Cheryl Wyatt - A Soldier's Devotion

“Why not?” Val stepped into the DZ lobby.

Stallings trailed, looking ten kinds of tense. Like he might be gearing up to referee a domestic disturbance. “He’s still pretty steamed under the collar. And Vince is a hothead, anyway. That bear’s liable to have its limbs torn off and you’re liable to walk out wearing the stuffing.”

“It’s a chance I’ll take unless you think my presence will compromise his recovery.”

Stallings snorted. “It’s not Vince’s health I’d be worried about. Miss, I’m telling you, he’s not one to mess with when he’s this mad. I suggest you either send it in with someone else or come back at a later date. Ten years from now ought to do it.”

Though vaguely amused, she grew irritated and eyed her watch. She needed to be back at the hospital soon. Elsie would be out of her second surgery anytime now if everything had gone well. Val shoved the bear toward Stallings. “Then would you mind taking it in to him?”

Stallings’ eyes bugged. He backed away from the bear. “Me? Uh, no, ma’am.” He grabbed another officer coming out of a back room. “But Sheriff Steele here will.”

The stubby sheriff paused. Fluorescent bulbs buzzing above reflected light off his shiny bald head as it bobbled up and down to study her and Stallings. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve stumbled into a speed trap?” Steele adjusted his belt which secured a sidearm peeking under his paunch.

She extended the bear toward the sheriff. “I’m in a hurry. And you’re armed. So why don’t you take this in to Mr. Reardon for me?” She smiled her brightest smile and hoped it carried enough charm to convince him to do it.

The sheriff tilted back his hat. “And who might you be, little lady? A love interest?”

Val coughed out a laugh.

Stallings, on his way out, paused and snorted as he left the facility through the lobby, which boasted a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“N-no. Certainly not a love interest. I—” Val cleared her throat of the sudden glob of fear.

The sheriff raised snowy brows and bounced on the balls of his feet in an impatient gesture. He made an exaggerated motion of eyeing his watch. “I’m not sure I’ve got the time unless you’ve got more info. I’m friends with the stubborn cuss’s old man. Jest dropped by to check on him. Who are you?”

“I’m the woman who hit him. And destroyed his bike.”

A blank look. Then the sheriff looked her up and down—and laughed. His cheeks and chin jiggled as he laughed some more. Then he clamped a grandfatherly palm on her shoulder. “Tell you what, miss. I promise to take him this little bear if you’ll promise not to be a stranger. Come back and visit Vince when he ain’t so rip-roarin’ mad.”

“Um…err…okay. Why?”

A jovial twinkle lit his aged eyes. “Because once he cools down enough and gets past being so blasted mad that he can’t see straight, I think he’ll see that you’re a mite too perty to stay mad at.” He winked, tipped his hat and reached for the bear. “Any message you want me to give?”

“Just what’s on the card. That I’m very sorry. And fully willing to pay for all the damages. My contact information is included.”

He nodded and headed toward a partially closed room that voices wafted from. She turned, pausing as a group of massive men strode out of the room to stand in the hall near where the sheriff stepped in to talk to Vince. No yelling or things crashing. Maybe Vince was taking the bear, and her apology, okay.

“Can I help you, miss?” One of the daunting men approached. His name tag read “Peña.”

“I’ve been helped. Thanks.”

But the stocky Hispanic man didn’t budge.

Curious glances hurtled her way from the imposing group of muscle-bound men who undoubtedly wondered what she was doing standing there staring at the door of a room she imagined housed Vince. Still no sound coming from inside.

She wished she had assurance Vince would be okay with her coming to his work.

“Excuse me,” she said to the one whose eyes held the deepest shade of compassion and blue. His name tag read “Briggs.” He seemed much less intimidating than the rest.

“Yes?” The man stepped forward.

“I’m wondering if you can tell me how Mr. Reardon is faring.”

The other guys stood in the wide connecting hall opposite the table area and studied her. Then each other. Heavy silence fell. Stark. Foreboding. Like a cell block door slam. The hefty weight of all the eyes bearing down on her settled over her like a judge’s declaration of life without parole.

Shades of suspicion turned Briggs’s narrowing eyes into a treacherous tint of blue. “Who wants to know?”

She swallowed, feeling suddenly surrounded by dangerous men—a protective band of brothers—who had to be part of Mr. Reardon’s pararescue team. No other explanation for why they’d be so physically daunting.

She refused to wilt. Her chin lifted. So did the man’s. Which rattled her like a box of banging gavels. Never let them see you sweat. She applied the courtroom principle to her body language.

“I do.” She straightened her shoulders but softened her poker face and stuck out her hand, hoping he’d take it.

“And you are?” he asked as he shook her hand.

“Valentina Russo. My friends call me Val.”

His eyes flashed recognition. His fingers snapped in the air. A slow grin came to his face. “The woman who crashed into his bike.”

She licked parched lips. So they’d heard her name. Couldn’t be good. Especially since the emphasis landed on her crashing the bike rather than Vince. “Yes.”

“I’m Airman Briggs. But you can call me Nolan.” Thankfully, his demeanor softened.

She nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“What can we help you with?”

“I just wanted to be sure he’s okay. Understandably, the hospital wouldn’t give out information when I called last week.”

Nolan didn’t respond.

She plucked nervously at her earring. “I haven’t been able to get him off my mind.”

Nolan grinned. “The bear you sent in there? Or Vince?”

Gentle humor in his eyes broke her nervousness. She loosed a laugh, which was more relief. “Vince.”

Nolan nodded slowly and appeared to ponder her deeply. “How’d you know where to find him?”

“Apparently your PJ team holds celebrity status in these parts. I asked around town and was sent to the B and B. A lady named Sarah directed me here.”

“Did you say Sarah?” Nolan looked at the older man on their team, who set his clipboard down and came close. His face reflected acute interest in the conversation.

“Yes. She guided me here, saying I’d probably find Vince here.”

The redheaded teammate snickered. “Guided, wow. Sounds like something someone would do with an airborne missile.”

Val stared at him. “I’m sure Sarah meant no harm by guide—I mean sending me here.”

The older man grinned. “Relax, ma’am. Sarah’s my fiancée.”

Nolan smiled. “Vince is tough. He’ll be all right. No permanent injury. But I think it’d be better for you both if you didn’t come around him.”

The man whose tag identified him as Petrowski, and who’d proudly proclaimed Sarah as his fiancée, moved to stand alongside Nolan. “Least, not right now.” A slight grin smoothed rigid lines from his face.

“It’s been a week since the wreck. You think he’s still that angry?” Val asked.

“Now, now. Calm down, airman. I’m just the messenger,” came from inside the back room. Sounded like the sheriff’s voice. Only a little higher-pitched. Just then a growl gurgled from the room. The next instant the stuffed bear whizzed by her, hitting the opposite corridor wall.