thin hand in his direction, then smiled kindly at the embarrassed officer and sentries, who stepped aside.

Gripping her hand, Morgan said, “How are you, Rhona? And what on earth are you doing here? Last time Laura and I saw you was at your cousin, Paige Black’s, wedding to Thane Hamilton in Arizona.”

The warmth and firm strength of Morgan’s hand made her travails of the last two days worth it. “Yes, that’s right.” She smiled briefly. “I was lucky to be able to wrangle some leave from the navy to be there for my cousin’s wedding. Speaking of family, how’s Laura?”

Grimacing, Morgan released Rhona’s hand. He looked down the passageway milling with people. “She’s here with me. Let’s take a minute and chat. My makeshift office is right over here.” He flashed Rhona a smile. “It’s mine temporarily—for the duration of this disaster relief phase we’re in.”

Following him into the small cubicle, Rhona sighed. She saw a pitcher of ice water and some glasses on a walnut sideboard. “Mind if I help myself? I’m a little footsore and thirsty.”

“No, go ahead,” Morgan murmured as he shut the door. Looking her up and down, he was struck by how long and lean she was. Though her mother was Navajo, Rhona looked decidedly more white than Native American, despite her dark hair and high cheekbones. Maybe she took after her dad, a doctor on the res in Arizona, Morgan mused. With a name like McGregor he must be of Scottish extraction. Thoughtfully, Morgan noted her dusty jeans, nicked and scarred hiking boots, and beat-up blue knapsack that had U.S. Navy written on the back in gold letters.

Once the cool water sated her thirst, Rhona set the glass down on the sideboard and turned back to the desk where Morgan was sitting. He was frowning at some reports in his hand. Taking a chair, she pulled it to the center of the room, in front of his desk.

“A lot has happened since I saw you and Laura last. For one thing, I resigned my navy commission six months ago.”

“What?” Morgan lifted his head and devoted all his attention to the young woman before him. He liked her solid confidence and steadiness. But then, she was a trained combat helicopter pilot and needed that kind of demeanor.

Shrugging, Rhona muttered, “I got tired of knocking elbows with the Neanderthal guys of my squadron, Morgan. It was pure sexual harassment, and I wasn’t into giving my power and time away to them or the navy anymore. The higher-ups in my squadron were still lookin’ the other way even after Tailhook. I tried to get a transfer to another helo squadron, where half the pilots are women and I’d have some camaraderie, but it was a no go.”

“I see,” he said sadly. “They’ve lost a helluva good pilot.”

“Thanks,” Rhona said. She brightened. “But life goes on, doesn’t it? You know, since I’m part Navajo, I have a strong environmental ethic in me. So I decided to start my own crop-dusting business here in Southern California. I got a loan to buy a helicopter, and the rest is history. The big difference is that I’m not using damaging pesticides.” She grinned. “I did some research and found out neem oil, from a tree in India, is a natural pesticide. So I spray crops with it.”

“Fascinating. Does it work as well as a commercial pesticide?”

“Yep. And it’s environmentally safe for all concerned. Keeps the pests off the plants, it’s biodegradable, plus safe for Mom Earth.” Rhona opened her hands. “I had the best of all worlds going for me until this earthquake hit.”

“Didn’t we all,” Morgan murmured. He frowned. “You look worn-out. What have you been doing? Walking? There’re no highways left to drive on.”

“No kidding. I live over in Bonsall, which is about twenty miles from Camp Reed. When the quake hit, there wasn’t much I could do where I was. I figured that, since I’m very recently out of the navy, and am still qualified to fly a military helicopter, you might need my services here at the base.” Leaning forward, her voice filled with excitement, she said, “Morgan, I’ve come to volunteer to help fly in supplies. I know that Camp Reed is probably the only base up and running in the Los Angeles basin right now.”

“You’re right about that. We’re it. No land vehicles can get anywhere near the epicenter of the quake, which is located in south L.A. Right now, we’re limited to helicopters ferrying food, water and medicine, or transporting those who need surgery to this hospital. We’ve got C-141 Starlifters bringing everything we need in to this airport, and taking some of the injured out to a hospital in Seattle.”

“Yes, I saw a couple of Starlifters being unloaded on the apron,” Rhona murmured. “This airport is overwhelmed with traffic, both rotocraft and fixed wing.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I figured the pilots stationed here are about worn-out and you could use some fresh replacements. I’m volunteering to do that.” Rhona leaned forward, her voice low with concern. “I’m qualified to fly the UH-1N Huey, and the CH-46E Sea Knight, Morgan. I see they have both models down at the airport. Are you in a position here at the base to get me slotted as a relief pilot in either of them? I’ll go wherever you need me. I’d use my own chopper but it has been retrofitted for crop dusting. I left it tethered at my airport.” She smiled a little. “A pilot is a pilot, right?”

Morgan felt a wave of warmth move through him. How like Rhona to volunteer. She was a good, strong woman who had an enduring work ethic and sense of community. “I think your Navajo blood is showing,” he stated in a husky tone. “This community is reeling from this earthquake and you’re pitching in. You could have stayed in Bonsall and fought for your own survival.”

Shrugging, Rhona grinned. “Not me. I like being where the action is, Morgan. You know that. I might be a civilian now, but you can’t take the military out of my blood.” She saw Morgan’s blue eyes gleam approvingly. He picked up his pen and studied her thoughtfully.

“Sure you wouldn’t like to close up your crop-dusting business and come work for me? I can use someone with your patriotism and moxie.”

Laughing, Rhona shook her head. “Nah. Thanks, though, Morgan. I love to fly. I love Mom Earth. Being a crop duster and helping out with the food we put in our mouths makes me feel good. I guess I’m more Indian than I ever thought.”

“Just because you don’t live on the res doesn’t lessen your ties with your people,” he said.

“That’s true,” Rhona murmured. “My parents supported my decision to leave the navy. I had many talks with both of them. My mother, who is full blood, thought turning my energies and focus toward helping the earth was a far better use of my time.” Rhona grinned.

Rummaging through a pile of papers teetering on his crowded desk, Morgan said, “Your mother’s right. It’s the navy’s loss, though…. I’ve got the flight schedules here. Let me look through them.” He scowled and ran his index finger down the pilot roster. “Ah…here we go. Lieutenant Nolan Galway just lost his copilot to a bad case of food poisoning….” Morgan lifted his head. “With no electricity except here on base, we’re learning that the box lunches we’re making in the chow hall need better refrigeration. We had four pilots go down. Nolan’s copilot was just taken out by Starlifter to Seattle. He had a dangerous kind of food poisoning. If it’s not nailed with antibiotics, it could stop his kidneys from functioning.”

Shaking her head, Rhona murmured, “There’re all kinds of things out there that can bite us in the butt if we can’t keep foodstuffs properly refrigerated.” She patted her well-worn navy knapsack. “I walked twenty miles today and ate nothing but some granola bars. They’re a safe bet because they don’t need refrigeration.”

“Wise woman,” Morgan replied. “Yeah, we’re overwhelmed here. Our refrigeration units are crammed, and with more planes and pilots coming and going, and civilians pouring into the base for food, water and medicine, we’re running into food poisoning more and more.”

“So, you want me to partner up with Lieutenant Galway? Stand in as his copilot and work his flight schedule?”

“Yes, I do.” Morgan picked up the phone. “Let me contact Ops and get you officially on the roster.”

“I’ve got proof of my flight proficiency and training right here if you want to look at them.” She patted her knapsack, which rested on her lap.

Shaking his head, Morgan punched in the number for the flight desk officer at Ops. “Not necessary. I know you’re qualified, Rhona.”

Her heart beat a little harder. Looking around the small, spare green office, Rhona realized she had missed life in the military, after all. Well, maybe some of it. What she didn’t miss were the Neanderthal males who thought women pilots weren’t their equals. Her hearing keyed on Morgan’s deep voice as he spoke to a Major Hickman, who was apparently the commanding officer of the pilot roster judging by the discussion Morgan was having with him. Smiling to herself, Rhona decided Morgan could charm a dead person back to life, he had such a persuasive gift of gab. Not many people had it. At Thane and Paige’s wedding, Rhona had been entranced by Morgan and his blond-haired wife, Laura. They were such a loving couple. What was nice was they’d been married for a long time and were obviously still in love and happy with one another.

Sighing internally, Rhona realized that would never happen for her. The look in Laura’s eyes as she’d gazed adoringly up at Morgan during the ceremony was something Rhona kept in her heart of hearts. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a man adore her, love her, in the same way?

Hearing Morgan hang up, Rhona lifted her chin and looked at him. He seemed pleased.

“You’re in,” Morgan said. “Major Hickman is jumping up and down for joy.”

“He knows I’m a woman?”

“Yes, and he didn’t bat an eyelash over it. In his book—and he’s the head of the flight desk operations over there—you’re a warm body who knows how to fly a chopper. He doesn’t give one whit about your gender.”

“Great!”

Morgan frowned. “You’ve got to be hungry. Twenty miles you walked? That’s a helluva hike, Rhona. You look a little tired, too.”

Shrugging her thin shoulders, Rhona murmured, “Listen, growing up on the res and running after a flock of sheep, I could put in twenty miles a day keeping up with them as they foraged for grass on that red desert.”

“Still,” Morgan said, standing, “I told Major Hickman you’d see him in about two hours. You need to get some food in your stomach.” Brightening as he came around the desk, he asked, “Were you able to let your parents know you’re okay? I’m sure they’re worried sick about you since Bonsall is south of the epicenter of the quake.”

Rising, Rhona murmured, “Yes, I have a cell phone.” She patted the leather case on her belt. “I got ahold of Paige in Sedona. There’re no cell phones up on the res, so I called her and asked her to contact my parents the old-fashioned way—via a real live telephone.”

Chuckling, he slid his arm through hers and guided her toward the door. “Good. I’m sure they’re resting easier knowing you’re safe. Come on, I’m going to take you to see Laura. She’s up at the hospital recovering from ankle surgery. I’ll order in a tray of food for you while you two chat and catch up with one another.”

“Laura’s hurt?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said wryly. “We were out here celebrating New Year’s at a hotel when the quake hit. Luckily, a marine search team—a woman and her dog—found Laura under the rubble. I’d escaped because I was down at the bar having a drink with an old friend. I ran out of the hotel before it collapsed, but Laura wasn’t so lucky. But thank God they found her and got her out of there. A marine helicopter flew us here, and while she was preparing for surgery, I volunteered myself to Logistics. Laura is recovering well, but she’s confined to the hospital for now. While she’s there she’s taking care of a baby girl they found in the rubble near the hotel. The mother died, unfortunately, but Laura is helping out the nurses on the Obstetrics floor by feeding the baby and keeping her warm and safe in her arms.” He smiled fondly. “Laura loves babies. Besides, it’s keeping her busy and keeping her mind off the fact that her leg is hoisted up on weights and she can’t go anywhere. You know how active she always is? Well, this staying in bed twenty-four hours a day is wearing on her. Taking care of the little girl is a healthy diversion for her.”

Rhona opened the office door. “Gosh, what a story, Morgan! You two always seem to be where the action is.”

Once out in the busy passageway, Morgan dropped his hand from her arm. She followed him down to the end of the corridor, where he pushed open the door. It was near dusk, about 1700, or 5:00 p.m. The sun was setting, the sky a blood-red color. That symbol wasn’t lost on Rhona. Her Indian heritage had taught her to read nature as a reflection of humankind. And right now, Los Angeles was hemorrhaging, as thousands of people lay dead or dying. Just the thought dampened her spirits.

Morgan led her down another crowded passageway. “Believe me, this was one time that Laura and I weren’t looking for any action at all. I’d planned this little getaway for us some time ago, as a Christmas surprise for her.” Shaking his head as he opened the outer door and held it for Rhona, he muttered, “And here we thought we’d enjoy a nice, quiet five days away from my office and her demands, and just enjoy one another….”

Rhona followed him down the metal-grate stairs to the lawn below. Although night was approaching rapidly, and the lights were on, Camp Reed was a beehive of nonstop activity. As they left the Logistics building, she could see the airport, and all the helicopters coming and going. She itched to get into the cockpit again and fly one of them. Watching her step, she hurried beside Morgan along a cracked sidewalk toward the hospital, which was about a quarter of a mile away.

Rhona was in awe at how busy the whole place was. The airport was obviously too small for all the airplanes and helicopters that were crowding in there, bringing in lifesaving foodstuffs and medical help. The pilots must be exhausted. They had to be. The quake had struck seven days ago, and now, as the ongoing emergency only grew worse, they had to be running on frayed nerves and sheer guts and determination to reach helpless people who desperately needed the supplies they flew in.

Hurrying to catch up with Morgan, Rhona carefully dodged jutting pieces of sidewalk shoved upward by the force of the quake. One wrong step and she’d trip and fall. Not that she hadn’t on the way here. She had. Many times.

“I can hardly wait to see Laura!” she said enthusiastically as she finally came up beside him, eye-level with Morgan’s broad shoulders.

“Laura is going to be overjoyed to see a familiar face,” he assured her genially. “Right now, I try to drop in and see her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “And we’re right on time for dinner with her.”

January 7: 1720

Rhona opened her arms and gave Laura a gentle, careful embrace of welcome. She saw the little baby nestled in a crib on the other side of the raised bed, so that Laura could pick up the pink-wrapped infant whenever she wanted.

Morgan ordered up three trays of food while the two women fussed over the sleeping infant.

“She’s so cute,” Rhona told Laura in a soft voice as she peeked into the crib at the sleeping infant. Glancing up, she asked “Do you have a name for her?”

Laura sighed and smiled. “No. Right now, she’s officially known as ‘baby Jane Fielding.’ We know her mother’s name was Fielding, but there was no identification on her body for her daughter.”

Morgan came over and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I just got word about possible relatives, honey.”

Laura brightened. “Oh, good. What did you find out?”

“Well, checking on this is going very slowly because of the earthquake,” he cautioned. “Priority is being given to the rescue efforts here in the L.A. basin. But I found out that the mother was adopted herself. The FBI has come to a dead end, and now they’re searching for the mother’s adoptive parents.”

Rhona smiled softly at Laura. “I’m sorry the baby’s mother died, but this little girl has the best of all worlds right now. She has you, Laura.” Rhona looked at Morgan, who stood by his wife’s bedside, his arm around her blue-gowned shoulders. “And you, Morgan. I wonder if you help change diapers?” She chuckled.

Giggling, Laura said, “Oh, yes, he does.” She patted the box of diapers on the bedstand. “He’s got lots of time in grade doing this for our own foursome over the years.”

Just then an orderly in white wheeled in a cart with three dinner trays. He was small, with short-cropped blond hair and hazel eyes. His smile was infectious as he pulled up to Laura’s bedside and said hello.

Rhona felt her stomach grumble. She realized how hungry she was. Nibbling on granola bars was okay, but when the orderly handed her an aluminum tray bearing a hamburger, steamed rice and broccoli, plus a dish of chocolate pudding, her mouth watered. Sitting down on a nearby chair, Rhona dove into the fare with gusto.

“Thanks, Morgan,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’m starving!”

Laura settled her own tray over her lap and took the utensils Morgan handed her. “So, you’re volunteering to fly here, Rhona? That’s wonderful.”

“Yes,” Morgan said, making sure his wife was properly set up to eat before he settled down in a chair with his own tray. “And she walked twenty miles today from Bonsall to do it.”

Eyes widening, Laura gave her a look of pure admiration. “That’s a lotta miles, Rhona. Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, I am.” Rhona looked toward the window, where the venetian blind was up so that they could see the airport. “But not as tired and exhausted as I know those pilots are.”

“Well,” Laura murmured, pride in her voice, “we’re so lucky to have you here with us, Rhona. How many other people would do what you’ve done? Probably not many.”

“It’s my Indian blood,” she murmured. “Indians are very conscientious about their community, and they pitch in to help when and where they can.”

“I’m sure Lieutenant Nolan Galway is going to think you’re an angel come from heaven,” Morgan said. He put some ketchup on his hamburger, and then added mustard. “Right now, he can’t fly without a copilot. That’s a military rule. If something happened to him in the cockpit and he didn’t have a copilot to take over, the chopper would be lost. So—” he grinned and picked up the hamburger “—I’m sure he’s going to welcome you with open arms.”

Rhona sighed. “I sure hope you’re right, Morgan. But I’m a woman. Ex-navy. This guy is a marine, and you know how they feel about any other military service—like we’re not worthy and all that macho bull.”

Morgan eyed his chocolate pudding and decided to eat it next. “Hopefully, this guy isn’t like the infamous Neanderthals you had the bad luck to be with in your squadron.”

“Time will tell,” Rhona murmured. As she continued to wolf down the hot, tasty food, she wondered about that. With a name like Galway, he had to be of Irish heritage. The fact that she was Scot and Navajo would make them mix like oil and water. Still, as she sat in the hospital room, with the sounds of helicopters and jet engines muffled by the brick walls, Rhona was excited. A part of her missed the military. Would this helicopter pilot be happy that she was now his partner and copilot? Rhona knew that in the coming weeks her life would not be her own. It would consist of flying the maximum hours allowed by aviation rules, dropping into exhausted sleep in a tent somewhere, and eating on the run as they jogged toward their cockpit. And all of it would be done with her partner, Lieutenant Nolan Galway. They’d do just about everything together—almost like being married, in a sense, because of the stresses and demands upon them to work as a close-knit team from dawn to dusk.

What would be his reaction to her? Rhona wasn’t sure. In less than twelve hours, she’d find out.

Two

January 7: 1900

Of all things…! Nolan thought, turning and glaring at his Huey helicopter. It was dark and the garish lights from the flight line starkly illuminated ten Hueys, neatly parked nose to tail as they were loaded with another round of cargo destined for the L.A. basin.

Lieutenant Joyce Mason stood there with a roster in her hands, frowning at Nolan.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you can’t take this Huey up to area six without a copilot. Your last temp, Lieutenant Steve Anselmo, was reassigned to his own Huey. You’ve got to stand down for tonight. Go back to the tent area and get some sleep. You’ve been flying for twelve hours nonstop today. Your copilot request has been logged. The major is seeing what can be done.”

Harried, Nolan shoved his long fingers through his short, dark brown hair. He glared at the officer, and then at the men who were hurrying to load a cargo of bottled water into his chopper. “Look, gimme a break, will you, Joyce? You know there’re people in my area that are literally dying of thirst. Would you deprive them?” He was in her face, glowering down at her as she stood before him in her dark green wool Marine Corps uniform and jacket to guard against the evening chill. Her cropped blond hair was tucked beneath her dark green garrison cap. Her eyes narrowed as he towered over her, trying to intimidate her into releasing him for one last flight.

“This won’t work, Nolan. Stand down,” she said, gritting her teeth. A slight wind riffled through the area and the papers on her clipboard rustled.

“Dammit, Joyce, I’m not intimidating you for the hell of it,” he rasped, backing off. “Think about those people out there, will you?”

“I am,” she said in a steely tone. “I’m thinking that you’re sleep deprived, Nolan. You’ve had two temporary copilots, and you’ve used up both of their flying time allowance, while you’ve kept flying. Look at you!” She gestured toward his face. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Your eyes are bloodshot. You’re a cranky old bear, you’re irritable and you’re getting just plain mean. Now, this is an order—get out of here. Go to the chow hall and eat. Then go to the makeshift tent area and sleep, will you?”

Nolan knew he was beat. Joyce was from the flight desk. She didn’t set the flight schedules, she only enforced them. Rubbing his jaw, which badly needed a shave, he looked around. The flight line reminded him of a harried hive of bees hyped up on an overdose of steroids. Ten huge tarpaulin-covered trucks had arrived, filled with medical, food and water supplies for the ten Hueys that were now on the flight line. Their blades were tied down, the pilots standing by or taking a quick break before they had to get to their assigned areas once again.

“Joyce,” he said, exasperated, “you don’t have another flight crew to take over my Huey. This bird is down until tomorrow morning, when you’ll let me fly it again. What a waste! I could do one more flight. Just one?” And he held up a finger beseechingly.

Mouth tightening, Joyce said, “Nolan, I’ve known you almost two years now, and ordinarily, I’d let you get away with what you want. But not this time. You’re tired. You’ve met your flight limit for a twenty-four-hour period. You don’t have a copilot.” She shook her head. “Somehow, I gotta find you one for tomorrow morning. They don’t grow on trees, you know.” Her own frustration was obvious in her soft voice. “Don’t you think I want to give you clearance to deliver that water? Don’t you think I know there’re people out there, literally dying of thirst? I know area six is a Latino barrio, and it’s really bad off, but I can’t do this. I can’t authorize it. I’d be looking at a court-martial, and I’m not willing to put my career on the line for it. Please…just go to the chow hall, grab something to eat and then go crash in your assigned tent.”

Nodding, Nolan whispered, “Yeah, Joyce…I know you’re right, but dammit, you don’t see the hope in those little kids’ faces when I land with food, medical or water supplies. You don’t see the distraught look in the parents’ eyes, either. Area six is hurting.” He stepped forward. “Can’t you try and have the major swing a second Huey into area six? That barrio is elbow-to-elbow with families. Big families. They’re starving to death out there, Joyce. Can you try and get a second flight of supplies in to them?”

She smiled grimly. “You really know how to push my buttons, Galway. Heck, I can’t even find you a copilot so you can fly tomorrow morning, and you’re asking for a second flight with supplies into your area? You’re dreaming. Get out of here. Go get some rest.”

Wearily, Nolan turned and looked unhappily at his bird, which was being refueled as three men from the truck carried box after box of bottled water into the rear cargo area. “Damn,” he muttered. Frustration tightened in his throat. He saw the darkness in Joyce’s triangular face. “Yeah…okay, Joyce. I hear you…but I don’t like it….”

“I know,” she said unhappily, coming up and patting him on the shoulder. “Go on, Nolan. Get some well-earned rest. I’ll see if I can pull any white rabbits out of a hat for you…but no promises, okay? We’ve lost three pilots to food poisoning in the last two days, and trying to get replacements in has been hell. You see how this airport is stacked up to the gum stumps with incoming and outgoing flights?”

Looking around, Nolan agreed. The huge C-141 Starlifters from the Air Force were bringing in record amounts of foodstuffs, which had to be transferred out of their wide, gaping bellies to awaiting military trucks. Once loaded, the trucks lumbered slowly, like elephants, over to the helicopter flight line. Ground crews then began loading the supplies onto the choppers. Once each helo was carrying a maximum weight load, it would take off to its assigned destination.

“Yeah…okay. Just find me a copilot, Joyce. I don’t care if he’s green and from Mars. Just so he can sit in the left-hand seat so I can legally fly my bird tomorrow morning, okay?”

Grinning tiredly, Joyce said, “I even thought of blowing up one of those plastic balloon men and strapping it into your chopper so you could fly.”

Chuckling, Nolan said, “You know where to find one?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” She laughed.

There wasn’t much laughter around the airport and Nolan appreciated the moment with Joyce, who had one hell of a job assigning flights and juggling personnel to keep in compliance with Federal Aviation Agency rules of flying. They were desperate for more pilots. Everyone had met their maximum flight hours in the first seven days, and by now were exhausted. Push had come to shove, and Nolan knew they were in for a long haul. But he also knew that there were people out there beyond the base starving to death, dying from lack of water, or desperately needing emergency medical attention. The weight of that knowledge bore down on his broad shoulders like ten tons, and he couldn’t escape it.

Again patting him on the back in a motherly fashion, Joyce murmured sympathetically, “Get out of here, Nolan. You’ve earned this rest.”

“What time do you want me back here?”

“At 0500. But that’s not a promise you can fly, or that I’ve found you a replacement copilot, okay? Don’t come waltzin’ in here like you’re just gonna sit in that bird and take off. Come see me at the flight desk first.”

“I hear you,” he murmured, giving her a wink. “Good night….”

“Yeah….” Joyce turned and hurried down the flight line toward two pilots waiting near a Huey that was presently being loaded.

Well, hell, Nolan thought as he made his way toward the chow hall tent near Ops, the place where his copilot had been severely poisoned three days ago. He noticed as he approached the huge tent, with its olive-green tarpaulin, that the line was shorter tonight. Navy cooks clothed in white uniforms stood in a row in one corner of the tent, behind large rectangular pans filled with steaming food.

Grabbing an aluminum tray from the teetering stack, Nolan trudged tiredly over to the line. He noticed a number of pilots he knew ahead of him, inching toward the food service. A few strings of naked lightbulbs had been rigged up beneath the tent canopy, illuminating benches and tables below. The buzz of conversation was low but constant. Many of the flight personnel, plus men and women who fueled the birds, crew chiefs and their teams who kept the helos flying and repaired them, were in here, too. Usually, nighttime meant fewer flights, because all available pilots had flown their maximum hours.

Frowning, Nolan wiped his face on his sleeve. He needed a shave. At the small tent where he and his copilot slept, there wasn’t a razor or water. A lot of the normal amenities had been blown to the wind with this continuing crisis.

Looking ahead, he spotted a tall woman in an olive-green flight suit waiting her turn in the chow line. It was her again—the woman with the gorgeous black hair. Who was she? Nolan frowned. As she stood there confidently, he stared at the patches on her uniform. On the left upper shoulder was the American flag. As she turned, he saw the squadron patch on her shoulder. His squadron. But she was new. A replacement, maybe? Did Joyce know about her? And then he scowled darkly. Damn women. He didn’t like them as pilots. Lucky for him, he’d never been assigned with one, and he was glad. He preferred flying with a guy.

Still, as she turned and looked around the chow hall, Nolan found himself watching her with interest. She had an angular profile, with that slightly hawklike nose, those high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes. He allowed his gaze to linger on her like a bee feasting on a flower. The rudimentary lighting in the tent made for a lot of shadows, and leached out everyone’s skin color. Though she looked pale beneath the lights, she seemed to have golden skin tones. Most of all, he liked her beautiful, long black hair, which streamed down over her shoulders like a cloak. Nolan’s fingers itched to touch that silky mane.

He laughed to himself, figuring he was so damn tired he felt drunk. This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about women! Besides, from the looks of it, she was a pilot. Had she been coming to report for duty when he’d seen her earlier today? He knew all the pilots in his squadron. Maybe she was a replacement? But if she was, she’d have a different squadron patch on her flight uniform. He shook his head. Nothing made sense to him. The earthquake had thrown everyone into chaos, and Nolan tried to pay attention to little, everyday things to keep him sane in this insane emergency. But this woman threw him for a loop.

She was a looker, there was no doubt. Nolan knew that ordinarily one-piece, olive-green flight suits were not sexy looking in the least. They were drab and hung like potato sacks on everyone. But she made hers look good. Lean like a greyhound, she was small breasted though her hips flared just enough for the flight suit to show her womanly attributes. Maybe it was the psychosis of his present sleep deprivation that spiked his desires, but Nolan decided he liked her mouth most of all. It was full and soft looking. Very kissable. Of course, he was too dog tired to even follow that thought. Even if a woman snuggled with him in his sleeping bag at this point, he couldn’t do anything about it, he was so exhausted.

Well, at least she was easy on his eyes, a perk he hadn’t expected. Moving forward, he watched her go through the line and then sit in a far corner by herself. And then he saw several other pilots looking at her—going over to sit with her after they went through the chow line.

Nolan chuckled himself. He didn’t hold it against the guys. They were all single and had an eye for an attractive woman, too. However, he wouldn’t even consider sitting with a woman Marine Corps pilot. No way. He preferred his women out of the military—nice, soft civilian types, not hard-edged female officers, who were usually tougher than nails. As he held up his tray to receive his food, Nolan congratulated himself. He wasn’t going to go over and introduce himself to this new woman pilot. Let the slavering wolves—the younger guys—do that. Instead, he was going to eat his food, go to his tent and, he hoped, get a good night’s sleep. At 0500 tomorrow, he was going to pray that Joyce had found him a copilot, so he could fly to the aid of those desperate families.

January 8: 0545

Nolan scowled as the first light of dawn sent a gray ribbon across the eastern horizon. He was walking down the flight line toward his Huey when he saw another pilot standing by the opened door of the fuselage, inspecting the load of water. Nolan rubbed his sleep-ridden eyes. The shadowy morning light was playing tricks on him, he thought, trying to make out the figure by his Huey. It had to be his new copilot. In Nolan’s hand was an order, just signed by Joyce over at Flight Ops, for him to take Lieutenant R. McGregor on as his new copilot. He’d thanked Joyce effusively. She had told him Lieutenant McGregor was his permanent copilot replacement for the duration of the earthquake relief flights. Further, he’d heard that his old copilot was successfully recovering from the deadly food poisoning in that Seattle hospital. For Nolan, things didn’t get any better than this.

His jaw prickled and he rubbed the tender skin where he’d cut himself shaving earlier. Someone had thoughtfully left a bowl of water, some soap and a razor outside his tent. But trying to shave with a mirror and flashlight had proved disastrous. He’d nicked his face at least three different times. As he shaved, he had seen the trucks coming from the C-141s that had flown in last night with supplies. His tent stood in a line with forty others, barely a quarter of a mile from the runway. Usually when a Starlifter came in, the vibrations of the massive engines caused the tents to shake. He’d slept through it all, such was the extent of his exhaustion.

This morning, hope threaded through him as he quickened his pace toward his chopper. He had a new copilot! A permanent one! He saw the guy leaning into the open fuselage, making sure the cargo netting was holding the boxes in place. Good, he liked a copilot who was thorough and efficient and didn’t miss such details. Yes, life was looking good to Nolan. His step lightened considerably as he drew up behind his new copilot.

“Lieutenant McGregor?” he demanded.

Rhona gasped. The man’s voice was practically in her ear. She straightened and whirled around.

Nolan’s mouth fell open. It was the woman in last night’s chow line! The very same one he’d seen heading for Logistics with such determination. Today, her black hair was caught up in a French twist, off her shoulders. Her gray eyes were huge and startled looking.

“Who are you?” he demanded, taking a step away from her. This couldn’t be his copilot! Yet, as Nolan raked his eyes over her upper body, he saw a set of gold aviator’s wings stitched onto her flight suit on one side, and the name R. McGregor in gold letters on the black leather name patch above her left breast pocket. No! This couldn’t be happening! Not to him! Not a woman copilot!

Rhona stared at the six-foot-tall Marine Corps officer. He was looking at her like she was a snake ready to bite him. Gathering her nerves, which were frazzled by his booming voice, Rhona thrust out her hand.

“I’m Rhona McGregor, Lieutenant Galway. I’m your new copilot. Nice to meet you.”

Nolan stared at her long, thin hand. Her fingers were slender, graceful, but with blunt-cut nails—no nonsense hands. A flyer’s hands. That realization ran through his shocked mind before he could stop it. Even worse, he was discovering she was even more attractive in the dawn light than she had been last night in the chow tent. She wore small, unobtrusive pearl earrings in her delicate ears. Her face was oval, her eyes warm, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her soft mouth. There wasn’t anything to dislike about this woman. Not a damn thing, except that she was his copilot!

“I’m Galway, all right,” he snarled. “But you can’t be R. McGregor. I’m lookin’ for a male copilot.” He hooked his thumb across his shoulder toward Ops. “Lieutenant Mason just assigned me a Lieutenant R. McGregor. That can’t be you.” And yet, as he stared again at the name plate on her uniform, Nolan finally grasped the fact that it was. His stomach sank. His anger simmered. Joyce hadn’t mentioned his copilot’s gender. No, she had smiled brightly at him when he’d entered Ops earlier, waved a set of orders at him, telling him the good news. Nolan would have kissed her, if military rules allowed it. He’d been so thrilled at her finding him a partner, that he hadn’t asked any questions. Apparently, he should have.

Rhona was taken aback. She saw the dark cloud of anger on Lieutenant Galway’s rugged, square face. Nolan Galway wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but he had a strength in his face she instantly liked. And she couldn’t resist the boyish freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. Maybe it was the stubborn set of his jaw, or his large, intelligent eyes. Or his mouth, which was now thinned in obvious disapproval.

“Excuse me?” She dropped her hand. The fact that he wasn’t going to shake it put her on warning that he didn’t like her. “I’m Rhona McGregor,” she repeated. “Lieutenant Mason assigned me to you this morning as your replacement copilot for the duration of the disaster relief effort.” She frowned, tensing inwardly to protect herself from his anger. Her stomach automatically clenched.

Nolan, who normally had glib words for every occasion, stood there speechless. Rhona was tall, lean—beautiful. And God help him, he liked her gray eyes, so bright with intelligence. But as her arched black brows drew downward, he steeled himself.

“They didn’t say you were a woman,” he sputtered angrily.

“Gender has no place in this, Lieutenant Galway,” she stated, then clenched her teeth. Great! He was a Neanderthal! Rhona’s heart sank. Not another one! She’d left the navy precisely because of men like the one standing in front of her. This guy wasn’t going to respect her as an aviator who could do just as good of a job at the stick as he could.

“Look,” Nolan growled, “this isn’t going to work out. I fly with men only. Okay?” Yet his mind was racing. Copilots didn’t grow on trees. Joyce had said McGregor was the only one available, that replacements weren’t going to be coming in for another three days, the flights into Camp Reed were so stacked up.

Rhona felt a spurt of anger. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Lieutenant Galway.” Her eyes narrowed. “And from where I’m standing, if I were in your shoes, I’d be grateful for whoever showed up to help you pilot this bird.”

Rubbing his mouth, he took another step away from her. “Look, I just don’t like women in the cockpit with me, okay?”

“You’ll have to put up with it, Lieutenant. This isn’t up to you.”

“Just who the hell are you, anyway? You’re wearin’ our squadron patch and you’re not one of us.”

Rhona sat down on the lip of the Huey, her hands clasped between her thighs. Galway had gall. A lot of it. She eyed him assessingly before speaking. “I used to fly in the navy, Lieutenant. I’ve been out six months. I’m still air qualified on Hueys and CH-46E Sea Knights. I volunteered my services here at Ops yesterday. They were glad to see me. Too bad you aren’t. I’m here to help those people out there.” She pointed in the direction of the L.A. basin. “What are you here to do? The same thing, I hope.”

Stung, he glared at her. All up and down the flight line, things were starting to get busy. Pilots were coming out to check their birds before they took off for the first of many flights today. Cargo masters with lists in hand were double-checking the loads aboard the Hueys.

“This is a mistake. A big one. Joyce knows I don’t fly with women. And besides, you’re a civilian! That’s not allowed. You can’t just resign your navy commission and step in here and start flying again.”

Rhona saw the desperation in his taut face, the downward curve of his mouth. Oh, he had a wonderful-looking mouth, in her opinion, and under any other circumstances, Nolan Galway would be the kind of tall, dark and handsome man she would go for. But not now. His looks didn’t do a damn thing for her at the moment.

“Luckily, that isn’t for you to decide. Ops was fine with my credentials. You will be, too.” She left off the “or else” because Rhona had no desire to fan the conflagration occurring between them right now.

Nolan paced. On the one hand, if he went back to complain to Joyce, she might remove him from the roster due to gender harassment. This wasn’t acceptable behavior, Nolan knew. No, if he complained to Ops, more than likely he’d get his tail in a bind and wouldn’t be allowed to fly at all. Damn.

“Look at the real reason I’m here,” Rhona told him grimly. “I walked in from Bonsall yesterday. I saw the devastation. I know you’re running shorthanded because all the pilots have eaten up their mandatory flight time under FAA laws. I volunteered, Lieutenant Galway, because I care for the people out there.” Again she jabbed her finger toward the west. “And I can make a difference. Now, if you have an objection to me being a woman, that’s your problem. Not the Marine Corps’s. Not mine. I think you’d better widen your vision. Let go of that narrow-mindedness and look at the bigger picture. Why are you taking these missions? Just to fly? Or are you trying to help people who are starving to death out there? Who are thirsty? Or who might need medical help?”

Rhona stood up, placed her hands on her hips and held his stormy green gaze. “That’s why I’m here. Why the hell are you standing there? To get more flight hours?” That was an insult and Rhona knew it.

Anger sizzled through Nolan. Especially when he saw that they’d given her the rank of first lieutenant—the same as his. She was his equal in every way under military law. In fact, her rank made her a full-fledged pilot, so she wasn’t really his copilot. That meant her skills were commensurate to his, whether he liked to admit it or not.

Running his fingers distractedly through his hair, he glared at her. “Climb down off your high horse, will you, McGregor? Okay, you’re my co. I don’t like it, but I’m not gonna argue any further under the circumstances.” He saw his crew chief, Corporal Tavis Burt, ambling toward them. “It’s time to turn and burn, McGregor. You say you know Hueys. Well, I’ll be watching your every move until I’m satisfied you know what the hell you’re doing in that cockpit with me. If you’ve been out six months, your skills are gonna be rusty. You just sit in that seat and I’ll do the flying. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a pretty bauble taking up space in my cockpit to fulfill military and FAA requirements, and that’s it. I don’t need you. I don’t need your help or your input. Got it?”

A wave of hurt washed through Rhona. She stood there, digging her fingers into her hips to stop the anger from spilling out. The venom in his look, in his words, scalded her. She saw the crew chief, a young man with red hair and blue eyes, hurrying toward them.

“Yeah, I hear you, Lieutenant Galway,” she said with gritted teeth.

With a sharp nod of his head, he snarled, “Fine. Now make your walk-around, Lieutenant, and I’ll talk to my crew chief.”

The bastard. Rhona allowed her tense hands to drop from her hips. The walk-around was a necessary component of flying. She had to look for hydraulic leaks, make sure that all surfaces were intact and that nothing was loose or leaking. Beginning at the nose, she slowly moved around the Huey, her hand skimming the fuselage almost lovingly as she checked out the bird.

Trying to put Nolan Galway and his acidic hatred of her out of her mind, Rhona kept one ear tuned to the conversation between him and the soft-spoken, gangly crew chief, who looked to be in his midtwenties. Rarely did an aircraft have all instruments operational. There was always something that was down or needed to be fixed, but wasn’t essential to the act of flying. A crew chief went over those errors with the pilot, so he knew ahead of time that a button, knob or piece of software wasn’t working right. If it was bad enough, the bird would be grounded until the spare part could be replaced. As Rhona looked up to check the tail rotor of the Huey, she saw that the young crew chief had dark circles under his eyes. The realization that everyone was working long, arduous hours with little sleep hit her again.

As she came around to the fuselage door, where the dark green nylon netting held the cargo in place, the crew chief looked up. When he approached her, saluted and came to attention, Rhona did the same.

“At ease, Chief,” she murmured. “I’m Lieutenant McGregor. Nice to meet you.”

He flushed. “Yes, ma’am, same here.”

Rhona saw Galway enter the chopper through the door and work his way forward to the right seat, where the pilot sat. She focused her attention on the nervous crew chief. He had acne, which had scarred most of his face, leaving it pockmarked. Feeling for him, she smiled slightly.

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