Suzanne Ellison - Blazing Star

Brick studied her for a long, thoughtful moment. “You’ve spent most of your career that way, haven’t you, Captain?” he perceptively observed. “On the outside looking in.”

Reluctantly she nodded. It was too obvious to deny. “I’m a woman doing a man’s job in a man’s world, Bauer. I’m always staring at somebody’s back.” She paused a moment, then went on to say, “I am who I am, Lieutenant. I can’t be anybody else.”

“No,” he quietly agreed, his blue eyes finally showing a glimmer of warmth. “I guess you can’t. And frankly...I don’t think you should have to be. I’m sorry if I made you feel that...well, that the real Karen Keppler wasn’t welcome here.”

Karen had no idea how to reply to that, but fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything. Brick abruptly ended their heart-to-heart talk by opening his door and hopping out of the car. He didn’t open Karen’s door for her—some policemen actually had tried to—but he did keep the diner door from slamming in her face as she followed him inside.

Blocked by his impressive height and broad shoulders, Karen couldn’t see around Brick to get a good look at the place, but she could certainly smell the pepperoni and hear the cheery repartee. The instant he set foot inside, half a dozen people raised a hand or called out, “Hey, Brick!” while Brick himself gave the group one of those dazzling grins that felled Karen every time it was cast in her direction.

One grizzled old farmer called out, “I hear that new she-bear is blistering your backside, boy! How can we help you get rid of her?”

The fellow next to him joshed, “Oh, Brick don’t need no help. Just you wait. He’ll have that filly on the run in no time. Everybody knows that captain’s chair is Brick’s rightful place.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” said a woman behind the counter in a pink uniform, an old-fashioned beehive and nurse’s shoes. The name tag said Marge, and the tone of her voice announced quite clearly that she was proud to own the place. She snapped a dish towel at Brick, smacking him sharply on his badge as she grinned at him.

Brick stepped aside so Karen could see everybody in the restaurant better, and so everybody could see her. Marge swallowed a small gasp as she read the name on Karen’s badge, and gave an embarrassed grin.

“Marge, this is Captain Karen Keppler,” Brick declared with more dignity than Karen thought she could have managed in the same situation. And then, as the room went from jovially cheerful to starkly silent, he said, “I imagine if you serve the captain one of your corned beef sandwiches, you’ll have a friend for life.”

Under the circumstances, it was a gift...far more than Karen had expected from Brick Bauer. “Nice to meet you, Marge,” she said cordially.

“Nice to meet you, uh, Captain.”

Karen was about to feign an enthusiastic comment about corned beef—even though she hated it—when Brick started ushering her toward a booth in the back. As he sat down, her eyes met his with open gratitude, and he looked back with a curious blend of pleasure and discomfort.

Suddenly she felt ashamed of how crusty she’d been with him ever since she’d arrived in Tyler. He was a man, and her promotion had certainly stripped him of his pride before his friends. How many men would have treated her with warmth under the circumstances?

Yet abruptly, to Karen’s astonishment, Brick smiled. It didn’t seem like an accident this time; it didn’t seem artificial or strained. He looked like a man who was happy to stop for lunch with a friend or a colleague. Who was maybe even proud to be seen with a beautiful woman. Who might be pleased to know that the woman in question secretly thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

Unable to stop herself, Karen found herself grinning back, thrilled to see those blue eyes sparkle, thrilled to share even the briefest moment of camaraderie with Brick. Her happiness grew as she heard him say to Marge with deceptive nonchalance, “The captain says it’s her treat today, so you better start running her a tab.”

Karen swallowed hard as she realized that Brick had just handed Marge Peterson—and everybody else within earshot—his personal letter of recommendation. He could have let this crowd assume that he was stuck with her today because he couldn’t refuse to eat lunch with his captain. Instead he’d found a way to say, “I’ll vouch for Karen Keppler.”

It was nickels and dimes, but it was a start.

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