Helen looked over at Rafe sitting at the end of the bench on one side, near the tail. He sat several seat lengths apart from the others, further separated by a slight abutment — a loner, as he’d always been. His head rested back against the fuselage, his eyes were closed, and his skin was a mite greenish.
Tucking her clipboard under her arm, she maneuvered her way down the aisle and leaned over him. “Are you sick, soldier?”
His eyes opened lazily. “Why? Are you gonna rub my tummy?”
Helen recoiled, then made another mark after his name on the clipboard. “You’re already in serious trouble, Captain. The next step is the stockade.”
“Is it air-conditioned?”
She gritted her teeth. “Your conduct is arrogant and insubordinate. I’ve tolerated more than I should for old times’ sake. Don’t push me any further.”
“Listen, Helen. I’m in a bad mood and I’m taking it out on you. Maybe we’d better not talk anymore.”
The plane hit an air pocket and she swayed with the turbulence.
“Buckle your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot droned over the loud speaker. “We’ve hit a temporary rough spot.”
Reluctantly, Helen sank down on the seat next to Rafe and buckled up. He grinned at her like a mischievous child. She made a clucking noise that sounded prissy even to her. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Neither have you.” He smiled wickedly, his eyes making a bold assessment of her body.
“How so?” she asked, against her better judgment.
“You’re as prissy as ever.”
Seeing the look of consternation on her face, he leaned over and took the pen out of her hand, making a mark next to his name. “Just saving you the bother, babe,” he explained.
Babe! She was about to rebuke him for addressing a superior officer in such an intimate manner when he made her protest impossible by asking, “Should you be talking to a lowly soldier like me? Isn’t it against the rules or something?” He put special emphasis on the word “rules” as if they were something loathsome. As if he didn’t know exactly what the rules said.
When Helen realized she’d played right into his hands, again, she forced herself to relax, to cut him a little slack. Rafe had always put her on the defensive, caused her to overreact, made her feel guilty for — well, practically everything — from the way she dressed to the patriotic values she revered.
“I asked you a question, Captain Santiago. Are you ill?”
“Do I look ill?”
“Yes.”
“If I’m ill, do I get to go back to L.A.?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then I’m not ill. Just a little hung over.”
“Always looking for the easy way out, aren’t you? Let me give you a little bit of advice, as an old friend.”
He raised an eyebrow at her use of the word “friend,” but she continued doggedly, “You’re the same as you were back at Stonewall, and that kind of insolence won’t cut it in today’s Army.”
Now it was Rafe’s turn to stiffen. “Lady, you didn’t know me then, and you don’t know me now.”
Helen felt her face flush with embarrassment. “You’re right.” But she couldn’t allow his familiarity to go on. “Just don’t call me those… names. I’m your commanding officer, in case you’ve forgotten.”
His lips twitched with amusement. “Should I salute?”
“That would be a start.”
“Whatever melts your butter.” He sat up straight and gave her a short, smart salute.
“Well, that’s more like it.”
Then he ruined the effect by winking.
She ignored his wink, although it did strange things to the pattern of her breathing. Helen decided to change the subject, to start over on a fresh note. After all, she was the leader of this operation. Surely she could carry on a civil conversation with one of her men. “What have you been doing for the past twelve years?”
He hesitated. “Are we talking major and captain here? Or Helen and Rafe?”
With a quick glance, she saw that they were screened somewhat from the other soldiers by the protruding abutment. She studied him for a long moment. “Two old acquaintances,” she conceded.