Scarlet Wilson - The Doctor's Baby Secret

There was a little speck on the landscape ahead. A member of the military personnel headed towards the tower. He hoped they were prepared.

He manoeuvred the F-35 into perfect position. ‘He’s doing it again, folks. Hold onto your coffee cups.’ There was a resigned sigh over the intercom.

‘Yee-haw!’ he yelled as he passed twenty feet above the tower. Buzzing the tower was one of the perks of the job. Maybe not for them—but definitely for him. And if his luck played out the way he hoped it would, this could be his last time.

* * *

She was halfway up the stairs when the noise wave hit. The plane had passed overhead in the blink of an eye. They didn’t call them stealth bombers for nothing. Her fingers tightened their grip on the rail just as the whole building rattled and the noise washed over her.

Did people still do that crazy stuff? Surely that was just for the movies?

The sand swirled around her, pulling her carefully styled bun out of its pins and sending stray tendrils across her eyes along with a choking mouthful of sand. She coughed and spluttered, then tried to brush some of the sand off her black knee-length skirt and jacket.

Ignoring the slight shake of her legs, she thumped up the rest of the stairs and keyed in her security code, throwing the door wide. ‘Who is that idiot?’ she yelled.

All heads in the room turned towards her. She gulped. Not exactly the best entrance in the world.

One of the controllers stood up and walked towards her. ‘And you are?’

It was clear she had security clearance or she wouldn’t be here. That didn’t mean that anyone would know who she was.

She covered her mouth, coughing again, and stared at his outstretched hand. She reached into her bag and pulled out some sanitiser, giving her hands a quick rub before she shook his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Dr Corrine Carter from the Worldwide Science and Space Agency. I’m looking for Austin Mitchell. I believe he’s one of the instructors.’ She gestured back towards the gate. ‘They sent me over here.’

There was the tiniest raise of his eyebrow, but he disguised it well. The guy gave a nod and a firm shake of her hand. ‘Luke Kennedy, Air Force Controller.’

The motion caused a sprinkling of sand to land on the carpet. She bit her bottom lip and took off her jacket, giving it another shake. Windswept and dishevelled wasn’t exactly the look she wanted when she told the candidate of his success. She held up her hand and shook her head. ‘What on earth was that about? Surely these guys are past all the cheap stunts?’

She looked around the office, trying to guess which one of the uniformed personnel was Austin—the guy who’d aced practically every test during the astronaut application procedures.

Her eyes were drawn to a plane landing on the adjacent runway. The plane that had nearly made her land on her butt in the corridor.

Luke Kennedy smiled. He followed her line of sight. ‘It’s kind of a tradition for the Top Gun instructors.’

‘Doesn’t it drive you crazy?’ She stared at a few tiny blotches of coffee on his shirt.

‘Oh, it drives me crazy all right.’ His accent was so thick it was almost a drawl. ‘You said you were looking for Bates? I mean, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell?’

She nodded, then frowned. ‘Bates? Why do you call him Bates?’ She glanced at the file in her hand. ‘That isn’t in his medical file.’

His smile reached from ear to ear. ‘It’s his call sign. I’ll let you find out for yourself why he’s called that.’ He pointed across the tarmac to the plane on the far side. ‘Well, I guess you found him. Give him a few minutes. He’ll take the plane back to the hangar.’

Corrine’s mouth fell open. ‘That’s him?’ She gestured towards the plane, which had safely landed and was slowly making its way back to the hangar.

Luke Kennedy turned back to his chair. ‘That’s him all right. Good luck.’

She bit her lip. That was the second person to wish her luck talking to Austin Mitchell. What was with this guy?

She put her jacket back on and left the control tower. One of the ground crew gave her the go-ahead to cross the tarmac and enter the hangar.

This was her last candidate. The teacher had cartwheeled down the corridor of the school she worked at when she’d got the news she’d been accepted. The engineer had stood up and announced his success to all his colleagues to much celebration. Even her marine had whoop-whooped when he’d been told and then proceeded to jump off one of the pieces of training equipment and body surf across the upheld arms of his colleagues. What would a Top Gun instructor do?

This guy was a little unusual. He hadn’t just been selected because he was a pilot—he’d also been selected because he had a master’s degree in microbiology. It seemed he’d completed his studies and immediately signed up for the navy doing two tours of duty in Afghanistan as a pilot before being selected for the Top Gun programme.

Lots of the work on the International Space Station was research based. Experiments could be carried out in a non-gravity environment with cells reacting in different ways. This guy wouldn’t just be able to pilot, he’d also be able to take a lead on some of the experiments on board. He would be a real asset to the team.

She could see the heat rising from the tarmac as she crossed it. The sand was still whipping past her eyes. What on earth had she done with her sunglasses? The heat in the Nevada desert was stifling. An uncomfortable trickle of sweat ran between her shoulder blades. It didn’t matter what the TV adverts said—no antiperspirant could work here.

The walk to the hangar was longer than she expected. Corrine liked to keep up a pristine appearance. Working at one of the most respected agencies in the world meant she constantly felt the need to keep up appearances. But the swirling sand and winds seemed to have other ideas for her.

Her footsteps echoed as she stepped into the hangar. She squinted as her eyes tried to adjust from the glaring sun to the darkened hangar. The place was surprisingly quiet.

A shadow caught her eye. A guy in grey overalls pushing a set of steps away from the plane that had just entered.

She walked swiftly towards it. Her footsteps slowed. The pilot hadn’t left the aircraft. He was walking around it, touching it, talking softly under his breath as he did so. She smiled. She’d heard that pilots became attached to their planes but she’d always thought that was an urban myth—something reserved for the bomber pilots of years gone by.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the gloom. He had his helmet in one hand and she could see the embroidery on his flight suit.

She planted a hand on her hip. ‘Well, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, I guess you had better tell me why your call sign is Bates.’

* * *

He’d spotted her as soon as she entered the hangar and listened to the click of her heels as she’d crossed the concrete.

The sight was a little unusual for around here. He usually flew with a female radio intercept officer. But Morah was always dressed in her flight suit—he didn’t think he’d ever seen her in a skirt. Certainly not a skirt like this. One that accentuated the flare of her hips and drew attention to a pair of very shapely legs.

His lips curled upwards. The black suit was smart. Appropriate. Covering every single part that should be covered but revealing every curve. The pink silk shirt strained slightly across her breasts, willing him to tug it out from where it was tucked in around her waist. Then it could be equally as dishevelled as her windswept hair.

He’d known why she was here from the second he’d seen her. People didn’t visit Naval Air Station Fallon without good reason. It was too hot. Too inaccessible.

He’d met a lot of people at WSSA during his application process. But he’d never met her before—he’d have remembered.

Her skin was gleaming with the compulsory sheen of sweat that everyone around here permanently wore. He gave a little smile as she neared. His hand was still touching the body of the plane. He always did this. Part of his ritual. Didn’t matter how mundane or routine some of the flying might be, he always gave a little thanks when he reached the ground safely.

Two tours of duty had made him appreciate life. As a Top Gun instructor he wasn’t expected to tour again. He was expected to train other pilots to be the best they could be. He’d trained forty so far. But as much as he loved to fly, as much as he loved the buzz, space had always been his ultimate goal. Now, finally, it was almost in his grasp.

Maybe it was the fact that he knew what she was about to say. Failure had never been an option for him. But something about this woman made him stop and stare. Stop, and almost hold his breath. He could practically see little sparkling stars around this beauty. She looked like a movie-star princess. And since when did he ever think like that?

It must be the moment. The expectation that he was finally on the threshold of his ultimate goal. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.

He smiled at the sound of her voice. She had a twang he’d never heard before. Cute.

He spun around to face her just as a soft waft of her perfume drifted across the hot air between them. It wasn’t the usual kind of perfume. More citrusy, with an edge of spice.

He kept chewing his gum. It helped him concentrate on training exercises. Even in the dim light of the hangar he could see she was a knockout. The curves had been visible from afar, but up close and personal she was younger than he thought. Fresh, unlined skin with a little touch of make-up. She probably hadn’t reckoned on the total sunblock she should be wearing in Nevada. Her blonde hair was straight in some parts, curled in others, with one part that seemed determined to flap around her eyes. It was obviously driving her crazy.

He gave the plane a final tap and stepped towards her. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. ‘Call signs are kind of personal. You’ll have to know me a whole lot better before I tell you why I’m called Bates.’

He probably shouldn’t have done it. But he couldn’t resist the teasing edge in his voice. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with a woman who looked like this?

A hint of colour appeared in her cheeks. But instead of looking uncomfortable she was staring him straight in the eye. It seemed as though the mystery lady liked a challenge—a bit like himself.

She held out her hand towards him. ‘Dr Corrine Carter, part of the medical assessment team at WSSA.’

A doctor. Interesting. Maybe she was a little older than she actually looked. WSSA wouldn’t take a newbie just out of school. There had to be some experience under that non-existent belt.

Her handshake was firm. She was used to working with military staff and obviously used to holding her own. He pulled his hand back and folded his arms across his chest. She wasn’t military, she was civilian. There was no need to salute.

‘So, what can I do for you, Dr Carter?’ He liked the way that sounded, the way it rolled off the tongue. He could get used to saying that. If she was conscious of his eyes skimming her figure she didn’t flicker. Instead she stood for a second, her gaze pointedly holding his before she took a long time looking down the length of his body and then moving up slowly across his chest, shoulders and head again. Kaboom.

She was playing him at his own game. He liked her more already.

She kept talking. ‘I don’t believe we met during your assessment process.’ She gave a little wave of her hand. ‘Or maybe we did and I’ve just forgotten.’