Читать книгу: «Ride the Thunder»

“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.”