The plane roared closer, growing larger. She started breathing again. Her pulse only raced double time now, not too bad.
Julia laughed a slight wobble. "I remember once when Lance came home and told me—"
Angela cleared her throat, shooting a pointed look Lori's way. "Save that one for another time, dear."
"Ooops, sorry, just nervous chatter." Julia clutched the champagne bottle to her stomach. "We'll all laugh at the party."
Of course they would. She could always count on Gray for a laugh, and in minutes he would surely step from that plane as carefree as ever. "I'm fine. Dave, do you want to pass me Magda?"
"Let her stay."
Lori held Magda's foot, anyway, needing the comfort of contact. Eyes trained upward, Lori watched the plane near, slow, touch down.
Relief turned her limbs to oatmeal. Thank God she wasn't holding Magda because she surely would have dropped her.
Engines whined as the aircraft slowed, fire trucks pacing alongside. The cargo plane turned, heading toward them.
Dave nodded. "That's good."
"What?"
"If it was a serious emergency, they would have stopped on the runway. But they're still coming over. That's good. Probably nothing more than a loose seal."
Swallowing twice, Lori tried to moisten her gritty mouth. The lumbering aircraft neared. She could even see Gray through the window, his headset on as he parked the plane.
Lori inhaled deeply, the exhaust-tinged air stinging her lungs with each gasp. This was nothing, she reminded herself. Just a little in-flight emergency, practically an everyday occurrence for him.
She would have a heart attack by the end of the week. Handling a crisis had always been her strength. Why was she freaking out now?
Because she was helpless. Out of control. There was nothing she could do in a situation like this, and she needed control over her life after so many years of chaos.
The side hatch door opened. A firefighter in his silver fire suit waited, firehose poised and ready.
One at a time crew members ambled down the few steps onto the runway. Burly Bronco. Too-pretty-for-his-own-good Lancelot, Steady Tag.
Finally Grayson.
His smile as bright as the sun glinting off his airplane, he loped down the stairs.
"Congratulations, Major Clark," the firefighter shouted. "And farewell!"
The blast of water caught Gray full in the chest. His laugh rumbled over the flight line as he stumbled back from the force of the crystal-clear water.
Bronco grabbed a bottle of champagne from a cooler, popped the cork and launched into the deluge, pouring the bottle over Gray's head. Sun shimmered off the fire hose spray, sparkling rainbows into a nimbus around them.
She'd heard Gray when he'd said the military was his life, but until now she hadn't really understood.
The transient lifestyle, the edge-of-the-seat action, the battle-forged camaraderie, Gray would never give it up. More important, he couldn't. Even if Gray somehow managed to overcome his resistance to commitment, this really was it for them unless she could find a way to accept his life in the military.
The spray slowed and dripped to a halt. Jostled from behind as people raced past, Lori steadied herself. Gray's parents, other uniformed flyers charged toward the plane. Julia dashed forward. Bottle in her hand, arms waving, she sprinted to her husband.
Gray hefted Magda from his father's shoulders and tossed her in the air. Water dripped down his gorgeous face as he caught her. Hooking her on his hip, Gray scanned the crowd. The party converged around him, in-flight emergencies long forgotten by everyone.
Except for Lori.
She didn't feel much like partying.
Chapter 13