Space in His Heart (7 page)

“You just made me so homesick,” Jessica said
softly.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I forgot how much you love
winter. Go do your five-mile run on the beach tomorrow instead of
the ice-covered paths of Back Bay. You’ll forget about snow. Then,
when you go to the November barbeque, wear those amazing white
jeans you stop traffic in.”

Jessica laughed in response.

“I’m serious,” Jo insisted. “And don’t forget
some high-heeled sandals, which beat snow boots any day. The pink
ones we picked out in Saks last summer. I promise you won’t be
intimidated by anyone.”

Jess stretched, inching her chair back to
rest on two legs, feeling better just listening to the heartfelt,
sisterly advice. “I do love you, Jo. And I know you love those
shoes.”

“Excuse me. Is this urgent or can I interrupt
you for a moment?”

Jessica’s eyes popped open and her chair
slammed forward on the floor at the sound of Deke’s voice, dripping
with sarcasm and impatience.

“I gotta go, Jo. Bye.” Blood rushed from the
base of her neck as she dropped the phone into the cradle and
stared at him. “Don’t you
ever
knock?”

“The door was open,” he said with a dubious
glance at her phone. “Was that a reporter?”

“One of my employees,” she responded with
what she hoped was an appropriate amount of professionalism.

“Interesting management discussion.” He held
out a folder marked ‘P.R.’ “I reviewed your press materials and
have some comments.”

She took the folder eagerly. “Great. What did
you think?”

“You want the truth?”

She flipped open the file and saw the first
page of her press release, red slashes and handwritten comments
along every margin. “Maybe I don’t.”

“I’m a stickler for accuracy.”

She looked up at him, but his intense blue
stare forced her attention back to the page, to study the tiny
notes in perfectly formed capital letters with diagrams and arrows
and asterisks of additional information. A sea of red. A sea of
change.

“You tend to write things a little, uh,
fluffier than I would,” he said. “But I suppose that’s your
business. Bury the facts in bull—baloney.”

She snapped the file shut. He just didn’t get
it. This was to benefit
his
organization,
his
livelihood. “It’s not bull. It’s called
positioning
.
Careful, planned, strategic—”

He held up his hand to stop her, all softness
disappearing from his face. “Go ahead, spin doctor, position
whatever you want. Just get it
right
. Do your homework.
You’ve never even
seen
a space shuttle.”

She resisted the urge to smirk at him. “No,
Commander, not in person. Perhaps I’ll arrange a tour at the
Visitors’ Center tomorrow.”

“More propaganda.”

“Then take me through
Endeavour
.” She
dropped the gauntlet with ease, knowing he’d never take it.

“Excuse me?”

She opened the folder again and scanned the
red ink. “You’re absolutely right. I’d like to see
Endeavour
up close.”

He shook his head, his frown deepening. “The
OPF is highly restricted. Even if I took you, the orbiter’s under
intense inspections right now.”

“Every minute of every day?” She dropped the
papers on top of another pile on her desk. “I’ll go in the middle
of the night if necessary. I’m willing to do what I have to,
Commander.”

She saw his jaw clench before he responded.
“Fine. Meet me at the East entrance of the OPF tomorrow at six.
Sharp.”

“I’ll be there.”

“That’s tomorrow
morning
, Miss
Marlowe. Six
a.m
.”

She held his challenging gaze. “I know what
six means, Commander. Otherwise, I’m sure you would have said
eighteen hundred hours
.”

He ignored the comment and turned to leave.
“By the way, I have to go to Houston next week.”

“Great. I’ll line up a photographer to go
with you.”

He shook his head, a sigh of frustration
escaping. “I told you. It’s a two-seater that flies about six
hundred miles an hour. You can’t just pick somebody out of the
Yellow Pages to climb on board and take pictures.”

“I’m sure NASA has a photographer trained for
it.”

“No. Not this time. I’m flying with Jeff
Clark.”

Pick your battles, Jess
. She began
gathering her papers, then glanced at him. “Fine. We’ll just take
photos on the ground before you take off.”

He took a step back and stared at her. “Good
God, woman. Don’t you know when to back off?”

She bit her lip and picked up a pencil from
her desk. “Not when I need to get something done.”

Her fingers tightened around the pencil,
almost cracking it. She saw his gaze drop to her hands and slide
back up to meet her eyes as she waited.

“I’m leaving Tuesday at dawn from the
airstrip at the north end of the Cape. You can have thirty minutes
during my pre-flight check. I’ll be busy, so shoot around
that.”

She exhaled. “Great. Thank you.”

He stepped into the hall, then glanced back
at her with a teasing smirk. “Now you can call your boyfriend
back.”

* * *

The conversation played again in Deke’s head,
as he eased the Corvette into fourth gear and felt the surge of all
four hundred horses take the curve of South Tropical Trail just a
touch over the speed limit. Not exactly the thrill of a Tomcat, but
almost enough to take his mind off Jessica Marlowe.

Almost.

Why had he agreed to take her to the OPF? Why
was he letting her take pictures of him?

He had so much to do for the launch in
February and then more work to get ready for his own mission just a
few months later. He had no business fooling around with this PR
stuff.

And what, he wondered miserably, would his
father have to say about this latest stunt? He could just imagine.
The thought of Deke as some kind of sex symbol would blind Jack
Stockard with tears of laughter. They’d named him after an
astronaut, not a movie star.

For his dad, it was always about flying, ever
since they went to their first air show. Together, they had ogled
the stunt planes and toured the warbirds. They had sat in the
cockpits and Jack had pointed out every gauge and explained its
function. As they ate hot dogs under the sweeping wings of a B-52,
Jack had explained that his eyes alone kept him from realizing his
dream of being a Navy pilot. Deke knew his father always felt that
life, although it had been very full with love and good health, had
cheated him of his ultimate passion.

Deke had inherited his father’s keen
coordination, superior instinct and sharp engineer’s mind. He did
not have Jack’s deep brown eyes or their flawed sight. With his own
blue eyes came perfect vision and a well-honed sense of purpose
that had propelled Deke to Annapolis and Naval aviation.
Vindicated, Jack soaked up Deke’s career with pride and pleasure,
and because of it, they shared a deep connection.

His dad would surely wonder why the hell NASA
and that PR agency picked him. Well, he knew why. He knew precisely
why. All it took was a quick look down the roster to figure it out.
Except for him, every one of them—married. With kids, too. NASA
required discipline and personal stability to stay with the
program. He had both, in spades. He just had his reasons for
keeping clear of anything that resembled a lifelong commitment to
one woman. So he got stuck doing the publicity gimmicks.

Watching the Friday-afternoon revelers
heading toward the Cocoa Beach pier to play with the opposite sex,
Deke grabbed his car phone and punched in a number.

“Hello?” Her greeting was breathless,
sexy.

“Hey, doll.”

“Deke!” The squeal of delight in Caryn
Camden’s voice was unmistakable. “It’s been so long since I’ve
heard from you!”

Only two weeks.
Is that long?
“How are
you?”

“Oh, I’m great, Deke. I’m so happy to—well,
it’s nice to hear from you.” He knew the casual tone was added for
effect but, for an aspiring actress, her joy was pretty obvious. He
should call her more often. Maybe give her more of a chance.

He had been very turned on by her when she
cut his hair a few months ago at some walk-in place near the Cape.
He had watched her in the mirror as she trimmed his hair and amused
him with animated conversation. All the while, he’d admired her
shiny blond curls hanging down her back and the way she filled out
a tee shirt and tight jeans. They’d dated several times, but lately
he’d been too busy to call. He’d definitely give her another
chance.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Have I waited
too long to get a date with you?” He had a sense that whatever she
had planned, she’d rearrange her schedule.

“Oh, Deke. Um. Let me see. Okay,” she said,
hard-to-get act lasting about two seconds. “Sure. Tomorrow’s
great.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at six. See you
then.” He clicked off and swerved right, loving the way the
Corvette grabbed the curve and leaned into it. Tomorrow morning
he’d have to teach Miss Propaganda a few things about a space
shuttle and maybe sneak in a few hours on the boat. Then later,
perhaps Caryn Camden’s baby blue eyes could distract him from
everything else.

Chapter Six

Jessica parked her car in front of the
Orbiter Processing Facility at five forty-five Saturday morning.
She’d given up her run to beat him there and swore under her breath
when she saw the silver Corvette parked in a far corner of the
deserted lot. The clash of control freaks was off to an early
start.

He sat perched on a retaining wall near the
entrance marked Hangar Two, dressed in jeans, a white tee shirt
pulled over impossibly wide shoulders.

As she walked toward him, she felt him assess
her and instinctively straightened her own shoulders and lifted her
chin. He would not intimidate Jessica Marlowe. She repeated the
refrain until she reached him.

“Good morning, Commander.”

He hopped off the wall and held up a badge.
“You need one of these to get in.” He slid it through a card reader
and held the door for her as they entered the cool hangar. She
shivered at the sudden drop in temperature and adjusted her eyes to
the bright fluorescent light, following him across the expanse of
shiny blue linoleum, past darkened offices and conference
rooms.

They turned into a vast, open area where the
massive white space shuttle hung from a wide metal band, elevated
about ten feet from the ground amidst a sea of silver scaffolding.
Jessica stopped mid-step and stared at it, awestruck.

“Oh my God. It’s huge.” As they got closer,
she could see hundreds of tiny white panels that made up the
outside skin of the orbiter, the NASA logo and U.S. flag painted in
deep shades across the side.

“One hundred and twenty-two feet long and
seventy-eight feet from wing tip to wing tip,” he told her as they
walked toward the three enormous engines in the back. “It can carry
a railroad car.”

They continued around the body of the
shuttle. Before she could ask one question, Deke spewed technical
facts at lightning speed, no doubt to confuse her. She tried to
follow, but the size and scope of the vehicle left her
speechless.

He explained the role of the crew and
described what happens to a shuttle as it makes its eight-minute
ride into space. He took each step around the orbiter with
confidence and familiarity and that uniquely masculine pride men
get over machinery. He seemed to forget he didn’t want to be there
as he explained how the panels heated upon reentry. Every time he
gestured with his strong hands, Jessica’s attention was pulled away
from the shuttle and riveted on him.

“Can I go in it?” she ventured.

He started to shake his head, then shrugged.
“Okay, just don’t touch anything.” He pointed to a metal ladder
near the front of the vehicle. “Go through that hatch. I’ll be
right behind you.”

She navigated the five stairs and pulled
herself through the hole in the side of the shuttle. He popped in
right after her.

“Living quarters,” he explained as she looked
around the cramped area. “All the space is in the cargo bay.”

She turned to study a sea of displays and
gauges, buttons and levers.

“That’s the glass cockpit.” He put his hands
on the back of one of the sleek captain’s chairs and raised an
amused eyebrow toward the screens. “One and a half billion of your
tax dollars to replace the technology of the seventies.”

“We better keep that tidbit out of the press
release.”

“Why?” he countered. “This is what makes it
safe. This is the reason we only have one blow up in a thousand
launches instead of one in four hundred and thirty-eight.”

She stepped back and stared at him. “Are you
happy with those odds?”

“Those are the odds I live with.”

“Why?” The question popped out before she
thought about it.

He assessed her with a long glance. “You
probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“If someone didn’t take the risk, where would
we be?”

Her gaze traveled back to the wall of
technology and then returned to Deke, a quote and headline forming
in her mind. “We should play that up. You became an astronaut to
discover new horizons and make your mark on history.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, the warmth of
it seeping through her thin cotton blouse. “Spare me
and
the
American public that misconception. It has nothing to do with
making history.”

“Then why?”

His sudden grin blinded her. “Because the son
of a bitch flies seventeen thousand miles an hour, that’s why.”

The shrill tone of a cell phone eliminated
the need to respond. She reached into her bag and flipped open the
phone, her attention still on him.