her legs. It hurt to move her head. Maggie sat down facing her. She was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans, her shoulder-length red hair mussed. Dana could only admire the strength and confidence that Maggie radiated. She was first-generation Irish, and the youngest of four redheaded daughters who had all entered the various military services. Dana saw the feisty look in Maggie’s glittering green eyes.
“I hope like hell you pulverized that jerk who nailed you.”
“I didn’t have to. Griff did.” Dana began telling her the story.
Maggie shook her head after hearing the full account. “I’d like to hunt that bastard down and let him have it, anyway.”
Dana grinned. “Your Celtic warrior side is showing again, Maggie.”
Nostrils flaring, Maggie growled, “No man has a right to strike a woman or vice versa.”
“Is that an old Celtic law?” She loved teasing Maggie, who was intensely proud of her heritage.
“No, that’s Maggie’s Law.”
“Griff took care of him, believe me. I heard the guy’s nose crack.”
“At least there’s consolation in that,” Maggie muttered, reaching out and gently patting her knee. “Listen, Molly tore through every box she owned until she found her granny’s remedy journal. She’s out there in the kitchen right now concocting some god-awful paste that’s stinking up the entire apartment. We’ll be lucky if the landlord doesn’t throw us out for contaminating the atmosphere. He might even call in the Environmental Protection Agency.”
It hurt to laugh, but Dana did anyway. “Mol didn’t know which box her journal was in.”
“I told her to index those boxes!”
“I know. But she was more concerned about getting our houseplants down here uninjured.” Molly had driven her sensible station wagon loaded with plants and breakable items to make sure they arrived in good shape. She didn’t trust moving vans.
Maggie smiled fondly, looking toward the open door. “If she wins her wings, I think we ought to call her Mom or Mother.” Every pilot who graduated came out of flight school with a nickname that stayed with him or her forever.
Dana’s smile disappeared. “I worry about her, Maggie. Everything we’ve heard about flight school being twenty times more demanding than the academy worries me.”
Maggie snorted. “I’m worried for myself, too. At the grocery store I bumped into a sixth-week student from Pensacola. He told me ninety percent of his class had already been washed out.”
“Wow!” Dana clenched her fist. She had to make it!
“I’m just glad the three of us are going into this together.”
“Yeah. Misery loves company.”
Grinning, Maggie got up. “You’re feeling better, I can tell. You’re back to your usual pessimistic sense of humor.”
Dana slowly got off the bed, feeling a bit light-headed. Maggie came to her side and slipped her arm around her shoulders.
“I know…you can make it on your own,” Maggie chided, leading her toward the door. “But suffer my help, Dana. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
The bright light hurt Dana’s good eye. Her other eye was swollen shut. She bowed her head and allowed Maggie’s lanky frame to offer partial support. “This hasn’t been one of the better days of my life.”
“Don’t we know it. Come on, let’s go out to the kitchen where Dr. Molly is stirring up her brew. I wonder if you have to drink it? The cure may be worse than the black eye.”
It hurt to grin, but Dana couldn’t help it. The kitchen was huge, with a highly polished light green tile floor. Molly was working furiously over the stove, a white apron wrapped around her tall figure. The apron looked funny with the short shorts she was wearing, but Dana didn’t comment, realizing it might hurt Molly’s sensitive nature.
“Oh, good, you’re up! I found my grandma’s journal!”
“Yeah…” Dana sat down very carefully at the table, her legs feeling a bit unstable. Maggie stood at her shoulder, concern on her face. “I’m okay, Maggie. Go sit down.”
“Naw, I’m going to get the camera for this one. This goes in our Sisterhood scrapbook: How To Help An Injured Sister.”
“Don’t you dare!” Dana gave Maggie her best glare.
Grinning, Maggie turned and left the kitchen.
“This won’t be so bad,” Molly soothed, bringing the pan over to the table. She set it on a hot pad. Wiping her damp brow with the back of her hand, she smiled. “It smells awful, but I’m sure it will help.”
Dana eyed the mixture in the bottom of the pan. “Good God, Mol, that stuff smells horrible!”
“Well…it’s a mixture of horse liniment, crushed comfrey leaves and—”
“Don’t tell me any more. It probably contains eye of newt and tail of frog.”
“Oh, no! They’re just herbs, Dana. Grandma wasn’t a witch. She was a healer all her life. You have to smear it all over the swollen part of your face,” she explained apologetically. “Grandma said it will reduce swelling in twelve hours or less.”
“It better,” Dana growled, holding her nose. “I’ll put it on myself. Is it hot?”
“No, just warm.” Molly sat down, watching eagerly.
Maggie appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, camera in hand. Dana glared at her. Maggie laughed.
“If you ever show these pictures to anyone, you’re dead meat, Donovan. Got that?”
“Roger, read you loud and clear.”
Molly groaned. “You two! You’re always threatening each other. Aren’t you ever going to stop?”
Dana carefully dipped her fingers into the black mixture. It felt like slimy glue. “Our friendship’s based upon mutual irritation,” she told Molly.
“Go on,” Maggie urged, waiting impatiently to click the camera, “put that stuff on your face, Coulter!”
“Ugh! Molly, this smell’s enough to kill a person!”
“I’m sorry, Dana.”
Muttering under her breath, Dana spread the ointment across her cheek. The smell was horrendous. “God, I’m going to get better just from the smell alone.”
Maggie giggled and the camera flashed.
“By morning, the swelling ought to be down quite a bit, and your eye will be open,” Molly said enthusiastically.
“I can’t show up for flight school with my eye closed,” Dana complained sourly. She applied the mixture liberally. “If this works, I’ll kiss your granny’s grave, Molly. But if it doesn’t, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Oh, dear….”
Dana instantly felt contrite. Molly’s flushed face showed genuine distress. “I didn’t mean it,” she denied quickly. To prove it, Dana slathered more of the goo across the injured area.
“How’s it feel?” Maggie called, taking advantage of another photo opportunity.
Dana shrugged. “Surprisingly, it feels pretty good. There’s heat in it.”
“That’s the horse liniment. My grandma said it was good for everything.”
Dana knew the liniment contained a stimulant to increase blood circulation. That in itself should reduce swelling. “I feel better already, Mol. Thanks.” A good night’s sleep would ready her for tomorrow’s