"Despite everything, you look pretty as ever," he said, meaning it.
Gale touched her cheek, feeling the heat of a blush sweeping onto her face. "Thank you."
"Going to say the same for me?" he asked, beginning to grin.
"You look more mature." The war had carved and etched deeper lines into his face. She saw the pain he carried in those lines.
"Have I changed that much?"
Managing a wobbly smile, Gale shook her head. You look wonderful. She longed to reach out and touch the hand that rested on the counter. A long, spare hand like the rest of him. Kyle was built whipcord lean, with a deep, broad chest and shoulders. His face was narrow, his smile warm with welcome, his eyes hooded by some undefinable emotion.
"Whew, that was close."
"You're such a clown, Anderson," she joked weakly, trying to get a handle on her escaping emotions and to pick up on his effort to lighten the mood of their vigil. Tears had come, but just the way Kyle was behaving helped her to stabilize. The tears went away and in their place, Gale felt an overwhelming lightness sweep through her. "You haven't changed a bit."
His boyish grin broadened. "The same? Usually, at my age, people say I look a bit more suave or some such thing."
She laughed, a terrible burden sliding off her shoulders. "All pilots know they're handsome devils. You don't need me to add to that confident ego you already own." If anything, Kyle had grown more handsome with age. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were deeply embedded, and the laugh lines around his mouth were pronounced. A few errant strands of black hair dipped over his wrinkled brow and Gale yearned to push them back into place.
"Touché, Major Taylor." He forced himself to look around because if he didn't, he was going to stare deeply into her eyes, bare his soul and then destroy the fragile truce between them. "Got a cup of coffee for this tired old jet jock? "
"I'm forgetting my manners. You bet I do. Come on around the end of the counter."
"I'm allowed to tread on sacred meteorology territory?"
"Of course. While I get you coffee, why don't you call the B.O.Q. and tell them you've arrived. I made reservations and they've got a room ready. They'll send over a driver to pick you up whenever you want to hit the rack. The number is 920."
With a nod, Kyle rounded the counter. "Thanks, I'll do that." His eyes narrowed when she turned away and went to the Teletype room, where the coffee pot was kept. Gale was terribly thin. Damn! The uniform hung on her. A deep, startling anger coursed through him. War did terrible things to all people, not just the people who fought it, but the wives and family left at home were equally injured by it. No one was left untouched or unscarred. But surely Gale had suffered more than most.
Gale tried not to let her hand tremble when she placed the mug in front of Kyle, but it did. Tucking her lip between her teeth, she looked away, aware of his sharpened gaze. She leaned against the counter, opposite him, listening to the rich timbre of his voice, a healing balm across her taut, screaming nerves. He automatically allowed her to relax, to feel as if everything would be fine.
Kyle hung up the phone. "Thanks for making the reservations," he said, picking up the mug.
"At Christmastime, the B.O.Q. is empty."
"All the bases are deserted. Only the poor schmuck stuck with the duty is around." Kyle glanced at her critically. "Which reminds me, why are you on duty at a time like this?"
Gale shrugged, crossing her arms against her chest. "Why shouldn't I be? If I wasn't, I'd be going stir crazy over at the house. I couldn't just wait, Kyle. I have to be doing something-anything-to keep my mind off the what ifs."
The coffee was hot and strong. Kyle nodded, understanding. "When do you get off duty?"
"Christmas morning at 0700. Then, I come back at 1900 tomorrow evening for twelve hours and then get the next seventy-two hours off."
He glanced around. "So you're here holding down the fort by yourself?"
"Do you see a crowd of pilots standing around needing weather?"
"Not a one."
Gale smiled. "In about half an hour, I've got to plot a weather map, is all."
"And you have to take a weather observation from the roof of Ops once an hour?" Kyle guessed. He watch her nod, thinking how the lights gave her hair a golden cast, like a halo around her head. "How long is your hair?" Damn! He hadn't meant to get so personal.
"Believe it or not, almost halfway down my back. Isn't that something?"
Swallowing hard, Kyle agreed. The very thought of sifting his fingers through that thick brown mass was too much. He forced himself to think of Mike and his ordeal.
Mustering a smile, Kyle said, "In three days or less, we'll know Mike's fine and coming home to you."
"I wish I had your optimism."
"My stock and trade."
It felt good to laugh-freely and with happiness. Gale shook her head. "You're good medicine, Kyle. You take away my pain and make me laugh when I never thought I would again. Thanks."
You takeaway my pain. Kyle looked away from her green eyes which were sparkling with life once again. When he'd arrived, Gale's eyes had been flat with pain, dull with fear. Her words tormented him. Well, maybe he could take some of her worry and anxiety away-if only for the next few days. Sitting up, he took a good look around the office.
"What, no Christmas tree? What kind of place do you run here, Major?"
Gale grimaced. "Want to know the worst of it?"
"What?"
"I don't have a Christmas tree at home, either."
He studied her, hearing the underlying strain in her voice. "Probably haven't had one in years, right?"
"How did you know? Never mind, don't answer that." Gale gave him an exasperated look. "Do you know how disconcerting it is to have someone know me that well?"
Kyle grinned and stood up, stretching fully. Flying in a cramped combat jet from New York to California wasn't his idea of pleasure. "I promise, your secrets are safe with me."
With a smile, Gale reached for his emptied mug. "I don't know how you've put up with me through the years, Major Anderson. I've been a royal pain at times." Some of the depressing letters she'd written to him, in which she'd let her fear for Mike and the real possibility he was dead surface, weren't her idea of chatty letters to a friend. Kyle had fielded her tough, hard questions and issues addressing her trepidation for Mike. He'd counseled her on how to stay sane and try to lead a normal life while she remained in a painful limbo of not knowing.
"Never a pain," Kyle told her, working at keeping his tone light and teasing when it was the last thing he wanted to be with her.
"More coffee?"
"Yeah, please. Hey, you got an old cardboard box sitting around here somewhere?"
She gave him a strange look. "Yes. Why?"
With a shrug, Kyle pointed to the main desk. "I think we ought to put a Christmas tree up, don't you?"
Kyle's enthusiasm was contagious and just what Gale needed. "I think you're right. But cardboard…?"
"Sure." He followed her back to the Teletype room. "When Mike and I were kids in Arizona, we had this tree house in this huge old sycamore in his backyard. A couple of days before Christmas, we'd go up there and make a Christmas tree and leave it in the tree house. You must have seen it when you stayed with the Taylors."
"Mmm. Mike's mother told me how you two used to spend hours playing in that old tree. The view from their home is breathtaking." The surrounding country-the wide, flowing creek and pine forest-was a salve to her spirit when she visited there. Smiling wistfully, Gale straightened, handing him the mug. "That sycamore is still standing out back, you know."
"It must be at least a hundred and fifty years old." Thoughts of the tree brought back a wealth of good memories.
"What did you two do out there with that sycamore?"
Brightening, Kyle spotted an empty Teletype-paper box in the corner. "As I said, Mike and I would make a cardboard Christmas tree for our tree house every year. We'd sit up there with crayons, paper, glue and string for hours putting it together." With a grin, he walked over and picked up the box. "And we're going to do that tonight. A good-luck charm to get Mike back home alive. Ready?"