The Wounded Warriors Series Author: Patty Campbell

Book 1: Heart of a Marine 
Falling in love wasn’t part of the contract...

Single dad and wounded warrior, Dwayne Dempsey, has no idea what he’s bargained for when he signs a construction contract with the curvy Marla Danaher to honcho her condo conversion. The last thing he needs is a sexy property developer breathing down his neck every step of the project. Her strong-minded bossiness should turn him off, but oddly, only makes her more desirable to him.

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Excerpt

"The Beginning;

Big-boned, big girl, full-figured——how Marla hated those stupid metaphors. At five-foot-six she weighed one hundred sixty pounds. Size twelve, just like Marilyn Monroe, but unfortunately due to the nubile teenage models marketed by Victoria’s Secret, Marilyn’s charms were no longer fashionable. A man once told her, “Marla, your avoir is luciously dupois.”

Thanks a heap.

Her fraternal twin sister Charlene, on the other hand, was the same height, with one hundred twenty pounds of runway-model curves. Charlene wore her thick golden blond hair like a privileged princess. Rusty brown eye color was the only thing they had in common. Victoria’s Secret, eat your heart out.

Marla got the brains. She dearly loved Charlene, but there was little outward evidence that much was going on upstairs, except her insatiable appetite for men. The more variety the merrier. To give Charlene credit, she was very successful in her quest.

“Oh, lordy lord, Marla. How can you stand it? Is he here every day? That man makes my mouth water and my knees quake.”

“Give me a clue, Char. Is it the leer, or the tool belt?”

“Are you kidding me? You must be blind. He’s nothing but rippling muscles and he’s got the sexiest little hitch in his walk. Yum. He’s the spittin’ image of Gerard Butler. This guy is hot. Have you noticed how he looks at you? He likes you. I’m jealous. You should talk to him.”

Marla rolled her eyes and blew out a long sigh. “I do talk to him, much more than I care to. Dwayne Dempsey is a royal pain. It’s a new argument from him every day. Just because he’s the contractor he thinks he knows more about this project than I do.”

Charlene had that moony-eyed grin on her face. “Well, he is the contractor.”

“Oh, for the love of goats, Charlene!” What was the use? “I own this building. He’s supposed to follow my design, my blueprints, not argue about every little detail.” Marla wouldn’t admit it, but she did have eyes, she considered Dwayne Dempsey quite good-looking. Mouthwatering actually. She also knew how much he enjoyed flirting with the fat girl.

Dwayne looked up from his cell phone, hitched up his jeans, and winked at Charlene. He turned and waved when a man in the construction trailer yelled, “Yo, Gunny, over here!”

“Oh, lordy lord. I want him.”

“Take him, please. You’re welcome to him.”

Charlene scrunched her eyebrows. “Who’s Gunny?”

“Dwayne. He’s a retired marine. His men call him that. Now, what are you doing here?”

Charlene dragged her gaze from Dwayne’s back and shoulders as he walked away. Hand on her heart, she sighed. “Look at his perfect butt in those beat-up jeans. I don’t know how you stand it.”

Marla took the roll of blueprints and tapped her twin on the head. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

Marla rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh. I thought we’d go for lunch. We have to strategize for the singles dinner whatcha-ma-dodabber- thingy. Remember? You promised you’d go with me. It’s tomorrow night.” "

Book 2: Love of a Marine
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Wounded Marine veteran, Cluny McPherson, is ready to throw in the towel. Why are his PTSD nightmares worse now, more than ten years after the ambush outside Fallujah? He hates his growing feelings of hopelessness and doubts he’ll ever live a normal life. He loves women and kids, and he desires a loving woman in his life, one who wants a family as much as he does. But with the nightmares getting worse, the only female he dares spend an entire night with is his loyal service dog, Queen, a war vet herself. Until one day on a California beach, he meets a beautiful woman and her young boy and everything changes. For the first time in years, there’s a chance of healing...and a chance at love.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Thursday, Zuma Beach

Who is that man? Why is he here every day? Graciella Jefferson turned her attention to her nine-year-old son, Santos, chasing wavelets at the edge of the surf on Zuma Beach. They’d been here every morning since school let out two weeks ago. He loved the ocean, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to go in above his knees. She smiled, knowing he’d get there in his own good time. His father had been a genuine frogman.

“Santos, time for lunch!”

He smiled and waved, took a last flat-footed jump in the shallow water then ran to join her on the blanket under the big carnival striped umbrella. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“See that man and his dog over there?” He tilted his head in the direction of the rocks near Point Dume.

“Yes, I see him. Why?”

“They’ve been here every morning this week, and they’re still there when we leave. They must love the beach as much as I do.”

Graciella pushed up the brim of her wide hat to get a better look. Santos was right, the man was always there. He and the dog stared out to sea. Every now and then the man would reach down and rub the dog’s head.

“What is the dog wearing, Mom, a T-shirt?”

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like a vest, the kind service dogs wear.” She squinted to get a better look.

He took a big swallow of lemonade and wiped his mouth on his forearm. “What’s a service dog?”

“Use this.” She handed him a faded, old cloth napkin. “A service dog is a companion that is specially trained for certain tasks.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve seen seeing-eye dogs working with the blind.”

“But that man can see. He watches the ocean a lot. His dog just sits there next to him, not doing anything.” He pointed his skinny arm toward the rocks where the man sat on the sand with his hands dangling between his knees.

“It’s not polite to point, Santos.”

“He’s not looking at us.”

“It’s still not polite.”

“Why?”

She tousled his curly black hair. He looked so much like his late father it nearly broke her heart. “Enough questions. Eat. We have to head back in about an hour. I have a class to teach this afternoon.”

Santos tucked into the rest of his sandwich, guzzled the rest of his drink and mopped his mouth with the napkin. “I’m done.” He darted back to the water’s edge.

Graciella watched him for a bit, then picked up her book and got comfortable in the sand chair to read. After several minutes she looked up and her heart skipped a beat when she didn’t see him. She dropped her book and scanned the beach. He was walking toward the man and his dog, kicking his toes in the wet sand. He glanced back at her, a broad grin on his face, and waved. * * *

Cluny and Queen had had another bad night. There had been a lot of them this past six months. He didn’t understand why he could go months, even years, without the nightmares and the shaking, then they’d return. A year ago he’d gotten Queen, on the advice of his buddy, Dwayne Dempsey, and a therapist at the VA.

A skinny, dark-skinned kid about nine or ten walked in their direction. The boy and the woman had been about a quarter klik down the beach every morning. He figured it was only a matter of time before the kid got curious.

Queen stood. “Easy, girl.”

“Hi, mister.” The boy slowed to a stop about three yards away from him. He stood quietly, expression tentative.

“Hi.” Cluny smiled. He glanced down the beach and saw the woman stand. He waved at her.

“Why is your dog wearing a vest?” He shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“She’s working this morning.” Cluny laid his hand on Queen’s back.

“I didn’t see her do anything.” He took a few steps closer. “What does she do?”

“Right now, she’s keeping me company.”

“Is she friendly? Can I pet her?”

“I’ll ask her.” He unbuckled Queen’s vest, and she stood, shook and stretched. “Want this good lookin’ boy to pet you, Queen?” She wagged her tail and took a step in the boy’s direction.

Cluny smiled at the woman strolling toward them. “What’s your name, son?”

The boy knelt in front of Queen. She sat on her haunches and lifted a paw. The kid giggled and grasped her foot. “Santos Jefferson, what’s your name, mister?”

Cluny stood and brushed sand from the seat of his shorts. “I’m Cluny McPherson.” He tilted his head toward the tall, willowy woman approaching them. “Is that your mother?”

“Yes.” The boy buried both his hands in the dog’s ruff and scratched vigorously. He laughed when Queen groaned with pleasure. “She likes it.”

“I think we should go meet your mother. She looks concerned. Come, Queen.” He stooped to pick up the dogs vest and stuffed it in his cargo pocket. The boy joined him, and they walked toward the woman.

“Mom! Isn’t she beautiful? Her name is Queen. She keeps him company.”

Cluny extended his hand. “Ma’am.” She was almost as tall as his six-one in bare feet, her skin a luscious golden honey-brown, with eyes to match. “Cluny McPherson.”

She hesitated and then took it. “Hello. Graciella Jefferson. My son was curious about your dog.”

Her deep voice had a slight, intriguing accent, her handshake as firm and strong as she appeared to be. Cluny was stunned by her beauty.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, Santos asked me what she did other than stare at the water.” He grinned and a thrill jolted through him when she returned his smile.

She appeared to size him up quickly, and then asked, “Would you like some lemonade? We’ll be leaving soon and it’ll be one less thing for me to carry back to the car.”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am, I would.” He followed her back down to their spot under the big umbrella, and knelt on the blanket. Queen and the boy followed close behind.

Graciella, she’d pronounced it grah-see-ay-la with an r roll, took a small bottle of lemonade from her cooler, shook the droplets off and handed it to him. He couldn’t help noticing long, tapered fingers with bright orange polish on her short nails.

“Thanks.” He opened the bottle and took a long drink. “I didn’t realize I was thirsty until just now.” He held the cold bottle to his forehead.

“Santos, the dog might be thirsty.” She opened a thermos, poured water from it into the cup-lid and set it in the sand.

Cluny gazed at the stunning woman as she gestured to her boy. Her thick dark brown, curly hair fluttered around her shoulders in the breeze, the brim of her straw hat flapped, and she set her hand on top to keep it from blowing away. She lowered her body to sit on the blanket across from him, as graceful as a swan.

“Where’d that breeze come from all of a sudden?” She laughed and held tight to her hat.

Queen trotted to the water cup and quickly lapped it up. “Queenie was thirsty,” Cluny said. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “You’re welcome.” She turned to her boy. “We have to leave soon, Santos.”

“Aw, gee, I just made friends with Queen.” He eyed Cluny. “What does she really do when she isn’t keeping you company?”

Cluny laughed. “She sleeps a lot, which is good, because her job is to help me fall asleep at night.”

“I watch TV until Mom yells at me.”

Cluny pressed his lips together. “That usually works for me too, but sometimes Queen helps me.”

“Where’d you get her?”

“She’s a genuine wounded warrior war hero. Queen is retired from the Navy SEALS. I got her from Wounded Warriors.”

Santos’ eyes got huge. “Are you a wounded warrior? Were you a SEAL? My dad was a SEAL. He got killed in Iraq by some bad guys. I wasn’t borned yet, so I never even got to meet him, but I know what he looked like because I have a picture of him. Want to see it?”

“Santos.” His mother put her hand on the excited boy’s arm.

“It’s OK.” Cluny smiled at her. “Yes, I’d like to see a picture of your dad.” Santos dug through a cloth carry bag and pulled out a jacket. He soon found a laminated photo, attached to a house key, and handed it to him. “Mom says I look like him. Do you think I look like him?”

“Cluny studied the photo of a very large, very fit black man wearing standard field-issue SEAL camos. The man grinned for the photographer, a sniper rifle resting casually on this shoulder. “Yes, I see the resemblance. What was your dad’s name?” He handed the photo back to the boy.

“Marvin Jefferson.”

A prickly sensation crawled over Cluny’s back and up his neck. The man looked familiar. He glanced at Graciella. “Where was the picture taken?”

“Fallujah. The day he was killed.” Pain flashed in her soulful eyes.

“Oh, God, ma’am, I’m so sorry.” His stomach twisted into a painful knot. For a moment he thought he might throw up the lemonade, but he gritted his teeth against the nausea. Queen nudged his hand.

She answered in a soft voice, “It was a long time ago.”

Santos apparently hadn’t noticed his discomfort. “Were you a SEAL too?”

He shook his head. “No, a Marine, but I knew some very brave SEALs in Iraq. I fought in Fallujah too.”

“What happened to you?”

Before answering the boy, Cluny glanced at his mother. He wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with the conversation. She nodded slightly.

“Me and some buddies were in an M-3 Bradley that got hit by an RPG one day when we were in a convoy heading to Baghdad. One of the bad guys found us first.” He swallowed and took a breath. This was something he rarely talked about, and never with a kid.

“Did any Marines get killed?” The boy’s rapt face stared steadily, waiting for an answer.

“Nope. Nobody got killed, except the bad guys. Some of my buddies got wounded real bad, and I took a hard knock on the head. We were lucky.”

“Is that why you can’t sleep?”

“Sometimes. I don’t think about it much.”

“Was your dog in Fallujah too?” Santos rested his hand on Queen’s back. “What happened to her?”

“I didn’t know Queen then. She was guarding Baghdad airport. She got shot by a sniper.” He smiled at his dog. “You’re fine now, aren’t you Queenie?” Her tail thumped the sand.

Graciella stood and folded the sand chair. “It’s time we got on home, Santos. Help me pack up.”

Cluny stood and pulled the umbrella stake from the sand and folded it for her. “I’ll help you carry your things to the car. We’re a long way from the parking area.”

“We can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d like to help.” He slapped his leg and Queen leapt to her feet. He took her vest from his pocket and buckled it around her chest. In an instant she was back in work mode. He rested the umbrella on his shoulder and took the handle of the cooler and pulled it on its big sand tires to the parking lot.

Graciella and Santos grabbed the rest of their things and walked alongside him. She pointed to a small blue SUV. “That’s our car.” The back window wore a SEAL Trident decal.

He loaded the umbrella and cooler in the back hatch. She shook sand from the blanket then tossed it in on top of the folding chair. “Thank you, Cluny McPherson.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Ms. Jefferson.” He put his hand on top of Santos head of tight black curls. “Nice meeting you Santos. You do look like your dad. Have a safe trip home.”

Cluny returned to the sand and waved as they climbed into the car, haunted by the eerie feeling from the photograph of the big Navy SEAL.

Queen leaned heavily against his leg, made a soft whimper, and stared into his eyes.

“I’m good, girl. I’m good.”

Book 3: Soul of a Marine

​The one Marine MSgt Misty Beachy could not command is back.

She commanded Marines in a war zone. Because she didn’t look the part didn’t mean she couldn’t do the job. Her men took her orders and respected her. The only thorn in her side was Major Jack Hawk, close air support pilot. He didn’t like women in combat. But he had saved her unit from deadly ambush.

Wounded vet, MSgt Misty Beachy has found a niche in civilian life. Training sniffer dogs for Customs. Then prickly Hot Stick Hawk, combat pilot, returns.

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Master Sgt. Misty Beachy, USMC (ret), pressed her fingers against her eyes and moaned. She looked forward to hosting the kids from the local continuation high school about as much as she longed for a root canal. Not that she’d ever had one thanks to her parents spending a fortune on her teeth while she was growing up, but she was best friends with a former Marine who’d recently undergone the gruesome procedure and was still whining about it.

“Continuation High School,” she sighed. Most of the kids there were one step away from juvie. She understood teenage rebellion. At thirty-three she wasn’t so far removed from that period of her life. She’d joined the Marines when her big brother got killed in Afghanistan, nearly destroying her parents. At the time she thought she was doing it to make them proud. How self-centered is that? She smirked at her young cluelessness.

What she’d accomplished was to make them sick with worry that they’d lose their only other child in the middle-east for no good reason. And she’d come pretty damn close to making their anxiety a self fulfilling prophesy in Iraq eleven years ago.

“Quit acting like a baby, Beachy,” she chided herself between clenched teeth. “If you can handle a bunch of testosterone loaded Marines at a forward operating base in a war zone, you can handle a half dozen sneering, self-destructive loser kids for an hour.”

“Talking to yourself again, boss?”

“Kiss my ass, Jeremy.”

“No fraternizing allowed. Says so right in the employment contract, but if we both quit our jobs, I’d be happy to oblige.” She couldn’t help smiling at her sunny young assistant. How he could remain cheerful day after day of working under her supervision was a mystery.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a child molester.” He was barely twenty-one.

“I have this thing for older women.”

“You’re very annoying, Jeremy.”

Instead of answering her accusation he grinned bigger.

Beachy sighed and shook her head. This kid always looked liked he’d just opened up a Christmas gift and discovered Santa had left the exact thing he’d been asking for, right down to the brand name and model number. A happy boy in a rangy man’s body. He had an annoying habit of making her smile, when she was enjoying a moment of self indulgent funk.

“Your favorite high school kids are here, boss. Time to put a smile on your doll face, and a sparkle in those big brown eyes.

She rose from her desk with weary resignation, flashed an obscene and very un-ladylike gesture before grinding out, “You’re fired.”

Jeremy laughed. “Again? That’s the second time today.”

“Go line up the dogs. It’s a shame we’re teaching them to sniff explosive and contraband instead of attacking a pack of kids only their mother’s could love.”

“Don’t be too sure. I doubt some of them still have mothers.” He went toward the kennel and Misty took a deep breath, tucked a wisp of short blond hair behind her ears and pasted a smile of greeting on her face. Might as well get on with it.

An hour later

The snarly blonde girl whose face seemed eerily familiar asked, “What’s that one’s name?” She pointed to a flop-eared beagle bouncing with eagerness to get out of his kennel and join the teenagers.

Misty looked over shoulder. “Oh, that’s Happy.”

“So why’s he locked up? Did he break the rules?” Her comment was directed at a fellow student who cracked his first grin of the morning. Hands in the pockets of his low-slung tattered jeans, he slouched and lagged behind his schoolmates. Stringy hair hung over his eyes, but not far enough to hide the silver ring in the corner of his pierced right eyebrow.

She hoped somebody would help this young man with some good direction for his future.

A couple of these kids looked hopeless. She faced the girl. “Happy is being retired from the service. He has trouble concentrating on his job and would rather play with every human, adult or child, he encounters in the commission of his duties.”

The girl snorted. “So what’ll happen to him?” Her demeanor said…Like-I-care.

“He’ll go to a shelter. Hopefully he’ll get adopted before they have to euthanize him.”

Misty loved the little mutt, but he was hopeless as a sniffer. He belonged in a home filled with rambunctious children.

Like balloons filling with too much helium, the girl’s eyes expanded. Her sullen expression, the one she’d spent a lot of time perfecting, suddenly melted away, replaced by a look any normal teenager who’d just seen somebody run over a kitten. Her next question squeaked out on a high note, “They’ll kill him?”

Well, well, well. There’s a sweet little girl hiding under the façade of snarky boredom. “It’s a possibility. I hope it doesn’t happen.”

“I’ll adopt him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

The teacher escorting the group stepped through the door. “Time to get on the bus, gang.”

“No! Wait!” Panicky as a bird caught in a net, the girl turned to Misty. “Why not?”

The teacher touched her shoulder. “Sorry, it’s time to go Ms. Hawk. We have to be back on campus before lunch.”

Misty pulled an official Customs Bureau business card from her shirt pocket and handed it to the girl named Hawk. She knew a man named Jack Hawk. Maybe this kid was related to him. Her eyes were the same odd color, and the shape of her jaw looked familiar. That’s what had been bothering her for the past hour, why the girl looked so familiar. “Take this. Call me later and I’ll try and explain the process to you. What’s your name?”

She grabbed the card. “Ellen Hawk.”

Unbelievable. This girl was Hot Stick Hawk’s daughter. Had to be. She was the right age. They lived in the area. Jack was currently stationed at Camp Pendleton.

The group cleared out. Misty checked her watch, picked up her office phone and entered a number from memory.

“Hello?”

“Santos? Misty Beachy here. Is Mac home?”

“Yeah. Hey, Dad! It’s the Marine lady on the phone.”

“Hey, Mis. What’s up?”

The sound of her best friend’s voice always warmed her to her bones. “So it’s Dad now, is it?”

“My sweet boy started calling me Dad when we all drove to Vegas the day I married his mother. He was my best man. Great, huh?”

Misty knew how much that meant to Mac, but didn’t comment. “You still at home whimpering about your root canal?”

A soft chuckle brushed her ear as if he were in the room. “Yep, but I’ve been informed by my gorgeous pregnant wife that I’ve used up my sympathy quota. I’ve been ordered to go back to work tomorrow. The better part of valor would be to follow her orders.”

“You’re right on that score, Mac.” Misty pictured McPherson’s wife, Graciella. He’d fallen like an anvil off the back of a bouncing pickup for that woman. Physically, Graciella couldn’t have been more different from Misty. Exotic, willowy, dark hair and eyes, nearly as tall as Mac. Cluny McPherson was Misty’s best pal. A fellow Marine who’d briefly been her lover so many years ago in Iraq. Misty had never been in love with Mac, but to this day she measured every man against him, and they all came up wanting. He was her best friend in the world, and probably knew her better than anyone.

“I know you didn’t call me to ask about my dental work, Sarge. Not that I don’t love hearing from you. How about heading up this way sometime soon?”

“Maybe. The reason I called was to ask you whether that woman who married the hot undertaker still has that no-kill animal shelter in town.”

“She does. They just put on a big expansion. Dempsey and I got the building and plumbing contracts.”

“Hey, didn’t Gunny Dempsey and his wife recently have another kid?”

“Marla had twin girls. They’ve got three girls and a boy now. Gunny’s of the opinion they should go for one more boy, to even the odds.”

Misty couldn’t imagine ever having one child let alone four. “I can’t imagine.”

“Why did you ask about the shelter?”

“I’ve got a dog who flunked out of the sniffer program. He’d make a great family pet and I don’t want to send him to one of the shelters down here. They only hold them for about thirty days. Do you think she’d take an out-of-town happy beagle?”

“Are you kidding? Why do you think she expanded the facility? She won’t turn away a single dog or cat. Do you want me to call her and ask?”

“Would you? If she’ll take him, I’ll drive up there next Saturday. I’ll check on you and Gunny and all your kids. It’s kind of hard when the men I used to boss around are now taking orders from different women. A blow to my overblown ego, especially when they’re able to do it without carrying a side arm.”

Mac’s laugh was like a swallow of good whiskey. Fiery and mellow at the same time. “I’ll give her a call and let you know, Mis.”

“Thanks. If I don’t answer, leave me a text, or Jeremy will take a message for me on the office phone. Gotta run.”

“Hope to see you next weekend, sugar-lips.”

“Careful, the wife might be listening.”

“She’s cool.” His voice was directed away from the phone briefly. “Aren’t you, baby?” He was back. “I’ll call you.”

It was time to grab a bite while she had the chance. Misty slung her bag over her shoulder and shouted. “Jeremy! I’ll be about an hour. You want me to bring you back anything?”

He walked in holding a sandwich and pointed at his full mouth. “I’m good,” he mumbled through tight lips. Deep dimples creased both cheeks.

He must have a dozen girlfriends, Misty thought and shook her head. If I were ten years younger, I’d be all over you, Jere. “Okay then, back around one.” She left the office and went to Jeep parked out back. When the dogs spotted her they broke into a chorus of happy barks. She’d never been a dog person until she’d seen Queen, Mac’s service dog, calm him out of a PTS episode. Her admiration for them took off like a hot rocket, and spurred her into her present job with the Customs Bureau.

She hoped she’d be driving her old Jeep north to Spring Grove and Simi Valley over the weekend with Happy on the seat next to her.

In spite of the coolness of the afternoon, Misty and Jeremy glowed heat and exhaustion by the time they called it a day. “Buy you a cold beer, boss?” Jeremy retrieved his keys from the drawer of the desk they shared. No frills, everything basic in their drab government office.

“Isn’t your girlfriend anxiously waiting for you to call?”

“You’re my only girlfriend, boss.” His dimples deepened when he grinned. “At the moment anyway.”

It only took a second for her to make up her mind. “I’ll meet you at Brazos, but we’re going Dutch as usual.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Jeremy left through the rear door, turning off the back office lights as he went.

Misty took a minute to clear off her desk then go outside to check the kennel lights and gate locks. She waved at the night security guard as she drove past the kiosk on her way to the main road.

Brazos always had a healthy contingent of sailors and marines hanging on the bar and playing pool. She was very comfortable in the company of men. Especially military men. The more the better. Her with only one guy always turned out to be bad news.

The owner of Brazos, Jake McKillan, played nothing but Mexican music in his jukebox. On Saturday nights he had a Mariachi band to entertain his customers. A dance floor was cleared in the center of the rustic, noisy room and a full contingent of Mexican cooks cranked out the most delicious food this side of the border. Tonight he’d only have nachos and dips available, but the beer would flow cold and continuously from bottles and taps and cans.

She parked her car and went inside. Jeremy hailed her from across the room and pointed to a chair he was resting a foot on to keep anyone from taking it or sitting down. He’d already ordered two bottles of Corona, and Jake’s wife, Guadalupé set a large plate of nachos on the table.

Misty touched the woman’s arm. “Thanks, Lupe. Those look good. How about an order of guacamole and a bowl of your homemade salsa to go along with it?”

The short, plump, stunningly exotic beauty grinned, threw her long braid over her shoulder and nodded. “Pronto for you Missy.”

“Gracias.”

Jeremy lifted his foot off the chair and Misty plopped down with a grateful sigh. “I don’t know what it is about those loser-kids that wear me to the bone. Two hours with them and I’m ready to drop.”

“Loser kids?” The familiar deep voice came from behind. Without being asked, Hot Stick Hawk plopped in the chair next to her and put his sweating beer bottle on the table then helped himself to a handful of nachos. He tipped his head to Jeremy whose smirk oozed amusement, and then took a deep swallow of icy beer.

Very few things ever embarrassed Misty Beachy, but being caught bad-mouthing his daughter did the trick. The heat level in her chest shot up so fast her ears burned. “Sorry, Jack. I wasn’t talking about Ellen. It’s just…um…sometimes those kids…from that school…they…” Better to clam up before she jammed her foot down her throat any farther.

“I get it.” He tapped the neck of his beer bottle against her nose. “Relax.”

What was it about Jack Hawk that always set her teeth on edge? He was a stand-up guy, a fellow Marine. They went way back. Jack had been there to save their asses in Fallujah when it counted. One of the top A-10, close air-ground support pilots in Iraq at the time.

What was it? He never uttered an opinion, but she was sure he didn’t like women in the military. Mac said he was old school, but the guy couldn’t be more than forty-five at the most. How could that qualify for old-school?

“I hear you met Ellen today.” He stared at her with eyes not gray and not brown. They darkened when he discussed something strategic and serious and got lighter when shooting the bull in a mess hall. Jack had never made a move on her, but he had a way of making her feel soft and feminine when she needed her steel in the company of her Marines. As a major he’d outranked her by a mile, but he’d always maintained a professional military attitude at the FOB. He may not have been in favor of women in the military, but had always treated her like a fellow soldier.

“Look, Jack, I’m mortified you heard what I said. I wasn’t singling out Ellen. I have so little patience with slackers. Those kids drive me to the edge. Ellen isn’t as tough as she pretends to be. I didn’t know she was your daughter until a couple of minutes before they left this morning. I apologize. Let me buy you a beer.”

“You already did. I told McKillan to put this on your tab.” Hawk’s smile was special. He seldom flashed it, but when he did, it was dazzling and sincere.

Misty pointed an accusing finger at Jeremy. “If I find out you were in on this, you’re fired.”

“I gotta go.” Jeremy pushed back his chair. “Three firings is my quota for one day. My mother will be so disappointed in me. Again.” He snagged his denim jacket off the back of the chair and headed to the door. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

Hawk’s gaze followed his slim back. “Nice kid.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Ellen thought he was ‘steaming hot.’ Her words.”

“Does she say stuff like that to annoy you?”

“Too often. She likes to test dear old dad.”

“I don’t know how parents do it. Cripes. My brother and I were the worst. I’m surprised my parents ever got any sleep, worrying about whether we’d end up in jail or not.” Misty pictured some of the stunts she and Bill had pulled. Bill was her hero. He’d pulled her ass out of the fire more times that she could count. When he’d been killed in Afghanistan all she wanted to do was join the Marines and get revenge on as many bad guys as possible before one of them got her first. * * *

Jack said, “I’m retiring.” Whoa, where’d that come from?

The surprise on her face couldn’t have been faked. He doubted she faked any emotion. Hide them, yes. Fake them, no. “When did you decide to retire?”

He picked up his beer and took a swallow, pressed the sweaty bottle to his forehead and chuckled. “Just this minute. I’m as bowled over as you are.”

“Jesus, Jack. You can’t make a decision as big as retiring from the military just like that.”

“Appears as if I did.”

It was time for him to put some distance between himself and Misty Beachy. He couldn’t be in her company for very long before getting that buzz, that tug. Silly. Dangerous. The last thing he needed was another female complicating his existence. Ellen was more than he could handle at the moment. He shoved back his chair with a loud scraping squeak. It mirrored the loud scraping squeak echoing deep down in his belly where it had no business being in the first place.

Time to haul ass.

“Jack,” she called to his retreating back.

He raised a hand and kept walking.