Space in His Heart (11 page)

She didn’t feel anything but heat, friction,
and about a hundred hummingbirds take flight in her stomach. “Yes,”
she lied.

“That’s why it flies supersonic so
beautifully.” He looked down at her, his face inches from hers, the
steel of the plane as warm as the palm of his hand.
Click
.

“It’s lovely,” she finally agreed.

Awareness flickered in his eyes, a quick
connection sparking between their barely parted lips.

Then his mask went firmly into game face as
he stood up and let go of her, an unexpected chill that she felt
down to her toes.

While most of the ground crew packed up and
left, Ron continued snapping candids, then Deke grabbed a helmet
with an oxygen mask dangling off the side.

“Can we get the modeling gig over with?” He
asked, nothing but impatience in his voice. “I’ve got an
appointment at Johnson in an hour.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to be in
Houston in an hour?”

He grinned and pulled on the helmet. “We go
real fast.”

“I bet you do.” She pointed a finger at his
head. “Take it off, Deke. No hat hair in your publicity shots.”

Rolling his eyes, he yanked the helmet off
and shot the photographer a vile look. “Let’s move it.”

Ron jumped right in, instructing Deke on
where to stand, how to hold the helmet, but each instruction was
met with a disgusted sigh as Deke crossed and uncrossed his arms,
shifting his weight.

Jessica watched from a few feet away. “Come
on,” she finally urged. “I thought you were good at everything,
Stockard.”

Deke shot her a threatening look, then
surprised her with a hearty laugh. Ron caught the moment and then
everyone magically seemed to relax.

Ron captured Deke in dozens of different
poses and various states: smiling, serious, helmet in hand, leaning
on the plane. Delighted, Jessica stood back with her hands clasped
under her chin. He was perfect.

“All set, Commander. That’s a wrap.” Ron
shook his hand, then Deke pulled the blue NASA helmet back on with
a determined snap.

“You all finished?” he asked Jessica.

“Yes. Thanks. You were great. I know it was…”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “I know it wasn’t your idea of
fun.”

“No.” He climbed into the cockpit and winked
at her. “But this is.”

The Plexiglas canopy slowly lowered and
locked into place over the cockpit and the crew chief climbed up to
check it. Jessica backed away, her gaze still on him. She finally
turned to the photographer.

“Here, I’ll help you.” She picked up a few
lenses and lights and walked with him across the airstrip. They
said goodbye, and as she reached her car, the powerful engines of
the T-38 roared to life, piercing the morning silence with a
deafening thunder.

Transfixed, she watched the magnificent
machine taxi down the narrow airstrip. The ground vibrated,
grabbing Jessica at her very core. In an instant, the shimmering
white machine leapt into the air. She gasped as its engines lit up
the sky and Deke guided his pretty plane over the tree line.
Suddenly it twisted in a perfect circular roll and then flew off at
nearly the speed of sound. Stunned, she felt her heart do a
matching flip.

Inside the cockpit, Jeff Clark was just as
stunned.

“What the hell are you doing, Stockard?”

The helmet muffled Deke’s chuckle.
“Flirting.”

* * *

Skip Bowker locked the door of his
dilapidated Toyota just as the thunder of the T-38 shook the space
center. The familiar rumble seized his gut and he nearly dropped
his overstuffed briefcase as he whipped around to find the source
of his favorite sound.

Right over the northern tree line, he saw
Deke invert the plane into a graceful roll.
Showoff
.

He watched the orange glow of the
afterburners as Deke righted the T-38 and shot into the cloudless
sky. Kick the tires and light the fires. God, he loved that
sound.

With an effort, he stuffed some loose papers
back into his open leather case and headed toward the OPF.
Sometimes the ache for the old days threatened to literally stop
his heart. What days they were. Long days at Johnson, always
tackling some new challenge. And long nights with Betsy, lying
under the stars in the flight path of the Houston airport.
Whispering about planes and machines. He loved that about her. She
got it. The only woman he’d ever met who cried at the unmatched
beauty of the sound of a fighter jet hitting the afterburners.

He switched the heavy case to his other hand
and struggled to find the plastic badge that would let him into the
hangar. He didn’t want to think about Betsy today. He was very good
at compartmentalizing that pain, like the real engineer that he
was.

A quick glance of the parking lot told him he
had enough time alone to do what needed to be done. While Deke was
gone and no one was breathing down his back.

The OPF was silent except for the tiny squeak
of his rubber soles on the tile. He didn’t turn on any lights and
decided to forego coffee until his mission was complete.

Scott Hayes had come up with a damn good idea
yesterday. Skip dropped his heavy bag and sat down at his desk in
the darkened corner of the massive facility. He powered up his
computer and swallowed hard. Christ, he wanted coffee. His desk
clock told him he had about ten minutes until the early risers
showed up for work.

He tapped in his password and found the file
he needed. There was Scott’s memo. He read it again, nodding at the
logic. A brilliant engineer, that Hayes. One of NASA’s finest. He
was just so shy, he wouldn’t dare propose an idea in front of the
whole team. He always preferred to run things by Skip in
writing.

In a few seconds, he was into the email
program he needed. His swollen, arthritic fingers slowed him down
so that his brain was always five words ahead of his hands.

He finished the note to Scott, thanking him
for the good ideas and assuring him that they would be considered
carefully before the launch.

Then he went to the shared notes file and
called up Scott’s eloquent memo again. Really, really genius.

In one keystroke, he deleted it.

* * *

Jessica returned to the Press Facility
knowing it was time to jump-start her plan and prime the media
pumps. She had nurtured contacts with reporters and editors in the
biggest media offices around the country, and she called each of
them to get publicity for Deke Stockard. Everyone loved the story
and her office buzzed with activity as she faxed and pitched and
emailed with determination.

As she reviewed notes scratched onto a media
list, a knock on her office door tore her attention from the page.
The photographer from the morning session greeted her with a
satisfied smile as he dropped a dozen eight-by-ten photos on her
desk.

A breath caught in her throat and adrenaline
shot straight through to her stomach.

Mouthwatering, heroic, irresistible pictures
of one delicious astronaut that no red-blooded American female
could resist. Call your Congressmen, ladies, and keep the rocket
man in a flight suit.

Or better, out of one.

Ron stood still in her doorway, grinning as
he watched her reaction.

“For a guy who hated his assignment, he sure
looks like he was having fun.” She laughed a little as she selected
a daring headshot for closer inspection. “Wow.”

At the bottom of the stack lay a shot of
Jessica and Deke, kneeling under the wing of the T-38, his hand
over hers, looking directly into her eyes. The intimacy of the
captured moment punched her in the gut as she remembered his
passion for the plane and the warmth of his hand.

“Why did you print this?” She tried to sound
annoyed.

“I liked it,” Ron shrugged. “It shows a
different side of him.”

It sure did. A side Jessica... liked.

She set that print aside. But after she
picked the photos and wrote captions, Jessica slipped the shot into
her briefcase, hers to keep and savor later.

She worked the West Coast media until long
past nine and by the time she got home, she forgot about the
picture in her briefcase. Drawing a warm bath, Jessica let the
water run through her fingers, remembering the thrill of the T-38
rolling off into the sunrise.

He was right about one thing. That was
fun.

She bit her lip, amazed how easily she felt
the most feminine reaction to him.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and let
herself imagine what it would be like to kiss him, then twisted the
hot water faucet off with a jerk. R&C had unambiguous rules
about relationships with clients. Wouldn’t someone like Carla
Drake, looking for every opportunity to seize the upper hand and
capture a coveted promotion, just
love
to see Jessica break
the rules?

After her bath, Jessica sank into a patio
chair with a glass of wine and cordless phone.
Please be home,
Jo.

“Hey, I need you.” Jessica blurted the
confession as soon as her friend answered.

“I can be there tomorrow. What’s the
matter?”

Exhaustion mixed with the reaction to the
dry, potent wine to form an achy lump in her throat.

“Oh, Jo, I don’t know. I’m so homesick and
lonely and tired. And I heard a rumor today from someone in New
York that Carla Drake is making a great impression on Dash
Communications.”

“Please,” Jo chuckled. “The real rumor is
that you’ve hit the jackpot with this guy and the media wants
everything on him. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I’ve got Carla Drake to worry about.”

“Get a grip. She’s nothing. She’s your
shadow. She’ll never be Jessica Marlowe. It kills her and
entertains the rest of us endlessly.” Jo’s unique brand of
pragmatism and love spread as swiftly as the wine, dulling pain and
lifting spirits.

“Okay. I feel better already. Tell me what
she’s doing.”

“No,” Jo refused. “She’s boring. And skinny.
And simply not as much fun as you are. Let’s talk about your Space
Man.”

“He’s absolutely…”
Infuriating. Gorgeous.
Hot. Sexy.
“He’s kind of…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just that I…”
Want him in the worst
possible way.
“Think he’s a little…”

“Okay, I get the point. Is the attraction
mutual?”

Jessica laughed, relieved to have it out. “It
might be. It shouldn’t be, but there’re definitely a lot of…
sparks.”

“Okay. So he turns you on. What’s the worst
that could happen? You’re both free.”

“No. Yes. I think he has a girlfriend who is
absolutely stunning, and anyway, he’s a client.”

Jo snorted in response. “Stupid ancient
rules.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jessica continued. “He’s
not interested. Frankly, he hates me. At least, he hates my
assignment.”

“Funny how work
always
prevents you
from having a relationship.”

Long ago, after many late-night conversations
at the office, Jessica had admitted to Jo that she simply had
abandoned any ideas of creating a family life of her own. She just
didn’t have the role model. Jo had dismissed that with a wave of
her hand.

“Some were born to breed, Jo. I was born to
work,” Jessica reminded her again, sipping the wine and searching
the night sky for familiar constellations.

Her father had told her that. Like her
mother, he said, she was Saturday’s Child… she works hard for a
living. So Jessica emulated the mother she never knew. Then she
didn’t feel quite as guilty for getting all tangled up in that
umbilical cord and ending her mother’s life.

“But in this case, he
is
your work.”
Jo mused.

“He’s a daredevil, Jo,” Jessica told her. “A
guy who flies supersonic and thinks nothing of climbing onto a
metal tube filled with liquid hydrogen that will take him a million
miles into space. He loves danger and risk and speed.”

“He sounds like fun.”

“Right. So does parachuting until you pull
the string and nothing happens.”

Jo sighed. “Well, I guess you’re right to be
careful with the R&C rules. The air stinks around Carla and I
think she’d love nothing more than to see you crash and burn. Even
though she acts like a big cheerleader for you.”

“What about Tony Palermo?”

“What about him? He adores her.”

“I know how good that can be.” Jessica
remembered the many times the agency president had called from his
corner office at the New York headquarters to tell her she’d been
singled out for another promotion or a great new client.

She would not give Carla ammunition against
her. Deke Stockard wasn’t worth abandoning her dreams of
success.

“Jo, I just have to get the job done here and
get home. No matter how appetizing the astronaut might be.”

“Darlin’, you’ve yet to meet a man you
thought was more exciting than your job.” Jo laughed softly. “So be
careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“As soon as he figures that out, he’ll be so
turned on by you, you won’t stand a chance against Captain
America.”

Chapter Nine

Colonel Price leaned back in his plush
leather chair and listened to Deke lay out an airtight argument
why, after subjecting himself to media training, a photo session,
and two interviews, he should be allowed to drop the PR
assignment.

The Colonel nodded but it didn’t fool Deke.
His arguments were falling on deaf ears.

“It seems we really need you in several
places at once, Commander. Wouldn’t you rather do an interview with
Jay Leno than struggle with Skip Bowker over inspections? He’s got
legions of engineers there and they’re right on schedule with
mission prep.”

Deke called on every ounce of military
training not to react, but he felt his jaw tighten. The
Tonight
Show
? Two months from the launch?