"Sir, I need to schedule a tactics class." The crisp blond officer stood at attention, even though Carson ran a more relaxed squadron than other commanders. "Is Wednesday at fourteen-hundred okay?"
"Wednesday?" He flipped though his day planner. "Uh... no. I've already scheduled confession for that time."
"Confession?"
"Flight safety meeting." He lapsed into his best Irish accent. "It's always better for the flyers to confess than have their sins pointed out by the bishop."
Laughing, she lost the starch in her spine. "Fair enough. How about we schedule the tactics meeting to follow when they're all softened up?"
"Roger." He nodded. "Spread the word."
Pivoting away, she ran smack into another person already waiting. Seabrook laughed. "Guess we need to take a number to talk with the major today."
"Apparently so," answered his surprise visitor—Vic Jansen.
What was he doing here? Was it family business since his sister was married to one of the deployed flyers? Or personal, since Vic belonged to A.A., too.
Carson nodded to Seabrook. "That'll be all, Captain. And could you let my secretary know to hold calls for the next twenty minutes? Thanks."
Vic ducked into the room, a blond lumberjack-looking fella in flannel. The somber guy had lost his daughter in a drowning accident years ago, but recently started with the program because he feared he was reaching for a bottle too often.
"What brings you here?"
"Just dropping my sister off at the commissary. Since I had time to kill while she shops, I thought I would stop by, shoot the breeze if you have a free minute."
Carson rolled his office chair back an inch from the desk. "Sure," he said, even though he really didn't have twenty seconds to spare, much less twenty minutes. But something was obviously on Vic's mind and part of the program involved helping each other out. "What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I was wondering if everything's okay with you?" Jansen dropped into a seat across from the desk, blue eyes piercing.
The guy had seen him with Nikki yesterday, but that wouldn't be cause to ask if he was all right. Although pursuing this friendship with Nikki could well be termed insanity. "Why do you ask?"
"It's been a rough couple of months around the squadron with the extra duties overseas and now Owens's death," Jansen answered, his Dakota roots filling his rolling accent. "It's a tough time to be the king."
Ah, now the visit made sense. And damn, but the guy had a point. There weren't many people around this place Carson could talk to—none for that matter. But the A. A. bond of trust and confidentiality was a cornerstone. Solid.
"I could use some advice." The words fell out of his mouth.
"Hell, Carson, are you sure you want my advice? My track record sucks, don'tcha know." It was no secret that Jansen's wife had divorced him after the death of their daughter. But from what Carson could gather it sounded as if the woman's defection had been heartless, occurring before Jansen started drinking.
"I'll take any help I can get."
"Ah, so you want to romance Nikki Price."
"Who said we're talking about Nikki?"
"Last time I checked, they don't let morons graduate from veterinary school." The rugged large animal vet smirked.
Searching for the right words for thoughts he didn't even understand, he scooped up a miniature porthole clock from his desk and checked the battery, which of course was working just fine.
"Nikki and I have this—" tenacious attraction? "—bizarre friendship that seems to defy the whole twelve year age difference. I want to understand her."
"Good-freaking luck." Snorting, Vic hooked an ankle over his knee, work boot twitching. "If you figure women out, make sure you copyright the knowledge so you can retire a millionaire."
"I'm serious here." He thunked the tiny clock back on top of the stack of performance reports. "God, how do I explain this?"
"You like a woman as more than a friend, and she likes you back."
Might as well quit lying to everyone including himself. "So it seems."