Chapter Three
Any minute now, Major Kyle Anderson was going to walk through the doors of Operations. Gale fidgeted nervously behind the meteorology desk, the only meteorologist on duty Christmas Eve. Her heart speeded up, as it always did whenever she got a letter or received a call from Kyle. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? Five years. Five of the most hellish years of her life. But his letters and later, his frequent phone calls had helped ease her suffering.
Licking her lower lip, Gale moved to the forecaster's desk and sat down. In the other room, twelve Teletype machines noisily clattered away, printing out weather information from around the world. Her mind and heart focused on the fact that within seventy-two hours she would know one way or another whether Mike was alive or dead.
Rubbing her aching brow, Gale closed her eyes, the tears coming. She fought them back, refusing to cry.
Sniffing, she took a tissue, dabbed her eyes and tried to focus on the wall of weather maps. Operations was ghostly quiet. Across the way, one airman was on duty at the air-control desk. Everyone else was with family on this Christmas Eve. Everyone had someone to spend the holidays with.
Two days ago, the Pentagon had informed her that Mike's dog tags had been supplied by Hanoi as belonging to a POW. The North Vietnamese were releasing some POWs and the remains of other servicemen as a goodwill gesture. As to Mike's fate, sometime between December 25 and 28, the Pentagon would know and Gale would be contacted. Unable to stand the suspense alone, she had called Kyle.
More tears came and she wiped them away. He was supposed to go home for Christmas this year. She'd hesitated calling him. She knew how badly his folks wanted to see him and how much he needed to be home. But the pain of waiting alone had driven her to the phone to ask him to come and wait with her instead.
Kyle hadn't sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere but at her side when the news came from the Pentagon. She felt guilty about taking him from his folks and hoped that they would forgive her moment of weakness.
Gale got up and went to the Teleype room where there was a modicum of privacy. She didn't want the airman across the way to see her like this. Even now, Mike's parents waited, having also been notified. They had looked to her for solace over the past few years, especially since they had both come to fear Mike was dead. But they'd never openly admitted that to her.
Kyle was coming to be with her. He'd always kept up her hope, her belief that Mike was still alive.
'How am I going to handle this?' she muttered, burying her face in her hands. '
Right now, her emotions were little more than taut butterfly's wings ready to shatter at the slightest movement. Kyle, flying in from Griffiss AFB, was supposed to land momentarily. A part of her was so weak after the years of terrible waiting and wondering, of being in limbo about Mike, that she ached to simply be held by Kyle. Gale knew she'd feel safe and protected from a world gone mad. The peace she'd felt in his arms five years ago when she'd burned her hand would be there, too. Her emotions were playing tricks on her. Gale thought she had heard longing in Kyle's voice when she'd made that phone call, but that was impossible.
She began to absently tear off and collect the Teletype paper, gathering it from each machine and then clipping it to posting boards. Some of the sheets would be used in plotting the midnight weather map an hour from now. Walking out into the main office, Gale put the weather information on the desk where a clean sheet of map paper lay. Working kept her from thinking. Working kept her from feeling.
Halting, Gale lifted her chin and looked out the windows into the gloomy darkness. The landing apron in front of the building had very few jets parked on it. No one flew during the holidays unless they were on alert duty. It was raining. The gusting wind sent sheets of water across the tarmac. Gale prayed Kyle would be strong enough for both of them. The waiting… the wondering had taken their toll. She was too emotionally drained to be strong any longer.
She moved to the front desk and stood watching the double doors, and she wondered when Kyle would arrive. His letters had been filled with anecdotes about his military life, funny stories about things that had happened to him, stories meant to make her laugh, to pull her out of her depression. During the past year, there had been a wonderful shift in his letters-they were more personal, more about the man, Kyle Anderson, and not the pilot. Those letters were special to her.
Kyle's phone calls weren't frequent. He called on her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas, just to check in on her. Kyle knew what it was like to be in the service and alone on holidays. She ached to hear his voice, to listen to him laugh and tell his jokes. There was nothing but good in Kyle Anderson. His loyalty to Mike was unswerving.
The doors opened.
Kyle stepped into the dimly lit Ops area and shook water off his olive-drab flight suit. In one hand he had his helmet bag, in the other, a small traveling bag with two sets of clean civilian clothes inside, including the sweater Gale had made for him. His F-4 Phantom was parked at the hangar, the crew chief having given him a ride over to Ops.
Sensing Gale's presence, he looked up. He hadn't seen her in five years; he hadn't dared. Her heart-shaped face was the same, and so were those haunting green eyes, that full mouth and slender build. Her hair was longer, and he was pleased about that for no discernible reason. The strands were pulled into a French twist behind her head, with feathery bangs barely touching her eyebrows.
It was the look of utter devastation on Gale's pale features that forced him to remain strong, because he could see that she wasn't. This wasn't the Gale he'd met five years ago, the woman who had courage under incredible duress. Five years without Mike had ravaged her in many ways. And still, she was the most beautiful woman Kyle had ever seen. The years hadn't dimmed his memory of her. Like a miser, Kyle had hoarded that precious, sweet memory, pulling it out from time to time to savor it, knowing that it could never be anything more.
Putting a smile of welcome on his face, he strode toward the counter where she stood. He noticed the airman sitting at the control desk, reading a magazine, not even bothering to look up.
'Hi, stranger,' Kyle said, setting his helmet bag on the counter and the traveling bag on the floor. An ache seized him, and he wanted to walk around that desk, pull Gale into his arms and simply hold her. The urge was overwhelming. Kyle didn't let his smile slip, being very careful to keep the look of devilry he was famous for in his eyes-and to hide a look of yearning.
Gale stared up at Kyle not believing he was really with her. She moved without realizing what she was doing, coming around the end of the counter. The smile on Kyle's face changed, became nakedly vulnerable, and she saw him open his arms to her. Tears blinded her, and she couldn't stop herself. In moments, his arms closed around her. He dragged her against him and held her tightly.
'Oh, Kyle,' she said, her voice muffled by bis flight suit, her arms going around his waist. She needed to lean against someone for just a little while, to seek protection against the final seventy-two hours of a five-year marathon that she'd run alone. Then the words she had refused to say to herself started pouring out of her. 'I'm so afraid… so afraid…'
'It's going to be okay, Gale,' Kyle whispered, shutting his eyes and absorbing the feeling of her against him. 'Mike's coming home. I can feel it. Everything's going to be okay.' Every muscle in his body screamed out for further contact with her warm, pliant body, but he kept his embrace that of a friend. 'Just hang in there,' he told her, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair. The clean, faintly fragrant scent of her body sent a painful surge through him. Kyle dragged in a deep breath, rocked her gently in his arms and fought his personal need of her as a woman.
Now beyond words, Gale collapsed into Kyle's arms. The moment his hand stroked her hair, a small sob caught in her throat. She felt his arms tighten around her momentarily. It was as if Kyle knew exactly what she needed, and beyond exhaustion, she capitulated to him. Each stroke of his hand on her hair took away a little more anxiety, a little more pain and suffering. Finally, after a full five minutes, she was able to ease out of his arms and step
