Chapter 1
August 1983
Maggie Sullivan parked her 1968 Ford pickup in the parking lot of the Blue Dolphin restaurant avoiding the army of valets trying to flag her down. This was L.A. after all. Looking at her car, they probably thought she was too poor to pay them a tip. In truth, her small-town medical practice was doing fine and the home she lived in had belonged to her parents. She could purchase another car. The thought made her uncomfortable. Her father, also a doctor, had bought the truck new in 1968 just before Maggie got her orders for Vietnam. He told her he would have it gassed up for her when she returned. She didn't realize the truck would be there, but he wouldn't. As a doctor he should have realized the signs of heart disease. Instead he died of a massive heart attack six months into her first tour.
Her musings distracted her until she opened the car door and took in her first breath of L.A. air. Breathing in, she remembered one reason she hated the "City of Angels"…Because it smelled like the City of Crap. How did people live here full time, she mused? Traffic getting there was no joy either.
Maggie was meeting an old army friend for lunch, a nurse who now lived in Dallas. It was Maggie's first time in L.A. since returning from the war and dealing with her dad's legal paperwork. Maggie entered the restaurant and inquired if Sarah had arrived. The maître D was talking, but Maggie's ears were strangely not hearing. It could have to do with the strange tunnel vision she was experiencing while staring across the room at Hannibal Smith and his ever-present cronies. Her brain wanted to focus, but the only thought she could muster was "Damn that man is handsome". Those blue eyes made her stomach melt into a pile of goo. Her heart began to race, and she felt light headed. He'd had that effect on her the minute her arms had encircled his waist looking for weapons. It only got worse when he had kissed her, pulling her into him despite her weak protestations.
It was not like her to fall so hard or fast, but after he and his friends had come back to help her town rid themselves of the Barbarian threat, she couldn't help but have feelings for him. Just watching his brilliant mind work, seeing his confidence as he weaved his plan and led his men to carry it out took her breath away. She wasn't sure why she had expected him to come back, to call, something. Somehow, she got the impression she was different in his eyes, something special, different than other women. But it had been 6 months with no contact. At first, she thought about him all the time. She couldn't stop thinking of him really. But after a few months, she had to put a stop to it. She had always been independent and self-sufficient, and she was damned if she was going to let some man (even Hannibal Smith) stay under her skin.
His laugh brought her out of her musings abruptly. Now what? Go talk to him? Ignore him? Then like a needle raking across a record album, the tunnel vision crashed into reality. A woman, blonde, buxom, young, appeared as if out of nowhere and cozied herself onto Hannibal's lap, planting a deep passionate kiss on his lips. What were those, double D cups, Maggie mused, looking down briefly at her (now) inadequate Bs. Well, at least I know why he didn't call, she thought bitterly. Those years in 'Nam had left scars on her both emotional and physical. She was no spring chicken either. What man would rather deal with that? Likely that women he was with probably couldn't even spell "Vietnam" much less find it on a map or knew what happened there. But heck, can't compete with Double D.
Maggie turned and marched from the restaurant defiantly. She saw Sarah coming up to the door.
"Maggie, what's wrong?" Sarah asked, concerned. Apparently, this was why she never won at poker.
"Nothing. I just don't like the clientele here. Can we go somewhere else?" Maggie said, only partially lying. She certainly didn't like some of the clientele.
"Sure, do you like Chinese? I passed a place up the street that looked pretty popular." Maggie nodded thankfully. As she drove away, her brain told her she would purge her feelings for Hannibal Smith, or at least bury them so deep no one would find them. No matter how much her heart protested.