Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
She swore she’d never fall for another fighter pilot. This one
is about to prove her wrong.
Investigative journalist Rika Philips and her young daughter
arrive in the laid-back West Texas town of Coyote Springs to relax for the
summer while visiting Rika’s grandparents. Her vacation ends abruptly when
Major Alex Huston enters the picture—along with the troubling mystery of his
top-secret work at the nearby Air Force base. Is national security at risk—or
only Rika’s vow not to tangle with another love-’em-and-leave-’em fly boy?
Rika’s instincts tell her the public needs to know what’s going
on at the base, and she dives into an investigation. Alex is her sexy nemesis,
but she’ll have to collaborate with him if she wants the story. Before long
they’re flying in uncharted territory, fighting an attraction that doesn’t come
with parachutes.
Coming soon!
Chapter One
"HOW DID I EVER get elected neighborhood mom?” Rika Philips
wedged a beach ball into the back of the van before pulling down the rear hatch
and clicking it shut.
"Just lucky, dear,” her
grandmother said. Barbara Tiers was a little woman, not much over five feet
tall, with snow-white hair and pink cheeks.
Rika smiled. "I guess you’re right.” She looked around at
the six children gathered in the portico of her grandparents’ Italianate-style
house. "You kids ready?”
A chorus of "Yeahs” greeted her.
"Climb in,” she invited them. "And everybody buckle up.
Remember. Safety first. All set? Emily, have you put on your sunscreen?”
"Yes, Mommy. Gram helped me.”
Rika kissed Barbara lightly on the cheek and slipped behind
the wheel of her Voyager. "Say goodbye, kids.”
A deafening roar of "byes” ensued. Rika cringed at the
high-pitched volume, then smiled happily at her grandmother. "We should be back
by five,” she announced from her open window.
The four girls and two boys jabbered like magpies among
themselves, leaving Rika with her own thoughts. She was still feeling the glow
of praise for her last big story, an exposé that had received statewide
attention and boosted newspaper circulation enough for her to wrangle three
full weeks of vacation instead of two. At a price, of course. Her editor at theMichigan Sun made her promise to come up with a lead for another
investigative report. The question now was how she was going to top bribery and
corruption by a state representative.
Maybe surfing the Internet on Gramps’s computer would give
her an idea. There certainly wouldn’t be anything local to report. Coyote
Springs, Texas, was a wonderful place to visit and an even better place to
bring up kids, precisely because nothing sensational ever happened here.
Relax, she told herself as the security guard waved her
through the main gate at Coyote Air Force Base. This is only your first day of
vacation. Enjoy it. Something will turn up.
"WELCOME TO the wolf Pack, Major.”
Alex looked at the airman standing in front of him. At least
six foot four, the two-striper was broad-shouldered but lanky, with a mop of
carrot-red hair, enough freckles to qualify as a tan and a youthful face that
was probably both a blessing and a curse. He had farm boy written all over him.
"So they still refer to the base as the Wolf Pack.” He
remembered his father explaining that coyotes, once so prevalent on these vast,
open plains, were also called prairie wolves. Alex extended his hand.
"Riley Cavanaugh, sir,” the young man said, completing the
handshake. "You’ve been here before?”
"A long time ago.” A lifetime ago.
Alex had idly observed the landscape sliding slowly below
him in the twin-prop plane he’d connected to at Dallas. As he’d flown west, the
terrain had become bleak, desolate and bone-dry in the August heat—until he’d
spied a great green splotch at the base of a grayish-brown mesa, an oasis as
inviting as the open arms of a lover. "It’s still prairie country.”
And he was after a wolf, or was it a fox?
They walked around the corner from the two gates that
comprised the West Texas town’s municipal airport to the dimly lit
baggage-claim area.
Riley tossed Alex’s luggage in the back of the Air Force van
he’d parked curbside. Ten minutes later, as they approached the main gate of
the base, Alex tried to suppress the feeling that he was coming home, but he
couldn’t keep his pulse from quickening.
A security policewoman stuck her head out of the guard
shack, nodded to Riley and waved them through. He gave her a familiar high sign
as he drove by.
Alex wasn’t in uniform, so it wouldn’t have been
unreasonable for the sentry to check his ID. Either she’d been told of his
impending visit and ordered to let him proceed unchallenged, or the missing
drone he’d come to investigate hadn’t occasioned a heightened state of
security.
The main drag was as he remembered it, wide enough for four
lanes of traffic, but reduced to two by diagonal parking. The side streets were
narrow, laid out, his father used to joke, when heavy traffic was two jeeps
passing each other. The wooden buildings gleamed white, most of them
double-eaved barracks with dull green roofs. The kind built in the mobilization
days of World War II. How many lives had passed through here, and what had
happened to them?
Alex ran a hand down his forehead and across his eyes. He’d
known he was coming to a familiar place, but he didn’t think he’d be entering a
time warp. The only thing missing, that would always be missing, was the sight
of his father striding purposefully down the middle of the sidewalk in khaki
uniform, the stripes of master sergeant proudly worn on his sleeves.
Alex slipped back into the present. His mission here was
important, not to his career—it could even be a career killer if he stepped on
the wrong toes—but because of its impact on national security. The Top Secret
stealth detection system that was still under development may have been
compromised. The technology wasn’t expendable, and in the wrong hands it could
jeopardize the nation’s entire defense posture.
He’d ordered continuing photoreconnaissance of the area
yesterday before leaving the Aerospace Research Center at Nellis Air Force Base
in Nevada, where he was a test pilot for the new generation of "invisible
aircraft.” He’d also coordinated with Security Command for Master Sergeant Mike
Lattimore to head a special mobile intelligence collection team and meet him in
Coyote Springs. It would take them another day to get in place.
Riley dropped Alex and his bags off at the billeting office,
which would assign him the equivalent of a hotel room in the Visiting Officers
Quarters.
"Second floor, Major, overlooking the pool,” a young woman
in uniform, a senior airman, said brightly as she handed his key across the
counter.
His quarters turned out to be more like a cheap motel in an
old movie, with the added disadvantage of sharing a bath with another room. In
his father’s time, these would have been luxury accommodations, far superior to
the open-bay barracks single enlisted men lived in. Nowadays, they were
substandard for even the lower ranks.
At least his room was located in a corner of the building,
so it had two windows, one of which was seriously encumbered by an air
conditioner. Someone, intent, no doubt, on conserving electricity, had opened
the second window, letting in the stifling, dry heat of summer.
He turned on the a/c and stepped over to close the other
window. Below, a kidney-shaped swimming pool was squeezed in among three
adjacent buildings. The enclosure was noisy. The cries and shouts of boys and
girls ranging from about five to maybe twelve years of age echoed off the
wooden walls.
What caught his eye, however, was the woman stretched out on
a chaise lounge in the only spot of sunlight the close quarters permitted.
Though modest for a bikini, her swim apparel still exposed more than enough
feminine flesh to have an unsettling effect on him.
She had chestnut-brown hair coiled up on the top of her
head, long slender legs, a tight belly and trim hips. Even though she was
reclining, he could see her breasts were... well, modestdefinitely wasn’t the word that came to mind. His curiosity piqued, he wondered
what color her eyes were. Sherry-brown to match her hair? Blue? With her tan,
violet eyes would be a knockout.
Too bad he hadn’t thought to pack a swimsuit. Maybe after he
paid his courtesy call on the installation commander, he could stop at the Base
Exchange and buy one.
He was about to pull down the sash window, when one of the
girls went up to the sunbather and said something. The woman sat up, shielded
her eyes against the bright sun and answered her. He caught only the shouted, "Thanks,
Mommy,” as the child ran back to her friends.
Mommy. Hmm. Too bad. Married women were definitely
off-limits. What would it be like to come home to a beautiful wife like her and
a house full of kids? He dismissed the thought. He’d seen enough marriages
founder and fail to know family life was incompatible with a military career on
the fast track.
He used his cell phone to call General Tiers’s residence.
Nathan Tiers had been retired for years, but Alex had been ordered to contact
him immediately upon his arrival in Coyote Springs. Exactly why, and what part
the old man might play in his investigation, he couldn’t imagine, but orders
were orders. He’d soon find out.
Busy signal. He snapped the receiver shut and unpacked his
bags, all the time trying not to think about the woman in the bikini. What was
her name? Jeannie with the light-brown hair? Get a grip, Huston.
He removed his uniform from the hanging bag and examined it.
Hand-carrying it had been wise. Not a ribbon out of place. No wrinkles. He
dressed, made sure his shoes weren’t scratched. Not patent leather, either.
These were of the finest leather, spit-shined to a mirror finish. He adjusted
his Scottish wool tie, wandered back to the window and casually gazed down. She
was gone. Good, he told himself and tried not to feel disappointed. He had a
mission to accomplish. No time for distractions.
Back to the phone. He was about to poke in the general’s
number again, when he heard muffled shouting through the closed window. He went
over and saw two thrashing figures in the deep end of the pool below.
Though adrenaline rushed through him, pilot training had
taught him to keep a cool head. Evaluate the situation before acting.
He hadn’t seen a lifeguard on duty, hadn’t even noticed the
usual perch for one. Strange. The Air Force had strict policies against
unsupervised swimming. Maybe the rules didn’t apply in the Wolf Pack. Maybe
here, patrons were supposed to monitor themselves—and their children.
Awareness of what was happening took only a split second.
Alex flew out of his room, crashed through the fire door at the end of the hall
and bounded down the iron staircase to poolside.
Someone was already in the water, struggling to save a boy
who was flailing frantically. A few feet away, Alex saw a head with blond hair
going under for what was probably the second time. Kids lined the side of the
pool, excitedly jumping up and down.
Unsure how deep the churned-up water was, Alex launched
himself into a shallow dive. Two strokes. He reached the submerged child,
grabbed an arm and pulled up so quickly half the body shot above the waterline.
The girl came down in a panic and clamped onto his head. Sputtering and
coughing, she was pressing her belly button against his nose tightly enough to
suffocate him. He hit bottom. The water was only six feet deep.
With one arm under her knees, he used his other hand to keep
her from gouging his eyes out while he tiptoed to the edge of the pool. The
depth diminished as he advanced, and the girl, finally able to breathe, was
calming down. Reaching the side of the pool, he set the coughing,
still-traumatized child on the tiled edge of the cool deck.
A hand reached out and stroked the girl’s arms. "It’s okay,
sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
It took a moment for Alex to realize the other person,
female type, was in the water beside him, not above. He peeked over. The woman
he’d seen from his window. The woman in the bikini. Her eyes were a pale green
with golden specks. He hadn’t seen or heard her come into the water.
A few feet away, the boy was also sitting on the side of the
pool, a strapping young man brushing hair out of the kid’s eyes. "You’re all
right now, Shawn,” the guy said, then looked over at the girl. "Emily’s okay,
too.” He glanced at Alex. "How about you, sir?”
"I’m fine.” Except for his heart pounding double time, a
half-naked woman next to him with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, and
his best uniform, from tie to shoelaces, totally ruined. "What happened?”
"Shawn here did a cannonball too close to Emily,” the man
said. "Must have knocked the wind out of her. She’s normally a pretty good
swimmer.”
Alex surveyed the area. In the shade, beyond the view from
his window, was a lifeguard’s chair on stilts. "You the guard on duty?”
"Yes, sir. Thanks for showing up when you did. Handling one
isn’t so bad, but two’s a bit of a problem, especially when they’re both
panicked.”
Alex observed the green-eyed woman beside him. She was
quietly soothing her daughter.
"You, I presume, are Emily’s mother,” he said.
Even as her hand brushed her daughter’s arm, her gaze melted
into his. Without thinking, he checked out the woman’s left hand. No ring.
Divorced? It didn’t matter. She had a kid. He had a girlfriend. He didn’t need
a wife and family.
"I want to thank you, Major—”
A half-forgotten memory flashed across his mind. A boy
floating facedown in a stock tank. Sudden, helpless rage surged through him. "Why
did you leave her alone? Why didn’t you stay and watch her the way you’re
supposed to? Nothing is more important than a child’s welfare,” he blurted out
before he even realized the words had formed in his mind. "If you had been
doing your job as a parent, instead of worrying about your tan and then running
off—” out of the corner of his eye he saw a tray of chips and burgers spilled
on the ground a few feet away "—to feed your face, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Her jaw fell, then clamped. Her chest rose as she drew in
air. "I... I only went... look...”
she stammered.
Alex could see the impulse to lash back warring with what he
supposed was the shame and guilt of knowing she hadn’t properly protected her
child. "Next time watch your kids better.”
"They’re not...”
He trudged over to the ladder a few feet away and pulled
himself out of the water. His dress blues felt like form-fitting leaden
shackles and threatened to drag him back into the pool.
". . . all mine,” she finished in a small voice.
Trying to ignore her, he peeled off his coat and dropped it
on the back of a wrought-iron chair, which immediately toppled under the
weight. "Damn.” He bent down to pick up the chair and almost knocked heads with
the woman in the bikini. Still leaning over, he raised his head enough to find
himself staring at the water droplets poised in her cleavage.
"Damn,” he mumbled again when he realized the indecorous
effect her closeness was having on him.
"I’m sorry about this.” She straightened and helped him
place his sodden coat on the seat. "You should get out of those wet clothes.
Better take the tie off right away, too, before the knot tightens and strangles
you,” she added, motioning toward his neck.
The ghost of a smile on her lips and the hint of uncertainty
in her quip drained him of the last ounce of rancor.
He struggled to loosen the soggy knot. Water streamed off it
as he pulled the tail up far enough to slip the noose over his head. When he
started to strip off his tailor-made, hundred-percent combed-cotton, light-blue
shirt, she looked around nervously.
"I didn’t mean for you to take all your clothes off here,”
she said in a voice that was stalled between a whisper and a hiss. "The
children...”
He searched beyond her. The kids were gathered around, an
attentive audience staring at him, some with their mouths hanging open.
"I assure you, there’s a limit to how far I’ll go,” he
muttered, and hoped she hadn’t noticed how far it had gone already.
She pursed her lips primly, but he also saw a twinkle of
amusement in her glorious eyes. They were glorious, too, he realized. He couldn’t
remember ever seeing a color and depth that captivated him so completely.
"Why are you in dress blues in this heat? Major, uh—” she
eyeballed the name tag on his jacket "—Huston. If you don’t mind my asking.”
"I just arrived and was going to pay a courtesy visit on the
base commander.”
"Colonel Eckert?” She made an "uh-oh” sound. "Today’s
Wednesday, Major.”
He crooked an eyebrow at her.
"Colonel Eckert plays golf every Wednesday afternoon with
Colonel Lacy.”
Alex stared at her. There was a crisis of potential
international proportions, and the base commander and lab director were out
nudging little white balls into holes in the ground? The comment he wanted to
make wasn’t as polite as her delicate "uh-oh.” He’d been called in from a
critical stealth test flight yesterday afternoon and told to pack his bags.
Apparently, the rush to get here had been a waste of time. No one here in the
boondocks seemed to be letting the current state of affairs interfere with
improving his handicap.
Alex took a step to deposit his shirt with his coat. His
V-neck T-shirt was sucked against him like a clammy second skin, and his shoes
made a squelching noise every time he shifted his weight.
"Might as well take off the shoes and socks, as well,” she
said.
He sat down and removed his oxfords—his good handmade
Italian oxfords—then stood up and bowed formally at the waist to her. "If you
don’t mind, I think I’ll excuse myself now,” he announced grandly, only then
noticing that several people had come out of the side door of the officers’
club and were gathered around to watch the commotion. The lifeguard had a
sardonic grin on his face that Alex would have loved to wipe off.
Nuts, he thought to himself, if roles were reversed, I’d
probably be laughing, too.
His trousers made a swish-slap sound as he mounted the iron
staircase. This ought to teach me to be a Good Samaritan, he told himself as he
put his hand on the doorknob to his room—only to realize the latch was
self-locking and his key was inside.
"Nice going, Huston,” he said out loud. "Welcome to the Wolf
Pack.”
Chapter Two
IT WAS RIDICULOUS to keep looking up at the top of the
stairs of the VOQ. The new officer wasn’t going to storm down the steps again
to rail at her for being a selfish, irresponsible parent. The nerve. The only
reason she’d left poolside was to get the kids snacks. Emily had said they were
hungry. It wasn’t as though she’d abandoned them, for Pete’s sake; there was a
lifeguard on duty.
Rounding up Emily and her five friends and hustling them
into the van took Rika less than fifteen minutes. Her hands shook as she stowed
their towels and gear behind the back seat. She’d almost lost Emily today. A
cold chill settled in her stomach and a knot burned her throat. The little girl
who gave her life meaning, hope and joy had been in trouble, and she hadn’t
been there for her. Rika had to strain to keep her voice from becoming shrill
or breaking as she instructed the children to buckle up.
She glanced once more through the Voyager’s tinted window to
the black iron steps. He wouldn’t come down again. After all, there was
absolutely no reason for Major Whatever-His-First-Name-Is Huston to even leave
his room—now that he knew the commander wasn’t available.
Still, she did feel bad about his uniform. Even dripping
wet, the chestful of ribbons had been impressive. Of course, with a physique
like his, he’d look good in anything—or nothing. She shook her head. What is
the matter with me? Here I am, thinking about this guy’s muscles, when I want
nothing to do with a military man.
Okay, he performed an act of heroism, and all he got for it
was a ruined uniform and the humiliation of having to strip it off in public.
Well, she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over injured male pride. Besides, he
was probably the type who had more than enough to spare.
But there was something familiar about him. It wasn’t the
uniform. She’d seen plenty of men in blue and green, black and khaki uniforms.
The beautiful bod? She felt a delicate ripple dance through her. Desire? She
shivered. If she’d ever laid eyes on that body, she’d remember precisely where
and when.
She’d definitely seen him, though, and heard him, too. The
deep, strong voice, confident of its authority, was strangely familiar. She
searched her memory, trying to pinpoint where it might have been, and drew a
blank.
Dredging up a smile and waving at the guard, she drove
through the west gate of the base. The youngsters, normally loud and exuberant,
were quiet in the back seat, probably because they knew what was coming. Rika
took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with.
"Okay, kids. I think it’s time we reviewed the rules.” She
concentrated on her daughter, seat belted into the captain’s chair beside her. "Emily,
where should you not swim in the pool?”
The girl hung her head, her eyes half closed as she fumbled
with her fingers. "Near the diving board when people are using it,” she recited
in a small, sulky voice.
Rika lifted her chin and peered in her rearview mirror at
the boy with the curly brown hair in the back corner. "Shawn, what should you
never do when using the diving board?”
"Jump close to other swimmers,” he responded humbly.
"So you both knew the rules and you broke them, didn’t you?”
"Yes, ma’am,” said Shawn softly.
"Emily?” Her daughter was now playing with the wet tendrils
of her long blond hair. "I didn’t hear you. "
"Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied in a slightly belligerent
tone.
Rika slanted her a warning glance. "Do you all understand
now why we have those rules?”
There was an unenthusiastic chorus of "Yes, ma’ams” and "Yes,
Mrs. Philips.”
"Shawn, you could have hurt yourself very badly and you
could have hurt Emily. You were lucky the lifeguard was able to get to you as quickly
as he did. Do you realize you might have drowned?”
His expression downcast, the boy whispered, "Yes, ma’am.”
"And you, young lady—” Rika’s hands tightened on the
steering wheel as she turned to her little girl "—if the major hadn’t shown up
when he did, you could have drowned.” She tried to sound stern, rather than let
them hear the panic she felt at the thought of what might have happened. "You
both could have been killed.”
"I just wanted to splash her,” Shawn said with that tone of
righteousness kids use when they know they’ve done something wrong but want to
justify themselves.
"Splashing is one thing. What you did was dangerous and
irresponsible. If you can’t play by the rules, you won’t come with us anymore.”
In the mirror Rika saw the boy lower his head, a solemn frown of contrition on
his face. "That goes for everyone.”
She said no more as she drove on. The children stared out
the window or whispered behind their hands.
"Mrs. Philips, are we going swimming again tomorrow?” Micki
Sanchez asked a minute later, apparently unaffected by her friends’ close call
and the admonition.
"Not tomorrow—in fact, not for the rest of the week. You all
need a time-out from swimming to think about what happened today.”
"That’s not fair,” Cindy Roberts whined. "I didn’t do
anything wrong. Shawn and Emily did. It’s all their fault.”
"I didn’t say you did anything wrong, Cindy, but you don’t
have to go swimming every day.” The mirror reflected five hangdog faces. "Besides,”
she said, "don’t you remember we’re supposed to go horseback riding tomorrow
morning?”
"Yeah!” came the group reply. Swimming was all but
forgotten.
"But only if the bunch of you can keep out of trouble
between now and then.” Rika turned off the main highway onto the ranch road.
The children lived within walking distance of one another on
the quiet country lane outside city limits. Rika stopped the van at the foot of
the driveways of their respective homes and made sure they grabbed all their
belongings. They thanked her for the day and said goodbye to Emily. Calling out
promises to come over first thing in the morning, they then scampered off like
young Tom Sawyers and Becky Thatchers. If only their lives could always be so
idyllic and all the potential tragedies of life could be averted as easily as
today’s, Rika thought.
She pulled into the driveway of her grandparents’ ten-acre
miniranch. When her grandfather, General Tiers, retired from the Air Force
after thirty-five years of service, no one could understand how he and Mrs.
Tiers, who had enjoyed such an active social life in Washington, could abandon
it for a little town in West Texas that no one had ever heard of. Rika was very
glad they had. The massive cream brick house, with its green tiled roof,
appeared staid and formal on the outside, and some of the treasures within were
priceless, but for Rika, it had always been a warm, happy place, full of life,
fun and love.
After parking in the gravel driveway between the splashing
triple-deck fountain and the huge double front door, Rika and her daughter got
out of the van and went inside. The rich warm smell of chocolate cake baking
greeted them. Barbara emerged from behind the central staircase, wiping her
hands on an old paisley apron.
"Grandma, I almost drownded today,” Emily cried out excitedly,
as if it had all been a lark.
"You what?” Barbara Tiers’s busy hands stopped and she
looked in consternation at Rika. "What happened?”
"I almost drownded,” Emily repeated.
"Drowned,” Rika corrected. "You almost drowned.”
Barbara slipped onto the spindle-back bench opposite the
stairs. "What are you two talking about?”
"Shawn cannonballed off the board,” Emily prattled on
breathlessly, "and he landed right on top of me, and the lifeguard had to jump
in after him, and another man came running down the stairs and dived in the
pool and saved me. He was real mad at Mommy for not watching us, and Mommy made
him take his clothes off—”
"Whoa, young lady. Slow down.” Barbara brushed her hand
across her great-granddaughter’s cheek, then gathered her in her arms. She
glanced up curiously at her granddaughter for clarification.
"We had a little incident at the pool,” Rika explained. "Shawn
Mullens jumped in and hit Emily, who was swimming too close to the board. They
both got the wind knocked out of them and went under. I was inside getting
burgers and fries for the kids at the time. The lifeguard grabbed Shawn and a
major who’s staying at the VOQ dove in and rescued Emily.”
"Yeah, and he had on this big blue uniform and it had a
whole bunch of ribbons—” Emily contributed.
And pilot’s wings, Rika reminded herself. Out loud she said,
"He was on his way to see Colonel Eckert and was wearing his service dress—”
Barbara’s eyes widened. "A new major on base?”
"He wasn’t very happy when I told him he wouldn’t have
gotten to see the colonel anyway, since it’s Wednesday and Eckert and Lacy golf
together every Wednesday.”
"Where’s he from and what’s he doing here? Is he assigned
permanently or on temporary duty?” The old woman was almost as breathless now
as her great-granddaughter.
"I have no idea, Gram. We didn’t stop to talk.”
"Well,” Barbara asked pointedly, "did you at least get his
name?”
"Huston. That’s what his name tag said. He didn’t give me
his first name. All I know is Major Huston.”
"What does he look like? Is he married?”
Rika shook her head, half with annoyance, half with
amusement. Barbara Tiers was convinced her granddaughter’s marriage to Clay
Philips had failed because Clay had not been a military man. Gram was
determined to match her up with someone in uniform, preferably an Air Force
officer’s uniform.
Rika wasn’t only unenthusiastic about the idea, she had good
reason not to get involved with a pilot, especially a fighter pilot. Her first
love had been a jet jockey—until she caught him proposing flights of fancy to
one of her sorority sisters. She’d given him back his ring and cried for days,
never quite sure what was lacking in her that would drive him into another
woman’s arms. Then a couple of years ago her best friend had divorced her
zoom-bag husband for playing around. They were all alike, Cassie had assured
her, a breed of their own, irresistibly charming, arrogant, egotistical and
totally unfaithful.
"Well?” Barbara asked impatiently.
Rika could picture him with remarkable clarity. Six-two or
-three. Broad shoulders. Gray or maybe light-blue eyes... and
built... well, like Michelangelo’s David, but with hair on
his chest. She took a deep breath. "Now, Gram, don’t go getting any ideas. He
had gray hair, for heaven’s sake.”
Barbara’s brows knitted in disappointment. "Gray hair? Oh.”
Rika fought to keep a straight face and hoped her
grandmother didn’t get to meet the new officer. "Probably has a wife and six
kids at home,” she added, although she hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on his
left hand, and she was sure she would have. After all, she hadn’t missed the
class ring on his right hand. Air Force Academy. So what? Just because he wasn’t
wearing a band didn’t mean he wasn’t married. What did she care, anyway? She
was perfectly content with her single-mom life. She didn’t need a man
complicating it. Certainly not a man like Major Whatever-His-First-Name-Is
Huston.
