Authors: Catherine Mann
Only
American
soldiers
and
airmen
in
tents,
with
his
best
method
of
destruction
being
the
one
he’d
always sworn
to
her
he
would
never
use.
No.No,
no,
no,
no.
He
couldn’t
be
thinking
of
blowing
up
the
American
camp.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
BOBBY
PLUNKEDhis
butt
down
on
the
bench
seat
at
the
dinner
table
in
the
rustic
messhall
tent
that
had been
erected
yesterday.
For
a
group
of
folks
who
should
be
heading
home
soon,
it
sure
seemed
they
were
settling
in
deep.
That happened
sometimes
in
Special
Ops.
You’re
led
to
believe
it
would
only
be
a
little
while….
He
shook
his head.Little,
like
Dumbo
the
elephant
was
small.
The
troughs
of
food
created
a
heavy
smell
in
the
room,
not
particularly
pleasant
when
mixed
with
the
body odor
of
this
many
people
in
a
hot
place
with
nothing
but
bigass
fans
to
stir
the
air.
But
hey,
for
a
guy
who’d known
hunger,
he
wasn’t
complaining.
But
he
would
have
longer
with
Gracie.
Good
or
bad?
Definitely
tempting.
Shoveling
a
spoonful
of
scrambled
eggs
into
his
mouth,
he
stared
across
the
table
at
Rodeo,
who
forked
his eggs
and
stared
back
silently.
He
should
say
something
to
the
guy,
especially
since
he
knew
now
he
had
no reason
to
feel
jealous.
Except
the
dude
was
still
giving
him
that,
“Fuck
with
her
heart
and
I’ll
cut
yours
out” look.
What
a
flipping
perfect
time
for
Gracie
to
show
up
with
the
rest
of
his
crew.
God,
she
looked
good
in
the morning.
Silence
stretched,
unusual.
Everyone
could
simply
be
tired
or
tense.
He
searched
for
something
to
say,
but just
his
damn
luck,
Rodeo
put
down
his
utensil
first.
“Since
everyone
knows
my
secret
shame
about
my
call sign,
what’s
the
story
with
Postal?”
Ah,
shit.
What
was
the
guy
going
for
here?
Gracie
already
understood
him.
Did
the
fella
want
to
haul
out
a coffin
and
hammer
some
nails
in
it?
Not
that
he
could
stop
the
conversation.
He
had
to
be
a
good
sport
or
suffer
an
even
larger
loss.
“Face,
why don’t
you
do
the
honors?”
“We
were
TDY
to
Italy,”
Face
said,
while
slathering
grape
jam
all
over
his
toast.
“We’d
landed
late
and there
weren’t
too
many
places
open
to
eat,
just
a
fancyschmancy
sort
of
restaurant
that
included
midnight dancing.
So
half
the
crew
hit
vending
machines
for
snacks
and
crashed
for
the
night.
I
opted
for
fancyschmancy
with
Vegas.” Vegas
glanced
up.
“No
dancing
though.”
“How
can
you
lie
like
that?”
Face
clapped
a
hand
over
his
heart.
“You
made
an
exquisite
dance
partner.
I’m crushed.”
Laughter
swelled
around
the
table,
tension
easing
for
everyone
but
Bobby.
“Anyhow,
there
was
this
dive
open
across
the
street
from
us,
so
of
course
our
thrifty
pal
Bobby
opted
for that.
Probably
figured
he
could
score
some
peanuts
off
the
bar.”
He
smacked
Bobby’s
hand
reaching
for
a lone
piece
of
ham
on
Face’s
plate.
“After
we
finished
up
in
fancyschmancy,
there’s
no
sign
of
Bobby.
I
got a
bit
concerned,
so
we
stopped
in
at
the
dive.”
To
this
day,
Bobby
hadn’t
let
them
know
how
close
a
call
that
night
had
been.
Those
Marines
had
been pissed
when
he
shouldered
his
way
to
the
bar
and
gobbled
up
all
the
peanuts.
But
he’d
needed
to
cut
corners tight
that
month,
so
those
peanuts
were
his
protein
for
supper.
Besides,
he
was
used
to
fighting
for
food
back in
his
elementarylunchroom
days.
Vegas
interjected.
“The
whole
place
was
full
of
Marines.”
His
allAmericanboy
looks
scrunched.
“Bigass Marines.
Not
the
kind
you
mess
with,
a
very
sticktogetherlooking
bunch
who
you
wouldn’t
think
would take
to
a
new
guy.
And
yet,
they’re
all
buddying
up
with
Bobby.” Finally
Face
shoved
aside
his
tray,
surrendering
that
damn
piece
of
ham.
The
least
the
guy
could
do
if
he was
gonna
pick
on
him
in
front
of
Gracie.
Face
leaned
his
arms
on
the
table,
muscles
bulging.
“Here’s
the
story
we
got
from
the
Marines.
Seems
that when
he
first
stepped
inside,
things
were—how
shall
I
put
it…”
He
tapped
his
forehead
then
snapped.
“Things
were
alittle
tense,
military
services’
competition
and
all.
A
group
of
about
thirty
Marines
circled him.
And
Bobby,
being
the
whackjob
that
he
is,
pulled
out
his
knife
and
challenged
all
thirty
of
the
Marines, psycho
style.
One
Marine
at
a
time
or
all
at
once,
he
didn’t
care.” Bobby
slowly
chewed
the
rubbery
ham,
all
the
while
watching
Gracie’s
expression
across
from
him.
Face
finished,
“As
luck
would
have
it,
they
admired
his
testicular
fortitude.
Right
there
and
then
they
made him
an
honorary,
gutsy
Marine
and
paid
for
all
his
food
and
drinks.” Having
his
drinks
paid
for
had
been
a
lucky
bonus
he
hadn’t
angled
for,
but
he’d
never
been
the
kind
of
guy to
look
a
gift
horse
in
the
mouth.
The
Marines
had
been
good
dudes
that
night,
and
for
the
first
time
Bobby got
a
real
sense
of
the
military
personnel—people—he
was
protecting
and
saving.
Every
time
he
circled
an enemy
camp
and
Stones
sprayed
fire
until
troops
could
load
up.
He’d
lost
count
of
how
many
soldiers, Marines
and
airmen
in
distress,
that
he’d
rescued,
but
he
never
forgot
that
night
or
the
human
connection.
Gracie
smiled
like
everyone
else,
but
with
all
the
fallout
from
her
mentally
ill
father,
Bobby
couldn’t
help
but curse
the
luck
of
anything
that
made
him
look
less
than
his
best
in
front
of
Gracie.
Because
he
wanted
to
get
her
naked
again?
Yeah,
sure,
but
he
couldn’t
delude
himself.
He
wanted
a
shot
at
more,
however
much
more
they
could
work out
with
their
insane
schedules.
These
few
days
with
her
were
a
gift.
He
didn’t
intend
to
fuck
them
up.
Senior
gunner
Stones
set
his
tray
down
as
the
story
finished.
“You
think
his
call
sign
is
bad?
You
should
talk to
Cheeky.”
“Cheeky?”
Gracie
asked,
looking
around
the
room.
“Yeah.”
Stones
shoved
half
a
biscuit
in
his
mouth.
“He
got
his
left
ass
cheek
blown
off
by
an
IED
in Baghdad.”
“Ouch.”
Gracie
groaned
in
sympathy,
along
with
the
rest
of
the
table.
“How
embarrassing
to
catch
shrapnel in
the
butt.”
“Not
just
shrapnel.
He
got
the
whole
damn
cheek
blown
off.
He
wears
a
prosthetic
now.” Gracie’s
forehead
furrowed.
“I’m
having
trouble
visualizing—” Figuring
he
was
already
screwed
on
the
sensitivity
factor,
Bobby
cupped
his
hand
and
molded
it
to
his backside.
“Fits
right
in
his
pants.”
Gracie
blanched,
her
breakfast
tray
joining
others
in
the
center
of
the
table.
“That
poor
guy.” Face
shot
his
buddy
a
look
that
for
some
reason
made
Bobby
think
of
when
he’d
told
Face’s
wife
about
the same
incident.
Ah,
hell.
He
sensed
payback
time
from
his
pal.
“This
one
time
after
a
particularly
squirrelly
mission,”
Face
continued,
“a
bunch
of
us
got
shitfaced
and Postal
decided
it
would
be
cool
if
we
drank
beer
right
out
of
the
prosthetic.”
“Run
that
by
me
again?”
Grace
asked.
“I
couldn’t
have
heard
correctly.” Face
cupped
his
hand,
this
time
lifting
it
to
his
mouth
as
if
sipping.
Bobby
grimaced.
Fucking
great.
“Thanks.
Now
she’ll
never
kiss
this
mouth
again.” Dr.
Priss
would
probably
make
him
swallow
a
bottle
of
Listerine
before
sex,
if
he
was
even
lucky
enough
to get
another
chance
with
her.
“Just
returning
the
favor,”
Face
replied,
before
turning
his
attention
to
Gracie.
“He
told
Brigid
that
story
at our
wedding
reception.
I
thought
it
would
damn
near
ruin
the
honeymoon.
I
had
to
gargle
before
she
would let
me
anywhere
near
her.
Great
way
to
start
the
romantic
getaway,
let
me
tell
ya.” Bobby
leaned
in
on
his
best
bud.
“Are
we
even
now?”
Face
grinned
and
slapped
him
on
the
back.
“For
this
one,
anyway.
But
never
forget,
my
crazyass
friend,
I still
owe
you
for
so
many
more.”
Bobby
finally
risked
a
look
across
the
table
at
Gracie,
only
to
find
her
face
pensive
rather
than
disgusted.
Suddenly,
she
shot
up
from
her
chair
and
leaned
across
the
table.
And
planted
the
most
unmistakably
passionate
kiss
on
his
mouth,
her
hands
cupping
his
face
in
the
biggest PDA
he’d
ever
seen,
much
less
experienced,
in
his
life.
The
whole
mess
hall
broke
into
applause
and
cheers,
mingled
with
more
than
a
few
raucous
comments.
Not that
Gracie
seemed
to
care
at
all.
She
finished
her
kiss
in
her
own
sweet
time,
before
pulling
back,
picking up
her
meal
tray
and
heading
toward
the
cleaning
trough
with
a
tieyainknots
swish
of
her
curvaceous
hips.
And
in
that
moment,
Bobby
lost
it,
totally.
How
could
he
resist
this
woman?
GRACEMARIEmade
her
way
around
tents
and
trees
back
to
her
quarters
to
grab
some
paperwork
before heading
to
the
van.
Three
days
since
the
rescue,
they
were
all
in
a
holding
pattern
until
the
General
gave them
the
thumbsup
to
leave.
They
still
had
the
election
to
worry
about.
They
might
be
needed
for
extra security.
And
yeah,
maybe
she
needed
an
hour—or
ten—to
regain
her
balance
after
that
impulsive
kiss
in
the
mess hall.
What
had
she
been
thinking?
She
hadn’t,
of
course.
Just
acted,
because
at
that
moment
all
reason
fell
right
into
those
disgusting
eggs, leaving
her
with
only
a
poignant
feeling
for
a
man
who
could
make
another
man
feel
all
right
about
a mutilating
injury.
A
few
steps
shy
of
her
tent
she
stopped
short.
Of
course
Bobby
was
waiting
for
her.
How
he’d
gotten
here ahead
of
her—or
even
guessed
where
she
was
headed—she
hadn’t
a
clue.
But
figuring
out
Bobby
Ruznick was
a
puzzle
past
even
her
comprehension.
He
crossed
his
booted
feet
at
the
ankles
as
he
lounged
out
front
in
a
green
foldup
yard
chair.
Where
he’d found
it
she
couldn’t
even
imagine.
He
was
the
master
scrounger,
no
doubt,
but
he
could
have
been
any
guy hanging
out
on
a
camping
trip
getting
ready
to
grill
the
burgers.
“Hey,
Gracie.”
He
smiled
the
welcome
that
never
ceased
to
tickle
her
stomach.
“I’ll
never
understand
you, lady.”
“Good.”
She
nodded,
grateful
for
at
least
some
edge
here
with
this
man
who
knocked
her
off
balance
on
a regular
basis.
“I
like
it
better
that
way.”
“Heartless
wench.”
His
face
scowl
morphed
into
a
confused
frown.
“So
why
the
kiss?” She
kicked
her
foot
through
the
dust
as
she
shuffled
closer.
“I
thought
the
Cheeky
story
was
sweet
on
so many
levels.”
“Levels,
huh?
Figures
there
would
be
levels
for
you
when
we
guys
were
just
getting
drunk.” She
stopped
short
of
him,
tucking
his
crooked
collar
down
on
his
flight
suit.
“You
were
making
Cheeky’s injury
into
a
badge
of
honor
in
a
wonderfully
unique
guy
kind
of
way.
On
another
level,
you
were
helping everyone
shoot
off
steam
in
a
job
that
demands
more
of
you
than
anyone
should
ever
have
to
give.” Bobby
fidgeted,
more
like
a
schoolboy
than
a
battleseasoned
aviator.
“You’re
making
too
much
out
of
a simple
incident.”
“That’s
my
job.
Finding
the
hidden
meaning
behind
the
seemingly
insignificant
things
we
do
in
life.” He
stopped
shuffling
his
boots
in
the
dirt
and
transformed
back
into
sexy,
predatory
male
with
a
simple
shift in
his
eyes,
followed
by
a
sprawl
in
the
greenweave
yard
chair.
“Speaking
of
quick
events
that
might
seem offthecuff…what
was
up
with
that
kiss
in
the
mess
hall?
I
would
think
after
learning
I
drank
out
of
a
guy’s prosthetic
ass,
you
wouldn’t
want
any
part
of
kissing
me.”
“Like
I
said,
what
you
did
was
sweet.
You’re
a
good
man
who
thinks
of
others’
feelings.
Your
action touched
my
heart.”
And
ohmigod
this
was
getting
way
deep
for
the
middleofthemorning
bustle
in
the camp,
especially
when
the
guy
had
been
avoiding
her.
“As
for
worrying
about
where
your
mouth
had
been, the
alcohol
in
the
beer
kills
off
any
germs.”
He
tipped
back
his
head
and
laughed
so
loudly
heads
turned.
“That’s
my
Gracie.
Practical
to
the
end.”
“So
to
speak,”
she
quipped.
“Huh?”
His
laughter
faded
as
he
rose
from
the
chair.
“To
the
end.
Get
the
pun?
Like
his
hindend.
”
She
slapped
her
leg
at
her
own
silly
pun,
enjoying
the lighthearted
moment.
Her
gaze
lifted
to
meet
Bobby’s
and
he
wasn’t
laughing.
Instead
of
humor,
his
eyes
lit
with
such
undisguised desire,
she
couldn’t
stop
the
ripple
of
want
that
rolled
all
the
way
from
the
roots
of
her
hair
to
her
feet.
Gracie
scrunched
her
toes
inside
her
shoes.
“So
why
have
you
been
ignoring
me,
you
big
dunce?”
“Because
you
scare
the
shit
out
of
me.”
“Ditto.”
His
eyes
narrowed.
“But
wise
or
not,
I’m
losing
the
battle.” Her
toes
relaxed
into
a
long,
sensuous
stretch.
“Ditto
again.” Standing,
he
stepped
toward
her
or
maybe
she
made
the
first
move,
but
either
way
they
were
in
each
other’s arms
and
doing
a
tango
backward
toward
her
quarters.
Bobby
growled,
“Anybody
in
your
tent?”
“No.
Gone
into
town
to
buy
souvenirs
at
the
openair
market.”
“Two
hours
at
least.
Thank
God.”
Without
another
thought,
she
let
this
sweet,
crazy,
sexy
man
nudge
her
deep
inside
the
tent
and
away
from the
rest
of
the
world.
Her
mind
rolled
with
a
thousand
other
endearing
moments
with
Bobby.
She’d
been
so focused
on
his
outrageousness
she’d
missed
how
those
memories
usually
made
someone
else
feel
special
or diverted
trouble
from
someone
weaker.
She
didn’t
delude
herself
into
thinking
he
was
by
any
means
calm.
But
who
said
everyone
had
to
be
carbon copies
of
each
other?
She
knew
better
than
that.
So
yeah,
she
was
going
to
make
love
to
Bobby
Ruznick,
right
now,
right
here,
with
everything
inside
her.
She
would
take
what
she
could
and
everything
he
offered,
because
they
would
be
leaving
soon.
Then
she would
face
larger
decisions.
Huge
decisions.
She’d
never
considered
herself
a
coward,
but,
me
oh
my,
call
her
Chicken
Little
today.
Just
like
nine
months ago,
she
wanted
him
so
much
the
unrestrained
wildness
of
it
scared
her.
The
difference?
This
time,
scared
or
not,
she
wasn’t
running.
Once
Bobby
and
Gracie
ditched
their
boots,
clothes
made
their
way
to
the
floor
in
a
tornado
of
her camouflage,
his
flight
suit,
their
socks,
along
with
tossed
dog
tags
and
finally
her
scrunchie,
so
she
could loosen
her
hair
until
it
teased
just
below
her
shoulders.
Wearing
only
underwear,
Bobby
sprinkled
kisses
all
over
her
face.
“I
can’t
believe
you
didn’t
go
all
prissy over
Cheeky’s
story.”
“Why
would
you
ever
think
I’m
prissy?”
she
said
with
her
straightest
face
possible
as
she
rocked
her
hips against
his.
“Never
mind.”
He
kissed
her
nose
and
cupped
her
bottom.
“I
guess
my
charm’s
busy
snoozing
right
now.
Although
I
do
feel
compelled
to
mention
Sergio
the
Snake.”
“An
anomaly.”
She
rubbed
her
bare
foot
up
and
down
the
back
of
his
calf.Yum.
“Besides,
I
couldn’t
fight that
darn
snake
with
my
teeth
and
a
bathrobe
tie.
I
am
a
woman
and
soldier,
but
that
takes
nothing
away from
my
femininity.
I
serve
in
the
Army
Reserves
as
a
female
and
am
damn
proud
of
it.”