Touch The Heavens. Eileen Nauman
the depth of her worry. His own childhood flashed to the front of his memory. Unwanted by his young, immature mother who preferred globe-trotting with his millionaire father, he had been foisted upon his aunt and uncle at the tender age of seven. From then on, Howard and Melvina McCord had been more like his mother and father than his real parents, Preston and Vanessa McCord. He could identify with Chris up to a point. He had come out of a sterile household, cared for by a nanny. It was a godsend when he was given to Howard and Melvina. At least he received love and attention, filling that aching gap in his youthful heart.
He studied Chris. Although she had never known the security of love while growing up, it hadn’t stopped her from achieving a brilliant career. She had been denied emotional sustenance, but she had respected herself as a unique individual. And in order to protect that core, Chris had learned to put up defensive walls to ensure her survival as the individual she knew she was—despite the years in the orphanage.
“Yes,” he answered gently, his voice holding a caressing quality to it, “I think I am beginning to understand.” He shook his head. “And lady, you are special,” he whispered. “Very special.”
She blushed deeply, unable to meet his eyes. Her heart suffused with an incredible warmth. The awkward silence lengthened, and Chris nervously cleared her throat. “I think it’s time to get back.”
Dan stood, picking up the bill. “If I had my way, we’d take the rest of the day off and just talk,” he murmured. Then, flashing her a reassuring smile, he asked, “How about this evening at 1800? How would you like to climb into Double Ugly and take me for a flight?”
Chris gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
He placed his hand beneath her elbow, guiding her out of the dining room. “Is it a date? Meet me on the ramp with your flight gear, and we’ll take you up in an F-4.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You are serious.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked, opening the front door.
“One of your faultless attributes, Major McCord, is your honesty,” she murmured drily. He walked beside her, his body inches from her own, and Chris gloried in his closeness. He was incredibly masculine. She gazed up at his mouth, tantalized by its shape and sensuality. She nearly lost her scattered thoughts.
“Not to mention being single, handsome, well-off and —”
“Here we go again,” Chris griped, tossing him a broad smile.
Dan opened the Corvette’s door for her. He loved to see her eyes sparkle with life. And he promised himself he would give her a measure of happiness that was long overdue.
“Then we have a date?” he pressed, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“I suppose....”
He feigned wounding by her hesitation. “I ought to get a purple heart for being around you,” he taunted.
Chris momentarily placed her hand on his forearm. She felt the steel-corded strength of his muscles beneath her fingertips. “Listen, if you can stand being around me, you deserve more than a purple heart.”
Dan pulled out of the driveway. “Raven, you’re easy to be around. Believe me.” His blue eyes took on a look of merriment. “Besides, I’ve managed to dodge all the slings and arrows you’ve thrown at me so far and I’m not wounded in action. We’ve got nowhere to go but up from here.”
Chris gloried in the caressing tone of the nickname he had given her. She leaned back, laughing fully. “You are impossible, Major McCord! I could never have dreamed you up if I tried.”
“Just dream about me in your sleep,” he said, his voice a roughened whisper.
Dan’s reply sent a shiver through Chris, and she had no returning quip. All she could do was stare at him.
3
CHRIS COULD BARELY contain the pulse-pounding excitement threading its way through her. But her anxiety was well hidden as she walked toward the light gray Phantom with its long, bulbous black nose. Dan McCord was already there waiting for her, talking amiably with the crew chief who serviced the plane. McCord flashed her a smile of welcome as she approached.
“Well, ready to become a Phantom Phlyer?” he teased, motioning for her to climb the ladder hooked on the left side of the fuselage. Chris returned the smile, hoisting herself up the steps into the rear seat.
Dan watched her progress as she slipped into the cockpit. She placed her helmet on the console in front of her.
“I thought you called it Double Ugly?”
“We call it that when it’s going outside its performance envelope,” he said in way of explanation climbing aboard. “We also called it DRUT.”
She saw mirth lurking in his eyes when he said it. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does DRUT stand for?”
An irrepressible grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Turn the word around and you’ll see,” was all he said. Dan situated himself in the pilot’s seat, and the crew chief came up the ladder to help both of them strap into their unwieldy harness system. Straps went over both shoulders and then buckled into a seat belt that went across their laps.
Chris chuckled to herself, noticing the crew chief stealing glances at her. She had grown used to the crews staring. She was an oddity—a woman out of place. She gave the chief a smile as he handed her the green-and-brown camouflaged helmet with Mallory printed on the front of it. Thanking him, Chris settled it on her head. God, it felt good to be back in a cockpit again! In less than fifteen minutes she would be airborne, and all the trials and tribulations of her life would slip effortlessly off her shoulders as she rode the jet up into the dark blue skies.
The flight suit she wore was specially constructed to take the gravity forces created by the combat jet’s massive engine power. When going at high speed turns or angles it was easy to black out from high G-forces. The G-suit prevented it from happening. It would automatically push the flow of blood out of her legs and back into her head and upper body.
Plugging in her headphone set she monitored all conversations with Dan, the control tower and other necessary communications. Dan raised his hand, thumb up, giving the signal for the ground crew to step away.
Her heart pounded as Dan inched the throttles forward to start the two huge turbojet engines. Then, the Phantom roared to life. Each engine was mounted halfway down the fuselage directly beside her seat, the semicircular scoop intakes sucking in huge amounts of air. Anticipation mixed with joy. She was sitting in one of the most feared combat fighters in the world.
“You about ready to go?” Dan asked.
Chris snapped the oxygen mask to her face. “Ready, ready now!” she returned, choosing the old B-52 axiom that the Strategic Air Command crews used.
Dan laughed. “Raven, you’re a girl after my own heart. I want you to sit back and relax. I’ll take Double Ugly up and give you an idea of its capabilities as well as its drawbacks.”
“You mean I get the full treatment?”
“Better believe it. Once airborne, I’ll turn the stick over to you, and you’ll get the feel of this ugly bird. Canopies down,” he ordered.
With a double set of flight controls, Chris hit her canopy lever, watching the Plexiglas lids slowly close. There was a soft whoosh as it locked tightly on each separate compartment. Although pilots never flew without their oxygen masks clamped securely to their faces in case of a leak, the cabins were pressurized.
Within minutes the F-4 was trundling heavily along the concrete taxiway. Chris helped Dan by switching radio frequencies and handling other little chores that would make his job less complicated. She watched the flaps lower, the whirring sound shivering through the Phantom. Now, with the flaps down, the lift-off capability of the fifteen-ton fighter was increased. Her pulse beat raced as she heard the engines shrieking